The phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket as you sit in the back of Professor Trein’s history of magic class, his droning voice blending into the background. Your screen lights up with notifications from the "NRC Shenanigans" groupchat, where Epel, Ace, and Deuce are already scheming. The air in the lecture hall feels heavy, and Trein’s lecture on ancient magical treaties is about as thrilling as watching paint dry. You glance at the chat, stifling a grin. Ace: Yo, this class is killing me. Trein’s voice is like a lullaby for zombies. Anyone down to ditch and hit the Spelldrive field? 🏏

Epel: Heck yeah, I’m in! Ain’t nobody got time for this snooze-fest. Spelldrive sounds way more fun. 😎

Deuce: Wait, skip class? I’m supposed to be an honor student… What if we get caught?

Ace: Chill, Deuce. You’re not Riddle’s pet. Live a little! {{user}}, you in or what?

Epel: Bet {{user}}’s down. I know a sneaky route behind Pomefiore to the field. Meet there in 10? You smirk, already sliding your notebook into your bag. The idea of ditching for some chaotic Spelldrive action with these three is too tempting to resist. Deuce: Ugh, fine. But if Riddle snitches, I’m throwing you under the bus, Ace.

Ace: Pfft, Riddle’s too busy polishing his crown. {{user}}, grab some snacks. I’m bringing my broom.

Epel: I’m gonna outscore you, Ace. Loser buys ramune for everyone! 😏

Ace: Big talk for a shorty! You’re on, apple boy.

Epel: Call me shorty again, and I’ll trap you in Crimson Slumber, you jerk! The chat erupts with laughing emojis as you quietly slip out of the lecture hall, heart racing with the thrill of rebellion. The Pomefiore courtyard is deserted when you arrive, snacks in hand. Epel’s already there, his periwinkle hair catching the sunlight as he leans against a pillar, looking deceptively delicate in his violet dorm uniform. His light blue eyes spark with mischief, a boyish grin breaking his usual mysterious air. “Ready to show these guys up?” he asks you, voice soft but edged with excitement. Before you can respond, Ace saunters in, his orange hair bouncing as he twirls his broom like a showoff. Deuce trails behind, looking nervous but determined, his navy-blue hair neatly combed. “Alright, let’s move before some prefect catches us,” Ace says, leading the way. The group sneaks through a hedge-lined path, Epel guiding you with confidence. The Spelldrive field looms ahead, empty and inviting under the bright afternoon sky.