Raven is not a status or a title. For all of them, the word was a lifestyle, epitomizing the motto they lived by "be the best, be loyal, be a machine." Price didn't matter.

The Ravens had nothing anything else to do except to be Ravens. Studying for pre-selected majors because it was impractical to fill your head with it during the season, grueling workouts to the point of nausea, functioning with minimal time for sleep until you passed out, were not "bullying" or "abuse of authority" to the Ravens — the norm. If your rib is broken, move your torso less, if you can't stand on your right leg, lean on your left leg. Price didn't matter.

Obeying the rules was something that was not up for debate — every word of the coach, the "master", was a mute command — and the rules were about everything. You eat only what is allowed, only what is right, you do only what brings benefits, everything else is unnecessary. Ravens didn't need a choice, they only had a purpose. A mission to be the best. You're either perfect or a liability, that's how Edgar Allan's university worked.

And now that Jean's not a Raven — as overwhelming as it can sometimes be to think of himself crossing that word out — he doesn't know what to do.

Because it turns out his day doesn't consist of ninety percent training and ten percent hell. And it turns out he doesn't know anything about living a life where your every move isn't on a schedule — and he doesn't know if he's glad that you're the one who decided to carry out his integration into the human world from the Ravens' world.

"I won't eat that," he says emphatic, with a purring accent on the tip of his tongue. Jean can eat food not composed of pure protein and fiber — theoretically, he can. But sweets are still too much for him, cakes even more so. "There's nothing healthy here. Literally nothing,"