Classes passed. The clock struck 14:00.

  It had been a short day; the ministry’s inspection had dragged on. As the morning students left, the afternoon ones arrived. Before heading out, Feralynn and Annya walked together down a hallway on the fourth floor.

  Annya wanted to explore more of the castle, especially the grand library.

  “I didn’t know you liked reading so much. Did Rose infect you with her nerd essence or something?”

  “Heh, no. I just kept thinking about Professor Romina’s spell.”

  “…You mean that light that burned the hell out of my hand?”

  “Mhm! That exact one.” She let out a giggle. “Maybe I’ll use it when you make me mad. My lethal weapon~”

  Feralynn controlled half a smile.

  “It’s a miracle. I doubt they’d teach that in the first week.”

  Annya took her hand.

  “That’s why we’re going to the library!”

  “I thought you’d want to go with Rose and Jax.”

  She shrugged.

  “Eh… yesterday they signed up for theater club. Not really my thing. I was thinking of joining cooking club! I’d be president and they’d kneel before my desserts. Princess Annya! No—um, Queen Oak!”

  “Careful.” Fer smirked with mischief. “Don’t let Lady Miria join or she’ll steal your throne.”

  Annya laughed, pushing Fer’s arm playfully. Both of them ended up laughing.

  “What about you? Any club that caught your attention? We could join one together, you know. Just… don’t pick something too violent…”

  Feralynn bit the inside of her cheek faintly.

  “Not really… I used your dumb ‘Destrartes’ technique you taught me when I can’t decide.”

  “Descartes.” Annya corrected with a raised finger. “Descartes’ technique.”

  “Yeah, yeah. That thing.” She sighed. “Only one got marked…”

  “Which one?”

  “…the Spellborne Unit.”

  A gasp of surprise.

  “Fer… that’s only for last-years!”

  “I know. They say the entrance exams start from fourth year… but…”

  “…I see.”

  Feralynn averted her eyes. Her tone dimmed, just like her gaze. Annya noticed. She stopped, dropped her backpack, and rummaged through her notebooks.

  “We couldn’t find you, but Rose asked me to show you this.” She pulled out a flashy student pamphlet. “She’s planning on signing up.”

  There was no need to grab it to read. The words stood out clearly even from afar.

  ANNUAL ELEMENTAL TOURNAMENT.

  “She said if you enter, they’ll end up in first place. Seeing what you did today, I don’t doubt it, hehe!”

  "I see... This sounds interesting."

  Fer took the pamphlet to read it. Divisions by year and element, facing duels and challenges. She stood still, eyes scanning the rules for signing up—faster than her ability to decide. Annya let her read in the middle of the hallway. Tilted her head to glance at Fer’s hand, where Romina had cast her spell. She dared to take it, lifting it for a closer look.

  “H-Hey…” Fer protested, blushing, but didn’t pull her hand back.

  “Does it still hurt?” Curious, Annya inspected further. “Gods… now that I see it better, you have so many marks.”

  “Give it back.” Fer’s tone was sharp, eyes pulling away for a moment. “Let’s just go. Before I have a heart attack in your mom’s car…” She shoved the pamphlet away with a growl, crumpling the paper. “Maybe I’ll sign up for that stupid tournament, but if they bother me, I’ll kick their ass.”

  Annya blinked. She exhaled softly through her nose, a gentle smile on her face as she caught up with her friend.

  “If you join, you’ll send them all to the infirmary.” She let out a light laugh. “They’ll need a lot of miracles.”

  “Hm.”

  “You know, I’ve never seen a healing spell in hospitals. Maybe because I didn’t go that often…”

  “Mhm,” Fer muttered, eyes ahead. “Or maybe they did, and they erased your memory.”

  “That’s strange. Even in my family, they’ve never called healers or clerics. We just go to the pharmacy or clinics.”

  “Heh, guess if they cured everyone with magic, they’d be out of business.”

  There was a pause. Annya dared to ask.

  “Fer, your mom’s a blank, like my whole family. What about your da—”

  “We’re here.” Fer cut her off, pointing to the library entrance. “…I doubt we’ll find your healing book…”

  Both froze at the choreography of open books, fluttering like silent owls through the air. A chaotic traffic without collisions. Annya’s eyes widened, glowing with wonder. Her mouth opened by reflex—

  “Shhhhh…”

  A soft sound drew their attention to the desk near the entrance.

  “You can tell you’re first-years.” A gentle laugh. “Everyone has the same look when they enter the library for the first time.”

