The Military Academy — Chapter 4 part 5

Theo took a deep breath. He returned the earphone to his ear, turned on another song, and said in a low voice:

— You understand nothing.

— I do. — Gene smiled sadly. — Because it hurts just the same.

The two of them stayed there, sharing the forbidden sound, sharing the forbidden pain, sharing everything that was forbidden in Ceres. Because, deep down, they knew: no one in that place would understand what was burning inside them.

When the last song on the tape ended, Theo remained with his eyes closed for a few more seconds, breathing in the sound dying inside the earphone. Then he took the device from his ear and handed it to Gene with a dark look.

— You're an idiot. — he said quietly.

Gene laughed, trying to lighten things:

— An idiot for liking Kat or for liking music?

Theo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on a point beyond the concrete:

— An idiot for hiding tapes.

Gene stopped smiling.

— Ah... that... — he tried to say, but his voice died.

Theo took a deep, heavy breath, like someone weighing his words.

— Music isn't betrayal. But it's also not worth spending two weeks in detention.

Gene swallowed hard. Theo continued, his voice low and dry, almost a conspiratorial whisper:

— The first week you sleep on the cold floor, eat slop. They shove a pill down your throat until you open your soul just to make the agony stop. Questions and more questions, people in gray lurking around.

Gene was pale, unable to look at Theo.

— The second week — Theo continued, impassive — they give you a room with a soft bed, good food... projectors showing you who you “need” to be, smiling therapists correcting you until there's nothing left but the shell.

Gene held the Walkman with trembling hands.

— But... we always come back, right? — he asked in a small voice.

Theo finally looked at him, his black eyes like bottomless wells.

— Not everyone. Some come back. Others... lose their names. They become numbers. Their records are burned in Plaza D, along with their memories.

An icy silence filled the little room.

Gene closed his eyes and murmured the mantra in a choked voice:

— Mother Ceres, who feeds us, who educates us... who devours us.

Theo repeated it quietly, like a vow and a curse at the same time:

— ...who devours us.

Then they put the Walkman away and returned silently to the dormitory.

But that night, Theo couldn't sleep — with the memory of Gene's smile and those arrogant blue eyes burning in the back of his mind.

The next day, the cafeteria was quieter than ever. It was a heavy silence, filled with sidelong glances and unspoken fear.

On the tiled wall, high above the central tables, an irregular black piece of graffiti screamed at everyone:

MOTHER CERES, YOU FILTHY WHORE!

The crooked letters looked as if they had been spat out in rage. In some places, they were still dripping, as though the paint were fresh.

When Theo entered, he felt the tension in the air like an acrid smell. Everyone stared at the graffiti with hatred, whispering among themselves. One murmur repeated itself like an inverted mantra:

— Blasphemy...

— Traitor...

— This can't go unpunished...

— He deserves to die.

Gene was already sitting in a corner, pale, his eyes fixed on the floor. Tycho chewed slowly, not quite understanding, although even he could already tell that something was terribly wrong.

Daime, meanwhile, looked like a beast, his hands clenched on the table:

— Fucking brave bastard, huh... to do this here... he's gonna pay. — His clenched teeth revealed that, deep down, it wasn't only hatred: it was fear too.

Dark, on the other hand, seemed almost amused, his eyes gleaming with malice.

— Yeah... finally someone had the balls to say what they thought... — he said quietly, but fell silent when Dru shot him a sharp look.

Dru, sitting beside Theo, was serious, cold, but he could sense the jealousy and indignation mixed into her heavy breathing.

— Coward... not even enough guts to show his face... — she murmured, more to herself.

Theo remained standing for a while, staring at those enormous words on the white tile. He felt neither anger nor fear — he felt something he couldn't name. A chill in his stomach, as if those black letters were burning through the surface of everything that was right.

And, on the other side of the cafeteria, sitting alone as always, she was there.

Ceres.

