Chapter 177: One Finger Means ’Ourselves,’ and I Will Keep Breaking It

Chapter 177: Chapter 177: One Finger Means ’Ourselves,’ and I Will Keep Breaking It

Jenna had no reply to that.

It was true.

Draven stood at the current peak of their world, and even the Empresses calculated carefully before risking open conflict with him over a single nameless support.

The notice in her hand might as well have been written in stone.

I locked my gaze with hers.

Whatever argument she still wanted to make, the arithmetic had already finished.

I nodded once.

She undid the cuffs herself.

The metal opened with a final click.

Blood circulation returned to my wrists in a slow, stinging rush.

Draven clapped his hands together once, bright and theatrical.

"Well, that settles it. Take rest. Eat well."

He turned toward Laila without missing a beat.

"You. Prepare the academy. I’ll make him and her ready for it. This year should be a bloodbath, so focus on recruiting only the strongest. No more charity seats."

"Bloodbath...?"

"Yes. My instincts are telling me this world is going to end. We better prepare."

Laila’s mouth tightened, but she gave a single, reluctant nod.

Draven dropped an arm across my shoulders like we were old friends leaving a bar.

The weight of it was casual and absolute at the same time.

He steered me toward the door.

Giselle fell in behind us, expression carved into perfect indifference, white hair swinging with each step.

The moment we cleared the confinement wing, the noise hit like a physical wave.

Parents, handlers, media drones, and half the failed or waiting participants surged forward in a disordered tide.

"MR DRAVEN!"

"HE’S HERE!"

"PLEASE TRAIN MY DAUGHTER!"

"JUST ONE PICTURE!"

Draven lifted the arm from my shoulders and raised both hands in a placating, camera-ready gesture.

"Come on now, people, I’m busy. This is an event to choose our future warriors, not a meet-and-greet for me."

He smirked, reached into the nearest cluster of reporters, and pulled a media woman in a press vest close by the waist.

The kiss he gave her was short, spectacular, and perfectly angled for every lens in the hall.

The whole crowd made a collective sound that was half cheer, half scandalised delight.

"Ooohhhh!"

Draven released her, winked at the nearest camera drone, and waved the entire mob toward the main results boards.

"Go on and see the results. Shoo."

They actually listened.

The press of bodies loosened just enough for us to keep moving.

From the thinning edge of the crowd I saw Gianna.

She stood frozen near one of the medical cordons, nose still cleaned of blood but eyes wide with the particular disbelief of someone watching a nightmare refuse to end.

The dual registration, the rooftop, the public kiss in the hall, all of it had led to this: me being walked out under Draven’s arm like a curiosity he had decided to keep for a week.

Draven followed my line of sight and smiled.

"Oh. Gia."

The nickname landed wrong.

I turned my head and glared at him hard enough that the Hunger stirred once under my ribs.

Draven’s eyebrows rose in mock fear.

"Scary. What, jealous I called her by a nickname? Would you believe me if I said I were to—"

The air around us changed density again.

My remaining energy, everything the suppressors had not already flattened, simply vanished.

Legs, arms, core, all of it went quiet in a single clean cut.

I staggered half a step before the absence stabilised.

Draven patted my shoulder like he was calming a nervous animal.

"Relax, relax. I was just joking. You’re mistaking me for someone else entirely. Gia was supposed to train with Giselle years ago, but Jenna refused the arrangement. Old politics. Nothing to do with you."

I could breathe again, but the energy stayed gone.

Whatever technique he had used sat on my core like a lid.

We reached an expensive, low-profile van waiting in a restricted bay.

The interior looked more like a private lounge than transport: deep seats, a muted wall screen already playing muted highlights of the exam, a side panel stocked with sealed water and ration packs that probably cost more than most guild contracts.

The vehicle lifted the moment the doors sealed, rising into the upper traffic lanes with a smoothness that made the academy hall feel suddenly very far away.

Draven stretched out in the opposite seat, boots crossed at the ankle, and spoke as if we were continuing a friendly conversation.

"You wanna know who you should actually keep your women safe from? Cillian. That guy is trouble. I almost feel bad thinking about Lawless."

Even Giselle, who had taken the seat nearest the window and had not looked at me once, turned her head at that.

"She scored second, didn’t she? Aren’t they technically selected?"

Draven shook his head, red spikes shifting with the motion.

"Oh, it’s not about the test. It was never about the test. Cillian is possessive of people he’s close with. And Rei kissed you on an open feed in front of half the sectors. He must be pissed. The kind of pissed that doesn’t show up in provisional rankings."

"I’m her support. Why would he be mad?"

Draven’s face was indifferent.

"Because he wants to be too."

The fuck?

I looked down through the polarised glass, searching the thinning crowds still spilling out of the academy complex for a glimpse of Cecilia’s dark hair or Rei’s braid.

Nothing.

The van had already climbed too high.

Draven snapped his fingers once.

The vehicle changed vector, descended, and settled onto the flat roof of a private tower I did not recognise.

A portal already stood open in the centre of the landing pad: stable, high-grade, the edges shimmering with Sector 5 colours.

"We are moving to a different place," Draven said, standing and rolling one shoulder.

"Are you excited?"

I didn’t answer.

Giselle stepped up beside me as we walked toward the portal.

Her voice stayed low enough that the wind across the rooftop almost took it.

"During the fight... Gianna showed a finger while she was falling. Was it some kind of signal you two keep?"

The memory surfaced clean and sharp: Gianna suspended in Giselle’s hold, blood at the corner of her mouth, raising a single index finger across the open air between us before the throw.

"It was a stupid promise," I said.

"If a situation ever got bad enough, we were supposed to choose ourselves rather than trying to save the other person. One finger means ’ourselves.’ Save yourself. Don’t die trying to fix it."

Giselle studied my face for a moment.

"That one finger?"

"That one means ourselves."

"But you ran."

"I did."

I met her red eyes without flinching.

"And I will keep doing it."

Draven, who had apparently heard every word, reached over and flicked two fingers against the back of my head hard enough to sting.

"Oh, stop being romantic. Get in."

*****

A/N: Thank you so much, [Aj_Killcreas], for the Golden Tickets.