Results, Replenishment & Ribbits

Kroak makes their way to the Wildermeer Hall, where the future entrepreneurs of Strixhaven congregate. The room is richly adorned in deep reds, elegant and warm, a fireplace crackling at one end. Grayson stands before it with a glass of whiskey in hand, mid-conversation with three others. When Kroak approaches, he spreads his arms in welcome.

“The person of the day. Your fame precedes you. Very glad to see that you made it here.”

Kroak nods. “Yes. My name is Kroak. Very nice to meet you all.”

The group turns toward them. A somewhat shy human girl offers a small wave. Beside her, a halfling stands on the couch, peering over the back, soft-spoken. “Hello.” Next to Grayson stands a small gnome Kroak recognizes instantly from the logo of Presto’s Services.

“Ah, you must be Presto.”

“Yes, yes. What if I am?”

“Your name precedes you.”

He grins. “Yeah, no, I do a lot of marketing. It’s working. Do you need something cleaned?”

“Not right now, thanks”

“I have some time in my schedule later. I think I can still do tonight if you need anything.”

“Oh, I’m okay. We’re good.”

“But you said not now. That implies later, no?”

“Maybe.”

Grayson chuckles. “Relax, relax. This is part of regular business.”

Kroak turns back to the others. “Who are you? The other two—what are your names?”

The shy human girl straightens. “Hello, I’m Aloan.”

“Nice to meet you. And what’s your business?”

“I am very good with legal contracts. That’s my specialty.”

“Does your business have a name?”

“My business? No. I’m mostly in support at the moment for booming businesses like yourself. If you’re ever in need of legal counsel, I might be able to assist.”

“I see. That’s good to know.”

The halfling speaks up. “I’m Bram. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Bram. And what do you do?”

“I usually take care of logistics.”

“Logistics such as transport or supplies?”

“You need it, I get it. Supplies of anything and everything you need.”

“That’s very useful. And what’s your company called?”

“It’s Bramco, of course. Your name is very important in your company.”

“Bramco, huh. Yeah, I see.”

He tilts his head. “And what’s your brand called? Oh—you are the Potions and Prophecies person.”

“Yes, yes, that’s right. I’m so happy to hear that you’ve already heard of my company. I’ve been trying to do some marketing myself.”

Presto nods approvingly. Bram leans forward. “But I heard you had a very unconventional business model.”

“Oh, maybe it’s not. I don’t know. Is it?”

“May I ask you what is the EBIT you’re targeting?”

Kroak stares blankly. “The eBit? I have no clue what it is.”

Grayson laughs lightly. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. We’re here to help you. We’ll set some nice targets. We fetch some KPIs. We’ll make sure that your business is running smoothly in no time. That’s what we’re here for. We were just discussing some of Bramco’s finances, but I guess yours are more prudent now to fix—especially in this booming economy on Strixhaven and your ad hoc marketing campaign that you’ve erected.”

“I don’t want to take away from Bramco.”

“No nonsense. Bramco we’ll treat later. He is very good at logistics.”

Kroak looks at Bram. “Are you okay with that?”

“I guess, yeah. I need to work out some finances myself. We can do my company next time.”

Kroak nods slowly. “If you’re sure, Bram. Then… much appreciated. Maybe actually, I think my biggest issue right now is supplies and availability. Because I’m just by myself, it’s hard to both get supplies as well as be there at the store and do actual sales.”

“Have you started looking for an employee yet?” Grayson asks.

“I’ve had some dabblings, but it’s hard to find—I don’t know how much to pay them.”

“The market rate at the moment on Strixhaven is roughly five gold pieces per ten days,” Grayson explains. “Five gold per ten day gives you roughly one part of the day a person. If you want full day coverage, you would need three people at least.”

Kroak frowns thoughtfully. “So five gold per ten days gets you one person for one third of a day per day?”

“Correct. It’s a steal. On the mainland it’s much more expensive.”

