Chapter 3: Evicted to Paradise

Lionel paused just long enough for the words to hang heavy in the air, leaning closer to deliver the blow with absolute relish.

“And now that the bond is shattered… he wants you out. Effective immediately. You’re being evicted to the outer abandoned sector.”

Phoenix froze mid-stride.

“…Wait.”

Her dark brown eyes narrowed immediately, a look of profound, unadulterated disbelief flashing across her sharp Asian features.

Lionel’s chest puffed out, thoroughly satisfied with the reaction. He crossed his arms, waiting for the inevitable dam to burst—the dramatic gasps, the pathetic tears, the desperate begging on her knees for Travis to reconsider. Surrounding them in the grand, high-arched marble corridor, a mob of noble heirs and top-tier Sentinels leaned in, phones out, ready to record the fallen heiress’s ultimate rock-bottom breakdown.

Instead, Phoenix slowly brought her hand up to her jaw, staring at Lionel as if he had just handed her a winning lottery ticket written in solid gold.

“You’re telling me…” Phoenix pointed a slender, pale finger squarely between Lionel’s nose and the grand academy archway behind him. “…that by dumping that walking glow-stick, I also get a free, non-negotiable eviction from this overcrowded, snob-infested, perfume-choked dorm building?”

Lionel’s smug expression glitched violently. “…What?”

“So let me get this completely straight,” Phoenix continued, her voice rising with dramatic, breathless excitement as she began counting on her delicate, uncalloused fingers. “Number one: I never have to listen to Travis whine about his sensory overloads ever again. Number two: I get kicked out of a building where everyone smells like overly expensive cologne and privilege. And number three: I get banished to a private, isolated building in the outer sector with zero roommates, zero curfews, and zero annoying neighbors breathing down my neck?”

She slammed her hands together in a resounding, echoing clap, a blindingly bright, radiant smile bursting across her face.

“Is this a punishment or a promotion?! Where do I sign?! Do I need to surrender my gold keycard right now? Is there a fast-track exit lane, or do I need to kick Travis in the shins to speed up the administrative bureaucracy? Because I will happily jump kick him into the sun if it gets me my key to the outer sector faster!”

Lionel stared at her. His jaw literally unhinged, dropping an inch as his carefully crafted, menacing persona evaporated into thin air. He blinked once. Twice.

“Are you… are you insane?” Lionel stammered, stepping back a pace as if her sheer lack of misery was contagious. “The outer sector is a ruinous dump! It’s right next to the containment wall! The plumbing barely works, the power grids fluctuate, and only the military dregs and unregistered washouts live out there!”

“A dump?” Phoenix let out a soft, melodic laugh that sent a strange chill down the spines of the watching students.

To anyone else raised in luxury, a broken building near a containment wall sounded like a nightmare sentence. But to a woman who had spent three years sleeping on shattered glass in flooded subway tunnels while dodging mutated aquatic abominations and rotting zombies? A private room with four intact walls, a roof that kept the rain off her head, and a proximity to the perimeter wall sounded like a six-star luxury resort.

Near the containment wall? That was even better. That meant easy access to training zones, zero surveillance cameras from the academy board, and a direct line of sight to any real action. It was a tactical jackpot.

“Lionel, darling,” Phoenix purred, stepping directly into his personal space with a swiftness that made his combat instincts flare in alarm. “You call it a dump. I call it a property upgrade with zero noise pollution. If I had known getting dumped by Travis came with free real estate and total isolation from you colorful little background extra sheep, I would have broken his engagement ring in half on day one!”

A chorus of shocked gasps echoed down the hallway.

“Did she just call Lord Lionel an extra?!” “Is her mind broken from the shock? She’s laughing!” “Look at her face… she actually looks thrilled!”

Across the hall, Travis was standing near the grand double doors, flanked by his entourage. He had been waiting for Phoenix to crawl back, to make a scene, to cry and plead for his protection so he could magnanimously reject her in front of the entire academy. Seeing her practically doing a victory lap over her own exile sent a surge of bizarre, burning irritation straight through his chest.

“Phoenix!” Travis barked, stepping forward, his voice echoing with the full, heavy pressure of an S-class Sentinel. The air around him subtly hummed with violent psychic static. “Stop acting like a lunatic to save face! We all know you’re terrified. You won’t last three days in the outer sector without my family’s protection!”

Phoenix stopped in her tracks. She slowly turned her head, her jet-black hair whipping around her shoulders. Her dark brown eyes locked onto Travis, cold, deep, and utterly devoid of fear.

The smile on her lips turned dangerously sharp, resembling the edge of a newly honed blade.

“Travis,” she said smoothly, her voice cutting through his psychic aura like a hot knife through butter. “The only thing terrifying about the outer sector is the fact that I didn’t pack my bags ten minutes ago. Do me a favor and keep your 'protection' for someone who actually cares about your inflated ego. If I ever see your face near my new quarters, I won't just reject your bonding request—I'll use you as a human shield for the nearest training target.”

Travis choked on his own breath, his face flushing a deep, furious crimson. Before he could unleash a retort, Phoenix turned back to a thoroughly shell-shocked Lionel.

She patted Lionel’s frozen shoulder with a sympathetic, double-tap, leaning in close enough to whisper into his ear.

“Thanks for the news, buddy. Tell Travis he’s officially the best thing that ever happened to my real estate goals.”

Without waiting another second for anyone to recover their train of thought, Phoenix spun on her heel. She strutted down the central corridor at a breakneck pace, her pristine white-and-gold academy blazer snapping around her lean, compact frame like a warlord's cape.

As she walked, she hummed a cheerful, jaunty tune, her mind already racing at a hundred miles an hour—calculating wall thickness, estimating patrol routes, and mentally planning how many improvised throwing knives she could forge out of the metal cutlery in the cafeteria before her official relocation.

The fallen heiress wasn't crying. The weakest Guide in the Empire wasn't broken.

She was going home to her brand-new war zone, and the rest of the academy had no idea the wolf had just stepped into their quiet little sheep pen.