STAR ACADEMY

CHAPTERS NINE

Carter's hands were still shaking when he reached his room. He slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, trying to catch his breath. The humiliation from Kane's class was still fresh, burning in his chest like acid.

Seventy-two hours. Three days to build a social media empire from nothing or lose everything.

A notification popped up on his vision, showing an I coming video call from Reginald. Carter swiped right to accept it and was immediately face to face with a frowning Reginald.

"Sit," Reginald said, pointing to a desk chair behind Carter.

"I'd rather stand," Carter said.

"That wasn't a request," Reginald growled.

Slowly, Carter sat down.

"Do you have any idea," Reginald began, "how catastrophically you've failed today?"

"Failed?" Carter's frustration finally broke through. "How the hell was I supposed to know about some quarterly evaluation? You trained me for three weeks on etiquette and voice coaching and Owen's history, but nobody—NOBODY—mentioned that I'd be facing some crazy test within days of arriving!"

"You should have—"

"Should have what?" Carter stood up, anger overwhelming his fear of Reginald. "Read Owen's mind? I'm working with corrupted data files, a glitching AI in my brain, and a cover story full of holes! You send me into a school where everyone hates Owen Grace, give me three weeks of training, and expect me to magically know about every goddamn thing?"

Reginald's jaw tightened. For a moment, Carter thought he was about to get hit. Though he has to remind him that it was just a video call, hence Reginald wasn't even in the room with him. Then Reginald did something unexpected. He sighed.

The sound was so human, so unlike him, that it stopped Carter cold.

"You're right," Reginald said softly.

Carter blinked. "What?"

"You're right. I didn't know about the evaluation either," Reginald said. "Owen was... secretive about his academic life. The Grace family gave him autonomy here. They didn't monitor his day-to-day activities. They only cared about results, his ranking, his public image, his value to the family brand."

"So you're telling me," Carter said slowly, "that you sent me in here completely blind."

"Not completely. But yes, there were gaps in our intelligence." Reginald turned back to face him. "I only learned about the evaluation because the Protocol was transmitting during Kane's lecture. The system recorded everything in real-time and sent it to me."

Carter's blood ran cold. "Wait. Real-time? You mean the Protocol is constantly recording everything I see and hear?"

"Yes," Reginald said.

"Everything?" Carter asked again.

"Everything," Reginald confirmed.

"So you're watching me. All the time. Oh my God, even when I'm in the bathroom?" Carter's face flushed.

"Mr. Hayes, I assure you I don't sit and watch a live feed of your every activity," Reginald interrupted, his tone dry. "The system records and archives. I review only important footage when necessary. Your personal moments are of no interest to me."

"That's not reassuring! That's actually more creepy!" Carter started pacing again. "So there's just... what, hours of footage of me showering? Sleeping? Having a complete mental breakdown in this room for the past hour?"

"Technically, yes. Though the video quality in the shower is quite poor due to steam interfering with the optical sensors."

"That's not the point!" Carter yelled.

"Mr. Hayes." Reginald's voice sharpened. "Focus. We have a crisis to manage, and your privacy concerns are not the priority right now."

Carter wanted to keep arguing, but Reginald was right. He swallowed his anger and sat back down. "Fine. What do we do?"

Reginald pulled up a holographic display from his phone, projecting Owen's social media statistics into the air between them. The numbers were damning.

“Owen’s Inogram account has forty-seven thousand followers,” Reginald said, scrolling through the screen with faint disapproval. “His last post was six months ago, and his current engagement rate is just point-eight percent. You need at least five to stay relevant.”

"That's impossible in three days," Carter said flatly.

"Nothing is impossible. Just improbable." Reginald swiped to the next screen. "TikTak: twenty-three thousand followers. Last video: seven months ago. The comments are particularly damaging—people asking if Owen's dead, making jokes about his disappearance. YouTube: twelve thousand subscribers. Channel inactive for over a year."

Carter's head was spinning. "What about Tweexter?"

"Thirty-one thousand followers. But the account is toxic. Owen's last tweets before he left were..." Reginald paused, choosing his words carefully. "Bad. He got into public arguments with several Gold-class students. The comment section is filled with people celebrating his absence."

"Jesus Christ." Carter rubbed his face. "So I have about a hundred thousand total followers across platforms, but they're all ghost accounts or people who actively hate him."

"Correct. And you need to demonstrate not just follower count, but active engagement. Comments, likes, shares, saves. The algorithm tracks everything. Star Academy's analytics team is sophisticated. They'll detect fake engagement immediately."

