Chapter 5: A Passing Nobody

Sure enough, the two Cadets were in the registry. Their biographical data flashed in streams of green text on the black computer screen, and over the reflection of Pigma's doughy face.

"Yep, you guys are here, alright: Cadets 121 and 124...from the old Lorraine home." He swiveled his office chair around and nodded at the two kids sitting across from him. "Looks like it was just the system actin' screwy."

The Feline Girl, having spent the long silence looking borderline fatigued with anxiety, practically fainted back into her seat, chest expanding as she gulped air again.

"Thank goodness," she breathed. "I can't thank you enough, Commander. You don't know what a relief it is to have one thing go right today."

"I can imagine." He glanced at both of them. "You guys seem like you've had it rough today."

The girl's eyebrows sank groggily. "It's been a nightmare since the morning started; the people at the orphanage basically did nothing to get us here. No shuttle fare, no escort, faulty expired passports…seems like booting us out the front door was the most effort they could put into getting rid of us..." She was halfway into her heavy sigh, when her ears sprang up. "Oh! I'm so sorry—there I go, bombarding you with all this—"

"Not at all. Sucks that you kids had to put up with all that." He gave them an agreeable nod. "Rest assured, you're gonna be treated far better around here. You'll certainly be a hefty addition to this year's Cadet Roster…this is quite the transcript for someone your age, Miss, ah…" He glanced at the screen. "…Katherine, was it?"

All of a sudden, the girl started giggling.

Pigma looked at her with a strange smile. "Something I missed?"

"Oh, no, it's just—I haven't had anyone call me 'Katherine' since I was little. It's kind of weird hearing it." She dipped her head bashfully. "I'd prefer Katt…if it's alright."

"'Katt', huh? It suits you," said Pigma. She watched him smile. Using their real names instead of relegating them to their Cadet Numbers seemed to be his way of appreciating how refreshingly polite she was for her age. He looked next to her. "And you're Falco, right?"

The Avian didn't even remotely have the same demure nicety of his companion. Slouching and tapping a restless boot above his knee, he seemed locked in a state of boredom, the corner of his mouth dangling as if built to accommodate for his permanently lopsided scowl. The sound of being addressed seem to irritate him more, like he was being shaken out of sleeping.

"…That's right," He said, glancing idly past the pilot.

Pigma raised an eyebrow at the almost quarrelsome spike in the boy's voice, and Katt quickly spoke up, planting her voice between them.

"You'll have to excuse Falco," She said, eyeing him crossly. "He's not very sociable…call it a side effect of constantly having to get acquainted with new people. Happens everywhere we go.

Pigma frowned. "'Everywhere'? How many homes have you had before the Lorraine place?"

"I honestly couldn't tell you, sir…I've lost count myself," she admitted. "We've been traded around a lot, for as long as I can remember. Adopters wouldn't bite, beds would fill up, and before we knew it, we'd get transferred to another home." Her eyes fell slightly. "I don't think we've lived anywhere longer than a few months."

The grizzled pilot's demeanor changed, looking sympathetic. "M'sorry to hear that. Sounds rough."

Katt, slipping her hand into Falco's, smiled gratefully. "Sticking together has certainly helped. Which is why I wanted to ask, um…" She hesitated, before blurting: "Could we be assigned to the same classes? I know it's probably against regulations, but Falco and I have never been separated; we've managed to stay together since we were little, and in a school this big…it'll be hard for us to make new friends. Please, is there anything you can do?"

"I'm mostly in charge of security, so it's not really my call to make," started Pigma. Then his face lit up. "But you know what? I have a few friends in the faculty, so I think I can still arrange it."

"Really? Oh, thank you. That would be a huge help."

Pigma rose to his feet, he motioned for them to stay seated. "Let me see who's in the office right now. Won't be a tick."

As he made his way out of the office, he didn't notice the way Katt watched his every step, waiting patiently for his back to disappear out the slide door before it closed behind him. The second it hissed shut, she reverted to her real voice, turning to Falco.

"Can you believe this place?! It's perfect. Absolutely perfect. There's a chump in every room, just waiting to get duped. Even more than the streets had." She scanned the room, her eyes glinting with all the ambition and mischief that she'd managed to keep covert. "We're gonna make it big here."

Finally breaking his silence, Falco made a dry retching sound. "Yeah, whatever. What the hell was that voice you were putting on, anyway?"

"You mean you don't like it when I play the sheltered, naive little girl?" Katt mockingly altered her pitch to the one she had used while Pigma was still in the room. "Whatever do you hate about it?"

