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Chapter 91: The Choice
🕑 Added 2025-07-20 15:45:16 +0000 UTC"Damn it—someone's pulling a fast one!"
The thought exploded in Mr. Stern's mind like a thunderclap, his carefully laid plans crumbling before his eyes. As Northgate University's rep, he'd played his ace: announcing that Director Blake Whitmore himself would take Russell under his wing, sweetening it with perks no other school could touch. It should've shut down the competition cold. But that sly fox from Kirin University, silent as a shadow until now, had just dropped a bombshell, flipping the script in an instant.
Stern's face twisted with urgency, sweat beading on his brow under the stifling auditorium lights. "Russell, don't buy into his crap! There's no way they can top our offer!" He knew the game inside out—years of talent wars had etched the limits into his bones. But profits be damned; with another Master Cardmaker crashing the party, the scales had tipped back to even. The air hummed with tension, whispers rippling through the crowd like a gathering storm.
Russell opened his mouth to reply, heart pounding from the spotlight's glare, when a voice cut through the murmurs—deep, resonant, commanding the room like gravity itself.
"Is this the prodigy, Russell?"
Heads turned as a middle-aged man materialized beside the Kirin rep, his presence alone shifting the atmosphere. The crowd bowed in unison, a wave of deference sweeping the hall. "Master Frank," they murmured, voices laced with awe. Even Heron Island's president dipped his head, no exceptions.
Russell's pulse quickened—this was his first glimpse of a Master Cardmaker beyond Blake Whitmore. Frank Dragomir, the legendary "War Sage," defied the brutal image Russell had conjured. No scarred warrior here; instead, an elegant figure with silver-streaked hair at the temples, exuding quiet authority like a seasoned general in scholar's robes. Yet beneath that poise, Russell sensed the storm—the raw power that had held back demon hordes.
Steadying himself, Russell met the man's gaze without flinching. "Hello, Master Frank. Yes, I'm Russell."
Frank's eyes flickered with intrigue, appraising the boy who stood tall amid the pressure. Composure like forged steel, he thought, a rare trait in one so young. He'd reviewed the footage en route, Kirin's pitch glowing on his device—the kid's talent was undeniable, a diamond in the rough. But Russell's flair? It clashed with Frank's methodical style, a puzzle to ponder later. For now, he offered a warm smile, voice smooth as polished stone. "What do you say, Russell? Kirin University's terms—I call the shots. We'll match Northgate's offer, down to the last detail."
The words hung heavy, the auditorium falling into a hush. Russell's mind raced, the offers blurring into parity. No edge left—just a fork in the road, each path pulling him toward vastly different horizons.
He bowed his head, weighing it all, when a familiar timbre broke the silence, warm yet edged with steel. "Frank, that's a low blow—even for you."
Stern's voice shot up in shock. "Director Blake! What brings you here?"
Russell's head snapped up, and there he was—Blake Whitmore, standing at his side like a guardian materialized from thin air. The old master's eyes twinkled with quiet amusement, but Russell caught the underlying gravity, the faint lines of weariness etched deeper than before.
"Been too long, Blake," Frank replied, his smile unwavering, a hint of old rivalry sparking. "You haven't lost your edge. But let's not crowd the boy—young minds deserve their say. Russell should choose freely."
Blake chuckled, the sound rich and reassuring. "I'd never chain him down."
Deep down, Blake yearned for Russell to pick Northgate. His own clock was ticking louder each day; without a Master to anchor the coasts after he was gone, chaos would swallow the region. Russell might not hit Master level in time, but Blake's guidance could shave years off the journey, steering him clear of pitfalls. Yet voicing it? That'd be a cage of guilt. No—wherever Russell landed, he'd fight for this land's people. It was his burden, not the boy's.
Russell tuned out the crowd's murmurs, diving into the pros and cons like a strategist mapping a battlefield. Offers equal? Fine—drill deeper.
Kirin University squatted in distant Spring City, a northern fortress staring down demon legions. Frank's shadow loomed over the border wars; joining meant enlisting, trading home for endless frontline grit. New Metro? A fading memory, buried under snow and blood.
Northgate, though? Smack in the Federation's heart, one of the twin capitals pulsing with opportunity. Graduates scattered like seeds, influencing every corner. Crucial too: the Spirit Begging Society's tendrils coiled thickest along the coasts. He couldn't abandon that unfinished business, that nagging "tail" from his past, by fleeing north. And age factored in—Frank, still vital, would gather more protégés; Blake, nearing his twilight, wouldn't. Under him, Russell would soak up undivided focus, a mentor's full legacy poured into one vessel.
The silence stretched, the room's eyes boring into him like spotlights. Finally, Russell lifted his head, voice steady amid the thrum of his heartbeat. "Master Frank, I'm grateful for Kirin's generosity... but my path leads to Northgate University."
Northgate's reps barely contained their grins, fists clenched in silent triumph. Frank took it in stride, his laugh genuine. "Northgate's a fine road. Forge ahead, Russell—may your talents blaze bright." With a nod, he departed alongside Kirin's team, already eyeing another standout from the exams— a better stylistic fit for his methods.
As Frank's footsteps faded, Blake turned to Russell, eyes warm with approval. "We'll fast-track you, Russell. Northgate will slot you in mid-semester—no need to rot in high school limbo."
Russell blinked, surprise cutting through his relief. "Teacher—wait, does that bend the rules?"
Blake paused, a sly smile creasing his face. "Still 'Director Blake'? Come on, now."
Realization hit, and Russell bowed deeply. "Teacher."
Blake's nod carried quiet pride. "Special talents deserve special handling. High school's a cage for someone like you—pure waste."
The Northgate rep jumped in, beaming. "I'll push the paperwork. Just gear up for next semester, Russell. Oh—and here's the contract. Give it a once-over."
Russell scanned the pages, eyes lingering on the perks—scholarships, resources, access that made his pulse quicken with possibility. Satisfied, he signed with a flourish. The rep pocketed it, excusing himself with a respectful nod to Blake before vanishing into the crowd.
Russell turned to leave, mind already racing ahead, but Blake's voice stopped him. "Hold up, kid. You've called me 'Teacher'—can't let that slide without a proper welcome." His tone lightened, but his eyes held deeper intent. "Take these. Consider them a starting gift."
(End of this chapter)
Comments
Raphael Espinoza Angulo
I look forward to the moment when he is freed from that society.