Carter stood up and walked to the window. Outside, students were moving between buildings, laughing, filming each other, living their perfect curated lives. He was supposed to compete with that. In seventy-two hours.

"This is insane," Carter muttered. "Can't the Grace family just... I don't know, pull some strings? Call in favors? They own a media empire, for fuck's sake."

"They could," Reginald said carefully. "But they won't."

"Why not?"

“Because Star Academy would find out,” Reginald said, minimizing the hologram. “They have systems made to detect outside interference. If the Grace family suddenly starts using their resources for you, it sets off alerts. The administration would investigate, see the differences between you and Owen, and everything would fall apart.”

"So we can't use any of the family's actual power," Carter said with disappointment. "So I'm on my own."

“Not entirely,” Reginald said. “I can offer advice and strategic guidance. The Protocol can help you spot opportunities, but the execution has to be yours.” His expression grew grave. “And if you fail...”

“I get demoted to Bronze class. I know.”

Reginald leaned closer and said, “Do you really understand what that means, Mr. Hayes? This isn’t just about a number on a screen. Your room, your privileges, your access to the facilities—they all depend on your Silver-class status. If you fall to Bronze class, you lose this room within twenty-four hours.”

Carter hadn't considered that. "Where would I go?"

“The Bronze dormitory has six to eight students packed into one room, all sharing the same bathroom. There's no privacy and no security,” Reginald said, letting the image hang between them. “And those students will know exactly who you are, Owen Grace, the fallen elite, the rich boy who could not keep his status. Do you think they will welcome you?”

“They’ll eat me alive,” Carter said, voice tight.

“Quite possibly,” Reginald replied. “Bronze-class students are desperate, hungry and often vicious, they treat every interaction as a chance to climb. A disgraced Silver student in their midst would be a target, someone they can tear down to make themselves look better, and you would have no way to defend yourself against them.”

Carter’s mouth felt dry as he swallowed hard. “What about physically?” he asked. “Like, actual violence?”

"Star Academy officially has a zero-tolerance policy for physical violence. Unofficially?" Reginald shrugged. "Security can't be everywhere. Accidents happen. Students fall down stairs. Get injured during gym sessions. Eat something that disagrees with them. As long as there's plausible deniability, the academy looks the other way."

"You're telling me I could actually get hurt, but if the students cover it up well they can get away with it?" Carter shrieked.

"I'm telling you that Bronze class is a warzone, and you would be entering it as a wounded enemy. Yes, Mr. Hayes. You could get hurt. Or worse." Reginald checked his watch. "Which is why failure is not an option."

Carter sank back into his chair, his legs weak. This was no longer about passing an evaluation. It was about staying alive.

“There’s another problem,” Reginald said. “If you get demoted, the Grace family’s position falls apart. They sent you here to protect Owen’s image, to make it look like everything is fine. A drop to Bronze would be public and humiliating. People would start asking questions—why is Owen Grace, heir to a fortune, failing so badly? What happened to him while he was gone?”

“People would investigate,” Carter said quietly.

“Exactly,” Reginald replied, his voice turning cold. “Once they start digging, they’ll find the truth. Then the Grace family will abandon you. The contract will end. You’ll be arrested for fraud, identity theft, and other charges. Your sister will lose the money, your nephew will lose his future, and you’ll spend the next ten years in prison.”

The room felt smaller suddenly. The walls closing in.

"So if I fail this evaluation," Carter said, his voice hollow, "everything ends. Not just the mission. Everything."

"Yes," Reginald said solemnly. "But you could still find a way out."

Carter wanted to feel encouraged by that, but he mostly just felt exhausted. "What do I do? Specifically. Where do I even start?"

Reginald swiped his hand and a window appeared. Then he said, "This window is linked directly to Owen’s social accounts. All passwords and logins are saved already so you can access it easily. It has stronger processing power to handle multiple platforms at once and connects directly to the Protocol, letting the AI optimize your content in real time.”

Carter tapped the window. The screen came alive with Owen’s old profile. Forty-seven thousand followers. There was a particular post he hadn't seen before. In this picture, Owen was sitting on a beach and staring at the sky. The caption read: Sometimes you need to disappear to find yourself.

The comments were a mix of sarcasm and concern:

@mika57: “u ok bro?”

@endor4: “main character energy lmao”

@aura*king: “owen.grace has left the chat”

@cipher09: “rich people problems 💀”

Eight thousand likes. Three hundred comments. Six months ago, that was solid. Now it looked like a memorial.