“I guess.”

They discuss taxes, accounting, targets. They explain EBIT and KPIs; they look at Kroak with mild disbelief at the pay-what-you-want model. Kroak takes notes.

Then they turn to Bram. “Do you have an inventory list? I’m looking for some specific ingredients. Some places are rather dangerous to go by yourself as a first year.”

“We can get anything,” Bram assures. “If you have specifics, I’d be happy to take a look.”

“Let’s say I need some soothsalt geodes.”

“That should be able to be arranged.”

“What would it cost?”

“I would need to check the inventory list. I don’t have it at the moment.”

“Alright. I’ll write you a list of things I need and you can come back to me on what it would cost.”

“Excellent.”

Kroak hesitates. “Do you know of any other potion-making company within Strixhaven right now?”

Grayson raises an eyebrow. “Have you not done the market research?”

“My company was pre-existing before I came to Strixhaven. It just continued.”

“Right, right. Very hard to rebrand.” He nods. “You will only have one competitor that you need to worry about. The name is Halcyon Potions. Have you heard of him?”

“I have not.”

“His name is Corvin. Corvin Halcyon. He’s very good at math, being in Quandrix and having much more experience. He’s not interested in joining our club, so that puts him one behind you.”

“So what do you know about—Halcyon?”

Grayson shrugs. “He’s too calm for my taste. I don’t like these Quandrix people overall.”

At that, Aloan—wearing Quandrix colors—looks faintly offended.

The night stretches on in talk of supply chains, employees, taxes. By the end, Kroak has plans, a list for Bram, and a new awareness that business at Strixhaven is more complex than they thought.

---

Days pass.

Classes continue. In magical physiology, students dive deeply into Slaadi reproductive mechanisms and the foundations of magical biology. In Basic Magical Auras, the professor pushes them to feel—to truly experience—the magic around them. 

On the third day of the ten-day, Ruben heads to the Biblioplex for his first meeting with the historical society. He arrives fifteen minutes early, anxious not to be late. The vast space overwhelms him—cockroach archivists rolling massive carts, shelves stretching endlessly. Unable to find anyone, he is directed to the common room for clubs. Posters line the walls: LARP club, Dead Languages Society, Historical Society.

Only then does he realize: they gather on the second floor.

Heart racing, he hurries upstairs into the circular upper level. The books here are unmistakably historical. Ahead stands an enormous shield guardian, runes glowing, mechanical limbs shifting slightly as it watches him.

Ruben tries to sense its magic but is overwhelmed. He steps aside and calls out, “Hi? Is this Historical Society?”

Two figures react—a human and a dragonborn. “Yes. What are you looking for?”

“I was expected here at eight.”

“You found it. Welcome to the Dragon’s Guard Historical Society.”

“I’m Ruben. Rampart invited me.”

“Rampart, yes. He is not here yet. My name is Iriel. And this is Thrazak.”

Both are in Lorehold. They are delighted to discuss Faerûn. Ruben, pendant shifted subtly toward Lorehold in recent days, joins them eagerly.

When Rampart arrives precisely at eight, his booming voice fills the space. “My boy! Great to see you here! What are we going to discuss today? Some nice wars? Strategy?”

“Have you ever lived through a war?” Rampart asks.

Ruben swallows. “The year of the warrior princess, 1489. There was a succubus under the Red Wizards of Thay posing as the Duchess of Daggerford. We were plagued by a vampire. It felt like a war.”

“How does it feel to live through it?”

“It was terrible… but it connected the peoples of Daggerford to rise against a common threat.”

“Sometimes wars can be good then,” Rampart muses.

They reconstruct timelines, debate causation, pull books from shelves, examine biographies. History is not a single narrative but a mosaic. Ruben contributes what he can, absorbing the rest. Time flies.

Afterward, as they pack up, Ruben glances at the shield guardian. “Is that something to be afraid of?”

