This couldn't be happening. He'd lost. Him! The top illusionist in the Academy!

Ten years in a row, he'd won the Illusion Cup by a landslide. His enchanting spells, paired with incredible acrobatics, had always wooed the crowd. For those few moments out in the Academy's courtyard, he was at the center of the world. The roars of the crowd gave him life; they were the reason he could withstand the hours of grueling practice, run on practically no sleep, and handle the mountain of pressure that came with being the heir to House Wayne. And...they reminded him of his late parents, of his time with the troupe of performers, before all this. When life was simple and pleasant and happy. To others, his obsession with winning might've looked like vanity, but to him, those hours of glory were precious. Sacred.

And this year of all years—graduation year, his crowning moment, his chance to go out with a bang—some literal nobody, whose name he didn't even know, had ruined his perfect streak, stolen his thunder, and delivered a bitter reminder of the frailty of his popularity straight to his ego.

"Congratulations," he said to the winner, flashing a crooked smile. The corner of his mouth twitched. Be cool. Be a good sport. Don't lash out. "That was an impressive performance."