Chapter 12 The First Day
POV: Mina (Age 17)
My first class at Lycan Spirit Academy was Combat Training, and I understood within five minutes why they called this place a crucible for Alphas.
The training arena was massive, with reinforced floors and walls designed to withstand the full force of wolf combat. Weapons lined the walls—practice swords, staffs, and blunted blades for those who preferred armed combat. But most students fought hand-to-hand, using their natural Alpha strength and aggression.
The instructor was a scarred veteran named Commander Hayes, and his opening speech made the Academy's philosophy crystal clear.
"Only the strong survive at Lycan Spirit Academy," he said, his voice carrying across the arena. "Weakness is not tolerated. It's not coddled or rehabilitated. It's culled."
He paced in front of the assembled students, all of us standing at attention in our training uniforms.
"You will be ranked based on combat performance. Every fight is recorded. Every victory or defeat is tracked. At the end of each month, the bottom ten percent of students face remedial training."
The way he said "remedial training" made it clear it was a euphemism for something much worse. I saw several students exchange nervous glances.
"Remedial training consists of one-on-one sessions with senior students and faculty designed to push you past your limits," Hayes continued. "Some students improve dramatically. Others break completely and withdraw from the Academy. That's the nature of forging strong Alphas. The weak are identified and removed."
I kept my expression neutral and my hands clasped behind my back like everyone else, but internally I was calculating. I needed to perform well enough to avoid remedial training, but not so well that I drew excessive attention.
The problem was that I'd been trained in the forbidden arts by Rafe for nine years. My fighting style was completely different from standard Alpha combat. More fluid, more precise, using technique and energy flow rather than raw strength.
If I fought the way I'd been taught, everyone would know something was wrong.
"Pair up," Hayes ordered. "I want to see what you're working with. No holding back. We need accurate assessments."
The students started moving, pairing off based on size and perceived strength. I stood still, waiting to be assigned, when a shadow fell over me.
I looked up to see a massive Alpha, easily six and a half feet tall and built like a mountain. His arms were thicker than my thighs, and his neck was so muscled he barely had a visible jawline.
"You," he said, grinning down at me. "You're my partner."
I pulled out my notepad.
Lucky me.
He laughed, a sound like grinding gravel. "I'm Marcus. And I'm going to enjoy this."
Hayes walked past and nodded approvingly. "Good pairing. Sterling, show me what noble blood can do against raw power."
I swallowed hard and followed Marcus to one of the marked fighting circles on the arena floor.
This was going to be a problem.
Marcus was twice my size and probably three times my weight. In a straight fight using standard Alpha combat techniques, he'd crush me in seconds. Rafe would have used his speed and precision to wear down a larger opponent, but even that had limits against someone this massive.
I had two choices: fight like Rafe and probably lose badly, or fight like myself and risk revealing that something was wrong.
Marcus took his fighting stance, grinning with anticipation. "Don't worry, pretty boy. I'll try not to break anything permanent."
I took a breath and dropped into the fighting stance Rafe had used. Weight evenly distributed, hands up but not too aggressive, ready to dodge rather than block.
Hayes blew the whistle.
Marcus charged like a freight train, his massive fist swinging toward my face with enough force to shatter bone.
I dodged, but barely. His fist passed so close to my head I felt the wind from it. I tried to counter with a strike to his ribs, but my hit bounced off his muscled torso like I'd punched a wall.
He grabbed for me, and I twisted away, using Rafe's technique of staying mobile and out of reach. But Marcus was faster than he looked, and his longer reach was a significant advantage.
His hand caught my shoulder and yanked me forward. I stumbled, off-balance, and his other fist came around in a devastating hook aimed at my head.
Without thinking, I moved.
Not the way Rafe would have moved. The way I had been taught in the temple. The forbidden arts flowing through my body like water, like breathing, like instinct.
I dropped low and to the side in a movement that was too fluid, too graceful for standard Alpha combat. My hand came up in a precise strike to Marcus's extended elbow, hitting the pressure point exactly.
His arm went numb, and his eyes widened with shock.