“No, no,” Rampart says wistfully. “It protects the advanced student lounge. One day, the restricted section… if I could get access early…”

Ruben wonders aloud about inviting a fourth-year Lorehold student to assist them to get books for the Historical Society.

“They cannot bring the books outside,” Rampart sighs. “And they are busy with theses.”

As they leave, Ruben gathers stray notes others discard. He will archive them in his dorm.

---

Late that night, the dorm is quiet.

Kroak, meanwhile, has been struggling. The hunger gnaws relentlessly. Five days since the Mimic attack. The thirst no water can quench. It becomes dangerous to remain among people.

They slip out without explanation, cloak drawn tight, and head to the Witherbloom campus. There, beneath a tree, a dark-haired figure plays a hurdy-gurdy softly.

Kroak approaches. “How do you deal with this?”

The musician stops, looks up, eyes sharp. “You look horrible. When did you last feed?”

“Five days ago.”

“Why are you not feeding?”

“I don’t know. Is there a store we go to? Do we order it at the Firejolt Café?”

“You’re in the right place,” she says flatly. “Go hunt. Plenty of animals here. Tastes horrible, but you need something. Or you buy it from chemists in Quandrix. It tastes like chalk and meth.”

Kroak turns toward the river. Crocodiles – swamp cats. That is all they can think of.

Three lie close together on land. Kroak rolls a potato to lure one away. It works—one lumbers after it, separating from the others.

From a distance, Kroak waves another potato, draws its focus—and casts Tasha’s Caustic Brew, acid streaking toward the creature. The crocodile thrashes, but Kroak moves with desperate precision. Hunger sharpens them. They dodge, climb atop it, force its jaws shut, magic and will pressing it down.

They sink their teeth through thick hide into flesh. Blood fills their mouth. They drink until the beast slackens beneath them.

The hunger eases. Not gone—but manageable.

Later, they return to the dorm, blood streaked across their face and clothes.

---

As Kroak opens the door, Ruben freezes, then quickly pulls sheets over himself and dissolves the illusion he created of two owlins in an intimate embrace. “You’re back already.” 

“Already? I was out for a little.” Kroak responds.

“How was your evening?” asks Ruben, not even aware of the blood all over Kroaks face and clothes.

“Grand,” Kroak mutters, glancing down at themselves.

“I left my bag outside,” they add abruptly, turning and leaving again.

In the common room, Lana is playing violin. The music falters into a harsh scrape as she looks up and sees Kroak—smiling faintly, blood drying across their skin.

Lana strides across the dormitory without hesitation and takes Kroak by the arms. “I don’t—seriously, Kroak.” She pulls them closer, eyes sharp. Daiki turns around the corner. “Huh, why have you stopped playing, Lana – I was almost asleep…” 

“Daiki, get in here. Get here. Kroak, why are you covered in blood? Is it your—what? What is happening?”

Kroak lifts their hands slightly. “Okay, okay. Right. You have to have, like, a napkin or something I can use to clean up. I spilled a little.”

“Croak, what have you been doing? Have you been to Lorehold? Have you been in the dungeon there or what?”

Daiki, half-alert, chimes in, “Yeah, maybe you were bitten by a mimic, like—”

“No, no, I was—” Kroak hesitates. “Experimenting. You know, for new things to drink and—”

“—tried blood?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you drink blood?”

“It’s very—it makes you full, at least.”

Lana narrows her eyes. She studies Kroak’s face intently, taking in the green in their eyes, the beautiful magical hues she remembers from before. Their eyes look cleaner now than they did earlier. She has looked into them before, back in Witherbloom when they were talking. Something is different.

“Kroak, are you okay? Are you telling me the whole truth? Is there something I should know?”

In the meantime, Daiki flutters closer. “Do you need a napkin? Do you need anything?” He darts to the kitchen to collect some.

“Get the napkin. Get them clean.”

He returns with a handful. “Here you are, here’s some napkins.”