Her long hair falling over her pale face, posture straight, blue eyes fixed on the graffiti. She didn't look frightened, surprised, or outraged. Just... arrogant. As if she already knew this was going to happen.

And, for an instant, Theo was certain — even without a shred of proof — that she knew who had done it.

And even more...

That she approved.

Ceres did not react.

Sitting alone at the table, with a marble-like posture, she didn't even seem to notice the scandal around her.

While everyone in the cafeteria murmured, cursed the author of the blasphemy, and filled themselves with hatred, she maintained the same cold expression, her blue eyes fixed on the graffiti as if it were nothing more than another wall.

But inside her... inside her, a silent hatred burned.

“Who?...” she thought.

“Who was the bastard? Who dared insult Mother?”

Inside, her chest boiled like water in a cauldron.

Outside, she remained impassive, with that familiar arrogant face — an inverted reflection of Theo himself.

But in her mind, one certainty rang out like a hammer:

“Whoever did this deserves to die. Traitor. Blasphemer. Filthy dog. Mother feeds us, protects us, corrects us... how dare someone spit on her?”

The effect of the medication still weighed on her body. It kept her docile, cold, without great reactions, exactly as they wanted. But no medicine in the world could erase what she felt for Mother Ceres:

Love.

Fear.

Hatred for those who do not obey.

She was also Mother's daughter.

She too had been indoctrinated since childhood to believe that Mother Ceres was everything, and that the worst death was the one suffered by those who lost their name and their history.

She too was ashamed of the traitor.

“Whoever it is... they'll pay... whoever it is, they'll pay...”

From the other side of the hall, Theo watched her from afar.

And, no matter how much he couldn't decipher her, for an instant he believed he had seen a flash of lightning in her eyes.

A flash of hatred just like everyone else's.

Or even deeper.

And only then did Theo understand:

Ceres wasn't just a mystery.

Ceres was one of them.

Ceres also belonged to Mother.

And perhaps, deep down, she was even worse than all of them together.

In the courtyard, there was nothing written anymore.

The school servants, in gray lab coats and empty expressions, had erased the graffiti with thick brushes and a solvent that burned the air with an acrid smell. Each stroke erased another trace of the heresy, until nothing remained but a wet stain on the white wall.

All the students were taken to the classroom, as if nothing had happened.

But nothing was ever nothing in Ceres.

The tension was palpable in the air.

Even behind the neatly arranged desks, with perfectly pressed uniforms and lowered heads, nervous eyes darted toward the windows, doors, corridor.

The metallic sound of footsteps echoed before they entered.

The Silencers.

Four men — perhaps men — in dark-gray military uniforms. Their faces hidden behind smooth black lenses, featureless. Only their slow, muffled breathing escaped from behind the masks. Each carried a short baton at his waist and a metal folder in his gloved hands.

They crossed the room in silence.

Their heavy soles marked the concrete floor in a rhythmic cadence.

The teacher remained standing, motionless, his eyes fixed on nothing.

One of the Silencers opened the folder with a cold snap and began taking notes, reading names from the attendance list. Another walked between the rows, stopping now and then to stare at a student for a long second — so close they could feel the muffled heat of the mask against them.

The third stood at the door, making sure no one left.

Ceres did not lower her eyes.

Sitting at the last desk, hands intertwined on the table, she kept her chin raised, challenging the invisible gazes she could feel behind the black fabric.

Fearless. Or simply drugged enough not to falter.

Theo noticed.

Daime was biting his nails, Gene was almost holding his breath. Dru, no matter how firm she tried to appear, couldn't hide the jealousy burning inside her as she watched Theo without taking his eyes off Ceres.

When the Silencer passed Ceres, he leaned slightly, as if studying a rare specimen.

Her blue eyes narrowed.

He continued without saying a word.

At the end, the leader of the Silencers spoke. His voice was deep, metallic, impersonal:

— The author of this blasphemy will be found.

