Blake And Ellie

Ellie, with her vibrant orange-red hair cascading down her back, walked briskly through the academy's hallway, her cell phone firmly in her hands. Her fingers slid over the screen with palpable urgency, reflecting the frustration on her face. "Damn, Blake still hasn't responded!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with worry and irritation. "There's no way he can just ignore the messages, especially when he knows I'm worried."

Beside her, Sam, always the balance of the group with his black hair and mysterious red eyes, tried to calm the storm that was Ellie. "He must need some time, right? Losing an arm isn't like, no big deal," he spoke with a mix of concern and typical calm of someone trying to keep the peace.

Sam, walking beside Ellie, understood her concern but knew he needed to help her stay calm. Blake and Ellie shared a strong, brotherly friendship that stretched back to childhood. For Ellie, who had few close friends, Blake was like a brother, a constant and comforting presence in her life.

Ellie stopped for a moment, staring into the void as she pondered Sam's words. "I know, I know... I just don't want him to face this alone," she replied, her green eyes shining with determination and a touch of fear.

Sam, noticing Ellie's growing unease, deeply understood the source of her concern. He knew that the friendship between Ellie and Blake was not superficial; it extended back to their childhood. For Ellie, who surrounded herself with few but meaningful friends, Blake played a crucial role in her life, a constant presence that was now painfully missed.

As they walked, Ellie began to quicken her pace, her impatience spilling over into agitated murmurs. "Blake, Blake, Blake... You better have a good excuse for leaving me in the dark like this!" The frustration in her voice was almost palpable, her words punctuated by a mix of anxiety and slight resentment.

Sam hurried to keep up with Ellie's quickened pace, calling out to her. "Hey, wait, Ellie!" He reached out, trying to catch up to her. His expression was a mix of concern and a desire to calm her down. "There's no point in getting stressed like this. We'll find a way to help Blake, okay?"

Ellie abruptly stopped, turning to Sam. Her green eyes met Sam's red ones, and for a moment, her anxiety seemed to lessen, replaced by a silent understanding. "I just... I just want to know if he's okay," she admitted, her voice low, almost a whisper. "Blake has always been there for me, and now, when he needs it, I can't do anything."

Sam placed his hand on Ellie's shoulder, offering a comforting gesture. "I know," he said softly. "Blake is our friend too. We'll figure out how to help. But first, he needs his space. Let's give that to him."

The news about Blake losing an arm had spread rapidly through the academy and the world, eliciting a mix of shock and compassion. Meanwhile, the incident in the dungeon had put Ellie, Sam, and Diana in the social media spotlight. Their accounts on slap.com saw an exponential increase in followers, reaching millions in a matter of hours, a vivid reflection of the fascination and admiration they had sparked.

More than that, heroes from all over the world began to take notice of this trio of promising youngsters. The leading guilds, groups of heroes representing the most distinguished and skilled, were now setting their sights on Sam, Diana, and Ellie. Each of these guilds, known for housing the planet's most powerful heroes, were closely evaluating the three, considering their potential to join their ranks.

However, amidst this growing attention and fame, Ellie seemed distracted and anxious. She sighed deeply, scratching her head in a gesture of frustration. "Okay, so we'll give him space! If that's what he needs, that's what we'll give... for now!" she declared, starting to walk faster, her irritation palpable. Her concern for Blake still weighed on her mind, but she was trying to move forward, even if temporarily.

Sam watched Ellie walk away quickly, letting out a tired sigh. Dealing with Ellie's impatience and stress over the past few days hadn't been easy, but he understood the reasons behind her behavior. "Here's to another day of challenges," he thought, following Ellie down the hallway. The sudden fame and the expectations of heroes and guilds around the world added an extra layer of pressure on them, but Sam was determined to face everything with his usual calm and resilience.

---

As I, Dean, walked down the futuristic hallway of the academy, flanked by white lockers with digital locks, Blake walked beside me. With his nearly silver-white hair, strikingly contrasting against his deep blue eyes, he was a figure that effortlessly captured attention. The emptiness in the right sleeve of his school uniform, gently swinging with each step, was a constant reminder of the recent loss he had suffered.

"Why are you following me?" I asked, with an ironic tone, but inwardly curious about the unexpected company. Blake, with his indifferent demeanor, seemed to shy away from any excessive sympathy, as if the absence of his right arm was a minor detail.

