Year one had just ended, Charles Baxter received a good grade and was summoned to Instructor David's office.
"Congratulations, Baxter. You did well in your first year. How does it feel?" Instructor David asked, resting his elbows on the table and interlocking his fingers in front of his lips. His sharp eyes studied Charles, waiting for a response.
However, Charles didn't look happy. "I think I can do more. To be honest, there are some subjects I did well in, but there are certainly others where I struggled."
"Which ones?"
"Basically, subjects that involve physical activities…" Charles pressed his lips together.
"And…?" Instructor David prompted.
"Sir, I'm really bad at instinct-based subjects, such as…" Charles exhaled a heavy breath. "Quick thinking."
Instructor David looked at him sharply, his face almost poker-like. "Baxter, your intelligence is remarkable. Your memorization skills? Near perfect. But your physical performance is weak—to the point that it could drag your overall GPA down. You definitely need more practice in physical activities, and I see that teaming you with Jacques Durant hasn't motivated you to improve where you're supposed to."
Charles narrowed his eyes. "Is that why I was roomed with him?"
"Every cadet was tested before being accepted. He has what you lack, and you have what he lacks. You two are supposed to teach each other something—but it seems like personal bias is getting in the way," Instructor David explained.
"Sir—" Charles was about to say something but stopped himself. "Never mind."
"So I think you'll need another roommate. Someone who has what you lack—but hopefully this time, it will be a better match than Jacques Durant," Instructor David said, opening a drawer and taking something out.
"Sir, if I may object… I honestly think that living in a single dorm would help me more."
Instructor David didn't wait for Charles to finish talking. He dropped an envelope in front of him and explained, "That's the key to your new dorm room. I hope this time will be a better start for you. And to motivate you further, you can sign up for the buddy system program with your new roommate. It will be a lot more disciplined—but hard work pays off, doesn't it?"
Charles exhaled sharply through his nose. "I'll consider it."
"You should. We've been watching all of you closely and analyzing your moves, behaviors, and biases. We know who to match with whom to bring out the best motivation. We believe the cadet we've matched you with is the best choice to help you become a better cadet. However, it's your call." Instructor David's voice was firm.
Charles stared bitterly at the envelope. The buddy system was something he didn't like—because his grades would no longer be his own. There was no way he wanted to share his results with someone else. Sure, if he chose a buddy who excelled in the subjects he struggled with, it could be beneficial. But if that person was just as terrible as him in the areas he was good at, it would only drag his overall grade down. No way was he letting that happen.
Instructor David continued, as if putting all his faith in Charles. "You have the drive, Baxter. You want to be at the top? Then don't just rely on your brain. This is an opportunity to push you out of your comfort zone—and that's always scary. But once you push through it, one day you'll rest and realize how far you've grown."
Charles's stomach twisted as he left Instructor David's office. He had a bad feeling about this. Who would they recommend him to partner with? Charles knew they used AI to calculate which cadet was the best match. But AI is flawed. It doesn't understand human connection—it just matches based on logic.
It took him a few hours of sitting down and staring at the envelope.
Then, when his overthinking brain finally went quiet, he reached for the envelope and tore it open. Inside was an official letter and a key to his new room: Room 337.
He reached for the letter and opened it slowly.
The name written there made him forget to breathe.
Mourice Lahm.
***
A group of senior instructors sat around the long conference table. A holographic display flickered in the center, casting Jacques Durant's cadet profile in sharp relief. His records scrolled past—a mix of outstanding physical scores, commendations for quick thinking, and an alarming list of disciplinary violations.
Instructor David exhaled sharply. This meeting was his idea. Does it matter? All this trouble for just one problematic student in his first year?
Yes.
"We need to talk about Jacques Durant. His behavior is becoming a real concern."
Colonel Corvus, the head of the academy, crossed his arms. He didn't look pleased. "This better be worth my time—listening to you complain about a 15-year-old boy's bad behavior. If I decide the solution is as simple as 'expel him from the academy,' I'm going to demote you, Instructor."