“Thank you.” Lana helps Kroak clean the blood away.

Daiki blinks sleepily. “What—did anything happen? I think I missed everything. I was almost asleep, listening to Lana’s music, and then suddenly—”

“No, no, it’s all okay,” Kroak assures him. “You could go back to sleep. Don’t worry. Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“You fine? Yeah? Good night then..”

“Sweet dreams, Daiki.”

Once he retreats, Lana guides Kroak to the opposite side of the dormitory, far from Pell, and gestures for them to sit. They do, sighing.

“Recently my life has been through some changes. Wasn’t always like this.” They struggle for words. “I have no idea how to reach the subject. Tell anyone about this. So yeah—basically, I got bitten by a vampire. And now I’m not actually a vampire, but, you know, there’s some side effects. There’s some side effects for sure.”

Lana exhales slowly. “Kroak, do you mean to say you’ve been bitten and now you are vampire spawn?”

“I don’t know if that’s what you call it. Yeah, there’s some side effects. Like elongated teeth, and you can see—yeah, my hands are all… undeadly now.”

“Yes, I can see. Is this blood of a person or an animal?”

“No, no. I went to Witherbloom because there’s a lot of similar people there. I asked for help. They told me I should hunt regularly. So I got, you know, the swamp cats. I’m sorry for the swamp cats.”

“Okay. Well, it’s great that you did not eat a person. That you did not drink of a person.”

“Oh no. That would be—imagine if I do this to someone else.”

“Yes, indeed. I thank you for telling me.” The usual sharpness in Lana’s expression fades. The resting arrogance dissolves. There is only understanding now, no judgment, no blame.

Kroak manages a faint smile. “Well, you know, there’s some good things to it too. I can move faster now. I got bitten here—that’s nice. Do you seem to know about this? Do you have any experience with this?”

“Yes,” Lana says quietly. “I’ve witnessed it firsthand. Not myself, but my sister. It is a painful story. Long story short… she was completely alienated. Sent away to live beyond our walls, in the cold. I don’t know if she is still alive. She was exiled because she went wrong one time.”

“She bit someone she wasn’t supposed to?”

“She did not even bite someone. It was close to it. She was bullied and cornered someone, was about to bite, but the boy screamed. Law enforcers were around the corner. I saw it happen. She was locked up. I tried to fight it, tried to get her free. But in the end, if you are a danger to the law—even if it’s not your fault—you are the victim of the law.”

“I’m so sorry. For you and your sister. Maybe we can go find her. We have some vacations, I assume?”

“I am not sure we are suited to explore the ice in Icewind Dale. What I would like—and why I am actually here—is to learn as much as I can about politics and the law in Faerûn. So I can be in politics in Icewind Dale and Bryn Shander. To make sure the law works for everybody. Not just the strong people. But I am boring you now. I just wanted to make sure you are okay.”

“No, it’s not boring. That’s interesting.”

“And if you need help, Kroak, I will help you with this.”

“Can I bite you?”

She blinks. “I prefer not.”

“Okay, okay.”

“I prefer you don’t bite me. I know I won’t be infected by you, but I can make sure we find more animals or other things.”

“The girl said that a human stays better, so—”

“Yes, but I would implore you not to bite a person. I was not offering myself.”

“Oh. Oh, okay. I was just asking. Maybe to experience—”

“Please don’t think about it. You have just fed. Let us move on from biting people. If you need help covering for you, helping you find animals, looking up why you are acting the way you are—let me know. You are a victim of this bite.”

“Thank you, Lana.”

“May I ask who bit you?”

“If you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay.”

“Her name’s Rosa. She goes to this school as well.”

“Oh. Somebody going to this school bit you?”

“Yeah. But I wasn’t going to the school then. It was before. One of those open promotion days. I went there. It happened.”

“And is this student still in this school?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Like a full vampire?”

“I wasn’t really in the mood for asking about details.”