“I need to post something,” Carter said. “Something that says I’m back.”

“Be strategic,” Reginald warned. “You can’t just announce your return. Give them a reason to care. The Protocol will suggest options, but make it feel like him, not you.”

Carter nodded slowly and opened the social app. Immediately, the Protocol load suggestions across the screen.

SUGGESTED POST TYPE: Return announcement

TONE: Vulnerable but strong

AESTHETIC: Raw, unpolished

CAPTION: Acknowledge absence, hint at growth

OPTIMAL TIME: Within 30 minutes (high campus activity)

He positioned himself by the window. The light hit his face unevenly. He looked tired, a little lost. Perfect. He snapped the photo. It wasn’t good, but it felt honest.

Now for the caption.

The AI gave him a few polished lines. He deleted them all and typed his own:

"I’m back. I don’t know if I should be. But here we are."

He hit post.

Nothing happened for a few minutes. Then suddenly, comments came fast.

@0nlyZoro420: "omg he’s alive”

@T0kyoDrip: “bro WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN”

@EGirlFromMars: “character development arc???”

@cipher09: “six months of silence and this is what we get???”

@NotYourSensei: "fr. Bro just came online and started spitting some BS!"

The likes jumped from twenty to hundred, then three hundred. The number kept rising.

Reginald’s voice came through the screen again. “Good start. Keep the momentum. One post won’t save you.”

Carter rubbed his eyes. “You make it sound like a job.”

“It is,” Reginald said. “A performance, twenty-four seven.”

The likes passed four hundred. Then came new comments, harsher ones.

@cipher09: “Guess daddy finally paid the WiFi bill.”

@Luv4Luffy: “Another spoiled kid pretending to have depth.”

Carter’s jaw tightened as he read each one.

Then, buried among the noise, one username stood out.

Cipher09. Carter noticed that almost every negative comment came from this Cipher guy.

But it was the last one that made Carter stop in his tracks.

@cipher09: "#fake. I smell some BS. The real owen’s gone. who’s this copy?"

The thread caught fire instantly. Replies piled in, some mocking, some agreeing, others defending him.

@0bamaKun: “nah chill that’s def him”

@RizzlerOfOz: “what if he’s right tho?”

@T0kyoDrip: “something’s off about this post fr”

Carter stared at the screen as the troll’s comment climbed to the top, liked hundreds of times. His pulse quickened.

“Who the hell is that?” he muttered.

Reginald didn’t answer right away. The static in the feed made his image flicker. “Focus on your objective. Don’t engage.”

“Easy for you to say," Carter retorted.

Reginald’s gaze turned stern as he said, "You wanted to play Owen Grace. This is what comes with it. Attention cuts both ways."

The connection wavered, and Reginald’s voice began to fade. “Seventy hours, Mr. Hayes. Keep the numbers up.”

The call ended.

Carter sat in silence, the screen’s glow washing over his face. His phone kept buzzing, more likes, more comments, more eyes watching.

CURRENT REP: 5,350 (+150)

ENGAGEMENT RATE: 1.2% (+0.4%)

EVALUATION COUNTDOWN: 69 HOURS, 23 MINUTES

NEW OBJECTIVE GENERATED: Resurrection Arc

GOAL: 50K followers and 5% engagement within 70 hours

PENALTY: Demotion. Exposure. Prison.

Carter scrolled back up to the troll’s comment. Cipher09.

“Who the hell are you?” he whispered as he stared at the username.

No answer, just another flood of notifications.

@pariah.exe: “welcome back king 😭”

@1kenobi: “something’s off about his vibe tho”

@SkibidiSaiyan: “who even is this anymore”

Then came another alert. A direct message.

Sebastian Holt: What's up Mehn. Come to my room. Now. We need to talk.

Carter’s chest tightened. Sebastian. Owen’s best friend. The one person who might see through the lie, but also the only one who might help him survive it.

He stared at the message, torn between fear and hope.

“Maybe he can help me,” Carter said under his breath. “If anyone can, it’s him.”

But the Protocol flashed another warning across the screen.

PROBABILITY OF SUCCESSFUL DECEPTION WITH SEBASTIAN HOLT: 0.00004%

RECOMMENDATION: AVOID MEETING

Carter pocketed the phone. “Too late for that.”

He grabbed his jacket and left the room, the sound of his phone constantly vibrating behind him.