  An elderly goblin, skin like dried olives and a neatly groomed lamb’s beard. He wore tiny glasses always perched at the edge of his nose. Reading the newspaper, his spoon stirred sugar cubes into a small floral teacup all on its own.

  Fer stared wide-eyed at the books dancing in the air. Upperclassmen walked around as if this were perfectly normal. She looked up and couldn’t count how many floors there were, or how long the shelves stretched, filled with tomes—some older than the goblin himself, others newer, glowing with arcane runes along their spines.

  Annya kept her smile, gazing at the ceiling of leaves and covers until she reached the kind goblin.

  “State your request, young mage,” he said without lifting the newspaper or his gaze. “And remember, keep your voice down.”

  “Um…! Miracles! No—um, do you have a book of miracles for first-years?” Nervous laugh. “Nothing too hard… it’s my second day.”

  The old goblin let out a “hmmm” before sipping his tea. The cup levitated back onto its saucer. Opening a desk drawer, he pulled out an old oak wand, its tip cracked. He noticed the orange-haired girl’s eyes following it. He smiled with pride.

  “Gloves are modern and practical,” he said, giving the wand a flick. Seconds later, a stack of books assembled into a column beside them. “But wands still put up a fight.”

  Another flick aimed at the growing pile. The tower of books levitated, settling onto one of the many long rectangular tables. He picked one, opened it, inhaled deeply, and sighed in satisfaction. He released it, letting it join its floating companions. “Take your time, young lady.” And he returned to his newspaper sudoku.

  Annya went straight to the table, splitting the stack into two columns to inspect indexes one by one. Fer followed, until she heard a sound. Knocks, soft. Almost inaudible, but sharp to her ears. Frowning, she moved toward a shelf. The knocks seemed to come from below. Both hands pushed the heavy shelf back. She jumped when a flutter brushed her head.

  A book, flapping. Feralynn stared, puzzled. She extended her hand. The book morphed into a grateful pigeon, it let her stroke its spine.

  “This is…weird…” she murmured, before feeling its cover rub against her cheek, leaving a trail of glittering dust in thanks.

  “All right, all right. Off you go.” But there was no irritation behind her voice.

  The book flew away, content. She lost sight of it among the endless shelves and the traffic of pages and tomes. The goblin chuckled quietly, satisfied.

  “Those who help books will have eternal friends,” said the old one. He didn’t even lift his eyes, just winked while his ink-stained fingers took up a quill and attacked the sudoku.

  Feralynn rolled her eyes, pretending not to hear him. She wiped her glittered cheek before sitting down beside Annya.

  “No… no… This one’s too hard… Um, what language is this…?”

  “That’s Velkran.” Fer observed with disinterest, resting her cheek on her hand, elbow on the table. “It says there: ‘healing for beginner clerics.’”

  Annya glanced at her friend, slightly surprised. She inspected the book more closely—there were even illustrations of hand gestures and poses, symbols, and prayers in various languages. She recognized the one from her own church.

  “Maybe I’ll take this one. The others don’t have as many pretty pictures.”

  “You don’t even know the language and you’re taking it just because it has drawings?”

  “Mhm! I don’t know the language but…” She looked sideways at her. “I do have someone who does.” She giggled.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  Annya protested. “Eeeeehh?!” A soft “ahem” from the goblin carried across the room. “Why not?” she whispered, wounded expression on her face.

  “I don’t do homework for free.”

  “Hmph! Then… a deal!”

  “I’m listening,” Fer replied, bored, head still on the table.

  “I’ll do your algebra homework, and you translate the book for me.”

  “Just ask the old man if there isn’t a copy in Loriano, or if his wand translates it with a spell or something.”

  Poke.

  Annya pressed her finger against Fer’s cheek.

  “You ruin everything fun. You’re grumpy AND lazy.”

  Fer just shrugged in acceptance.

  “By the way, how do you know Velkran?”

  She didn’t answer, just turned her head aside without lifting it.

  Infiltration missions and interrogations. Hammering knees until they sang.

  “…A distant uncle taught me.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know you had an uncle. Why didn’t you mention him before?”

  “Because I didn’t.” She changed the subject. “Algebra and Alchemy.”

  “No, no. Only Algebra.” Arms crossed, her serious look was—at least to Fer—like watching a hamster with puffed freckled cheeks. “Alchemy is mine, my pride as a cook.”

  Fer blinked slowly. Raised her head, inch by inch.

  “Done.”

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  Annya clapped lightly before digging in her backpack for a notebook and pastel markers. Her pocket vibrated. She pulled out her mirrorphone to read the message on the pocket-sized mirror screen.

