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So, how much does it cost to fix a brand-new, no-insurance, ridiculously expensive, billionaire-son-owned convertible?

Answer: Probably more than my entire existence.

And the worst part? I didn’t even ask Ethan, you know why?

Because at that very moment, he was seated in the cafeteria with his obnoxious jock clique, laughing like he hadn't just wrecked the most expensive car I'd ever laid my hands on.

I mean, technically we (me, him, and the bunny in collabo) wrecked it, but still.

I couldn't approach him. For one, his clique drains the life out of me—literally.

Half of them are demons or vampires, which means every time I walk past their table, I have to check if my soul is still intact.

Furthermore, Ethan didn't even seem remotely concerned about the whole situation. Like, not even a smidgen.

Apparently, he’d shown up late to school. Way too late. You know why? We crashed his car. He also arrived in an Uber. You know why? We crashed his car. He also got another detention on top of the previous one. Wanna know why? Because we… crashed… his… car.

But did I see him stressing about it? Nope.

He was grinning, flipping his perfect golden demon hair, and probably telling some ridiculous story about how hilarious it was.

Meanwhile, I was spiraling. Because unlike him, I couldn’t just brush off a financial catastrophe like it was a mere inconvenience.

“Probably expensive?” Joy muttered from the other side of the table, stirring her drink as if this wasn’t my impending doom we were discussing.

Oh wow. Thanks, Joy. Super helpful.

I pressed my forehead against the cafeteria table. “This is it. This is where I die. Not in battle, not in some heroic act of self-sacrifice, but because of an over-glorified bunny.”

Shun snorted. “A magical rodent.”

“Oh, excuse me, an abomination of nature with supernatural flying abilities, a levitating bunny—how could I forget?” I lifted my head just enough to glare at them. “I yelled ‘BUNNY’ one time, and now my life is over.”

“You could always ask Ethan how much it actually costs to fix the car,” Shun suggested.

I groaned. “Yeah, let me just waltz over there and casually ask, ‘Hey, Ethan, how much does it cost to fix your priceless convertible that I may or may not have indirectly destroyed with my existence?’”

“He’d probably just say ‘it’s complicated’ again,” Joy said, rolling her eyes.

She wasn’t wrong. When I had asked him why he couldn’t just tell his dad about the damages, that was his response—It’s complicated.

Which, knowing him, could mean anything.

His dad was literally a billionaire. Unless billionaires operated on some new form of economics that I didn’t understand, I didn’t see how a simple repair bill could be that complicated.

And now? Now it was my problem.

Because I was the idiot who had yelled ‘BUNNY!’ in the first place.

After a few minutes of collective existential dread, we decided to do what any desperate, underqualified, broke high school students would do—we started listing jobs.

Job Idea #1: Cleaning the Alchemist’s Bakery

Would it cover the cost? No. Would it get us free pastries infused with magical properties? Possibly. But there was also a tiny chance we’d inhale enough enchanted flour to turn into frogs, and honestly, I wasn’t ready to take that risk.

Job Idea #2: Night Shifts at the Grand Market

This was instantly rejected because we all agreed that working in the Grand Market at night was basically a fast track to becoming ghosts. Nobody ever talked about the weird things that happened there after dark, and we didn’t want to find out firsthand.

Job Idea #3: Babysitting Noble Heirs

Joy snorted. “Yeah, because if there’s anyone I trust less than Ethan near children, it’s you.”

“Excuse me?” I gasped, clutching my chest in mock offense. “I am great with kids.”

Joy leaned forward, mimicking holding a tiny elf child. “‘Here, small human, would you like to discuss quantum rune mechanics and the long-term effects of necromantic inflation?’”

“…Okay, rude.”

Job Idea #4: Mowing Enchanted Lawns

“Do you know how many cursed hedges we’d have to trim?” I groaned. “Like, the entire country’s worth.”

Shun nodded solemnly. “And the moment we cut a single vine wrong, it’ll grow back overnight—stronger. Smarter. Waiting for revenge.”

A collective shudder passed over us. Nope. Not worth it.