I used his moment of surprise to sweep his legs out from under him. He was too big to fall easily, but the technique was perfect, executed exactly the way the forbidden arts demanded. He went down hard, and I was on him in an instant, my knee on his chest and my hand at his throat in the submission hold.
Hayes blew the whistle. "Match. Sterling wins."
I stood up quickly, offering Marcus my hand to help him up. He took it, looking confused and a little embarrassed.
"What the hell was that?" he asked. "I've never seen anyone move like that."
I pulled out my notepad.
Just techniques I learned from private tutors. Family training.
It was weak as excuses went, but Marcus nodded like it made sense. Sterling family would have access to advanced training that regular students wouldn't.
But I could feel eyes on me from across the arena.
The Elite Trio was watching from the sidelines where they'd been observing the new students. All three of them were frowning, their expressions troubled.
I saw Jax lean toward Asher and say something I couldn't hear. Asher nodded, his eyes never leaving me.
They'd seen my fighting style. And they knew something was wrong.
I kept my expression neutral and moved to the side of the arena to wait for the next round, but my heart was pounding. I'd won the fight, but I'd also drawn exactly the kind of attention I couldn't afford.
The rest of the class continued with various matches, but I could feel the Trio's eyes on me the entire time. Studying me. Analyzing my movements. Trying to figure out what didn't add up.
After class, I headed toward the locker rooms, desperate to get away from their scrutiny. I needed to regroup, figure out how to adjust my fighting style to be less distinctive.
I was pulling my training shirt over my head when I heard heavy footsteps behind me.
"That was some interesting fighting technique."
I spun around to see Logan Steele leaning against the locker room wall, his arms crossed and his expression dangerous.
The locker room was empty except for us. Everyone else had already changed and left.
I grabbed my notepad quickly.
Thank you.
"Wasn't a compliment," Logan said, pushing off the wall and moving closer. "Jax is right. That's not how Sterlings fight. Hell, that's not how any male Alpha fights. Your movements were too fluid. Too graceful. Too... delicate."
He said the last word with disgust, like it was the worst insult he could think of.
I wrote carefully.
I was trained by specialists in various combat forms. I use what works.
"Bullshit," Logan said flatly. "I've seen every fighting style taught in every territory. What you did out there wasn't any of them. It was something else. Something wrong."
He stepped even closer, invading my personal space deliberately. His scent washed over me, aggressive and challenging.
"You fight like a bitch," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Let's see if you bleed like one too."
His fist swung toward my face without warning.
I dodged on pure instinct, my body moving in the forbidden arts style again before I could stop myself. But the movement was too quick, too evasive, and Logan's fist redirected mid-swing.
Instead of hitting my face, his knuckles caught the collar of my shirt and ripped downward.
The fabric tore with a sound like thunder in the empty locker room.
Time seemed to slow down as I realized what was about to be exposed.
The binding around my chest. The wraps that hid my female form and made me look masculine under clothes.
Logan's eyes were already moving downward, following the tear, about to see the truth.
I grabbed the torn edges of my shirt and yanked them together, clutching the fabric against my chest with both hands. Then I ran.
I shoved past Logan hard enough to make him stumble, burst through the locker room door, and sprinted down the hallway still clutching my torn shirt closed.
Behind me, I heard Logan's confused voice calling out.
"What the hell—Sterling! Get back here!"
But I was already gone, running through the Academy corridors with my heart pounding and my secret hanging by a thread.
Logan hadn't seen the binding. Not completely. The fabric had been in the way, and I'd covered it too quickly.
But he'd seen something. Enough to make him suspicious. Enough to make him wonder.
I reached my dorm room and slammed the door behind me, locking it and pressing my back against the wood while I tried to catch my breath.
That was too close. Way too close.
I looked down at my torn shirt, at the binding visible through the ripped fabric, and felt cold dread settle in my stomach.
The Elite Trio was already suspicious of me. Already watching me too closely. And now Logan had nearly discovered the truth.
I needed to be more careful. Much more careful.
Because if they found out I wasn't really Rafe Sterling, if they discovered I was a girl disguised as my dead brother, they'd destroy me.
Or worse, they'd expose me to the Council.
And then Rafe's death would have been for nothing.