Mother does not forget.

Mother does not forgive.

Mother does not fail.

They left the room in absolute silence, leaving behind a residual cold.

The desks creaked beneath tense bodies, lowered heads.

No one dared move until the teacher resumed the lesson, as if nothing had happened.

But when Theo's eyes met Ceres's for a brief instant, he had the unsettling feeling: someone in that room knew more than they were saying.

And those blue eyes, still and arrogant, seemed to hold every secret.

After a long and exhausting class, Theo, Gene, and Daime went out into the courtyard. The hot sun made the concrete shine, but did nothing to ease the weight they carried.

On the other side, near the low wall dividing the training field from the common area, a figure caught Gene's attention.

There was Kat.

With her thick-framed glasses, long red hair swept to one side, and a shy smile that illuminated her pale face. She seemed to be waiting for someone.

Gene saw her and quickened his pace, exchanging a quick glance with Theo and Daime, who remained beneath the shade of a tree.

— Kat! — he called, his voice filled with relief and concern.

She looked at him, surprised, but soon smiled — a sincere smile, with a slight trace of relief.

— Gene — she said, almost in a whisper — I... wasn't doing well.

Gene frowned.

— Why did you disappear? You didn't answer any messages. Nobody saw you...

Kat took a deep breath, running a hand through her hair.

— I needed to be alone. I was confused, without the strength to face everything here. But now... I'm better.

Gene nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on her.

— I want you to know that you can always count on me. No matter what happens.

She smiled, and the two of them remained there in silence, simply feeling each other's presence — as if that moment were the only refuge amid the chaos.

From a distance, Daime and Theo exchanged a discreet look, understanding that, despite all the rigidity and fear, there was still something real between them.

Gene took a small case containing lipstick and nail polish out of his backpack — simple items, but new.

— I got these for you — he said, somewhat awkwardly. — Dru managed to get them when she helped retrieve some sacks of rice that fell from the armored train. Lost cargo. It was going to be thrown away.

Kat smiled, touching the items affectionately.

— Thank you, Gene. You always know how to help.

He laughed softly, relaxed:

— Dru won't stop talking about the truck. She's obsessed with it, saying she'll find a way out of here. That everything is going to change.

Kat closed her eyes for a moment, as if struggling between hope and fear.

— Who knows, right? We need to believe there's something beyond all this.

Gene nodded, looking at her carefully.

— We'll make it, Kat. Together.

They stayed there, between shadow and sunlight, a small oasis of normality in the middle of Ceres's world.

On the training field, the dry wind kicked up dust as the students stood in formation, rigid. The coach walked before the line with a firm, cutting voice:

— Sport exists so that different peoples can fight... without killing one another. — He paused, staring at the line. — Or almost.

A murmur traveled through the ranks when someone — always someone — commented about Daime, remembering that not everyone comes out of that game alive or unharmed.

Cors, Vanks, and Dark never missed a chance to needle Theo, throwing taunts while adjusting the tape around their wrists and driving their boots into the packed earth. Theo remained impassive, although something inside him burned slowly.

— And now... — said the coach, pointing toward the center of the field — let's see who really knows how to get past an opponent.

Theo raised his hand, with that usual cold air:

— Easy.

The coach smiled sarcastically.

— Fool. Then prove it.

He whistled and called Dark, who walked to the center with a sadistic smile and his eyes fixed on Theo.

— Stop him, Dark — he ordered.

Dark needed no second order. With strength and cruelty, he knocked Theo down so hard that he lay dazed on the ground, dust rising around him.

— It's only training, prince — Dark spat, mocking him with blood at the corner of his mouth.

Theo, however, slowly got up, dusted off his uniform, and asked:

— Again.

This time, he got past Dark with ease, so fast and precise that he seemed like another person. Dark spun around, furious, spitting blood onto the ground.

— I wanted you to stop me, Theo... — Dark growled, charging forward again, this time to fight, not train.

