Chapter 33 #3
The display showed the chaotic, spiking patterns Cassara remembered from her malfunctioning equipment.
“And on the right,” Oliver’s voice hardened, “the falsified signature that was uploaded after Miss Montero’s access. Perfectly optimized, artificially stable, and completely inconsistent with any natural beast synchronization I’ve ever documented.”
The contrast was stark even to Cassara’s untrained eye. The real readings looked like a seismograph during an earthquake; the fake ones resembled a textbook diagram of ideal performance.
“I have to admit,” Oliver continued, a note of professional embarrassment creeping into his voice, “I missed this initially. We were so rushed to get the unit functional before the arena match that I focused on the immediate sync issues rather than running a full forensic analysis. The tampering was… sophisticated enough to blend with my own modifications at first glance.”
He turned to face the panel directly. “But once I knew to look for it, the evidence was unmistakable. Someone with limited technical knowledge attempted to overwrite Flicker’s natural signature with idealized data.
They did a decent job of hiding their tracks, but they didn’t understand the deep-layer logging protocols that record every change to core calibration matrices. ”
In her seat, Verena had gone white, her earlier defiance crumbling as Oliver methodically dismantled any possible innocent explanation for her presence in the lab.
“The question,” Oliver said with quiet finality, “is why Miss Montero felt the need to access secured academy equipment at 6:47 in the morning, and why that access resulted in systematic falsification of combat data.”
“This is fabricated!” Verena’s voice cracked with desperation as she shot to her feet. “Oliver altered those logs! He’s had access to all the academy systems for days! He could have changed anything he wanted!”
The accusation hung in the air for a moment before Oliver turned to look at her with the kind of cold disdain usually reserved for malfunctioning equipment.
“Really?” His voice was dangerously quiet. “You think I’d alter official academy security logs and then present them as evidence in a formal hearing? What exactly do you take me for?”
He gestured dismissively at his projection. “If I were going to falsify access records, do you honestly believe I’d be stupid enough to leave my digital fingerprints all over the academy’s security infrastructure? Please. I may be many things, but incompetent isn’t one of them.”
Oliver’s professional pride was clearly wounded. “For your information, I was in my dormitory room at 6:47 AM, as confirmed by the automated door logs that track every student’s movements. Unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to sneak around academy facilities in the early morning hours.”
“But you can’t prove-” Verena started.
“Actually,” Cassara interrupted, her voice cutting through Verena’s protests, “I can verify the timeline. I was conducting extra training drills with Instructor Nareen that morning. We started at 6:30 AM.”
All eyes turned to Nareen, who rose with military precision. “Confirmed. Miss Allencourt was under my direct supervision from 6:30 AM until approximately 8:15 AM. We were working on advanced defensive formations in training yard C.”
The simple statement landed like a hammer blow. Cassara had an ironclad alibi, witnessed by an instructor, during the exact time window when her ACS had been tampered with.
Verena’s face went ashen. Her gaze darted frantically around the chamber, looking for any escape from the closing trap, before finally settling on the student section.
“Gideon,” she said, her voice breaking with desperation. “Tell them. Tell them I was with you that morning. We were studying together in the library, remember? We talked about tactical formations and—”
But Gideon didn’t respond. He sat perfectly still, staring straight ahead with the kind of stone-faced silence that spoke louder than any words. His jaw was set, his dark eyes fixed on some point beyond Verena’s pleading face.
He didn’t even look at her.
“Gideon, please,” Verena’s voice cracked completely now, all pretense of composure shattered. “You know I would never—I was with you, I swear I was with you—”
Still nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.
The silence stretched until it became unbearable, Verena’s desperate pleas echoing in a chamber where no one came to her defense. Her teammates sat in horrified silence and the faculty watched with professional detachment.
Finally, Verena seemed to understand that she was utterly alone.
She sank back into her chair, her face crumpling as the full weight of her choices crashed down on her. She was cornered and abandoned by the very person she’d betrayed everyone to protect.
Headmistress Kalisandra cleared her throat, her voice carrying new authority. “I believe we have heard sufficient evidence to reach a conclusion in this matter. The panel will now deliberate.”
The five-member board huddled briefly, their voices too low to carry across the chamber. Cassara sat frozen in her chair, hardly daring to breathe as her fate hung in the balance.
After what felt like an eternity but was only minutes, the headmistress straightened.
“In the matter of allegations against Miss Cassara Allencourt,” she began, her voice carrying formal weight, “the panel has reached its decision.”
Cassara’s heart hammered against her ribs.
“The vote is four to one in favor of dismissing all charges. Miss Allencourt, you are hereby cleared of all accusations of academic fraud and equipment tampering.”
Relief crashed over Cassara like a wave, so sudden and overwhelming that she nearly sobbed aloud. Around the student section, she heard Liri’s quiet cheer and saw Barrett’s shoulders drop with released tension.
But Kalisandra wasn’t finished.
“However,” she continued, her gaze shifting to Lord Tremaine, who sat with obvious displeasure at being outvoted, “I must note that one panel member maintains concerns about the circumstantial nature of the evidence.”
Julian’s father stood and adjusted the cuffs of his coat, his gaze not fixed on her but… her eyes flicked toward the gallery.
A glance passed between the two men.
A decision regarding her fate had been made before this room had ever filled and the evidence had been presented.
One that had failed to go according to plan.
Cassara couldn’t believe it.
Like father, like son.
“The minority opinion notwithstanding,” the headmistress continued, “the panel finds the evidence presented by Mr. Straton compelling and definitive. Miss Allencourt’s ACS unit will be returned to her immediately, and all academic restrictions are hereby lifted.”
One of the technicians approached with her familiar bracer, and Cassara’s hands shook slightly as she strapped it back onto her forearm.
“As for Miss Montero,” the headmistress’s voice turned cool, “separate disciplinary proceedings will be initiated immediately. The charges include academic fraud, equipment tampering, filing false accusations, and violation of academy trust protocols.”
Verena sat hunched in her chair, no longer the proud, defiant girl who’d entered the chamber. She looked smaller somehow, diminished by the weight of her exposed betrayal.
“Pending the outcome of those proceedings,” the headmistress continued, “Miss Montero is immediately suspended from all team activities and academy privileges. Should the charges be substantiated, expulsion will be recommended to the Board of Regents.”
The words fell like a gavel. Verena’s academic career, possibly her entire future, lay in ruins because of her jealousy and desperation.
As the chamber began to empty, Cassara caught sight of her father rising from his seat. For a moment, she thought he might approach, might offer some acknowledgment of her vindication.
Instead, he walked toward the exit without so much as a glance in her direction.
Cassara didn’t think, she moved.