“I’m sorry. Let’s skip over that. If you need—”

“I haven’t seen her, so that’s fine.”

From across the room, Daiki groans, “Can you please shut up? I’m trying to sleep.”

“Sorry, Daiki.”

Lana checks Kroak’s face again. “You have something here in your—” She gently plucks dried blood from their hair. 

“Oh. Thank you, Lana.”

“How do you sleep?” she asks after a pause.

“Assume like everyone.”

“Do you—okay. I have my answer. Thank you.”

“You close your eyes and then you—”

“Sleep tight.”

“Is that not how you sleep?”

“That’s a story for another time.” She rises and walks away.

Later, Kroak cleans up the last of the stains, reassured there are no strange marks left in the room. They go to sleep.

---

The days that follow are filled with study. The exam is drawing closer. Two more days of classes remain, and everyone focuses intensely. Lana feels a strange raw power unlocking within her as she connects with her studies, surprised by the speed at which she learns. Daiki buries himself in work and study, barely present, always apologizing and returning to his books. Ruben studies relentlessly as well, sometimes upstairs with Sszethik, sometimes with him in the dorm. The entire dorm seems full of students bent over notes.

On one study day, Lana announces she has an ensemble rehearsal in the morning and a small field trip in the afternoon—something about the Eldritch Balm Factory and checking regulations. Kroak mentions Aloan from the entrepreneur meeting, suggesting Lana speak to her about laws and legislation.

At one point, a familiar girl passes Kroak in the dorm and remarks, “You look slightly better,” before disappearing into her room. Kroak calls a soft “Oh, hi,” and, “Thanks for the advice,” but receives no reply.

Finally, the day of the exam arrives in the Biblioplex. The hall is arranged with seats spaced apart. Professor Vantrax stands at the front, impeccably on time, handing out papers. Nymri sits in the same row; Ruben is in front as usual. Lana does not sit at the very front.

The exam begins. Papers rustle. Silence falls. Floating eyes drift through the room, watching for cheating. Questions range from multiple choice to long explanations. Pens scratch. Ruben revises answers in long, extensive rationales. Lana keeps hers brief. Kroak notices several students looking frazzled, fearing the professor’s judgment.

When the theoretical portion ends, the papers are collected and placed upon a magical crystal structure. Pages float; marks appear as if written by unseen hands. The classroom remains hushed.

“Did you think question four was illusion or transmutation?” Ruben asks in a whisper.

“At first I thought transmutation,” Kroak replies, “but then I remembered how we practiced in the dorm. It was different. So I thought illusion.”

Lana leans back. “We did our test. What is done is done. No need to stress.”

“You talk so easily,” Ruben mutters. “Imagine I’m the first student expelled after the first exam.”

“Oh yeah,” Kroak teases lightly. “Where would you go?”

“Please don’t kill his spirit in cold blood,” Lana warns, half-smiling, giving Kroak a big wink.

Daiki sits slightly apart, eating small pieces of sweets to recover from the stress.

Then Professor Vantrax speaks. “All right. Everything has been graded. How did you think it went?”

“I think I did pretty okay,” Daiki says.

“Only time will tell. Students, follow me to receive your first official grade of Strixhaven.”

They gather around the snarl in the center of the Biblioplex. “Daiki,” the professor says, “if you think you did so well, why don’t you go first? Reach in and grab your exam.”

Daiki reaches into the swirling energy. Power pulses through him, time seeming to slow. The professor smiles. “Excellent. This is why Daiki went first. He had an impeccable score. Best in the class.”

Daiki’s Strixhaven tattoo glows, deepening in color. Firelike energy courses through him as he pulls out his marked exam.

Ruben high-fives him. “Congratulations!”

“Well done,” Lana says warmly.

“I want you all to be more like Daiki,” Professor Vantrax declares. “Speak up. Answer questions.”