An irritable eyebrow shot up, disturbing the crest feathers above his brow that were gelled in a devious racer style. "Because out of all your bullshit acts, it's the most bullshit. We both know you could never sell that image...it's like watching a Simmie pretend he can read."

Katt shrugged. "The old hog couldn't see through it, so the other teachers probably won't either." Her eyes grew big again as her gaze shot about. "Oh, it's going to be perfect here...a few days and we're going to have these people eating out of our hands."

Falco grunted. "Well I'm glad you're optimistic. I dunno how you can be, after hearing that speech of his."

Her whiskers stopped twitching excitedly, and curled in revulsion. "Ugh, you actually stayed awake for all that? I dozed off halfway through."

"Yeah? What about part where the Pig mentioned all the studying and training we'll have to do to stay in this school?" Falco said impatiently. "All the stuff you said we wouldn't have to do when you suggested this place? Did you stay awake for that part?"

Katt sighed. "And we still won't have to do all that. Nothing's changed. So just relax already."

The boundless, easygoing self-assuredness oozing from her would have assured anyone else, but Falco had borne witness to too many of her botched plans for it to work on him. Not when it always seemed to be the prelude to everything going horribly wrong, and the two of them being back on the run.

He folded his arms. "I dunno what you're planning, and I don't care. All I know is that I didn't go through all the trouble to escape that shithole on Kew just to break my over here. We could've snuck anywhere, and you had us come here."

"Yeah, and if you'd be a bit patient, you'd see why in a bit," She snapped. "Just follow my lead...I've got everything under control. But I won't for long with you pecking at my skull, so lay off for a bit, will you?"

Falco gave a cautious glance to the door before lowering his voice. "That was a close call there, you know…that guy almost not finding us in the registry. You know it's only gonna get harder from here, right? We won't be able to pickpocket or scam our way around here...not without getting caught." He hissed as he leaned over. "These grown-ups aren't like the junk traders or speeder gangs...these ones actually pay attention. Whatever you've put on our transcripts, we'll have to live up to...without faking it. You plan on managing that without getting us expelled?"

Katt yawned. "For Christ's sake, stop being such a worry-wart. We've faked our ways through schools before."

"Yeah, but not a military school," said Falco, eyes falling to their uniforms. "These people can smell something wrong from a lightyear away—"

"One of their top pilots bought my little fable about being a poor little foster child. If they're all that easy to fool, I won't have any problems." Her triumphant smile melted as she eyed him. "You just make sure those piloting skills are half as good as you always brag them to be…otherwise our cover will fall apart." She brushed a lock of fur aside, muttering softly. "That's the whole reason I picked this place…why any of this has a shot at working…"

Falco aimed his dubious huff at the ceiling. "Whatever. I just don't want a repeat of the Reiaa Station. I ain't changing my name or forging any certificates if we get caught again, got it? We were too careless that time."

Katt's finger stopped curling her fur as her voice rose sharply. "You got careless. I kept a spotless cover and had everything going smoothly until, as usual, it all got destroyed by that big mouth and short temper of yours. So, try to keep both in check this time."

"That is NOT what happened, and you know it!" He barked.

She turned to him, gritting her teeth. "However it happened, it's not going to happen this time. We're gonna stay clean and out of trouble. My way this time, understand? Or we—" Her ear twitched, and she froze. "Shh, here he comes!"

She had already rearranged her expression and voice by the time Pigma had returned, beaming triumphantly.

"You're in luck. I managed to pull a few strings, call in a few favors, and wa-la. You can look forward to spending all semester together."

"You don't know what this means to us, Commander Dengar," Katt gushed. "We grew up together, Falco and me...it's part of the reason why we're a bit inseparable. We've been like that since the orphanage...we like to stick together, you know? We've only ever had each other..."

Falco remained silent and her do all the talking as usual, but he absolutely would've rolled his eyes if Pigma hadn't been there. He just watched the pilot nod.

"Perfectly understandable."

Katt layered her voice with a false sense of worry. "Still, this place...so many other kids...we didn't really have this many to talk to back at the Foster Home. They might think we're weird...sticking together, not really talking to anyone else. Is there room for people like us?"

Pigma straightened firmly. "You won't have to worry about that, kid. There's room for everyone at this school, no matter where they come from."

He couldn't see the slight curve of Katt's mouth where she repressed a sly, knowing smile, but Falco could see it. "That's good to hear. Thank you, Commander. Now, um...which classroom are we supposed to be in today?"

Cadet Success Room 44B, Academy West Wing

Wolf's feet were already sore from walking the massive school ground when he collapsed into his chair. Keeping his gaze aimless and aloof, he glanced the other students.

