Hera knew, by the ring of the school’s name and the presence of a multi-billionaire, Patrick Hemmingworth, that the school would be beyond anything she’d seen all her life—and she wasn’t wrong. As she slumped on the bed, groaning at the soreness of her feet, she kept her eyes at the slow turn of the ceiling fan, wondering what it’s for when the room was already colder than Mother Tere’s freezing office. She shuddered, as though thinking about it alone was like being back in there.Sighing, she remembered what Patrick had said, and it didn’t give her comfort.“Let’s just say this school is where people like you—capabilities discovered or unused—congregate. If you still don’t understand, by all means go and reveal what’s inside it, just don’t expect the world to believe you.” He winked with a surreptitious grin. “Humans are more dimwitted than you think you are.”

Had Hera been given a choice, she wouldn’t have spent her time in the Filling Realm where she would be ogled at by the students. For goodness sake, she wasn’t some kind of a display in a museum to have their attention like that. Though a part of her already agreed that the fact that she was a scholar of the president himself made her such a glimmering trophy amidst the glory of a gallery, it irked her all the same when their heads turned toward her as she walked in.The Filling Realm was like a small colosseum, covered so perfectly in white, a splendid travertine stone slabs rounding it. Circle in shape, the tables were arranged in a way that curved in the corners, giving a wide berth on the elevated stage where the likes of Hera could sit. From the glass table and throne-like chairs, they were made to look like the glistening pride cased on the grounds of the building.As Hera made to sit on the far left side of the table, the scholars already seated there

Hera had never all her life experienced a dreadful first week in her whole year of education. This was saying something, as she’s often besieged by the idea that no subject or teacher whatsoever would get into her nerves. Now, however, she seemed to have developed a keen understanding that meeting Ms. Lourdes would, if not always, led her to more detention, which, without a doubt, would twist her sanity. Nonetheless, it was with great relief that she had no scheduled class with her on Friday. It’s the only day of the week she knew would be free from her scorn and snide remarks that if she didn’t improve over the next few days, she’d keep detaining her in that Torture Chamber. Though quite shaken, she really had no idea what she’s supposed to answer when she didn’t even understand half of what she’s saying?Aside from Ms. Lourdes, the other teachers seemed to not mind Hera being quiet all the time, not when many students were raising t

Hera, after accepting Patrick Hemmingworth’s offer, had been trapped in an already tight-knit, which became a lot firmer as days passed. From Ms. Lourdes who kept giving her detentions any way possible, Kioven nagging her how best to behave and what’s expected of a special scholar like her, to the arrival of the Standouts League that, according to the hysterics students, was more likely a perfectly placed net over them. Not only would their movement be restricted, but they’d also have to keep up with new additional rules this League would announce later on in the meeting.  If it’s a question of choosing to attend or not, Hera would have picked the latter without much thought; however, something about the anxious look on Kioven’s face as he cornered her just outside the building of the dormitory earlier bothered her. It was almost as though he’s as shaken as the students, and that’s saying something. After all, he’s a part of the staff, no matter how young he might look.

Hera woke with a start on Tuesday, a tight knot on the pits of her stomach making her body a little heavy. She sat straight, wiping the wet off her cheeks, and stared at the open window. A feeble light was starting to creep upward, crowning the still, dark horizon a tinge of brightness. Hera sighed. Another day was rising, yet she didn’t feel elated. She dreaded the time when the sky would turn blue and the sun was already way up above, for then she would have no excuse but to face the school. It’s not hard to guess by now that it would be just as miserable as her former week, or even worst, considering the terrible presence of the League.For a moment there she didn’t know why she’s sinking in misery, but the sight of a pamphlet lying helplessly on the tiled ground brought the memory back. She felt a little queasy. Shaking it off, she went to the comfort room and lay on the tub. It’s starting to become a hobby of hers. Waking up, resting on the