The ZPD Academy wasn't just a building, it was a crucible. Nick Wilde stood at attention among a line of cadets in the harsh morning sun, his uniform crisp, ears tilted back just slightly as Major Friedkin's booming voice echoed off the courtyard walls.
He wasn't nervous. He was used to stares, whispers, and the clench of bias in tight corners. But this was different. This wasn't the street. This was the system, and the system had rules and expectations.
Even after the Night Howler conspiracy had been exposed, even after Judy Hopps had made her public apology and helped clear predator names citywide, the effects of her first press conference hadn't vanished.
"The biology of a predator… their true nature," she had said.
For days after, fear ran unchecked. Prey animals—some who had lived beside predators their whole lives—looked at their neighbors differently. Locked doors. Crossed streets. Changed schools. That fear didn't disappear overnight, and for many, it still simmered.
Nick wasn't the only predator in the academy, but he was the most visible—and the most resented. A fox. The very species they'd all been taught to avoid. The walking embodiment of every bedtime warning and whispered caution.
Major Friedkin paced in front of the cadets, her thick paws clasped behind her back, eyes scanning like searchlights.
"This academy doesn't care where you come from. It only cares what you can do. You pass the tests—you graduate. You don't—you leave."
Her gaze lingered on Nick a beat longer than the others, unreadable. Not judgmental. Just watching.
Nick met her eyes. He didn't flinch.
In the dorms, no one sat beside him unless required. In training groups, the instructors always had to reshuffle teams. One cadet—a tall antelope named Harven—refused to pair with him during a trust exercise.
"I'm not letting that sneak up behind me," he muttered under his breath.
Nick smiled coolly. "What, afraid I'll talk you to death?"
He made jokes, kept the mask up. But it wore thinner every day.
Still, he didn't retaliate. He didn't lash out. He just kept showing up. Every morning. Every drill. Every test.
He earned his space.
Three months in, Judy Hopps visited the academy to speak to new cadets. She was still on patrol just like every other rookie. Despite helping crack one of the biggest criminal cases in Zootopia history, she hadn't skipped the ladder. She would get to her dream of being a Detective someday, though.
After her speech, she found Nick alone on the training field, sitting beneath a weather-beaten flagpole.
"Hey, partner," she said.
He glanced up. "Hey, Carrots. Come to make sure I haven't started gnawing on the cadets yet?"
"Not funny."
"Wasn't a joke."
She sat beside him, legs stretching out in front of her. For a moment, they didn't say anything. Just watched the sun slip lower across the field.
"I know it's been hard," she finally said. "Harder than it should be."
Nick's ears flicked. "It's the job, Judy. We knew that. You really think one solved case was going to undo a hundred years of 'don't trust the fox' bedtime stories?"
"No," she admitted. "But I hoped it might start something."
"It did." He smirked faintly. "Started a rumor that I bribed the academy board to get in."
She smiled back, soft but sad. "You're gonna make a difference here, Nick. I believe that."
He didn't answer right away. Just looked out over the track.
"I don't need to be a hero, Carrots. I just want to prove I'm more than what they expect."
Weeks turned to months. The pressure didn't let up, but Nick adapted. He sharpened. He learned. He aced logic and tactics. He held his own in hand-to-hand. He even outscored most of the class on de-escalation drills.
A few cadets started to notice.
A rhino named Tuffin offered him a water bottle after endurance training. A weasel named Marlow sat next to him at lunch one day and didn't move when others glared.
Small things. Quiet things. But things that mattered.
He didn't become anyone's best friend. But he became someone they couldn't ignore. Someone they couldn't deny.
He still had a long way to go. Graduation was months away. And even then, a badge wouldn't be a magic fix. He'd hit resistance in the precincts. On the streets. Maybe even from civilians.
But Nick Wilde would be ready.
Not because he was perfect. Not because he was trying to prove Judy right.
But because he had chosen this. Because every time someone told him he couldn't—he did.
He stood in front of his mirror that night, adjusting his cadet uniform. No badge. Not yet.
But he smiled.
Because one day, he'd earn it.