One by one, the others step forward. Lana passes. Kroak aces the exam. Ruben aces it as well. Nymri passes and gives Lana a delighted high five.

Each of them feels that raw power awaken as they draw their graded papers from the snarl. It lingers in their veins, dormant but undeniable.

Later, they learn that Sszethik also passed with flying colors and is eager to compare notes. He is particularly impressed by Daiki.

The grading has been public. Roughly three students have failed. Professor Vantrax looks at them with open disappointment, repeating that they should aim to be more like Daiki. Meanwhile, older students collect the names of those who failed for mandatory after-school study sessions.

Kroak quietly listens in. Some students simply did not study; one thought the first exam after only six days of classes would be “easy peasy lemon squeezy” and is bitterly surprised. Another student cries openly. She studied hard, tried everything, and still failed.

Kroak approaches her gently. “Hey, I saw that you—I’m sorry you failed the exam. If you need any help with exams next time, please come by my shop, Potions and Prophecies. Maybe I have something that can help you, you know, specifically for theoretical parts. Maybe we’ll help you get a bit of a confidence boost.” Through tears, she thanks them.

---

As the day winds down, everyone settles further into the rhythm of Strixhaven—classes, studying, clubs, work. Daiki earns five gold pieces for his week at the Firejolt Café. His friendship with Mina deepens; he becomes one of the first to hear campus rumors. He feels he can ask her for favors now, and she would gladly help.

Lana’s relationship with Ari, however, worsens. Ari dislikes that Lana claimed the third violin spot while she remains fourth. During practice, she barely speaks unless necessary. Sometimes Lana struggles to find her sheet music and has to play from memory. With Alix, things are going well, but there is no particular progression.

Ruben’s bond with Rampart strengthens over Dragon Chess. Rampart feels a kinship with him. Ruben feels more confident on campus, especially in the Biblioplex, as if some of Rampart’s commanding presence rubs off on him.

Kroak gains access to Grayson Wildermere’s network. Bram provides ingredient lists and likely offers discounts. Other campus shops begin recognizing Kroak and occasionally lower their prices for them. Meanwhile, Sszethik’s studious nature continues to benefit those who study with him; information flows more easily, connections form faster, and recall improves. He and his study partners find themselves increasingly in sync, especially when discussing potions or theory.

On the 29th of Tarsus, it’s a study day. The dorms feel crowded, and Nymri joins the group. Many choose to study in the café itself.

Kroak offers Ruben a job at the kiosk first; Ruben politely declines, wanting to focus on his studies and clubs but offers to share knowledge. Kroak then offers Daiki a position as well, but Daiki declines for now—the café feels more stable. No offense is taken.

Lana’s research over the past ten days has cost her study time. In the Biblioplex, she has uncovered campus regulations, restrictions, and references to the restricted section and central campus protections. Witherbloom appears more dangerous. Other campuses like Lorehold and Quandrix interest her less. The Eldritch Balm recipe is publicly known to first years, but details about the factory in Sedgemoor remain obscure. Ruben mentions a creature in Witherbloom known for cooking remarkably well—an intriguing but not yet actionable lead. Lana shares some of this with the group, keeping certain security details to herself.

Sszethik beams. “Ssstudying is so great, no? Daiki, how did you find ssso much time?”

Daiki shrugs. “Well, I just do what I always do. I just be happy and—I don’t know—taste the air and feel the magic. And I just made it practical. Anyway, I got to help the people over there.”

The café hums. Suddenly, another first-year bursts in, tugging at Nymri. “Oh Nymri, come—you got to see this! We found these weird frogs. We snuck them inside the Fireside Lounge. We’re going to race them. Do you guys want to join?”

Lana’s mind immediately jumps to regulations. Are frogs allowed inside? She cannot quite recall. Kroak, intrigued, asks rapid questions—size, color, mucus, acid? The students brush it off: common frogs from Witherbloom. Magical. Fun.