So these were the people he'd be spending the next four years with. As was standard for him, he'd assumed a desk in the back, far from all the bubbly and carefree chatter of everyone else. With any luck, no one would notice him, or even talk to him by accident.

He could already imagine Lucy's voice admonishing him for not mingling with the other students, but it had to be done. Even under his sullen, passive expression, Wolf unbearably nervous. It wasn't that he was afraid of socializing but doing so incorrectly…and with the wrong people. Time in prison had made him inexperienced in new surroundings, afraid to approach people all over again. Desperate to blend in, he found himself doing what he'd often do when exploding new territory on Venom.

Studying the other beasts. Observing the sounds and behavior of other specimen at a safe distance, to mimic and eventually blend in with them. It had always helped with avoiding getting eaten…or sticking out. Instead of snapping teeth or loud footfalls, it was distant gossip and slang that he was attuning his ears to. He'd listen, but he was too terrified to actually talk to anyone. The potential hazard of something so bold held a tight stranglehold on his stomach.

He felt the tracer anklet hidden in his boot suddenly felt heavy, and his blood ran cold. One slip-up, one gap of vulnerability for some petty or judgmental clique of students to seize, could seed the ground for something going very, very wrong…

In the corner, he noticed a red fox sitting a seats away, appearing just as desperate to isolate himself from everyone else. Wolf's eyebrows furrowed, wondering what he had to be nervous about.

The door hissing open and the clacking of an Officer's boots caused everyone to straighten, only to be surprised at its source.

"Ah. You're all here early…good."

The Professor stepping in was a Collie with billowing white fur that came down to her shoulders and almost blended with her spotless naval uniform, save for the splash of sable running up her cheeks. While not young, she certainly wasn't the grizzled veteran type that everyone had been expecting. But when she seized command of the air with the crisp sound of her voice, that impression didn't last.

"I would indulge in the usual warm first-day greetings, but it appears my colleague Commander Dengar has already beaten me to it. So I'll just cut to the chase." She thumbed her spectacles. "On the bridge of a Command Vessel, verbal frittering ceases well before the Captain or Admiral arrives. I won't expect any salutes or heel clicking while you're in my class, but I will expect some basic etiquette."

She glanced at some of the unoccupied seats scattered throughout the room. Her crisp, olive-green eyes flashed warningly.

"You'd also do well not to make the mistakes of your missing peers. My colleagues, bless them, may stop at mere infractions to encourage a sense of timeliness, but I can assure you that I will not. Keep that in mind, should you be tempted to turn up late to class…or skipping. Trying my patience is not advisable."

Despite being silky and quiet, her voice had plenty of reach and bit the air like a hatchet, in a way that made Wolf adjust his posture immediately. It was obvious that the seclusion of the back row wasn't going to shield him from her wrath should he start slouching.

Peppy wasn't kidding when he said these Academy types were strict. And I thought the Warden back in Juvie was tough… He grimaced. …This lady looks like she could devour him.

"Let's begin, shall we?" She offered cordially, or at least as cordial as her frosty composure would allow. "Now, I'm certain you're all anxious to begin your flight lessons, but first, we'll be going over the other aspects of your training. (She slid a silver briefcase onto her desk). Joining the ranks of the Cornerian Defense Force means being proficient in number of vital skills, both inside and outside the cockpit. They will be critical to your survival out on the galactic frontier…and as Professor of Fleet Tactics, I'll be assisting in helping you refine them.

She clicked open the briefcase, and Wolf leaned forward, eagerly expecting her to pull out a blaster or detonator, or some model ships and galactic maps for demonstration…only to be let down when she pulled out a stack of personal datapads. The kind for holding textbooks.

His eyebrows furrowed. Wait…what skills are we going to learn here, exactly?

"You'll be studying the intermediate basics: Advanced Armada Stratagem: Vol. One, and Vorian's Chronology of Lylatian Naval Warfare, updated for the current stardate." She consulted her own tablet. "Our Holobook Archives are open daily for you to run scans. Ten chapters a day, and be prepared to discuss the material every morning."

Wolf blinked. The longer she talked, the more he became gradually confused.

"Now, the previous school standard was four exams per week, but you can all relax…we've lowered it to three per week, just for this year. Wouldn't want to overwhelm anyone."

Wha—? Did she say three EXAMS? Per WEEK?

Wolf's mind started racing. He knew he'd have to do some regular studying, but this was overkill. Did they expect them to store a library's worth of information in their skulls?

"I must say, you cadets have it far easier compared to the kind of bone-crushing amount of work I had to do in my day." She pursed her lips. "Seems like school measures became soft only after I graduated…oh, well. Spilled milk."

