Chapter 32: Convenient Truths

Chapter 32: Chapter 32: Convenient Truths

Zoey went first.

She stood up so quickly her bag slid off her shoulder. She caught it, hugged it to her chest, and handed her license to the manager with both hands.

"B rank," she said. "My highest beast is a B rank. A Poison Lizard."

The manager took the card. He glanced at it, then at her, then scribbled a note on his clipboard.

"B rank. That’s below our automatic threshold."

"I know."

"You’ll need to take the assessment."

"I know." She swallowed. "I’m ready."

"Good." He handed the license back. "Confidence helps."

Zoey sat down so hard the bench creaked. Her knees were bouncing. Jared glanced at her, and she gave him a tiny, trembling thumbs up.

Then the manager turned.

"And you?"

Jared’s mouth went dry.

He fished the license out of his pocket. It felt heavier than it had a minute ago. The corners of the card were already damp from his fingers. He held it out, and the manager took it, and Jared’s stomach rolled over.

’What do I say?’

[You’re panicking.]

’I’m not.’

[Your pulse is 124. You’re sweating through your jacket. You look like a man about to be arrested.]

’I’m thinking.’

[Think faster.]

[Listen. Just lie.]

Jared’s eyes widened a fraction.

[I know. I know. It’s a terrible idea in the long run. A lie like this will chase you for years. But if you tell the truth right now, in the Golden Bear’s lobby, with a clipboard in your face, it becomes seriously problematic. There’s no half assing an explanation of how a nobody randomly stumbles across an SSS rank beast.]

[Sorry almost nobody]

’I know.’

[So say it’s an A rank. Say it’s a B. Say it’s anything. You’ll fix it later.]

’Okay.’

He drew a breath. He opened his mouth. The lie was already forming, smooth and easy.

"He doesn’t know the rank," Zoey said.

Jared froze.

The words dropped into the air like a stone into a pond. The manager lifted his eyes from the license. He looked at Zoey. She sat very straight, hands folded, expression serene.

"I’m sorry?"

"He doesn’t know the rank of his beast," she repeated. "It’s his second one. He hasn’t had it presented yet."

’Crap.’

The thought exploded across Jared’s mind, bright and loud.

’No. No, no, no. Not now, Zoey.’

"Not now, Zoey,"

She ignored him. The manager tilted his head.

"His second beast," he said slowly. "Then why doesn’t he tell me the rank of his first?"

"Well, he can’t."

"Why is that?"

"Because he’s lost it."

The manager’s eyebrows climbed.

"He lost that beast," Zoey said, in a calm, steady voice, as though she were describing the weather. "He gained this one in the fight."

"Oh," the manager said.

He lowered the clipboard slowly.

"Ah. Okay." He glanced at the card, then back at Jared. His expression softened by a degree. "Don’t worry. You’ll both have to take the assessment, then. And should you pass, we’ll help you evaluate the beast."

"Thank you," Zoey said brightly.

"It happens more often than you’d think."

He scribbled something on the page.

Jared sat there, stunned.

He hadn’t expected any of it. The speed of it, the smoothness. Zoey had rattled off her story as though she’d rehearsed it for a week. She hadn’t hesitated once. She hadn’t even blinked.

And the story itself.

’She knows I didn’t find it in a fight.’

He had told her he found the SwampGorilla lying bare in the city wilds. A gem in the dirt, no owner, no tag.

And she had just lied to the manager, to cover for it.

’She put two incidents together.’

The dragon he’d lost in the wilds. The gorilla he’d claimed to find there. She had glued them into one convenient, plausible tale. A boy fights a beast. He loses one. He wins another. It was neat. It was believable. It was even a little bit sad.

It was a lie she’d built for him, out of the pieces he’d given her.

[Well,] the system said.

Jared didn’t answer.

[That’s a very loyal sister you’ve got.]

’I know.’

[She just committed fraud for you.]

[Remember, though, you’re not out of the water yet. If you pass the assessment, they’ll evaluate the beast. And then the real rank comes out.]

His stomach sank again.

’I can’t think about that right now.’

[Then don’t. But it’s still there to be thought about.]

The manager hadn’t moved.

That was the strange part. He had his answer. He had the information he needed. And yet he stood there, clipboard in hand, looking down at Jared with a long, thoughtful stare.

