The attendant approached, gesturing for Brando to take out the puppy. "Let me have a look."

  Brando hesitated for a moment, then extracted the puppy from his backpack. The creature looked around curiously, sniffing the air full of new scents.

  "Hmm." The man studied the puppy with a critical eye. He gently turned it around, checked its paws, its build. "No, this won't work. It's too small for grade one. Here we only have developed specimens with at least minimal control over their powers. This one is practically a newborn."

  "But can't you make an exception?" Giordano asked. "I mean, look at it, it's so—"

  "It's not about how cute it is," the attendant interrupted. "It's about survival. The other specimens would tear it to pieces in..." He stopped abruptly, frowning. "Wait a minute."

  He bent down, examining the puppy's snout more carefully. "Hmm, this is interesting."

  "What?" Brando and Giordano asked in unison.

  "The third eye." The man straightened up, and his demeanor had completely changed. "It's perfectly developed. Usually, multiple mutations take generations to stabilize," he pulled out a camera and began taking photos. "But this is an exceptional case. Where did you find it?"

  "Outside the Academy," Brando replied. "Some punks were tormenting it."

  "Outside?" The attendant typed something on his tablet. "Even more interesting. You see, Glacial mutations were thought to have ended with the Age of Chaos. When the nanospores stopped circulating in the air, the transformations should have ceased. And yet..."

  He showed them the tablet. There were photos of other mutated animals, graphs, data. "In recent years, we've recorded sporadic cases of new mutations. As if something were still changing the DNA of living beings. But we've never seen such a young specimen with such stable mutations."

  Giordano leaned forward to look at the data. "So it's like super special?"

  "It could be the key to understanding why the mutations continue." The attendant scratched his chin, thoughtful. "The problem is that we can't keep it here. As I said, it's too small. The others would kill it before we could study it properly."

  Brando heard Giordano hold his breath. He knew what his friend was about to say and...

  "What if we kept it?"

  The attendant looked at them for a long moment. "You know, that's not a bad idea."

  "What?" Brando turned sharply, which immediately reminded him that his ribs weren't very happy.

  "Think about it," the man continued. "You raise it, we study it. We'll give you all the necessary instructions for its care. And when it's big enough..."

  "When it's big enough?" Giordano pressed.

  "It will become your personal training partner."

  "REALLY?" Giordano's shout made several guards turn around.

  "It's a solution that benefits everyone," the attendant explained. "We get the data we need, you get a training partner already accustomed to you. And he," he pointed to the puppy that was trying to bite its tail, "grows up in a protected environment."

  Giordano looked like he was about to explode with joy. Brando, on the other hand, was more cautious.

  "Isn't it against regulations?" Brando asked doubtfully.

  The attendant smiled. "Regulations state that students cannot keep Pseudo-Glacials in their rooms... unless they have special permission for research." He pulled out some papers from his tablet. "And guess what? I can give that permission."

  The puppy, as if understanding that its fate was being decided, stopped chasing its tail and looked at everyone present with all three eyes. Then, as if to seal the deal, it wagged its tail.

  "Come on, Brando," Giordano whispered. "It's practically destiny."

  Brando looked at the puppy, then at the attendant, then back at the puppy. "Alright," he sighed. "But if I wake up one night and find this beast as big as a bear staring at me, it's your fault."

  "WOOHOO!" Giordano nearly jumped on him with enthusiasm.

  "Excellent," the attendant said, already filling out the forms. "I'll explain everything you need to know. But first, what do you call it?"

  Brando and Giordano looked at each other. They hadn't even thought about it.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "So," the attendant explained while completing the final forms, "there are some things you need to know about caring for a growing Pseudo-Glacial."

  He pulled out a device that looked like a high-tech thermometer. "This is for monitoring its temperature. It's essential to keep it warm until it develops its powers. If you see it drop below thirty degrees Celsius, cover it immediately."

  "Wait, wait," Giordano mentally took notes while gesticulating. "So no cold baths?"

  "Not for now. When the true mutation begins, you'll know. It'll become restless, and its body temperature will suddenly drop. At that point, it will need to learn to manage the cold on its own."

  He passed them a tablet with a list. "These are the allowed foods. No raw meat for now, even if it asks for it. And it will beg you for some, believe me."

  The puppy, as if to contradict him, yawned, showing all its sharp teeth.

  "Here are the documents to sign," he continued, handing them a series of papers. "Read them care—"

  "Yesyesokayfinethanks," Giordano grabbed the pen and signed before the attendant could finish his sentence.