Looking around, Wolf found relief that everyone looked just as bewildered as he was, exchanging raised eyebrows and confused glances. Hearing Pigma bark on about the intense training and the hardest four years of their lives, they had been expecting boot camp-level stuff…not all this.

A female Hyena in the front row, whose tuft of fur above her brow was dyed strawberry red, finally rose her hand. "Excuse me, Professor, I think I misheard you. I thought you said we'd be taking written exams."

The Collie paused slightly. "Of course not. You won't be doing any literal writing, this isn't the prehistoric age, or anything. Everything will be done on computers of course."

"That's not what I meant," the Hyena reiterated, a little annoyed. "Why're we being subjected to all this busywork and textbook rummaging? This is a military school, isn't it? Shouldn't the focus be on, well…physical training?"

Rather dismissively, the Professor returned her gaze to her datapad. "Handling starships and being physically primed to be a pilot means nothing if you can't think like one."

"And we're supposed to learn that from being in this tight little room, strapped to a desk? Not in a cockpit?" The Hyena demanded. "How is memorizing a bunch of pointless information going to help us become pilots? We should be practicing flying. Combat. Not shuffling through paperwork like secretaries."

Murmurs of agreement came from around the room, and even Wolf nodded. Instead of scolding her, the Professor arched her regal eyebrows, seemingly admiring the gall of the student.

"I see that the usual misconceptions about this school are still going strong." She snapped the suitcase shut, and faced them. "Corneria is protected by the greatest, most efficient fleet in the Lylat System; do you really think we would have that reputation if we lined our ranks with any trigger-happy dullard capable of performing airborne theatrics wherever we send them?"

Silence fell over the room, her bluntness disarming all of them.

"If our standards were that lax, the Motherworld would've have fallen into disarray ages ago. It's true that we churn out the best, but 'best' doesn't just equal brainless combatants." She regarded the Hyena frigidly. "And as for you, Cadet 15, don't worry: We have plenty of objects that memorize and regurgitate for us already…they're called robots. Space Dynamics makes plenty of them."

The Hyena's frown was either not detected or acknowledged by the Professor as she walked by.

"…What you'll be doing is making battlefield tactics second nature. And if I'm not convinced that you have a proper grasp of battlefield strategy, you aren't going anywhere near the Fleet. Plain and simple."

The entire class was too busy groaning to listen to her. Wolf didn't join them. The doldrums of schoolwork were a step up from scrubbing floors back in Juvie, but he wasn't particularly thrilled about this revelation either.

The onslaught of groans didn't even make the Professor's ears twitch. "Yes, I can see you're all just bursting with enthusiasm." She dialed back some of the sternness of her voice, addressing them earnestly. "I don't blame you. No one looks forward to this part of becoming a pilot…but I cannot understate its importance. Knowing where to bank your craft or where to shoot is only half of what space combat is about. Every calculated decision leading up to those things—that's the other half. Even the most microscopic of decisions made before you even touch the throttle can change the tide of an entire battle. Countless pilots and generals in years past have—"

Suddenly, she's interrupted by a knock on the slide door, as a Racoon Dog popped his head through.

"S'cuse me, Carol?

The Collie went entirely rigid, with the exception of her bushy tail fraying in annoyance) Professor Dunaway, if you please, Mr. Du Pon. What is it?

His ears drooped. "…Sorry. Just comin' by to drop off a few late arrivals. Excuse their tardiness, will ya?"

She raised her eyebrows. "They have an official excuse, I presume?"

"Apparently, the registry was actin' up…no fault of their own. Think you could cut 'em some slack?"

"I'll make an exception this once," Professor Dunaway said stiffly. "Send them in."

The man retreated, and the slide door hissed open, followed by the sound of a hasty female voice. "Come on, Falco, it's this room."

Wolf's sensitive nose, saddled with a robust sense of smell that he couldn't turn off, was then assaulted by a lather of perfume in the air that almost made him gag.

In walked a female cat doused in inky-black fur—aside from a milk-white snout and frost-tipped tail. Sleek and pretty, and more than a little petite, she possessed a lush natural beauty for her age. Her feline features stood out in a canine-dominated room, fraught with the ethnic delicateness and loveliness inherent to purebred Katinese genes. Whatever wearing make-up she had on was applied quite sparingly, and her furcut wasn't in that perm style that was en vogue among other girls these days. Instead, it was smoothed out into a bob cut, ends curved and bangs pressed neatly, giving her the look of those high-class uptown belles from vintage fashion holo-ads.

All of which was only aided by striking violet eyes, flashing with a playful deviousness to them, and pert starlet lips that lent themselves easily to a playful pout...or a fiendish smirk.