  “Oh, Mom will be a bit late. Says there are lots of customers at the bakery.” She closed it with one hand. “Perfect! More time for you to help me.”

  “Mhm…”

  Poke. Poke. Poke.

  “Don’t fall asleeep!” she whispered.

  “Zzz…”

  “Feeeer!”

  The goblin cleared his throat from the desk but didn’t lift his eyes from the sudoku. Between the shelves, only the flap of flying pages, the scratch of quills, or the muffled sneeze of a student broke the calm. Time unraveled in that steady murmur of the library, until more than an hour had passed and the two remained there, sharing a silence that felt like it had always belonged to them.

  Annya checked the book out; the elderly goblin placed an irremovable stamp with a counter, showing how long she had until returning or renewing it.

  Fer yawned, her echo bouncing down the hall. She stretched her arms as they walked back.

  “Worth it. Now I have a new hideout for naps.”

  Annya shook her head in disapproval, smiling.

  “I had to wake you up five hundred times to get you to translate.”

  “Hey, not my fault. The flutter of those books is relaxing.”

  They descended to the third floor, heading toward Mrs. Oak’s car. Halfway down the hall, they heard it. Fer stopped.

  A fine melody, refined. Polished. The spell of a violin that needed no mana to draw its beautiful music. Annya closed her eyes, savoring the delicate sound that massaged her ears.

  “Yes… it’s beautiful…” She opened her eyes. “Must be the music club. Want to see?”

  Fer just shrugged, face bored. They approached the half-open door. What had sparked her curiosity now made her roll her eyes.

  “Of course,” she said acidly. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Miria, playing the violin. Making the notes dance. Her entire club had paused with instruments in hand, even the reptilian professor stood arms crossed, smiling in approval. She held the bow, drawing it across the strings in melodic, metronomic caress.

  The pegs were firm, reflecting her posture. The chinrest braced her jaw as she turned with the front plate. She needed no gloves or wand. The violin was her catalyst—both magical and emotional. The magic of her music was common, archaic. Yet so enchanting it held everyone in solemn silence.

  The violin didn’t just fill the air; it pulled it taut. Every note tugged an invisible thread in the chest of those present. Fer narrowed her eyes: she didn’t want to admit it, but the music clawed at something inside, accusing her silently of being an outsider. An intruder. An outcast.

  “Damn…” she muttered, barely audible, arms crossed tight over her chest. “She doesn’t even need magic to show off…”

  Annya, meanwhile, was entranced. Mouth slightly open, eyes shining as though she were watching her first snowfall.

  “Fer… it’s incredible. Look how…” She stopped—because when she looked at her friend, she realized Fer wasn’t smiling, wasn’t sharing the wonder. Her face was twisted with something strange—half annoyance, half… something else.

  Fer swallowed. Miria’s perfect posture, her chin just so on the rest, the serenity of someone who belonged in this world… Why did it make her blood boil?

  “She thinks she’s better than everyone,” she finally growled, though her eyes never left the bow.

  Annya tilted her head, sighing softly. “I don’t know, Fer. I don’t see arrogance now. I see… happiness.”

  That hurt. Like a jab under the ribs. Fer clenched her jaw, her fingers burning in her pockets from heat she hadn’t meant to conjure. She couldn’t stand to see her so flawless, and even less to see Annya notice it.

  Inside, the piece swelled to a climax: a long drag, a vibrato that made even the stained-glass windows shiver. Everyone held their breath. Miria closed her eyes, lowered the bow, and the silence after was almost more brutal than the music itself. Modest applause followed. Miria bowed quietly before placing the violin down.

  Fer cleared her throat, turning her head anywhere else.

  “Bah. Not that great.”

  Annya, still moved, squeezed her arm. Her smile was timid but steady.

  “Admit it—it was beautiful.”

  Fer didn’t answer. The heat in her pockets flared, and she only muttered:

  “We should go.”

  On the other side of the door came the muffled voice of the professor, thanking her for her performance. Attention shifted to the observations he gave the rest of his students.

  Feralynn froze. The knot in her throat tightened harder than a perfectly tuned string. She felt Annya take her hand, glanced at her from the side. Her friend sensed the sadness so palpable. She smiled, not a friendly grin, but one of empathy, of pity.

  “Let’s go…” she whispered softly, and Fer swallowed.

  “Yeah…”

  The door in front of them slid open completely. Miria’s eyes met Feralynn’s. Both equally wide. In an instant, color rose in their cheeks.