They gather near the lounge. Four small frogs sit on a chalk-marked table, each wearing a tiny costume: a cape, suspenders, a bowtie, and one with a top hat. Students take bets.

Kroak studies them carefully. They are common frogs—though faintly glowing, likely altered by magic. Lana questions the ethics. “These are animals. They don’t belong in a café.”

“Have you never done a frog race?” Kroak asks.

“I do not trust this,” Lana replies.

Kroak predicts the top-hatted frog will win and places a gold piece on it. Ruben joins with another gold. Lana walks to the barista to report the situation, but the response is dismissive: “They’re frogs, no? I think Daiki is watching them. He’s very responsible.”

“With all due respect,” Lana insists, “if something goes haywire, I told you so.”

The countdown begins. “Three, two, one!”

The frogs leap forward.

Ruben is coaching frantically, shouting encouragement with all the intensity he can muster—only to realize he is yelling at the wrong frog. His eyes widen, and he quickly redirects his efforts to the correct one, pouring all his focus into it. He doubles down on his effort, determined to salvage the moment.

The crowd roars, their cheers swelling around them, and somehow the frog still responds to Ruben’s voice. Behind him, Sszethik exclaims, “Sssensssational!” The entire café feels alive with noise.

Kroak gets especially animated, shouting encouragement in a rapid mix of languages—Common, Giant, Sylvan, whatever comes to mind. “Whatever works, you know,” they mutter between phrases, throwing every possible sound at the racing frog in hopes something will stick.

On the course, the frog in suspenders is thoroughly distracted and effectively out of the race. There is no way it is catching up. The frog in the bowtie, however, is shockingly close, gaining ground with every leap. Meanwhile, the frog Nymri is coaching—the one with the cape—is doing terribly. It simply is not catching up. Nymri tries so hard, clearly out of her depth with animal handling. “Oh, come on,” she pleads under her breath, sadness creeping into her expression as the frog refuses to cooperate.

But the race barrels toward its end. The bowtie frog surges forward, almost there—then, in one of the final jumps, it lunges and completely flops. It goes down in a dramatic “poof,” losing all momentum. Furthermore, another frog is distracted by a fly conjured by Daiki that appears in front of it and distracts it in another direction. In those decisive moments, the frog in the top hat crosses the finish line.

The crowd explodes.

“And the one with the top hat won!”

Students are on their feet, clapping, shouting, celebrating. The student Kroak had pushed aside at the start—only to be replaced again when Ruben stepped in—is cheering too, caught up in the shared victory.

“Yeah, yeah! Great job, great job!” Kroak calls out, joining in.

Everyone is high-fiving, riding the high of the race.

Ruben reacts instinctively. He high-fives Kroak first, then spins around, spots Sszethik, and immediately pulls him into an enthusiastic hug. “Yeah, you know—we’ve done it!” The response is pure hype, unfiltered joy.

Sszethik is just as exhilarated, vibrating with excitement.

Daiki approaches. He starts cleaning up after the frogs, wiping at the puddles they have left behind. As he works, something feels off.

The residue isn’t just water. It’s sticky. Oily.

“Ah—what?”

He pauses, looking more closely. Around him, the frogs begin to emit a strange, guttural belching sound. Their bright colors start to fade, draining from their skin. A faint reddish glow kindles in their eyes. Slowly, visibly, they begin to grow.

The heavy table nearby groans under shifting weight—and then snaps.

“No,” Daiki breathes.

The table collapses, chairs splintering as the frogs swell into massive, monstrous shapes. They are coated in a slick black substance that covers half their bodies, smeared around their mouths and dripping downward.

“Oh crap.”

But he is still right next to them as the wreckage settles around his feet.

The enormous beasts loom, black ichor glistening on their skin.

Lana is already moving. She both hears and sees the transformation. Rising from her seat, she squares herself toward the giant frogs, lifting her hands as she signs sharply, “Oh, I told them—”