When she walked in, there was a loud lurch of every male Cadet leaning forward in their seat, completely ignoring her male Avian friend behind her. The slight sway in her movements didn't go unnoticed, with the boys in the front row, eyes tracking her legs with the laser-sharp precision.

There was an onslaught of whistles and catcalls, as they all pushed out nearby chairs, blatantly competing for her to sit next to them.

Dunaway cut over them sharply. "Alright, that's quite enough. This is a classroom, not a strip mall. Try to contain yourselves, please."

The girl appeared unfettered by all the male attention—if anything, seeming to relish toying with their expectations. She strode by, placing a finger of faux indecisiveness on her chin, before finally taking a seat with the other girls and letting the distant catcalls turn into disappointed groans.

For every infatuated look she ensnared from every boy in the room, she was getting just as many icy, resentful ones from the female Cadets, clearly agitated at the attention she was getting. And she seemed aware of it, too: she smirked in the corner of her mouth, lounging cross-legged in her chair and seemingly basking in the glowering envy pouring from all sides of the room.

Wolf just rolled his eyes at all of the lovestruck guys around him. Maybe growing up with Lucy had soured his perception of girls, but he didn't see what made this one so special…let alone why every other guy was acting like they hadn't seen a girl before.

Then, he took notice of the Falco guy a few rows over. He was rolling his eyes at the girl's antics too, evidently feeling that whatever she was up to, she was overdoing it. He was also clearly conscious of the boys drooling over his feline companion, judging by his lethal glower.

Wolf glanced over. Hold on—are those two a thing? And he's just okay with her flaunting herself like this? He furrowed his eyebrows.

I don't think I'll ever understand Lylatian Teenagers...

"Cadet 64, I presume you're still with us?"

Wolf hadn't even realized that the Professor had resumed her lecture. It couldn't have been more obvious that her remarkably quiet voice had been taken him completely, but then he just had to make himself look even stupider by blurting:

"YES! I mean…yes, Ma'am."

"Really?" She regarded him coldly. "What was the last thing I said, then?"

Wolf's face nettled, and he immediately sunk his head. "...I-I don't know, ma'am."

A small ripple of mirth broke from the other students.

"Hmm. Pity." It was the only stab of humiliation she had to apply before setting her sights on Falco. "And you, Cadet 124. Since you seem perfectly content with staring off into oblivion, maybe you could recite what I said to the class?"

The moody-looking Avian reclined in his seat. "I'll be honest with you, ma'am…I wasn't really paying attention.

It was the kind of sheer audacity that made Wolf's eyebrows launch fairly close to his furline, and pockets of the surrounding students also gaped. Dunaway looked far less impressed, meeting the cocky Avian's gaze.

"Well, aren't we the bold one. (She folded her arms) Maybe you can explain just how you plan on doing well in my class, since obviously just paying attention to the lecture is too much of a chore for you."

In response to her challenge, Falco just lazily glances at the textbook pad on his desk, and shrugs) I'm not really worried. I'll just turn up, take the exams…pass by my teeth. No offense, but this class ain't exactly a real test of my flying talents…I don't need to do more than the bare minimum."

"You won't get anywhere with that attitude," The Professor cut in. "None of you will. However little patience I have for mediocrity, the Cornerian Defense Fleet has even less." She gestured to the slide door with her chin. "In fact, it would be better for you to leave now, if you plan on giving anything but your best in your studies.

Falco rolled his eyes "…Whatever you say, ma'am."

There was a dangerous flash behind Dunaway's glasses) I see you doubt me. Let me put it another way." (She raised her voice, addressing all of them. "Out of the 1300 students we enroll, only 300 or so typically graduate to the Fleet at the end of the four years."

Right away, the whole class sat up. Chairs screeched, tails flattened, snouts and ears sprang up. Several alarmed voices went off at once.

"What? A thousand people fail?!"

"How?! Why? What happened to them?"

"They failed to meet the Academy standard," She said simply). "It's nothing irregular…sometimes it befalls even the brightest students. Plenty study as hard as they can, put every ounce of energy into their flight exercises and exams...but they just aren't good enough by the end.

An Iguana student swallowed "...Where are they now? Did they repeat a year, something?"

"'Repeat'?" She repressed a laugh. "Of course not. They work other jobs, now. You don't get readmitted to the Academy once you flunk out—that's not how we operate. Students who fail are dismissed from all future consideration. Period."

Wolf's purple eyes widened, anxiety gnawing deep under his fur, while also taking to the air around him like fumes. Everyone else found it equally hard to breathe, and even harder to process what the Professor was saying.