David nodded. "I promise this is worth it, sir. Please check his score."
Lieutenant Morgan scrolled through Jacques's file, tapping at the section marked Adaptability & Instincts: A+.
"And yet, despite his disregard for rules, he's one of our best cadets in the field. If anything, he's outperforming others in tactical exercises. You know as well as I do that some of our best officers weren't exactly model students," Morgan remarked.
Instructor David's expression darkened as he continued. "That's exactly what concerns me. His talent is undeniable, but his attitude? Dangerous. He doesn't respect the institution. He doesn't respect authority. And if we don't do something now, I fear we might be creating a problem bigger than we can contain."
"You think he'll go rogue?" asked Major Rendra, her tone skeptical.
David hesitated before responding. "There's always a possibility. Look at the pattern—he does his own thing, follows his own rules, and cares more about his personal goals than the academy's mission. He's building his own spacecraft, for god's sake! You don't do that unless you plan on going where no one can control you."
Colonel Corvus laughed.
His laughter silenced the room.
Everyone waited until he stopped. Then the Colonel leaned forward, his tone shifting to one of amused interest. "He what?!"
Instructor David repeated, "He's building his own spacecraft."
Colonel Corvus laughed again. "Show me the proof!"
Instructor David pulled up a set of images from an abandoned barn near the dormitory. The pictures showed Jacques with spacecraft components—wires, panels, and modified engines scattered across the floor. In one photo, Jacques was smiling at the camera, giving victory fingers, even as armed security pointed their guns at him—like it was a photo shoot for a school magazine.
Colonel Corvus was already impressed. He laughed again. "He's talented. Where's the problem?"
Instructor David, however, was visibly tense. "That picture was taken a few months ago. We don't know how he got the money to buy all those components—but he claims he bought them all himself. We know they're not cheap. The most likely explanation is that he stole them. Most of the components are makeshift—salvaged from used engines. And his phone's search history is filled with engineering and spacecraft design."
Colonel Corvus leaned back in his chair, still intrigued. "Have you investigated carefully how he got all those components?"
"Yes, sir. But it seems like he collected them from junkyards and self-built everything to resemble real spacecraft engines. When the engineers tested them, they weren't perfect—some even had the potential to explode. But that's what's so dangerous." David's voice dropped lower, his forehead damp with cold sweat. "This kid just does whatever he likes. And imagine… if one day he took a dark turn and decided to become a criminal…"
Colonel Corvus smile didn't fade. He recognized that Jacques had the intelligence and the skillset.
David's tone sharpened. "The thing that worries me is his moral code. He once wrote an essay arguing that The Gemmas were the victims and Earthlings were the villains. And his arguments made sense. His mind can be so deviant—almost criminal-like. He's capable of walking away from the system entirely, indifferent to it. If he ever decided that the law itself was the problem, there would be no stopping him. He could disappear, rally others to his cause, or worse—turn into something far more dangerous than a rogue cadet."
Instructor David's voice trembled slightly. He had clearly been thinking about this for a long time.
Morgan sighed, rubbing his temples. "So what do you suggest, David? Expulsion? Throwing him out would only make him more unpredictable."
"Just put him in an asylum. Case closed," Rendra said flatly.
But Colonel Corvus shook his head, now looking genuinely pleased. "No, no… don't waste such good talent. Control it."
The Colonel's gaze swept over the room. "We need to keep him under supervision—but we also need to redirect him. If control doesn't works, love usually works. He want to build spacecraft? Let's grant his wish. Transfer him to the spacecraft hangar so he can be where he belongs."
Colonel Corvus looked at the glowing profile of Jacques Durant, watching the flickering statistics of an exceptional yet uncontrollable cadet with a victorious smirk.
"I've got two plans. First one is to keep him as an ally. And if that fails…" His smile sharpened. "We'll take the second plan."