His False Mate, Her True Rise

CHAPTER 3

“Along with growing stronger on your own, you’ll need to learn how to work as a team,” the teacher’s voice rang across the courtyard. “The goddess blessed us with strength to protect the weak and prevent needless loss. You will learn to cover the weaknesses of others, just as they may one day cover yours. If you want to know where you stand, check the notice board.”

With that, she stepped down from the platform and walked away. Students rushed the board at once, shoulders pressing together as voices rose with excitement, pride, and dread. Some shoved forward to secure a better view, while others hung back as though delaying the truth might change it. Elena waited until the first wave thinned before moving closer.

Her eyes searched the crowded list until she found her name.

Group Three. Senior Rowan.

She looked higher and quickly found Elaine’s name near the top of the board. Group One, under Kael Draven, the crown prince. Several girls near the board whispered the prince’s name with open envy, while others glanced around to see who had been chosen for his group. Relief loosened something tight in Elena’s chest.

At least they were separate.

Then her eyes returned to her own list of names, where most carried wolf marks beside them, small symbols stamped neatly next to each student. Every name above and below hers bore the same mark. Elena stared at the space beside her own name for longer than she meant to.

She wasn’t a wolf.

Yet she had just been placed in wolf training.

She folded the paper before anyone noticed how tightly she was holding it. A bell rang across the courtyard, loud enough to kill every conversation, and students straightened at once. Whatever Lycoria had seemed before, it felt far less welcoming now.

“Group leaders to your stations,” an instructor called. “First years, report immediately. If your name must be called twice, you are already behind.”

The crowd split apart and surged in every direction. Some students moved with confidence, already laughing with the people beside them as if they had belonged here for years. Others tried to hide how lost they looked, clutching their papers as they hurried to keep up. Elena hesitated for one dangerous second, then forced herself forward.

Here, even hesitation felt like failure.

East Field sat beyond the main courtyard, past older training yards marked by years of drills and sparring. Weapon racks lined the walls, and the packed dirt ground was scarred with old footprints and fresh cuts. By the time Elena arrived, rows had already formed beneath the open sky.

Most of the students waiting there carried themselves with the same quiet certainty. It showed in the way they stood, relaxed but ready, as though power lived naturally in their bodies. Some exchanged amused looks as newcomers rushed into place. Elena slipped into the back row and felt the difference immediately.

She looked like an error no one had corrected.

A boy near the front glanced over his shoulder. His eyes dropped to the mark on her packet, then lifted to her face. “Since when does the goddess choose peasants?” he said loudly enough for half the row to hear.

Low laughter followed.

Another student smirked. “Maybe they needed someone to carry the bags.”

More laughter spread through the line, easier now that one person had started it. A few students turned fully to look at her, curiosity replacing boredom. Elena could feel their attention like hands pressing against her skin.

She kept her expression still.

Heat climbed into her chest, but she refused to look down. If mockery was all they had to offer, they would need more than that. She said nothing and stayed where she was.

Then the field went silent.

A young man stepped onto the platform at the front, dressed in black training clothes instead of academy robes. He moved without hurry, but every voice died the moment he arrived. He did nothing to demand attention, yet everyone gave it to him.

Elena knew at once this had to be Rowan.

He looked younger than she expected for a senior, but nothing about him felt uncertain. His shoulders were broad, his posture loose in the way only skilled fighters could afford. His eyes moved across the rows, reading faces, posture, and weakness, and when they reached the back, they paused on Elena for a brief moment before moving on.

“My name is Rowan Vale,” he said, his voice calm enough to carry across the field without effort. “I lead Group Three, and I have no interest in excuses, titles, or pride.” His gaze swept over them once more. “You were placed here because this academy believes you still have something to prove.”

No one moved.

“If you expected comfort, you joined the wrong group,” Rowan continued. “If you expected praise, earn it first. If you expected fairness, leave now.”

A few students shifted where they stood, but no one stepped out of line.

“Good,” he said. “Then perhaps some of you can be taught.”

He stepped down from the platform and moved through the rows without wasting time. He corrected stances, knocked weak grips aside, and sent careless students back into position with a single glance or gesture. No one spoke while he worked, and even the ones who had laughed earlier stood rigid now.

When he stopped beside the boy who had mocked Elena, Rowan struck the back of his knee with his boot. The boy dropped instantly, catching himself with both hands in the dirt as gasps rippled through the line.

“If you have enough breath to mock others,” Rowan said evenly, “you have enough breath to train harder.”

No one laughed this time.

He continued down the row as if nothing had happened. One student was told to widen his stance. Another was ordered to unclench his jaw before he broke his own teeth. A girl with perfect posture was made to start over because her focus drifted for half a second.

Elena watched him come closer, her pulse rising with every step.

She kept her shoulders straight and her face blank, refusing to look afraid. One by one, the students were dismissed until she was the last one left. The silence around her felt heavier than the crowd had.

Rowan stopped in front of her and looked her over in silence.

His gaze moved from her hands to her posture, then back to her face. Elena fought the urge to shift beneath it. She had never felt so exposed.

Then he closed the distance.

Close enough for the field around them to disappear, he tilted his head slightly and drew in one quiet breath. For the first time, something in his expression changed. His eyes locked on hers, cold and certain.

His voice carried across the silence.

“You’re human.”