1. Interview

This should be the only place that’d keep me safe and would train me to investigate the mystery of what killed my family.

IronCrest, an institution renowned for its rigorous training of hunters and athletes.

'Boy' hunters and athletes.

The irony didn't escape me.

Seated uncomfortably on a stiff plastic chair in the waiting room, my heartbeat thundered in my already constricted chest, resonating with the anxiety and anticipation that had been building in the months leading up to this moment.

I remember walking through the bustling corridors of IronCrest Academy, a blur of black and dark blue jerseys and the raucous laughter of students filling the air. As I paused to let a rowdy group of boys pass, I felt their eyes on me. 

"A new freak in town, lets see how long this one will last." I heard the whisper.

Their gazes, curious and probing, sent a wave of anxiety through me. 

Their laughter a stark contrast to the storm brewing in my mind.

"Next... James," a detached, icy voice called from beyond the door. "Hurry up, boy. We don't have all day."

I straightened up, adjusting my shirt as I braced for the pivotal moment. It was the culmination of endless hours of preparation.

I entered the interview room, where Dean Carrigan, a man known for molding world-renowned strategists and hunters, waiting for me impatiently. His gaze, sharp as a hawk's, immediately locked onto me. It felt like he could see right through me, dissecting me like his prey after an intense, victorious hunt.

Having only read about it until now, experiencing Dean Carrigan's intensity firsthand was insane. 

He skipped over any pleasantries, immediately demanding, "Why do you want to join our school?" before I could even take a seat. 

His tone was more accusatory than inquisitive. I prepared myself to give my all in the fight for this opportunity. 

It was the one way I would ultimately get what I really wanted.

"I seek challenges, sir. These are challenges that only IronCrest, with its reputation for forging the world's finest, can offer." My voice was steady, but my southern drawl was undeniably clear.

Facing Dean Carrigan's intense scrutiny, I maintained my composure. His demeanor was unyielding, bordering on hostile. "So, a chess player, you think that prepares you for IronCrest? This isn't a game, boy. This is survival of the fittest."

I nodded, a surge of determination coursing through me. "Yes, sir. It's exactly why I'm here."

 'And more,' I thought to myself.

"You think you are prepared? You'll need more than preparation here. We break and rebuild. You actually think you can withstand that?"

"Yes, sir," I replied firmly. I kept my voice steady and respectful despite his provocation.

I maintained my composure when I faced Dean Carrigan's unyielding, almost hostile scrutiny. Seemingly satisfied with my performance, he returned to his desk. Dean Carrigan's expression remained unreadable as he offered me the scholarship, a rare occurrence at IronCrest.

Finally, the harsh finality of our interview hit me. "Take these," he said curtly, thrusting a stack of documents into my hands. His tone bore no room for questions. "Counselor's office. Get moving."

I ensured my grip was firm as I took the papers and shook his hand.

 I could feel his skeptical gaze on me as I left, silently questioning my ability to survive in IronCrest's ruthless world.

 To him, I looked like nothing more than potential prey.

If he only knew.

I went to all the trouble of turning myself into something else. Became another person.

For months, this had been nothing more than a distant dream, a point on the horizon that seemed practically unattainable. Those months were filled with doubt, endless preparation, and countless hours perfecting a deeper voice. 

And now, here I was. 

All the hard work, the dedication, and the rigorous practice hadn't been futile. 

However, the emotions that were going through me were not just feelings of pure joy or triumph. The realization that this was just the beginning hit me hard. 

The true challenge, the real work, was about to begin.

My heart still racing from the intensity of that interview. I couldn't help but wonder if everyone was always so intense here. 

I really hoped not. 

I inhaled deeply, bracing myself for the next phase of my life at IronCrest Academy.

The housing and admissions officer handed me yet another stack of documents. "We need the original documents for your birth certificate and letters of recommendation," she said briskly, typing away. "Ensure you submit them soon."

She barely glanced at me, her focus returning to the screen. "Your scholarship will be credited to your account shortly."

Standing up, she handed me a map of the academy. "Note that the backcountry area is off-limits to juniors and below. It's a senior privilege only."

She handed me a student ID card and added, "This card is essential for access, library use, and expenses. Your dorm is in the K residence, on the top floor, room 16. Here is your key. Don't lose it, or you will be charged for another."

"Will my room be a single?"

Without glancing up from her paperwork, she replied briskly, "Yes, son. Now go, I'm busy, you know."

For a moment, I wondered if she had truly heard me, her attention obviously more on the documents than my question.

Even still, a sense of relief washed over me. Finally, I could take a deep breath in a single room.

