Chapitre 68: You're kicking me out today
Three days had passed. Three whole days.
I was desperate. No, desperate didn't even cover it I was teetering on the brink of madness. For seventy-two hours, my parents had been in an unstoppable frenzy, making calls, setting appointments, and leaving me to wonder if my life was just some elaborate joke.
And now, here I was, sitting in the principal's office, trapped between my overly enthusiastic mother and my surprisingly compliant father.
I felt like a prisoner awaiting my sentence, and the principal that looked like he hadn't smiled in decades was the judge.
"Mr. principal," my mother began, her voice sharp and authoritative, "I trust you've reviewed my daughter's test results?"
The principal adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "Yes, Mrs. Khasar, I have. But I must stress—"
"There is no need to stress," my mother cut in, her smile as sharp as a blade. "It's a simple decision. My daughter is clearly too advanced for middle school."
I sank deeper into my chair, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole. My father, ever the supportive one, leaned forward and added, "She's an A-rank, after all. Exceptional for her age."
The principal sighed, shuffling the papers on his desk as though searching for a way out. "While her rank is indeed impressive, Mr. Khasar, she's only ten. High school is—"
"Perfectly suitable," my mother interrupted, her tone as sweet as poisoned honey. "It's not about age; it's about talent. And my daughter has plenty of it."
I shot her a look, mouthing, Please stop, but she ignored me completely.
"Mrs. Khasar," the principal began again, his voice now tinged with desperation, "we have protocols in place. Exceptions like this—"
"Are made all the time," she finished for him, leaning forward with an intensity that made the poor man shrink back in his chair.
"Do you need me to cite examples, or shall we skip to the part where you draft the transfer papers?"
"Mom," I hissed under my breath, "you're scaring him."
She ignored me, her focus laser-sharp on the principal, who looked like he was questioning every decision that had led him to this moment.
After a tense pause, he finally sighed and reached for a blank form. "Fine," he muttered, picking up his quill. "I'll make the arrangements."
I blinked, shocked. He folded so quickly it felt almost anticlimactic.
"Wait, seriously?" I asked, leaning forward in disbelief.
My mother beamed triumphantly. "Of course, dear. I told you there was no need to worry."
The principal scribbled on the paper with a resigned air, each stroke of the quill feeling like another nail in the coffin of my middle school experience. As he slid the document across the desk, my mother snatched it up with a victorious flourish.
"Here you are," she said, waving the paper like a banner. "Your official transfer approval."
I stared at the paper, a flicker of rebellion sparking in my chest. The red flames of my magic itched beneath my skin, and for a brief, glorious moment, I considered incinerating it right then and there.
But then my mother's glare snapped to me, sharp and unyielding.
"Don't even think about it," she said, her voice low and deadly.
I slumped back into my chair, the flames retreating as quickly as they'd come.
"Fine," I grumbled, crossing my arms. "But I'm not happy about this."
"Your happiness is irrelevant," she replied cheerfully. "What matters is that you finish school quickly so you can relax after and that we can feed you a lot."
The principal, sensing the end of the ordeal, cleared his throat. "If that's all, I assume we're done here?"
My mother stood, smoothing her skirt. "Almost. Ren, go say goodbye to your friends. We'll finalize the transfer tomorrow."
I stared at her, incredulous. "You're kicking me out today?"
"Of course," she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "No time like the present."
I groaned but pushed myself to my feet, dragging my steps as I headed for the door. This wasn't just a bad day, it was the bad day.
The hallways of the school felt oddly quiet as I wandered toward the courtyard where I knew Nyla would be. My thoughts were a whirlwind of frustration, regret, and a lingering sense of betrayal. I couldn't believe I had to leave already.
When I reached the courtyard, I spotted Nyla immediately. She was sitting on a stone bench, her usual vibrant energy radiating even in her stillness. Her dark hair glinted in the sunlight, and her sharp crimson eyes were fixed on a book in her lap.
"Nyla," I called, my voice breaking slightly.
She looked up, her face lighting up with a smile. "Ren! What's up? You look like someone stole your favorite sword."
I sank onto the bench beside her with a dramatic sigh. "Worse. My parents are transferring me to high school."
Nyla blinked, her smile fading. "Wait, what?"
"Yep," I said, popping the 'p' with exaggerated misery. "Apparently, being an A-rank means I'm too good for middle school. So now I'm getting thrown to the wolves well, metaphorical wolves. Unless there are actual wolves in high school, which, honestly, wouldn't surprise me."
Nyla frowned, closing her book. "But… you just got here. And we were going to dominate this place together!"
"I know!" I groaned, throwing my head back. "Trust me, I don't want to leave. But my mom gave the principal the glare, and that was that."
Nyla stared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Ren, your life is ridiculous."
"Tell me about it," I muttered. "I can't even enjoy being the strongest kid here without getting shipped off to a whole new level of chaos."
"Well," Nyla said, grinning mischievously, "at least you'll make high school interesting. Just don't forget about us little people when you're running the place."
I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. "I'll write. Maybe."
"Gee, thanks," she said, bumping my shoulder with hers. "Good luck, Ren. You're going to need it. But don't worry I will quickly join you"
" What do you mean by that?" I had asked but the break was already finished and Nyla needed to go back to class.
As I walked away, the weight of the day settled on me again. Leaving was going to be harder than I thought.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone