The New Recruit

The exact classes taken by everypony were different. There were, of course, minimum requirements to graduate to the next year, those being one history, two maths, two sciences, one language arts and one vocational training, but they were just classes. They were no more difficult to pass at the academy than they would be on the ground.

They did serve as a way for Ace to introduce himself to other ponies, though. He had met a fair few of his classmates, but not all of them, and since the groups they were in varied by class, there was no need for lead pony or wing pony roles. They weren't even assigned, yet.

The first couple of classes passed fairly quickly. There wasn't a lot of introduction to them, as this was all post-secondary, meaning it was assumed that the students had been through at least twelve years of schooling and knew the proper etiquette.

When lunch rolled around, Ace was feeling pretty good. It was a good first day, and after a few more classes, he would go into vocational training, which he was already doing before classes started. He just had to be a cook. He sat down at his usual spot, and a few students that were sitting nearby stood up and left, not wanting to associate with him. That was to be expected. Instead, he just listened to those around him while he ate.

There was a general consensus that having vocational training at the school was stupid; that it was the same as having a job, except that they weren't being paid to do it. They were, but not in the traditional way. They were gaining experience in the field that would transfer to real life at a 1:1 ratio. That is, working in the kitchens for four years would translate to four years of working in any other professional kitchen. Four years of janitorial work would translate to four years of janitorial experience. Then there was the fact that this class was only required for the first year, did not show up on tuition, and would transfer fiat currency to the student's account. That is, they could buy things from the academy store by just working it off, or decrease their tuition based on their grade. Plus, cooking food and sweeping floors made it so that there was food to eat and clean floors to walk on.

As Ace was going over this thought, two ponies sat across from him; Soarin and Spitfire. "Anypony sitting here?" asked Soarin.

Ace swallowed his mouthful of gazpacho. "Go ahead."

"I see you've made a lot of new friends," noted Spitfire. "I can barely hear myself over this empty table."

"Not for lack of trying," sighed Ace. "There were ponies here when I sat down. They moved. "

"I saw," nodded Soarin. "So, listen... The captain was telling me about your performance on the obstacle course. On a technical level, you failed."

That stopped Ace in his tracks. "What do you mean?"

Soaring reached under his wing and pulled out a small book that had seen a fair bit of wear and tear over the years. "So, this is a rule that we've had to employ a total of twice in the last three hundred years, and is pretty obscure. Because we usually only have pegasus students, it's pretty easy to see why this rule is in effect, but..." He slid the book across the table, pointing to a particular rule.

In the event that a student collides with every single obstacle on the course, their time will be invalidated. Wonderbolts are not meant to be clumsy.

Spitfire leaned forward. "Look, I know you're not actually clumsy. The deftness with which you passed the course in a way that nopony else could--"

"Not even the captain herself," interjected Soarin.

"...You displayed a skill that puts you high and above the required field."

Ace smiled. "Thank you, captain."

"However, consistency is important," she argued back. "I'm going to need to know that your success was more than just a fluke, so I'm going to need you to run the course twice more, just to be certain. In doing so, we'll add an extra obstacle. Don't touch that, and you pass without being susceptible to the technicality."

Ace took a deep breath. "So, I didn't pass?"

Spitfire shook her head. "Look, rookie, I don't make the rules. I have the ability to change them, as long as I have good reason, but I have to answer to my Lance-Commander. That's going to be a lot easier to do if I remove any reason that their argument may have. I'm willing to overlook your handicap and allow you to work your way through the academy, but he's not so easygoing. I'd like your race to be the only thing he can latch onto, because I can easily have that argument thrown out."

Ace nodded. "I'll do it."

Spitfire smiled. "Good. I'm counting on you, rookie."

"So, other than failing your first class on a technicality, how's the rest of your day going?" asked Soarin, leaning into his sandwich. "Going well?"

Ace shrugged. "Seems to be. I'm kind of tired, so I was considering going to bed right after finishing classes, but it sounds like I have to do some makeup work. So I guess I'll be a bit late."

"Ten minutes," shrugged Spitfire. "You went through it in less than five the first time, so twice should be less than ten, barring any issues."

"It'll be dark," argued Ace. "That'll make things tricky."

"We have lights," shot back Spitfire. "That'll make it easier. Plus, we'll have you wear a glowstick on your neck, so we can spot you if you start falling."

Ace was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, then. I'll see you there."

"We certainly will," smirked Soarin. "Enjoy your lunch, Ace."

With that, the two of them picked up their trays and left, leaving him once again alone at the table. It was odd that they'd even sat down to eat with him in the first place, as Spitfire usually ate in her office, and Soarin usually skipped lunch in favour of a bigger dinner. Still, it was nice of them to keep him company, and it was nice of them to inform him of why he failed and give him another chance, rather than just let it sit. He couldn't know that he'd failed until his progress report came in, two weeks in. Not without them telling him.