"Wha—?! So that's it?" exclaimed Falco in disbelief. "We screw up once, n' we're done? No second chances, nothin'?"

The Collie turned mid-stride to all of them, her sleek plume of a tail bobbing behind her. "I don't think you children realize the privilege you've been offered. You're being considered for the best defense force in the galaxy, the ultimate safeguard of civilization—the single reason there hasn't been an outbreak of war in years. Did you think the standard wouldn't be high?

"…I didn't think it would be this high," said the Hyena student, gritting her teeth.

"Your academic standing here will be treated as indicative of your performance as part of the fleet. Slack off, miss enough classes, fail enough exams, and you'll be dismissed."

"...so it's okay as long as we pass, right?" Katt ventured optimistically.

"'Passing' is for public schools," Dunaway said sharply. "Or some second-rate military fleet of another planet. We don't have room for people who "pass", only those who excel. You're either good enough for the Fleet, or you're not. Each year, a thousand of our attendees are in the 'not' category and get booted before they've seen their first armada formation."

There was a brief stir of empathy in her gaze as it briefly wandered over the classroom.

"It doesn't just happen to slackers: Many try their hardest don't get in, and don't see these walls again. During my time here, it happened to plenty of my friends…and it'll definitely happen to one or all of you in this room. In fact, I don't expect to see most of you again before the year is out."

Silence took hold of the room.

Wolf remained numb in his seat, letting what the woman was saying wash over him. There was a daunting feeling to this static classroom that hadn't been there before. A disquiet ripple traveled up the fur on his neck, one that ate at all sky-high aspirations he had carried with him through the school gates, shearing them to a nub.

Everything that Peppy and everyone else had said about this place, about its infamous bone-crushing difficulty, suddenly became much clearer: it wasn't the strict protocols or grueling exercises…it was this.

"In short, ladies and gentlemen, you either join the three hundred that graduate, or join the masses that don't." The clicking sound of Dunaway adjusting her glasses loudened in the tense air. "I look forward to see which of you successfully rises to that challenge."

A new, unanticipated sense of anxiety and dread was running throughout the room, manifesting itself through paling faces and uncertain grimaces. There was also, however, a needling hostility that came from children like Katt, narrowing their eyes warily. Suddenly, they weren't just all fellow students anymore. They were competitors.

The Professor straightened. "Now…does anyone have any questions?"

Just as a flurry of hands sprang up from a suddenly far more attentive mob of students, including Falco, there was another tap on the slide door. The Professor pursed her lips, clearly suppressing her growing irritation.

"Come in."

The door hissed open again, only this time, the Corgi Hall Officer Barney stuck his head through.

"Apologies for interrupting, Professor. I was sent by the Faculty Office to make sure one of your students made it to your class. Apparently, he almost got lost earlier."

Dunaway glanced at the remaining empty seats. "It's possible they haven't arrived yet. Who's the Cadet?"

"Cadet 93?" Barney asked around the room, in a loud and painfully telegraphed fashion. "Fox McCloud, is he here?"

It was like dropping blood into a stream full of Fortunan serrasal eels. Everyone forgot about their anxiety and spun their heads about the room instantly…even Wolf, out of sheer curiosity if nothing else. Their eyes turned to the one fox in the room, spying his golden jacket number before his hand could fly over it. Eyebrows launched and excited whispering ignited around the room.

Fox practically wilted in panic at all the eyes locked onto him. All at once, there was a loud screech of desks crowding around him, as questions came raining down.

"Ohmigosh, you're James McCloud's son?"

"Do you, like, want to be friends?"

"Can you fly as well as your Dad? Has he taught you any cool tricks?"

"Have you ever flown one of the Arwings? Do YOU have one?"

When he was up to his neck in deafening, overlapping voices, Fox let out a miserable groan. Professor Dunaway saw his discomfort and acted quickly.

"That's enough, all of you! Simmer down immediately!" She aimed a frigid look at the Hall Officer, who took it as his queue to leave, before anyone could see his triumphant smile. "I'm certain that Mr. McCloud doesn't appreciate being crowded. And return your desks to their original places, now."

"Is he getting taught the same way we are?"

"Are you gonna grade him the same as us? He's not gonna get any special treatment, is he?"

"He better not," the Hyena student cut in heatedly. "I'm not going to break my back over schoolwork while he slides by on celeb cred—"

"That's enough," snapped Professor Dunaway, in a way that silenced the entire class. "The Cornerian Prime Minister himself won't get any special treatment in my classroom. The standards apply to all of us, even McClouds. Regardless of what he is outside of this room or the gates of the school, inside he's merely Cadet 93, and our faculty won't treat him like anything else..." She affixed a cold stare. "Something that I expect from every one of you. If I witness any dogpiling or harassment by anyone, they will answer for it. Is that clear?"