The two grabbed hold of each other, kicking and punching, and the field became chaos. Students tried to separate them. Shoving, shouting, blows, dust.

From a distance, Ceres watched. Her cold blue eyes moved across the scene — everyone fighting, sweaty, violent, looking like animals trapped in an enclosure.

When they finally managed to pull Theo and Dark apart, Daime appeared from behind, with a malicious smile, resting his hands on Theo's shoulders:

— I was the one who taught him that.

And he burst out laughing, as if signing his own work.

After training, Theo leaned against the field fence, his body sweaty, his breathing still heavy. He slowly climbed the empty bleachers, threw his backpack onto the step beside him, and sat down, arranging his things with fingers still trembling from adrenaline.

That was when he felt her presence.

Ceres emerged from the bleacher corridor like a white shadow. She walked lightly, her long hair covering half of her pale, expressionless face. She stopped before him, eyes fixed on him, that marble aura chilling the air around her.

— Why so much hatred? — she said, without beating around the bush. — You're going to end up killing him.

Theo slowly raised his eyes, a cold smile at the corner of his mouth:

— That'd be great. Everybody wins.

Ceres did not blink. She tilted her head slightly, as if studying an invisible pattern:

— And how do you deal with that hatred without killing him?

Theo closed the zipper on his backpack with a dry snap and answered without even looking at her:

— Hatred is a tool. A necessary energy. It depends on what you want to hit. I use it as a step... I use the energy without needing to kill the opponent. Then I win.

Ceres stepped closer, her blue eyes even colder:

— How do you know that?

Theo raised his head, an arrogant smile drawing itself across his face:

— I imagine myself already beating him. That way the body relaxes, a reflex from training.

Ceres lifted one corner of her mouth, as if that amused her a little.

— Aren't you afraid? — she whispered, her eyes fixed on him like blades.

Theo finally turned his face toward her, his black eyes firm, impenetrable:

— Of whom?

A brutal silence fell between them. Their egos collided in the air like sharpened blades. Between them, there was more than tension — there was a hunger, a need to prove who would bite first.

His eyes hunted for her lies. And she seemed to hunt for his.

Ceres raised her chin, letting arrogance seep into her voice:

— Yes... you don't lie.

Theo raised an eyebrow:

— So you're Ceres. The diver.

She smiled, dry, venomous:

— And you're Theo. Team leader.

The two stared at each other for several seconds, like predators studying one another.

Between them, the bleachers filled with an electric tension — explicit arrogance, restrained desire, hatred and admiration mixed together.

They seemed to devour each other, in every possible sense.

The distant sounds of the field — whistles, voices, footsteps — still echoed, but there, on that concrete step, there was only an invisible battlefield.

Theo held her gaze like someone taking a blow.

Every time Ceres's blue eyes pierced him, a chill ran up his spine — not exactly fear, but something that gnawed at him. As if she could see through his layers.

And that enraged him.

He hated her presence.

Hated that marble posture, untouchable.

Hated the way she walked among the others like a predator among prey.

But, for some reason, he couldn't stop looking.

There was something about that arrogance that... seduced him.

And danger, for Theo, had always been an invitation.

Ceres also felt her heart race, although her face never betrayed it.

Inside, she burned.

He was a wild animal trapped inside a uniform.

And that white streak amid his black hair made him even more... wrong.

And for that very reason, right.

She hated how he didn't look away.

Hated how he didn't seem afraid of her.

Hated that, deep down, she wanted to see him smile.

And the mere idea of it made her want to punch him in the face.

They both knew this was bigger than simple rivalry.

It was an almost playful hatred, as if, at any moment, one would leap at the other to bite.

The attraction was absurd.

But there was fear too.

Fear of getting too close and letting the pose fall.

Fear that, upon touching each other, they would be devoured by that savage impulse filling the air between them.

And perhaps that fear was the most addictive part.

Because neither of them backed down.