"It’s you," he said. "Isn’t it?"

Jared blinked. "Sorry?"

"You’re that kid." The manager narrowed his eyes. "The one with the SSS rank Ground Dragon. From the documentary."

Jared didn’t know what to say.

"The one the Karl Marx called a rare talent. On TV." He gave a short, dry laugh. "I thought you looked familiar."

"That’s me," Jared admitted.

"So you lost it in a fight."

"Yes."

The manager shook his head slowly. "That’s rough. That’s a hard thing. I’ve seen masters crack after losing less."

Jared stared at his shoes.

"I hope, for your sake," the manager said, "that the new beast you’ve got on you is even half as worth it."

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t kind either. It was just a fact, laid out plainly, the way a doctor reads a chart.

Jared didn’t say a word. He simply gulped.

A warm weight settled on his arm.

He looked down. Zoey’s hand rested lightly on his sleeve, small and steady. She didn’t look at him. She was staring straight ahead, face composed, but her fingers pressed gently, once, twice, a silent signal. It’s okay. I’ve got you.

He let out a long breath.

The manager studied them for a moment longer. Then he nodded once, tucked the clipboard under his arm, and walked past them.

Zoey leaned in.

"You owe me," she whispered.

"I know."

"A lot."

"I know. I know"

"I’m going to collect and you might not like how."

"I’m sure you will, what do you mean not like how?."

She smiled, small and crooked, and let go of his sleeve.

* * *

It took the manager another 20 minutes to finish his rounds.

Jared sat on the bench, hands clasped, watching him work. He moved from person to person with the same patient routine, checking licenses, scribbling notes, handing back cards. A few applicants were waved toward a side door. A few were told to stay put. No one argued.

At last the man tucked his pen into his pocket and walked to the center of the waiting area. He lifted a hand.

"Attention, please."

The murmuring died. Heads turned. A few dozen young faces stared up at him, pale and tense.

"Thank you. I’ll keep this brief." He glanced down at his clipboard. "For those of you who’ve already earned automatic placement, congratulations. A guide will take you to the next wing. For everyone else, you’ll need to go through today’s assessment."

A few people groaned. A girl in the back muttered a prayer.

"Now, I know some of you are nervous," he continued. "That’s natural. But you’re all beast masters here. You’re all vying for greatness. It would only be fair if we tried you with a suitable beast."

Zoey’s grip tightened on her bag.

"A beast," Jared murmured.

"A suitable beast," she whispered back.

"Come along," the manager said.

He turned and strode toward a wide archway at the far end of the hall. The group rose, shuffling, bags rustling, and followed in an uneasy line. Jared and Zoey fell in at the back.

They passed through the arch into a long, windowless hallway. Somewhere ahead, something heavy shifted with a low, metallic groan.

Nobody spoke.

At the end of the hallway stood a door.

It was huge. It was easily 3 stories tall, built from black iron, bolted and banded, scarred with scratches and burn marks. A

The manager stopped in front of it and turned to face them.

"A beast lies beyond this door," he said. "Its rank will not be revealed. We will assess how well each of you fares against it. Those who do very well will, of course, be assigned a team."

A girl near the front raised a trembling hand. "What if we don’t do well?"

"Then you’ll be free to try again next tomorrow, a week from now or whenever you like really."

He pulled a ring of keys from his belt, selected one, and began to work the first lock.

"I’ll caution you," he said, over his shoulder, "that it’s a strong one. Don’t take it lightly. You’ll want to..."

A hand closed around Jared’s.

He looked down.

Zoey was holding it. Her fingers were cold and trembling. Her eyes were fixed on the door, wide and white, her mouth slightly open.

"What is it?" he whispered.

She didn’t answer.

Zoey lifted her free hand and pointed.

Jared followed her finger.

A vast circular chamber stretched beyond the door, dark and cavernous. And in the center of the arena, huge and heavy and utterly still, stood a beast.

Four thick legs. A broad, rough hide, dark as cooled lava. A short, powerful neck. Two blunt horns. A thick tail curled behind it like a coiled rope. No wings.

Jared’s breath stopped in his throat.

He knew that shape.

’Her.’

’That’s her. That’s my Ground Dragon.’

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. His fingers locked around Zoey’s hand so hard she winced.

They were going to fight her.