"I'm not following you, just heading to the classroom," he replied in a neutral tone, keeping his focus ahead.

"Are you already 100%? Impressive," I said, unable to hide a trace of sarcasm mixed with admiration. He was the kind of person who faced adversity with an almost supernatural calm.

As we progressed, students stopped and watched us pass. Their surprised looks and almost audible whispers filled the hallway. I could feel the weight of their interest on us – an attention that I certainly did not seek.

"You're Dean Carleone, right?" Blake finally broke the silence between us, pulling me out of my thoughts. His blue eyes stared at me with an intensity that belied his casual demeanor.

"Yes, that's me," I replied, keeping my voice calm while my mind raced. The situation was taking a turn I hadn't anticipated – and, frankly, I wasn't sure if I liked that.

Blake gave me a deep look before shifting his focus, seeming to understand that I wasn't very inclined to a long conversation. As we continued our way down the corridor, his presence by my side attracted curious glances and whispered comments. The surprise of the students was evident; no one expected to see Blake back so soon, especially considering that the estimated recovery time was about a month. His early presence added another element of surprise to the already charged atmosphere of the academy.

Passing by a vibrant poster on the wall, my attention was captured by the announcement of the "Advanced Pentagon Festival!" The colorful and eye-catching poster detailed one of the most anticipated events of the year, standing out with its bright letters. The festival's main show would be a one-on-one combat tournament, opening the possibility of confrontations between students of different years, even from the first against the third year. The promise of exciting and unpredictable battles was a guarantee of entertainment.

Beyond the tournament, the festival promised a variety of attractions. There would be food stalls offering delicacies from different cultures, interactive games, and socializing spaces for students, teachers, and visitors. The event would be open to the public, allowing people from all over the world to personally watch the battles and participate in the festivities.

A special highlight in the announcement was the confirmed presence of representatives from the major hero guilds. They would be there to observe and analyze the students' skills, a perfect opportunity for students to demonstrate their abilities and perhaps attract the attention of potential recruiters.

"This is going to be interesting," I thought, looking at the poster with a cynical smile. The Pentagon Festival wouldn't just be a celebration, but also a chance to see the students – and perhaps myself – in action under the watchful eyes of the world's greatest heroes. "Who knows what might happen?" I murmured to myself, the anticipation for the competition growing within me.

Ah, the eternal dilemma of being the author of your own story, yet still behaving like a mere supporting character. "Stay low-key, Dean," I reminded myself, walking down the corridor with Blake by my side. "Leave the spectacle to the protagonists and their heroic extravagances." After all, who needs the spotlight when you have control of the pen, right?

The advancement of the Pentagono Festival smelled like a strategic move by the academy. A way to sweep the dust of the dungeon incident under the rug with a noisy party and a fighting tournament. "Nothing like a good fight to distract the masses," I thought, with an ironic smile. It was a classic, yet effective maneuver.

And, yes, there was that glaring disadvantage for us, poor souls of the first year. In previous years, the brave – or foolish – of our year who dared to enter the ring ended up more as punching bags than anything else. But this year, oh, this year would be different. With Sam, Diana, Ellie, Chloe, and Blake, the darlings of fate and narrative, the whole thing promised to be a show in itself.

"Just imagine, me, Dean Carleone, entering the arena," I reflected, a sarcastic smile forming on my lips. "It would be the height of comedy." My skill at dismantling, while useful in certain contexts, was a bit overkill for a friendly confrontation. Not to mention that I had no interest in being the class clown, getting beaten up and going home with my tail between my legs.

"But, of course, let's not forget my dismantling ability," I continued thinking. "One wrong move and I could literally dismember someone." I laughed at the irony. "Nothing like a bit of danger to spice up a school tournament, right?" But as much fun as it was to play with these thoughts, I knew my participation in the tournament would be limited to the role of spectator. And what a spectacle it would be, watching the academy's heroes parade their power and skill, while I enjoyed my privileged position as an anonymous observer.

In the end, I preferred to keep my presence discreet and my cards well hidden. After all, in the world of heroes and villains, true power often lies in those who know when not to show up.

---

As Blake and I entered room A-1, our unusual pairing caused a stir. There stood Professor Lizy, with her imposing posture and a gaze that swept across the room. She seemed more interested in her coffee than in the commotion our arrival caused. The chairs, aligned like soldiers, were only partially occupied, but that didn't stop the glances from turning towards us, especially towards Blake and his new "missing piece" style.