  Brando, however, took his time. He read every single line, ignoring Giordano who was impatiently hopping next to him.

  "Come on, it's just bureaucracy!"

  The attendant hid a smile as Brando finally signed. "These are the emergency contacts. If you see strange behaviors, abnormal temperatures, or anything that seems out of place, call immediately."

  "So now it's officially ours?" Giordano asked, practically vibrating in place.

  "Yes, it's yours. But remember: weekly check-ups, mandatory. And keep a diary of every change, no matter how small."

  The puppy, as if understanding that the matter was concluded, curled up comfortably in Brando's backpack. All three of its eyes half-closed in a satisfied expression.

  ***

  The cafeteria was a deafening chaos of voices and laughter. A huge environment with very high ceilings and long rows of tables, some made of fine wood, others of worn plastic. Like everything in that Academy, there was a precise hierarchy here too.

  The two got in line, and Brando sniffed the air. On one side, aromas he had never smelled before, stuff that seemed to come from a luxury restaurant. On the other... well, that was definitely stew. Maybe. If you were optimistic.

  "Your hand." The cook behind the counter seemed as bored as she was pissed off. A hairnet hung off to one side like a dead jellyfish.

  "What?"

  "YOUR HAND, I said." She pointed to the KryoScanner next to her with an exasperated gesture.

  Brando extended his hand. The woman yanked it onto the reader as if she were trying to rip it off.

  "Zeta?" Her face went from boredom to disgust. "Seriously? I thought those were an urban legend."

  And enough with this urban legend story... Brando thought with a snort.

  She threw—literally threw—a piece of bread onto the tray. It looked older than some professors. Then she poured something that technically should have been soup into a chipped bowl.

  "Next!"

  "But I haven't even—"

  "I SAID NEXT!"

  Brando stared at the brownish liquid. There was something white floating on the surface. He preferred not to investigate its nature.

  "Hey, wait for me!" Giordano put his hand on the reader. The display flashed: Ω.

  The cook's transformation was instantaneous. Her face opened into a smile that showed more teeth than seemed anatomically possible.

  "But you're a Volpe! Let me do this for you, I assure you won't regret it."

  "Yes, thank you very much."

  Brando watched in disbelief as an entire parade of dishes appeared on Giordano's tray. Meat that seemed to melt just by looking at it, vegetables that sparkled like jewels, and what appeared to be a chocolate cake.

  "I also gave you some of this risotto that's out of this world," said the cook, now practically chirping.

  They left the line, Giordano with a veritable feast in his hands, Brando with what could barely be called soup.

  "There's a free table over there," Brando said, heading toward the most remote corner of the cafeteria.

  "Wait." Giordano grabbed him by a sleeve. "Come on, I have a better idea."

  He dragged him to a table in the center of the room, ignoring the stares of the other students.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Brando looked around, uncomfortable under the weight of all those judging eyes.

  "I'm sitting down to eat with a friend," Giordano replied, plunking down his tray with a cheeky smile. Then, with a theatrical gesture, he pushed half of his food toward Brando. "And I'm sharing lunch with you because I'm a gentleman."

  Brando hesitated, his pride battling with hunger. "I don't need your—"

  "Oh, shut up and eat." Giordano placed a slice of cake in front of him, the scent of chocolate filling the air between them. "Besides, you need to give me strength to decide on the puppy's name."

  The puppy, as if on cue, peeked out from Brando's backpack, sniffing the air with its nostrils.

  "I didn't say that." Brando tried to protest, but his stomach growled treacherously.

  "I was thinking of something epic. Like Devastator. Or Exterminator." Giordano gestured with his fork as he said it.

  "It's a puppy of maybe six pounds." Brando rolled his eyes, but a smile crept onto his lips despite himself.

  "Exactly! It's ironic!" Giordano lit up as if he'd just had the best idea of the century.

  Students at nearby tables stared at them as if they were crazy. They whispered among themselves, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and disgust. An Omega sharing lunch with a Zeta? Scandalous.

  "You know you're risking your reputation, right?" Brando said, finally giving in and taking a piece of meat.

  Giordano shrugged. "My reputation was already shot to hell when I showed up at this academy. Besides," he added with a grin, "seeing their faces while we eat this stuff in front of everyone is priceless."

  Brando had to admit he was right. The face of the cook watching them from across the room was priceless.

  "So," Giordano said as he attacked his risotto, "what do you think of Scourge? Or Calamity?"

  "I'm not calling the puppy Calamity."

  "Plague?"

  "No."

  "Apocalypse?"

  "You're making it worse."