Disclaimer: I do not own: Gregor the Overlander, Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's, and Axis Powers Hetalia.

They only had to wait two rings before he heard the telltale click and murmur of voices on the other end of the line.

"Put it on speaker," his dad said. He did, all the while listening curiously to the low sound of voices on the other end – two people who'd been in a conversation, and hadn't stopped when one picked up the phone? The idea struck him as odd. Not rude yet, but maybe halfway there.

"Hello?" someone chirped out without warning, and Gregor started. "Ivy International-Atlantic, may I help you?"

He wasn't quite sure what he'd been expecting – probably an automated message or something equally pretentious at a school for pretentious people, but a bright, very young, somewhat low but definitely female, voice had not been a possibility. "Um, hi."

"Hello." There was some confusion there, swiftly followed by more whispers and then a soft oh of realization. "Hang on, you're Gregor, right?"

"Ah. Yes?"

"Right. Well, one minute, I'll see if I can get Aki or Merlin to come to the phone, they're who you'll be wanting to talk to." Another low exchange of voices, and then a clunk as someone set the phone not-too-gently on a hard surface. Gregor and Lizzie exchanged glances, clearly thinking the same thing, Gregor being confronted with his ever-growing doubt that this place was what it said it was – and somehow, inexplicably, at the same time being ever more convinced that it was. It didn't seem the fount of all professionalism like the letter had implied, but at the same time, it didn't seem like a bad fake, either. Not like the people behind this were so concerned with appearing professional they botched it up, but like they honestly didn't care what they appeared to be. Because . . .

"I don't like this," said his mom, and Boots chuffed in agreement. Gregor exchanged looks with Mrs. Cormaci, and was reassured that at least someone knew different.

Another tangle of voices. Gregor glanced back at the receiver and waited, but it was still a surprise when a voice – mild and good-natured – boomed from the speaker; "Hello. This is Gregor Calderon, calling about the invitation we sent you."

"I. Yes," he said.

"All right. One moment, please." The sound of rustling, and Gregor tried to place what the person on the other end could possibly be doing, surprised when he found it wasn't really that hard; like echolocation, only different, and hampered by the tinny quality of the phone. Now the person was standing. Now she – and Gregor was nearly absolutely sure by this point that the newcomer was a woman – was moving to another room. Now she was sitting down. Now she was shifting to get comfortable. "Do you have anybody with you who we could speak to in a legal capacity? A parent, or a guardian," she clarified, as Gregor opened his mouth to ask what she meant.

"That would be me," his dad leaned over and spoke into the speaker.

"Oh, good. Mr. Calderon, am I correct?"

"That's right."

"It's nice to meet you both," she said, and there was a hint of a smile in her voice. "I'm Aki Izayoi. Or Izayoi Aki, if you want to say it the foreign way. Just call me Aki. I'm the Arts and Cultural Studies teacher here, as well as Head of Relations. What were you calling to ask about?"

"We wanted some more information about your school," his dad began. "Before we started making a decision, you understand."

"Of course. Was there anything in particular you wanted to talk about?"

His dad motioned vaguely, and Gregor handed the phone over to him before moving to perch himself on the counter. "We were wondering about the potential costs and benefits – you know, things like that. About the school, reasons why it would be a good idea for Gregor's future, weigh the pros and cons-"

"Well, aside from the reputation of Ivy's secondary education program among colleges – fine arts, liberal arts colleges, and specialization universities alike – there's also the benefits of the education here, and the physical benefits, of course. The curriculum, both academically and in extracurriculars, far exceeds district and national standards – and of course I'm required to say that, as it's my school, but by nation-wide examination, inspectors say the same thing . . . "

"And what were you saying about physical benefits?"

"Oh, well, the school's near a small town in Texas, and the entire place is built on around one and a half hectares of land; there's a track, a training stadium, below the indoor gymnasium there's an indoor rink for ice skating – actually, I do private tutoring in figure skating – so the physical education and athletics classes aren't a total flop, like the public district schools nearby."

"Well, until about a year or so ago, Gregor ran track for his school – how would that-"

Gregor knew he should be paying attention to this – it was about his future, after all – but after the thirty-minute mark, the discussion between Aki Izayoi and his father seemed to be blurring in his mind, erasing the distinctions between the explanation of a fancy private school and a two-hour lecture about the distinctions of the five main groups of vertebrae in kingdom Anamalia last spring, in Mr. Sayer's biology class. He glanced around distractedly and caught Lizzie's eye; she gave him a disapproving look and jerked her head to the speaker, clearly indicating he should be listening. He shook his head mildly at her and shot a grin at her from underneath the fringe of his hair, and counted it as a victory when he saw a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Since his near-death and their return from the Underland, coaxing a smile out of Lizzie had been even harder than ever. Just another thing the Underland had wrung from their family, though a small one to anybody else.

Boots slipped off of the high-backed chair she was currently swinging her feet on and quietly padded over to him; he smiled and hoisted her up, theatrically making a face in complaint as she lodged her arms around his neck. She was getting to be a lot heavier than he remembered. She just looked at him seriously – as seriously as a three-year-old could get, anyway. "Gregor leaving?"

