Barkley's Academy
A D O N I S
My eyes snap open to an unfamiliar sky, painted with streaks of white clouds. Sunlight stabs at my vision, stealing the breath from my throat. Distant sounds reach me—cars honking, voices chattering, the low hum of a place alive and buzzing with what I once recognized as civilization.
"Devin? Devin?" a voice calls out, followed by a light tap on my cheek. I blink, vision adjusting, and see a few heads hovering above me—faces laced with worry and curiosity. Students in uniform surround me—black trousers, knee-length pencil skirts, crimson suits, black ties. A few adults stand beside them, eyes sharp, watching me like I might suddenly explode.
How did I get here?
I try to sit up, but a sharp jolt stabs through my skull.
"Hold still. We'll call the ambulance," a woman says gently. "Mr. Morelis, please call 911."
"We should probably administer first aid, Vice Principal," another woman suggests.
"Right," the supposed vice principal agrees, rubbing her chin. "Take him to the school's clinic."
Before I can protest, I feel my body lifted—multiple arms holding me. My vision fades at the edges, and I surrender to the dark.
"Adonis. Adonis."
A familiar voice pulls me back. I'm in a dark room now, dimly lit by a lantern resting on a dusty table. I sit up on a creaky bed, only to find Zephyr staring at me.
"Where am I?" I groan, rubbing my temple. "I just had the strangest dream—"
"No. This is a dream, Adonis. I don't have much time, so listen carefully." Zephyr speaks firmly, hands tucked into the pockets of his usual black suit. I barely have time to process his words before he continues.
"You've transmigrated into the body of a 19-year-old high schooler. His name is Devin McIntyre."
"What the bloody hell?!"
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The portal Veronica dragged you into—it's for transmigration. Like I said, time is short, so save your questions. This isn't permanent. There's a glitch, but it'll be fixed in about two weeks."
I just stare at him, trying to absorb the madness.
"Devin's memories will transfer to you shortly. Right now, he's in your body—at the Inn—but I've kept him in a coma, same with the girl Veronica transmigrated into. Her name is Nuelle Carlos. Find her—or she'll find you. Good news? Veronica can't send you to the afterlife, not with this new twist. So yes, you've got time to tick some boxes."
He flashes a tight smile. "See you in two weeks."
"Zephyr, wait!" I shout—
—and wake up with a start, greeted by even more curious eyes. Two tall boys are waiting for me to regain consciousness.
The boys in front of me look just as startled as I am. My breathing quickens, and I start scanning for an escape route.
Transmigrated? Again? As if getting stuck in that gothic butcher house wasn't enough. If only I had left her there, if only I hadn't let my curiosity and stupid worry get in the way. What matters now is finding Veronica. Or worse, having her find me—something that definitely isn't worth celebrating.
In my frantic scramble, I feel a pair of hands on my shoulder. "Devin? Bruv, chill. You've been acting weird all morning. It's no surprise you hit your head." One of the guys speaks, his voice filled with an odd mix of concern and familiarity.
An image flashes through my mind: a tall, muscular boy, covered in tattoos—on his neck, arms, and back—laughing as he jumps into a lake. The other boys are standing by the shore, stripping down to their underwear. "MG! C'mon, don't be a fucking scaredy-cat," the boy in the water laughs, diving in.
The memory fades as quickly as it appeared, but I recognize it as part of this boy's life. My eyes dart to the tag on his sweater vest. "Malcom George." His auburn hair is slicked back, his face decorated with a lip piercing and five piercings in each ear.
I turn my gaze to the other boy. His tag reads "Solomon Gary." Clean-shaven, with a tattoo on his bald head. They look like the kind of guys you'd expect to see in a gritty crime novel: bad boys with a morally grey edge, the sort of characters who turn up as love interests in those novels where everything gets messy. And, according to Zephyr, these are supposed to be Devin's friends.
I reach for the waistcoat on the bed, recognizing it as my own. My body protests as I pull myself upright. The guys stand back, eyes wide in surprise as I struggle to stand.
"The doc said you should rest, Devin," one of them says, his tone a mix of concern and exasperation.
"I have to find her," I mutter, a little too loudly.
"Who?" they chorus in confusion.
I've got my shoes on now, my fingers brushing against the tattoos covering Devin's knuckles. The ink is dark against his pale skin. I don't judge—everyone has their own thing, but right now, I've got one thing on my mind: finding my boss before she finds me.
I tighten my shoelaces, the sound echoing through the quiet of the clinic. Malcom and Solomon exchange glances, clearly unsure of what to make of my sudden urgency.
"I need to find Nuelle Carlos,quickly."
The room falls silent.
"You locked the bitch in the restroom, remember?" Malcom scoffs, his tone dripping with distaste.
I can't believe it. Curse you, Devin McIntyre. Curse you!