Once she had obtained a submissive silence from the room, she adjusted her glasses and composure with a twinge of her snout.

"Now, let that be the end of it."

Fox looked mildly relieved, but the Professor's warning did little to sway the wave of eyes on him as she continued the lesson. He turned red as beat, flattening his head into the desk and curling his tail around himself embarrassedly.

Wolf observed him silently from afar, eyebrow skewed. So that scrawny kid was Fox McCloud.
He had never met or seen him, having mostly heard about him in passing while living with the Hares. And upon seeing him...he wasn't at all what he expected. Part of him had always expected him to be a perfect duplicate of his father, but the kid seemed so...uncomfortable. He looked shy, squirming in his seat, overwhelmed with self-consciousness. His mannerisms certainly didn't resemble the confidence or swagger of his father. Maybe that's a good thing, Wolf thought.

Wolf's first gut reaction was outright dismissal. He didn't have any personal beef with the kid…and it wasn't like his history with James had anything to do with this kid. There was nothing to gain or lose by having him around…

That was when Wolf sat up in realization. He looked around the room, assessing its occupants, and suddenly realized the unintended bliss of his situation.

Not two rows from him sat the answers to his dilemma, the perfect "beasts" to hide his scent in this new terrain: the showy girl desperate for attention, and the prodigal son of James McCloud desperate to avoid it. More and more, Wolf felt all of his feverish apprehensions about attending classes with other teenagers beginning to seep out of him. He wouldn't have to worry about being the sole target of attention, positive or negative, not with two prime candidates in the room to absorb it for him. He could slip into the background, unnoticed and unassuming. He could spend the next four years as an absolute nobody, while these people stole all the spotlight.

Wolf drew his feet under his desk, feeling the bump of the tracker anklet under his boot. An absolute nobody, just passing through. The more he said it in his head, the better it sounded.

Like an insect resuming its camouflage against a collage of leaves, Barney slipped out of the classroom.

Fritz, leaning casually against the wall, watched the Shiba's brisk walk and couldn't help admiring how real it looked. Any untrained eye would've easily mistaken him for just another Hall Officer conducting his duty. That bogus Faculty Routine story he fed the teacher was probably equally convincing.

The Shiba passed him, giving an affirming nod that was so subtle, no one at a distance would've believed that he'd moved his chin.

Fritz was sensitive to minute details like that. Spending hours with strangers at fancy soirees that his father had forced him to attend had conditioned him to memorize things like subtle exchanges, and facial features. And that was precisely why walking past a stuttering, nervous fox that just so happened to share James McCloud's jawline and eye-shape had ignited his suspicions earlier. And now that his loyal Hall Officer had confirmed those suspicions, the Retriever felt his snout tingle with excitement.

Word that James' brood was attending would travel fast, but few would take advantage of it as quickly as he would. Plotting rapidly and deciding the roles everyone would play in his scheme, Fritz smiled thoughtfully.

Don't you worry your pretty little head, Fox… He thought. I'll make sure school's a cakewalk for you.

Everything will be smooth flying…for both of us.

Naturally, the literal second that the students were let out to be escorted to Flight Training, they all swarmed around Fox, pelting him with questions.

"Do you have any cool scars like your Dad?"

"When he retires, are you gonna become Leader of Star Fox?"

"Dude, you're SO lucky. You must've seen all kinds of places with the Star Fox Team—"

"Does he ever take you on any of his missions?"

The cold and static hallways was suddenly ringing with their ecstatic voices, with Fox either too polite or too much of a pushover to turn any of them away. He meekly answered what he could, barely audible and stuttering incessantly, but even the most anticlimactic answer failed to dissuade his entourage of admirers. And in spite of the Hall Officer's desperate attempts to maintain order, the cadets circled the introverted kid like a cloud of bees, rendering him barely visible from the outside.

Wolf might have even felt sorry for the poor kid…if he wasn't the son of someone he thought to be grossly overrated. He chose to trail behind the mob with his hands in his pockets, rather than subject his ears to the usual, tired hype around the McCloud family and how "amazing" they were.

Even listening to that Falco kid groan on was less insufferable:

"…Honestly, if all the teachers here are like Miss Black-Hole-For-A-Soul back there, they might as well cut the crap and just enlist us." He thumbed his beak, cursing. "A fleet admirals gotta be more lenient than her."

"Aww, what's the matter?" Katt asked mockingly. "Someone mad about getting chewed out in front of the class?"