As we walked into room A-1, a wave of surprise swept through the space. Professor Lizy, with her usual air of having seen it all, stood up, but even she couldn't avoid a slightly surprised look. Around us, the students, scattered among rows of white and futuristic chairs, turned almost synchronously to stare at us. They whispered among themselves, and some discreetly pointed at Blake's missing arm.

Me, trying to maintain my usual dramatic detachment, walked towards my usual spot in the isolated corner next to the window, where I could watch the campus with its trees dancing in the wind. But Blake, with his new status as a tragic celebrity, followed me, drawing a chorus of murmurs and curious glances.

"Ah, the art of being the center of attention without even trying," I thought sarcastically. As I sat down, I noticed that Blake settled next to me in the empty chair. I sighed internally, lamenting the loss of my usual invisibility.

My tongue clicked, "Tsk," and the sound pulled me out of any dreamy remnants that the futuristic view of the room might have constructed. With the discretion of a minutely bumbling spy, I murmured to Blake, my unexpected seat neighbor, "Why are you following me?"

His gaze met mine with the confusion of someone who has never found the escape route in a maze game. "I'm not following you; I just want to avoid the company of energies that don't complement my aura," he said in a whisper that was part dramatic, part didactic, making a vague reference to his usual followers.

Of course, Blake was talking about the social parasites that gravitated around him, drawn by the mere shine of his status. I subtly rolled my eyes and whispered back, "Ok, but you're turning my aura into the main reflector."

"Hmm, that's not my fault," he retorted, his voice a whisper of guilty indifference.

Incredulous, I thought with all synonyms of indignation, "Not your fault? Right, and I'm the Wizard of Oz."

With an internal growl that only my diary of ironies would hear, I decided the best strategy was to ignore his imperial presence and turned my attention back to the window, a scene of imaginary escapes and deeply superficial reflections. "Bah, I can already see the drama that will unfold here," I lamented internally.

Ellie, Diana, and Sam, all still oblivious to the latest social developments, would make their triumphant entry into the room and, well, would see the unexpected dynamic duo at the back: me and Blake. Ellie, with her worry radar turned up to 11, would zoom over like a heroine at the frontline of the apocalypse, inadvertently involving me in the web of events that only academic life could weave. "Could the universe grant me a day of normality?" I sighed hopelessly.

It was at that exact moment of rhetorical questioning that the door to the room opened with the softness of a soap opera scene, and lo and behold, Chloe made her entrance, dignity personified in a student about to shatter hearts or grade curves. With her silhouette cut against the artificial light, she scanned the room like a predator seeking prey amidst sleeping lions. Her eyes found Blake and, for a moment, I too became a victim of her curious inspection.

My gaze crossed with hers for a nano-second that seemed to last a mini ad break, but soon she depoliticized the situation, walking to her self-appointed throne on the other side of the universe — or the room, which, considering my sarcastic state of mind, was practically the same thing.

Eager to witness the emotional earthquake that would be Ellie realizing how little Blake cared for her existence, I could practically hear the drama bells tolling. But, of course, life loves irony, and now I prayed she wouldn't find Blake, especially because the guy was right next to me. Look at God playing scriptwriter with my life, preparing me for a narrative crossover I definitely didn't ask for.

Despite my creator's portion having a special fondness for Ellie, the beginning of her plot was marked by writing decisions that I, with the eyes of now, would like to bury in a very deep hole. I treated those pages with the same care as an elephant in a china shop.

And in that moment of literary self-criticism, as a sign that the universe was definitely having fun at my expense, the rest of the main cast made their grand entrance. Sam with his bearing that mixes intentional sloppiness with a dose of 'I'm too much'; Diana, walking with the grace of someone who could reinvent elegance if she wanted; and Ellie, the star of my constellation of characters, whose emotions I had programmed for this exact moment... which now I fervently wished to reprogram.

As the golden light of silent acclaim covered their outlines as soon as they crossed the threshold of the room, I felt the premonition of an imminent plot twist. Inside, a small, defeated scriptwriter shrank, aware that now I would be dragged into a protagonist adventure I intended to only observe.

My gaze fixed on the table, but I could feel the movement of the three like waves of energy disturbing my literary resting area. "There goes Dean," I sang softly in my mind, "the guy who just wanted a quiet supporting role, trying not to be sucked into this Mexican soap opera of oversized emotions."