  “…”

  “...U-Uuhhh…” Fer stammered, but it was useless. Words refused to form. She stepped back by reflex, terrified. Miria walked out and closed the door.

  “Blackwood,” she greeted indifferently. “Oak,” she added, glancing at Annya.

  “Hello, Lady Miria!” Annya greeted warmly. “You played beautifully, right, Fer?”

  “…I guess.” She coughed to clear her throat. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t know, I’m not a musician.”

  "Oh, don't worry. You don't have the looks of one."

  Fer almost snapped.

  "What...?"

  "Ha ha! That's...! Um, that's a nice joke, Lady Miria!" Annya laughed, trying her best to make the situation lighter. "Right, Fer?"

  "...Yeah. A joke."

  Annya sighed and facepalmed. Miria nodded.

  “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was about to take a short break.”

  “Oh, that’s fine! We were leaving too. We can walk a bit together down the hall,” Annya said.

  Feralynn and Miria looked sideways at each other. Both turned their eyes away. Annya walked in the middle, like a bridge, humming the melody the noble girl had just played. What should have been a simple walk down a hallway became a string pulled tighter and tighter with every step.

  From the staircase below emerged Chappi, his orange wig peeking out from beneath a top hat. He greeted from the far end, approaching.

  “Good afternoon, young ladies!” He bowed with his hat. “Are you Miss Blackwood?”

  The three stopped. Annya was the only one who smiled back, returning the clown butler’s greeting. At the question, all eyes turned to Feralynn, who blinked, confused. She arched a brow, looking first at Miria’s eyes, then Annya’s. Miria. Annya. Chappi. “…Is something wrong?”

  “Miss Feralynn Blackwood, I inform you that you are invited to the office of Headmistress Astera and Headmaster Smiley for a personal talk!” He paused, quickly clarifying at the sight of her frightened red eyes. “You needn’t worry, you are not in any trouble, and it is simply an invitation you may accept whenever you wish. No one is pressuring you.”

  She frowned.

  “What kind of… talk?” she tilted her head, trying to read behind the painted face.

  “Oh! I’m afraid it’s something only you can discuss with the Headmasters.” He leaned closer to whisper, covering his mouth with one hand. “Don’t tell them I said this, but I assume it’s for a demonstration at the practice field.”

  The revelation nearly left her jaw hanging.

  A demonstration, the Headmasters? What the hell…?!

  Before she could answer, Annya’s pocket vibrated abruptly. She flipped open her mirrorphone with an apologetic glance. Spoke with her mother a few seconds, back turned.

  “Fer, if you want, you can go now. Mom’s calling like crazy—she finally parked near the bus stop.” She looked at Chappi, then at her friend. Leaned in to whisper in her ear. “We’ll pick you up in the car later, don’t worry. Show them what you can do!”

  “Uh?! Annya, wait—!”

  Fer stretched her hand, but her fingers caught only empty air. The echo of her friend’s steps down the stairs vanished too quickly. She swallowed, silence pressing on her chest. Miria didn’t move. She only crossed her arms calmly, as if she had been waiting for this.

  Feralynn looked at Chappi.

  “Only if you wish, miss,” he repeated with a smile.

  “…”

  She thought of Annie’s last words.

  Show them what I can do…

  She remembered Miria playing the violin, clenched her fists, her knuckles heating.

  “I’ll go right now.”

  She decided firmly.

  Chappi nodded, satisfied.

  “I’ll escort you to the office—”

  “I’ll go too.”

  “Eh?!”

  Miria, arms still crossed, had never left. For a moment Fer had forgotten her, assumed she had gone back inside. But no, she stood with the same determination in her gaze.

  Chappi raised his hands in surrender.

  “Miss Frostweaver, don’t misunderstand, but I was instructed to invite only Miss Blackwood.”

  The white-haired girl stepped forward.

  “Then I also wish to speak with them. If the Headmasters oppose, I’ll leave.”

  The clown adjusted his bowtie, laughing nervously.

  “Well, you see, I—”

  Chin high like a scythe before dropping.

  “I would be very grateful, please.”

  “Hey, Frosty” Fer cut in. “Go back to your pretty violins.” She stared straight at her, and the two locked eyes without blinking. “They called me, not you.”

  Still arms crossed, Miria faced her down.

  “I’ll leave only if the Headmasters oppose.”

  “Tsk.” Fer stepped closer, mere inches apart. The heat rising in both their cheeks was a strange mix of anger and something else that made their voices quiver. “You’re impossible.”