He tightened his arms around her, and suddenly the thought of ever leaving her was unbearable. "No," he murmured, then amended, "we don't know yet." But it seemed to reassure her, and she complacently tucked her head into the crook between shoulder and neck before quietly settling into a doze.

He wondered, mildly, what the adults had said to upset her into exhaustion before something Aki was saying over the phone line shook him back into attention.

" . . . reported, actually, with quite a few of our scholarship students like Gregor that it doesn't even take that long to adjust to the school – two months on average – and just under a year to catch up curriculum-wise," Aki was saying. Gregor glanced around and saw his mother and Lizzie listening intently as Aki spoke, as if their fervor could somehow carry through the line and coax the truth from this woman who smiled through her voice. Only Mrs. Cormaci seemed as distracted as he; she was looking at him, something too-piercing in her gaze, and he had a feeling that she knew what he was thinking, even if he didn't know at all. "There's a lot more to it, of course, but I've watched some of our faculty teach, and I'm even a teacher myself, and even though a lot of what we do is advanced, the explanations also aren't that hard to follow – I'm sure it'd be easy enough for Gregor to get on level-"

(Gregor refrained from laughing out loud, but only just.) His father shot him a look, as if he knew exactly what Gregor was thinking about. "I wonder." Ha! He had been thinking the exact same thing! "Sorry, what were you saying about tutoring earlier?"

"Ivy isn't a very large school," she said in reply. "I think it said on the letter, I don't entirely recall what England – Arthur, sorry – wrote before sending it off . . . if he decides to attend, Gregor will be the tenth student in his class. But there are some benefits to that as well. The number of teachers is actually very close to the number of secondary students, so there's quite a bit more one-on-one than in public schools, and there's a sense of . . . how should I say it? Community. There's a sense of comradeship among the students – we had a new student just a few months ago, actually, and our long-time students here have been doing so much to help him integrate smoothly here. It's working quite well."

"I see," said his father. He looked over at Gregor, obviously asking for his opinion, but Gregor just shrugged in return, careful not to dislodge Boots. Listening was all well and good, and interesting enough if he admitted it to himself – it was certainly no fault of this school that he was finding it increasingly hard to sit still. But somehow, he just couldn't erase the image in his mind: a large castle-like building, dark walls, secluded, lonely dormitories he would be left alone in.

A crowd of snooty private-school kids, with the money to afford it and the knowledge of it, no matter what Aki Izayoi said to the contrary.

And him, on scholarship – for a reason he still wasn't aware of – and he found he couldn't bring himself to care, one way or another. Virginia or Texas or New York City – it was all the same. He couldn't go back to the Underland – he'd promised himself that. And at least in Texas, the length of several small countries away, he could escape temptation.

"What about the costs?" his dad said.

The atmosphere in the room changed considerably; Lizzie looked up from where she had been staring at the grain of the wood of the table for a few moments, his mom stiffened ever-so-slightly, even Gregor sat up straighter. This was the final part – the ending point to this discussion. His parents, at least, wanted the same outcome he did, even if it was for something else – to keep him away from the temptation of the grate in the laundry room, the loose stone in Central Park. But how much? How much would they measure the desire to keep their son safe and well and away in dollar signs? Or, that wasn't the problem at all – even if they could afford the idea, could they afford it in real life?

They'd never been able to up to now.

Gregor knew – suddenly, inexplicably – that this was where the fantasy would end. The idea of a shining, faraway boarding school – disappeared. As if it had never existed.

"There aren't any," Aki said. "If you decide to enroll, Gregor will be joining us as a full scholarship student."

He was sure everyone in the room stopped breathing for exactly half a minute.

Surprisingly (or perhaps not surprisingly at all) it was his mother who drew breath in first, and in her expression there was a turning mechanism of emotions – disbelief, suspicion, a wild sort of hope. He wasn't sure what was splashed across his face. He still wasn't sure what he felt about it.

"No costs?" his dad repeated weakly.

"No costs," Aki confirmed. The hint of a smile was back in her voice, like she knew the effect her pronouncement had had and was glad of it. "Unless you choose to pay for Gregor's uniform or cafeteria meals, as a favor to the school, which would both be provided free of charge, in any case."

"I . . . wow." He laughed faintly. "You know, that's the best offer I've heard in a long time."

"I had figured it might be," Aki said wryly. "Now, do you have any more questions, or could you give me a rough estimate of how long it will take you to make a decision?"

"I'm still not entirely convinced that Gregor has the academic security to be prepared for the rigor you describe," his dad said (Gregor scowled inwardly – even though it was true, hearing it laid out like that, so blatantly, so matter-of-factly, was still a blow – but then he noticed the way his father glanced at him, and the note of apology in his voice, and all of the wounded pride folded in on itself), "but we'll talk it over with the family, see what they say-"

"Oh, you won't have to worry about that," Aki said cheerfully. "Despite what it may seem, Ivy's not a school for geniuses, it's for making people into them. Besides, I'm sure you can do it. Are there any more questions left?"

