'If you apply a variable-state mana filter to the primary array, you're just wasting energy on heat conversion. It's a fundamentally flawed design. You have to stabilize the input before it hits the matrix, not try to clean it up after.'

I kept my mouth shut, of course, and just sipped my overly sweet, synthesized-berry smoothie. It was a rule I'd made for myself: never, ever give unsolicited engineering advice to magic-users. Especially when they're your friends. It just makes things awkward.

"But why is it flawed?" Corinne Vane pressed, her brow furrowed in concentration. She tapped her data slate, bringing up a complex, shimmering rune sequence. "Professor Valerius said the variable-state filter is the most efficient way to handle chaotic mana influx at the Yellow Rank. It's theoretically sound."

Kaelen Valerius, whose family crest was probably worth more than this entire cafe block, scoffed. "That's theory. In practice," he emphasized the word, as if it were a new concept he'd just invented, "my aura control is stable enough that I don't even need a filter. It's about discipline. My father, the Marquis, always says that reliance on magical constructs is a crutch for a weak will."

I had to physically stop myself from rolling my eyes so hard they fell out of my head. Kaelen was the "one Silver Rank" in our little study group, and he never let us forget it. He was also, in my humble, non-magical opinion, a complete idiot. His "stable aura" was just brute force, like using a sledgehammer to drive a nail. He was leaking so much ambient energy he probably charged the cell phones of everyone within a ten-foot radius.

"It's not a crutch if it improves efficiency, Kaelen," Corinne shot back, her cheeks flushing. "That's the point of magical engineering!"

Rion, the quiet one, just shrugged and took another bite of his pastry, his eyes glancing around the cafe. He was the only one who seemed to appreciate that we were, in fact, supposed to be relaxing.

This was my "hangout." My one afternoon a week where I got to pretend to be a normal fifteen-year-old. My friends—Corinne, Kaelen, and Rion—were all first-years at Slatemark Academy, the second-best magic school in the world. They were all talented, all from high-ranking noble or influential families, and all, at this very moment, arguing about something I found fundamentally boring.

I'm homeschooled, for obvious reasons. One, I'm a "celebrity," which is just a polite word for "target" or "walking spectacle." Two, and most importantly, I can't use a drop of mana. I have zero affinity. My "aura" is just... me. In a world defined by magical ranks—Yellow, Silver, Radiant—I am a null.

Which, in my opinion, just means I have to try harder. My lab back at the penthouse is more advanced than half the facilities at Slatemark, and my kinetic driver prototypes could outperform any of Kaelen's "disciplined" energy blasts. Not that I'd ever say that out loud.

"What do you think, Stella?" Corinne asked, turning to me, her eyes pleading for a tie-breaker.

"I think," I said, swirling the last of my smoothie, "that if your core problem is a chaotic influx, you should be reinforcing the initial containment array, not fixing the symptoms with a filter. It's bad design."

Kaelen opened his mouth, probably to tell me that "bad design" was a bit rich coming from someone who couldn't even light a simple mage-light, but he never got the chance.

The entire cafe, which had been buzzing with the chatter of off-duty students and business professionals, went utterly silent. It wasn't a gradual hushing; it was instantaneous, as if someone had hit a universal mute button. The clinking of cups, the low murmur of conversations, the hiss of the espresso machine – all of it stopped.

I felt a familiar, sinking feeling in my gut. 'Oh, no. Please, no. He said 4:00. It's 3:45.'

I turned my head slowly toward the door. And there he was.

My dad. Arthur Nightingale. The Second Hero. The most powerful (and, according to every holo-magazine on the planet, the most eligible) man in the world. He was dressed in a simple, worn jacket and jeans, nothing at all like the armor he wore in the news feeds, but it didn't matter. He could have been wearing a clown suit. When he walked into a room, the air changed. It wasn't just his power, which he kept so tightly leashed it was barely a hum; it was his presence. The entire cafe full of talented, magically-gifted nobles and students was collectively holding its breath, staring at him like he was a living god.

Which, I guess, he kind of was.

My face felt like it was on fire. I simultaneously wanted to slide under the table and beam with pride.

He scanned the room, his eyes missing nothing, before they landed on our table. His face, which had been calm, neutral, and maybe a little weary, instantly broke into a warm, utterly normal dad-smile. This, somehow, was the most mortifying part of all.

He walked over, his footsteps the only sound in the dead-silent cafe.

"Hey, little star," he said, his voice full of that quiet warmth that always made me feel safe. Then he did it. He reached out and ruffled my hair. My carefully, deliberately arranged hair.

'Kill me,' I thought, my soul exiting my body. 'Just strike me down right here. In front of Kaelen Valerius. I will die.'

"Dad!" I hissed, swatting his hand away, my face now a supernova of embarrassment. "You're early! And my hair!"

"Sorry, sweetheart," he chuckled, completely unbothered. "My... uh, meeting finished early. Figured I'd grab you. Are you ready to go? Reika's making your favorite stir-fry tonight."

He was treating me like I was nine. In front of my friends. I wanted to disintegrate.

Then, he turned his attention to the three people at my table, who had apparently forgotten how to breathe. "You must be her study group," he said, his smile polite and easy.

Kaelen, the arrogant Silver Rank noble whose father was a Marquis, made a small, choking sound. He shot to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process. "L-Lord Nightingale! Sir!" he stammered, his face pale. "It is… it is an honor, sir. A profound honor. My father, the Marquis Valerius, he… he says your analysis of the Eastern campaign was… it was... brilliant, sir!"

Corinne, usually so articulate, just stared, her face bright crimson. She looked like she was physically incapable of forming a word, and just gave a tiny, spastic little wave. Rion, to his credit, just looked completely, totally awestruck, his eyes wide as dinner plates.

This was the part I loved, the part I hated. I was dying of secondhand embarrassment, but at the same time, a fierce, glowing pride swelled in my chest. These kids, the best Slatemark had to offer, future leaders and mages from the most powerful families, were reduced to stammering, blushing messes in his presence. And he was just... my dad. The guy who snored. The guy who was terrible at video games. The guy who called me "little star."

My dad smiled, a genuinely kind, disarming expression that seemed to put them slightly at ease. "Stella's the real genius here," he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "I'm just the muscle. Make sure you all keep her in line, she gets… single-minded with her projects."

"Dad! I am right here!" I protested, shoving his hand off, but I was smiling now, I couldn't help it.

"A pleasure to meet you all," he said to them, giving a small nod. "Keep up the good work. The world needs bright minds like yours."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, Lord Nightingale!" Kaelen blurted out, still standing at rigid attention.

I finished the last of my smoothie and gathered my data slates, my face still burning but my heart full. "Okay, I'm ready," I grumbled.

Dad put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into a tight, one-armed hug as we walked towards the door. The entire cafe watched us go. "So," he murmured, his voice low, just for me, "that Silver Rank kid, Kaelen. He looked like he was about to faint. You're not giving him too much trouble, are you?"

"Oh my god, Dad, you are so embarrassing," I muttered, but I couldn't stop the grin from spreading across my face, and I leaned my head against his shoulder for just a second.

He was my dad. And he was, without a doubt, the coolest person on the planet. Even if he did snore.

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