  “And you are childish.”

  “What did you just call me…?”

  Chappi clapped once, stepping between hawk and wolf.

  “Ladies, ladies! Don’t worry, I’ll take you both and the Headmasters will decide! Ha ha! …Ha.”

  They turned away in opposite directions, arms crossed.

  “Incredible, just what I needed,” Fer spat, venom in her throat.

  “…”

  Miria didn’t know why she had said it. She only felt that if she let Blackwood walk alone to the Headmasters, she would lose something irreplaceable. And it was already too late to take it back.

  …

  …

  …

  Academy of Magic and Sorcery of Larion.

  Headmasters’ Office.

  A calm routine lingered. Ordinary.

  “Do, do, doo…” hummed the puppet. “Hm, mmhm, mhmhm, hmmm~”

  Smiley’s carved white fingers shaped a pyramid of cards. Each one placed with purpose, maintaining the stability of the structure—just as he did with his colleague. He sang quietly, content. Occasionally he lifted a finger, pointing aside to shift papers that signed themselves.

  Astera sat at the other desk, taller and newly bought. She signed by hand, her back straight as the lines she wrote across the endless paperwork. She paused to raise her white mug, etched with “I <3 U MOM!”. She didn’t need to look up or speak for the signal to be understood.

  Smiley kept humming, now stacking a tower of cards beside the finished pyramid. With a twitch of his pinky, a coffeepot floated up, pouring the bitter brown nectar into the elf’s cup as she read.

  “Transfer of Electric Drakes,” she read, arching a brow. “Seriously—you want me to sign for these things to be brought into the castle?”

  Smiley’s hand laid a heart card onto the third pyramid he was already building.

  “They’re sparkly!” he sang with a silly laugh. “And they can stay awake for seventy-two hours straight. Good aerial sentinels, don’t you think?”

  “Are your birds not enough? No one even knows how many you have circling the campus—not even you.”

  “Hmmm, nope!~ Never enough when it comes to protecting our children.”

  Astera signed the paper.

  “I’ll tell you now, I’m not taking responsibility for your magical beasts.”

  A clover card, placed with surgical precision on the second floor of the fourth pyramid.

  “Oh, don’t you worry about that, my dear Astie. I know plenty of crazed beast-tamers. Just a matter of a few calls~”

  “Yes, to the asylum…” Astera muttered, sipping her coffee.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  Knock.

  “Enter.” Astera ordered with the weariness of a judge on recess.

  “Uh, Headmistress Astera,” Chappi’s muffled voice came from the other side. “I’m afraid there’s been a tiny little problem regarding Miss Blackwood.”

  Smiley chuckled mockingly, then his voice dropped low.

  “What a surprise…”

  Astera stopped writing at once. Her face stayed impassive, her voice firm.

  “Then come in and explain.” She pretended her heartbeat wasn’t racing with anticipation.

  The door opened—and with it, Astera’s memory.

  When she lifted her eyes to the silhouette of the short-haired girl, she froze. A sharp pang in her throat forced her to swallow. Her pen slipped from her fingers, falling onto the papers; she hadn’t managed to close her hand around it.

  “Blake…?” she murmured, almost inaudible, her eyes reflecting the silhouette of a man.

  Smiley’s card pyramids collapsed, scattered. His humming died mid-note. The wood of his joints stopped creaking, stiff, while pulses of white light flickered in his hollow sockets like a restrained heartbeat.

  "Heavens..."

  "Ooohhh... shucks..."

  Feralynn arched a brow. Nervous smile.

  “Uuuhhh… yeah?”

  Her stomach knotted.

  Why the hell are they looking at me like I’m a ghost...?

  Astera blinked several times to steady herself. Before Smiley could crack one of his endless jokes, another girl stepped in.

  “My deepest apologies, Headmasters,” Chappi said, bowing low at the door. “I tried to dissuade her, but she insisted on coming as well.”

  Beside Feralynn stood Miria, firm, arms crossed. Same height, same edge in her gaze.

  “Headmistress Astera,” she greeted with glacial politeness. “Headmaster Smiley.”

  Silence. Astera frowned, unsettled. Her wooden colleague, however, burst out with restrained delight.

  Feralynn didn’t take her eyes off the Headmasters, confused, uncomfortable.

  Miria didn’t either, though she couldn’t sense the invisible tension. For her, it was simple: if Fer was going to be judged, she would stand there too.

  “Well, well, well… We called for a crow, but a swan arrived too. Let's see which one flies higher...”

  ...

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