And just as Gregor was wondering how Aki knew he was still there, still lingering and listening, when his mother – his shaking, sickly, impossibly strong mother – stepped over to his father's side and spoke into the phone, "Yes, I have one, if you don't mind, Miss Izayoi."

"Please, call me Aki," she said. "Mrs. Calderon, right?"

"That's right."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. What did you want to ask?"

"We were wondering-" she glanced around, if for confirmation, before reaching for the letter that lay abandoned on the kitchen table, "-the letter here – it says Gregor was admitted because of 'prestigious recommendation,' do I have that right?"

"Yes, that's right," Aki said.

"Well, we wanted to know who recommended him?"

(Trust his mother. Trust his mother to ask the greatest question of all when everybody else had already forgotten, swept up in promises of school and honors societies and scholarships, but Gregor looked down and saw Boot's open eyes, boring intently into the speakers, like she could see through them, and thought, for the millionth time in his life, that he wished he understood the way she just seemed to know these things.)

"Oh," said Aki, "he's actually a very close friend of mine. He sent the letter to me five months ago, actually, but we only just now received it – I think he still has problems believing we don't live in the Dark Ages any longer, ha - I believe you know him, too? His name is Ripred."

-and for the longest moment, the only sound in the room was the noise of five people inhaling at once, and the bang of Lizzie's chair as it clattered to the floor.

"Mousie?" Boots asked, and somehow that made it more real than anything else since he'd first stepped through that hole and emerged in a world he no longer knew.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Cormaci said, and that seemed to sum it up.

The ensuing beat stretched longing for December. His father cleared his throat, opened his mouth and closed it again, but no sound came out. His mother – Gregor thought that was the worst of all. Her expression had closed off entirely – it was blank, shuttered, cold. And why not? She had almost lost all of her family to the Underland, except for Grandma. Boots, Lizzie, Gregor – any one of them could have died in the last battle, while she was penned up in the Fount, unable to even know what was going on in Regalia. And his dad – well. That's what had started the whole thing, wasn't it?

"I think," his mom said, and it didn't come at a surprise at all, that she was first to speak, "that we should arrange a face-to-face meeting. To discuss this further."

"Of course. If you'd rather, I can arrange a meeting in New York for you, if you don't want to fly down to Texas," said Aki.

"That'd be good," his dad finally recovered his voice. "Yes. Thank you."

"All right. How does Friday afternoon sound? After three? Arthur's actually holed up in a meeting in New York City right now, with one a student, but he'll be off by Friday. I can call him to tell him to meet with you."

"That sounds fine," said his mom. "Where would you like us to meet you?"

"How about Central Park?" Aki said. "The East side. You'll be meeting with Arthur Kirkland."

"All right. And how will we know this 'Arthur Kirkland'?"

And, miracle of miracles, Aki laughed – a clear, bright sound that lightened the air and weighed it down with so much more all at once. "Oh, you'll know him," she said, and Gregor didn't doubt it. If they had to look for a man wearing a clown suit and a wig – he didn't doubt what Aki said. "After all, there aren't many twenty-four-year-olds dressed in a fancy suit and tie."

And with that, his father placed the phone back onto the receiver, and Gregor set down Boots and turned around, bracing himself for the argument that was undoubtedly to come.

As it turns out, they did know Arthur Kirkland by sight. But not because of the suit and tie, not because of his young, unlined face, not because he was perched on the stone that marked the entrance to the Underland – the one that had been tempting Gregor for four weeks, ever since he left it.

No, they knew him because of the silver-gilded blade the equally nicely-dressed girl in front of him was swinging as he smiled and murmured encouragements into the air – like a whisper, like a breeze, like a fiery tangle of lies.

Author's Notes: We're beginning to bring bits of the Underland into this. And yes, I am fully aware that the hard cut is - well, just that. Hard, blunt, and somewhat jarring. There's a reason for that. Also, if you've been reading non-chronologically or linearly, you can probably guess: the girl at the end is Ella.

The argument between Gregor and his parents is covered in the next chapter, as well as some events leading up to the meeting, and part of the meeting itself. If the conversations between Aki and Gregor's parents felt stilted as well, it's mainly because of both the circumstances and the way Gregor's family probably still has issues dealing with surprise and trauma after the events of the past year. Their family has been exposed to so much implausibility, when something implausible happens again, they just take it in stride. My parents, for example, would have thrown the letter out as a hoax when I was growing up, and it's likely that, before his mom's bite, Gregor's family would have, too. However, despite how much they want to get back to normality, what they've seen has made them - well, less and more gullible at the same time. They're trying to deal with Aki in a normal manner, but their brains are having trouble processing what's "normal" any more - for example, they don't notice that it's not normal to have considered the letter at all.

As with the prologue, not a lot going on here, but things are getting started. This, again, is partially to establish characters and basic premise, but also to impart vital information, as well as foreshadow a bit. IIAA is not what it seems, and everyone seems to know that - then again, no one seems to know exactly how.

Fly you high. Watcher.