Leaving her office, I wondered if she had really heard me, as she was focusing more on her work than my question. Still, relief washed over me at the prospect of a single room, a sanctuary from the prying eyes of all the boys surrounding me. And they were everywhere. 

Exiting, I collided with a tall, blonde guy wearing a dark blue hockey jersey. He muttered, "Sorry, man," and continued down the hall, clearly in a hurry, without looking up at me. 

There was something about him. Perhaps it was his choice of words or the tone of his voice. I couldn't pinpoint it exactly. But whatever it was, it subtly eased the anxiety threatening to swallow me. 

Being addressed as "man" felt different, somehow more fitting than boy, but I was okay with either.

According to the map, the "K" residence was situated at the rear of the campus, near the 'backcountry' area declared off-limits. Being on the top floor, would I be able to observe any activities in that restricted zone? Just the thought made me feel better. If I could see what happens there, I would be better prepared to deal with it when my time comes. 

If I even made it that long.  

Approaching building K, I was consumed by a wave of energy from students in matching black and blue jerseys. The air crackled with their adrenaline and camaraderie, their anticipation for the upcoming game contagious. 

As I pushed my way through the crowd, one guy jeered, "Hey, look at Shorty over here! What's your sport, little man? Mini-golf?" Laughter erupted around me. 

Another chimed in, "More like the Elf Olympics!" Their laughter felt like a punch to the gut, but I wasn't surprised. I already knew my height would be another point of contention I'd have to deal with here. 

Trying to mask my discomfort, I shot back, "You know what they say about us little guys, right? We're like ninjas, here one moment, gone the next." Their laughter only grew louder, echoing loudly in my ears.

Then, one of them looked at me, still chuckling, and said, "Man, fucking epic! No one ever talks back to that jerk." 

He slapped me on the shoulder. Hard. 

Surprising in this sea of ridicule, his words offered a hint of reassurance. I smiled at him before continuing to K building. 

The place where I could finally breathe.

Or so I thought.

As I stepped into the building, the air felt thick with testosterone and unbridled energy. My heart hammered in my chest, each beat echoing the thuds of footsteps and wild laughter that filled the halls. The corridors were a maze, buzzing with boys who seemed to exemplify the school's spirit – athletic, rambunctious, and unapologetically bold.

Walking up the stairs, the noise escalated with each floor, like ascending through different levels of chaos. On the second floor, a group of guys were wrestling in the stairwell. Their grunts and thuds against the floor sent a shiver down my spine.

Each step felt like a victory, yet the anxiety of blending in loomed. 

I just needed to make it to my room without incident.

As I neared the top floor, a boy came barreling down the stairwell, chased by another waving a sock seemingly soaked in something I didn't dare to guess. He bumped into me, nearly knocking me down. I stumbled, struggling to keep my voice steady as I muttered, "Watch it, man."

Finally, on the top floor, the chaos seemed to peak. Boys darted in and out of rooms, music blared from open doors, and the smell of sweat and aftershave was almost overpowering. My room was at the far end of the hall, a small haven in this whirlwind of male adolescence.

As I opened the door to my new dorm room on the top floor of building K, I was immediately struck by the unexpected sight of two beds.

"What the…" I stood there, my short hair slightly disheveled, a constant reminder of the real reasons I was here making breathing a literal chore. I forgot to keep my voice down for a second, thankfully no one should be nearby.

Why were there two beds in what was supposed to be a single room? 

Unable to think clearly, my heart raced with a sudden, inexplicable panic, making breathing even more difficult.

Confusion and panic clashed within me, narrowing my airway, already hindered by my tightly bound chest.

Before I could process this, a football flew into the room, narrowly missing my head. I turned to see a tall, well-built boy with beautiful blonde strands of hair falling in his almost unreal grayish-blue eyes...entering the dorm room with boxes in his arms.

My dorm room.

"Sorry about that!" he said with a grin, setting down his belongings. The same boy who called me 'man' earlier. 

He grinned. "Looks like we're roommates."

I tried to mask my panic. I forced myself to remain calm, aware that any slip could unravel everything. 

This was not the solitary refuge I'd hoped for.

How long could I really make this last now? In front of the alert, insightful Dean Carrigan, in front of my sudden roommate, how many more men will show up threatening my secret?

The answer really didn't matter. I'd already made it here. I'd already infiltrated this all-boys academy, and I'm sure none of them wouldn't take to kindly to being tricked.

By a girl.   

A girl with breasts hidden under a tight binder now staring at a beautiful blonde bombshell who clearly thought I was a guy.

I am fucked.