Falco's feathers spiked as he grumbled. "I'm not mad. She wants to clamber after whatever shrinking authority she's got as a doddering schoolteacher, she can. But I'm not about to break my back for her, or anyone else…especially over all this pointless bookworm crap."

Katt shrugged. "Well, that was always a given. You're averse to anything that requires thinking, sweetie."

He ignored her, popping up his collar dismissively. "B'sides, whatever weight she throws around in that little room means nothin'. This class however...this is where I'm going to prove myself." A cocky grin sprang onto his beak. "I'm gonna show those curmudgeonly old flight instructors what I'm made of. Hell, even James McCloud himself is gonna be blown away by how well I can fly."

A Sparrow Cadet nearby scoffed. "Get real. He probably sees hundreds of students on a yearly basis…what's gonna be so special about you?"

"Simple. The way I sees it, ol' James is probably gonna be shocked by how much flying's changes since his day. He's probably seen his share of space pirates and planetary terrorists. But I've been around: belly-racing, canyon-running, street competitions…all polishing my skills in a way that'll dazzle the old man."

"I wouldn't get to hopeful," Katt warned, gesturing ahead to where Fox and his entourage was. "A certain someone might dazzle him first."

"Who, Tiny over there? Hey, look—I'm sure the kid's an excellent flier. Really." His blue eyes flashed with a glint of self-assuredness. "He's just not the best in the class."

There was a mix of laughter and shaking of heads from the others. "Oh, and you are?" Someone laughed.

"Hey, I'm not making any claims. I'm just saying that the title can go to anyone…and I just happen to have the best chances."

Katt examined a nail lazily. "You better hope the Flight Instructors agree."

"Hey, there's no better time to impress 'em with fresh new talent. I mean, look around: there's no war, Lylat's more peaceful than it's ever been…it's never been easier to set a new standard for greatness. Any one of us can rise up the ranks, become legendary…with or without having the last name 'McCloud'."

A few paces ahead, Wolf did his share of eye-rolling at the bird's ego, but some of his words were staying with him. There was something plausible about any one of them surpassing the legends immortalized in those statues outside. Plausible and appealing.

"And you think that'll happen to you?" A Parakeet Cadet asked skeptically.

"Trust me," said Falco. "All it'll take is climbing into a sim pod, shooting some AI ships—rack up a score, make the Instructors cream themselves, and it'll be a done deal. They'll see that I barely need training, that I'm ready. For my own ship, my own squadron, the works. And who knows? Give it a year, maybe two, and they might even consider adding a new statue to those other ones outside—"

His chest collided with the elbow of Wolf in front of him, who had randomly stopped walking.

"Oof—HEY! What the hell was that for?"

Wolf didn't answer. A musty, oxidized smell hit him, one that made his eyes widen.

"Hello? I'm talking to you! HEY!"

The Bird's loud voice made the Hall Officer ahead turn. "What's going on back there?"

"Hell if I know!" Falco fumed, rubbing his ribs. "Grey Boy here decided to turn into a statue in front of me. I don't know what his problem is!"

Shuffling over impatiently, the Upperclassman eyed Wolf. "Trying to start trouble, Cadet? Rough-housing on the first day of the semester?"

"Something's burning," said Wolf immediately, his keen nose twitching alertly. "Can't you smell it?"

The Dalmatian Hall Officer sniffed the air and frowned. "There's no smell. Don't try to play games, Cadet, you won't fool—"

His suspicious look vanished. By the time he took noticed of a visible haze lathering the air, it was too late. The excited fervor in the hall had already stopped, the other Cadets yanked out of their chatter as they saw their noses twitched, and their eyes started watering. The rising fumes sent up a flurry of frightened voices and coughs.

Wolf's hands shot up to rub his stinging eyes, but it didn't matter. He was already losing sight of the Cadets in the midst of the thickening haze. The terror needling its way under his fur only amplified when the doorways and walls started to disappear as well. Right away, that prickling, deep-seated, irrational fear imprinted onto him from losing his way in those nightmarishly-small cave tunnels of his youth re-emerged…tightening his lungs even lungs more than the smoke did.

Just being reminded of those Venomian caverns triggered a panic that stymied his flow of thought, just as the haze was clouding his vision. He began reaching around blindly to find a wall or something to get his bearings.

That was when a loud tremor from somewhere outside the school rattled the hallway, and made everything worse. It sent an electric crackle across the ceiling that filled the air with the smell of burnt wiring, and the ceiling lights shattered.

In the blinding few seconds in which the electricity surged, Wolf could barely muster a terrified thought over the shrill screaming around him…as the hallway went completely dark.