Job Idea #5: Selling Potion-Infused Lemonade

Shun actually considered this. “We could sell premium elixirs to nobles. Make it all fancy.” Joy wiggled her fingers mystically. “We could call it Ethan’s Tears.”

“…Tempting,” I admitted.

For a moment, I actually entertained the idea of a potion stand—cute little bottles filled with shimmering elixirs, elegant handwritten labels, marketing slogans like ‘Refresh Yourself with a Hint of Regret!’ But then I remembered we’d need a merchant’s license, a stable potion supplier, and enough charm to convince rich people that they needed overpriced lemonade.

Too much effort. Not to mention that we were students, so most of our lives were spent in class.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “Okay, look, I’m smart. I’m good at math, rune coding, writing, and generally being an overachiever. Freelancing could work.”

Shun nodded. “That’s actually a good idea.”

Joy smirked. “So basically, you’re about to become an academic crime lord?”

“…What?”

“Think about it! Rich noble kids pay nerds like you to write their essays on ancient spell craft. It’s practically illegal.”

I sighed. “Joy, it’s called tutoring.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, not convinced. “And where’s the gold, Clark? WHERE’S THE GOLD?”

Okay, so she had a point. Freelancing wouldn’t be fast enough.

I let out a long, defeated breath and draped my arms over the table. “Alright, new plan—we give up and accept our fate.”

Joy dramatically threw herself onto the Table of Eternal Wisdom. “Yes, let’s embrace the cold abyss of financial despair.”

Shun, as always, was the voice of reason. “Or… we find a better option. Because, for starters, if it wasn’t you, Joy I'm looking at you, we wouldn’t be here,” she said, locking eyes with her elven-turquoise eyes.

I hate to put the blame on Joy, but it was her idea to play fear pong in the first place, so technically, maybe she was part of the problem.

Joy only raised a brow, accepting the fact. “.…Fine. But in my defense, I didn’t think Clark would scream at a floating rodent like it was a demon spawn.”

“IT WAS A LEVITATING BUNNY, JOY.”

“WHATEVER.”

Shun rubbed her temples. “I hate both of you.”

Just as I was about to start stress-eating my way into a coma, Joy's eyes lit up the way they only do when something either brilliant or mildly illegal is about to happen. My spine tingled. This was it. The moment before the madness. I could already feel my GPA weeping in the distance. Please don’t say time travel.

Please don’t say necromancy. Please don’t say—

“I HAVE AN IDEA.”

Shun blinked. “I’m scared.”

“What? Rob a bank,” I quipped, before she eye-rolled my joke.

She shoved her crystal tablet in my face. “BOOM.” I squinted.

And read:

NATIONWIDE HIGH SCHOOLS DOCUMENTARY COMPETITION!

Winner’s school receives a HUGE PRIZE!

Deadline: 20 Days.

Silence.

Then, Shun calmly said, “That… could actually work.”

Joy grinned like a villain. “Clark, you’re a nerd. I’m… dramatic. Shun exists. We could totally win this.”

I rubbed my temples. “Oh, my gods.”

“Oh yes,” Joy purred, wiggling her eyebrows. “And guess what? I already have a topic.”

I groaned. “Please don’t say—”

“Nature.”

Joy spread her arms like she had just announced world peace. “I’m the Wildlife Club Captain, okay? I live for this. Plus, it’s how I met Mia.”

Shun nodded approvingly. “That makes sense.”

Joy smirked. “See? Even Shun agrees.”

“I literally said nothing,” Shun pointed out.

“You nodded,” Joy countered.

I exhaled through my nose. “I hate that this actually makes sense.”

“So, we’re doing it?” Joy beamed.

I glanced at Shun.

She shrugged. “We really don’t have a better option.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how we accidentally entered a nationwide competition with only twenty days to make a winning documentary—

—in a world of magic, monsters, and poor life choices—Where failure might mean eternal shame, indentured servitude, or, knowing Ethan, somehow angering a noble who could have us cursed.

With a nerd, a wildlife expert, a cheerleader, and Paramount High's favorite quarterback, what could possibly go wrong?

SPOILER ALERT: Everything.