Out of nowhere, he appeared, holding a wand that shimmered faintly in the light. Snowflakes swirled around him, defying logic, spinning lazily as though guided by an unseen force. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he conjured a whirlpool in mid-air. It spun gracefully in a mesmerizing circular motion, as if the universe had decided to dance for him.

  "Ready to dive in?" he asked, his voice casual, as though this were an everyday occurrence.

  I blinked, trying to process the scene unfolding before me. “Uh, dive into what exactly?”

  His smirk widened. "You'll see."

  I stood there, caught off guard by his sudden appearance and the surreal situation. "Before we go, just want to tell ya, you're a very special guy."

  “Me?” I replied, raising an eyebrow. “Because I punched that TSA guy, Uncle Bruce?”

  He chuckled, clearly amused. “Exactly. By the way, from now on, once we’re in the academy, call me Mr. Drails. No more Uncle Bruce. Gotta keep things professional, kid.”

  I gave him a skeptical look but played along. “Alright, Mr. Drails,” I said, emphasizing the name with a hint of sarcasm.

  He nodded approvingly, as if I’d passed some small test. “Anyway,” he continued, “about that punch—it was impressive. I don’t entirely understand how you transform into this super-strong version of yourself when you're mad, but hey, it works.”

  I waved off the compliment, still unsure how to respond. But my mind, ever-curious, couldn’t let the mystery slide. “Why don’t Mom or Dad have these abilities? Or do they, and I just don’t know about it?” I asked.

  His expression shifted, softening slightly. “That’s... complicated. Let’s just say not everything is passed down directly. Sometimes things skip generations. Other times, they manifest uniquely. But hey, you're here now. That’s what matters.” He turned toward the swirling whirlpool and gestured for me to follow. “Now, hop through the portal. The limo’s waiting on the other side.”

  He strode confidently into the vortex, disappearing as the air around him shimmered. For a moment, I just stood there, frozen. My mind was screaming, A portal? Is this actually happening?

  Finally, I mustered the courage to step forward, bracing myself as I passed through the swirling energy. On the other side, I found myself in a completely different world. The air was crisp, carrying a faint metallic scent that I couldn’t quite place. In front of me stood a grand structure that looked like a blend of ancient architecture and futuristic design. It was elegant yet intimidating, with gold accents glinting against polished dark stone. Rings of light floated around its spires, rotating with a quiet hum.

  Above us, a few people worked on what looked like maintenance tasks. They wore uniforms that didn’t scream “wizard” or “spy” but something in between. Tools glinted in their hands, and they moved with a precision that suggested years of expertise. They paid no attention to us, which made the scene even more surreal.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  We walked toward a sleek, black limousine parked at the edge of the path. Its surface gleamed under the golden light, and even from a distance, I could tell this wasn’t your average car. Inside, the seats were upholstered in plush leather, and the interior smelled faintly of cedar and magic—yes, magic has a smell, apparently. Oddly, there was no driver.

  Before I could comment, a doorway materialized outside the limo, and in stepped a man dressed like he belonged on a naval ship. His crisp black suit was complemented by a white hat perched neatly on his head. Clean-shaven, he looked like he’d just stepped off a recruitment poster. Without a word, he slid into the driver’s seat, and we were off.

  “Portals,” I said after a moment, breaking the silence. “Do you guys use them all the time, or was that just a one-off?”

  Mr. Drails glanced at me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Portals are convenient, but they’re not for everyday errands. Too much magic in the wrong places draws attention. You'll learn all about the mechanics—and the risks—when we dive into wizard history at the academy.”

  “Great,” I muttered, imagining endless lectures instead of hands-on magic. “So, no downtime for, I don’t know, gaming or something?”

  He chuckled. “Oh, you’ll have downtime, but it comes with rules. You can hang out, play games, whatever—but only with someone from the YMPA. You’ll have two lives to manage, and trust me, you don’t want them overlapping. It’s messy.”

  The limo glided smoothly along a winding path, passing buildings that seemed to grow taller and more intricate the further we went. Each structure had its unique charm, from towers adorned with floating lanterns to courtyards with shimmering fountains. Finally, we stopped in front of a building that looked more modern than the rest.

  Inside, the place was bustling. Students milled about, some carrying books, others with wands tucked behind their backs. Grand staircases led to different wings of the building, each one marked with symbols I couldn’t decipher.

  “What’s up there?” I asked, pointing to a particularly ornate staircase.

  “Classrooms,” he replied. “The stairs behind us lead to history and theoretical studies. The ones ahead focus on combat and tactical training. You’ll get to explore both soon enough.”

  I nodded, pretending to take it all in. Truthfully, I just wanted to explore the place and uncover its secrets. The academy felt like a mix of Hogwarts and a top-secret spy facility, and I was itching to see more.

  “So, what’s next?” I asked, trying to mask my excitement.

  He grinned, clearly enjoying my curiosity. “Back to the limo. There’s more to see.”

  “More?” I echoed, disbelief creeping into my voice. “We’ve barely scratched the surface!”

  We returned to the limo, and as soon as we settled in, Mr. Drails pulled out his phone. His face darkened as he read something on the screen.

  “Change of plans,” he said, his tone serious. “There’s a situation at the White House.”

  My stomach flipped. The White House? Already? I hadn’t even started training, and we were diving into national emergencies? Before I could ask for details, the driver stepped out of the car.

  Then, without warning, the limo filled with smoke. Thick, choking gas poured in from hidden vents, and panic surged through me. I fumbled for the door handle, but when I pulled it, the handle broke off in my hand. My heart raced. Was this an attack? A test? Both?

  I kicked at the window, desperate to break it, but the glass didn’t even crack. My mind raced through possibilities. Then, I remembered—my fists. The mysterious power Mr. Drails had mentioned.

  Clenching my hands, I focused as hard as I could, willing the power to activate. Nothing happened. The gas thickened, blurring my vision. Just when I thought I was out of options, the smoke vanished, and the doors swung open.

  I tumbled out, coughing and gasping for air. Blinking through watery eyes, I saw Mr. Drails standing over me, clipboard in hand.

  “Congrats,” he said, his smirk returning. “You passed. Barely.”

  “Barely?” I groaned, still sprawled on the ground.

  “F+,” he clarified. “Could’ve been better. You didn’t even think to try to lower the windows.”

  I stared at him, exasperated. Of course. The windows. Why didn’t that cross my mind?