A low, stable thrum rocked my body lightly as morning wind rushed past me without any reservation. My beaut of a hoverbike purred quietly as I pushed her harder to reach my destination faster. I was running out of time, so I took an off-route I didn't like and revved the modified engine in my bike past its safety limits.
I had already broken the manufacturer's warranty on my hoverbike more than a dozen times since I first purchased it, so I didn't give a shit about pushing the engine past its factory limits.
It was more than capable of reaching speeds that would be considered illegal on a training hoverbike, but that didn't matter to me at all. The chance of a random Fed patrolling the neighborhood I was passing by was essentially nonexistent because...
The neighborhood I was speeding through belonged to a district that was ruled by a criminal syndicate of infamous repute. It was a dodgy place that normal civilians usually kept out of for valid reasons.
Nobody wanted to get robbed of their shit, for instance. Or scammed. That was what normal people feared, at least.
But I knew that much more than that went on in this district. Theft was the kindest sin within the Twelfth District of La Gyutoro. The rabbit-hole went much, much deeper than a majority of people knew. It was a pitch-black hellhole down here.
The streets were clean and well-kept, but that was just a cheap tactic to get innocent sheeple to pass through it. It was a facade for what really went down within the tall skyscrapers in this part of the city. Flashy holo-signs created a digital jungle of advertisements and online scams up above one's field of view.
Floating billboards of all sizes littered the sky above the downtown area here, each one competing for the attention of the geese flying their hovercraft even further up.
Most locals with half a fucking brain already knew about this district, but the tourists who visited La Gyutoro were not in the know, obviously. The poor bastards often flocked here, lured by the sight of all the colorful lights and sounds, unaware of the sharks that roamed this district.
And the worst part was the no one gave a shit about this cesspool. Not the Feds, the mayor of the damned city, or the megacorps that effectively owned the district.
It was all fucked in this district and that... was how the powers that be desired it.
I pushed my hoverbike even harder and sped past the glamorous honeytrap that was the Twelfth District. As far as I was concerned, I wanted nothing to do with that godforsaken district.
A faint, throbbing pain started to slither around my upper back and it reminded me that I was still on thin ice. I would not receive a second chance again if I fucked the goose like last time.
I'm a good boy, now. As long as I keep my head down and blend into the scenery, I'll be fine. Can't let down the Professor after all he's done for me.
Gotta pay back that debt and be a man of my word.
Even though I understood that the wound had healed long ago, it didn't help whenever it started to act up like right now. Thankfully, it rarely resurfaced, if at all these days...
I despised this district to the core. There was nothing of value in it and the further I got away from it, the faster I felt my ache disappear.
By the time I arrived at the academy, it had all but vanished into oblivion. It was gone. My upsetting thoughts sunk into the recesses of my mind as I pulled into the academy's parking lot and checked my phone.
7:52 AM.
Arrived with eight minutes to spare. Only took about five minutes to stroll across the campus to my class if I walked quickly. The last thing I want to do is arrive late and disappoint the Professor, so I hurriedly parked my bike and headed towards the only other refuge I had in this miserable place.
The Magical Engineering and Applied Metacausal Mechanics Department.
It was such a handful to say that the people who actually frequented the department just referred to it as the "High-Engineering Department" to save themselves an extra breath of air.
The halls within the faulty building that the High-Engineering department was located in were arguably the emptiest in the entire academy. To put it politely — the place was a graveyard.
Although that was something I appreciated about it, that wasn't the reason why I chose my High-Engineering as my major. I wasn't that petty or short-sighted. Like hell I'd choose my major just to get away from the cretins in this academy.
No, I chose it because it was an incredibly specialized major that'd open a door for me in the future. It was still a far-fetched dream right now, but I'm determined to carve my way into the ranks of the few who have been permitted direct access to... the man-made deity that's holding modern magic together as people comprehend it.
The best part of it all is that any engineering position within FAMA (the Federal Artificial Magic Administration) is a government job. That means that I don't have to worry about any of the cunts in this academy putting me some secret blacklist to prevent me from getting a job. My reputation with them will mean shit since I'll be working for The Man.
Even the megacorporations that rule the global economy don't have a single say about what goes on in FAMA. The artificial god the Fifty Wisemen built is exclusively under the management of its fifty creators and no one else.
The instant I stepped into the classroom, I was greeted by the same indifferent faces that I had come tolerate. Four pairs of eyes gazed at me for an instant before they returned to their previous positions. They had most likely thought that I had been the Professor, given the current time. Class almost about to start.
These four fellows we're just like me in the sense that they were also gunning for the same career I wanted. Not that I had a problem with that, since the field we were a part of desperately needed new blood. The number of people who actually went through with High-Engineering as their major was so abysmally low that it had become a semi-serious concern in the academic community.
Even with high paying salaries, a ton of open positions, and guaranteed scholarships for prospective students, the number of people enlisted in High-Engineering was genuinely worrying.
To put things into perspective, the number of major transfers from High-Engineering to every other major was well within the thousands. In short, people were scared away the instant they saw that the courses for High-Engineering required more than just studying for a couple of days before the final exams.
When they realized that you couldn't bullshit your way through the classes, people ran for the damn hills.
This is what it's like in my third year as a High-Engineering student in Afon O'Mir. Out of my entire class year, there are only five of us — including myself — that have stuck around.
Felix Hainsworth. Human. 18 years old. Only other human in the group aside from myself. We don't talk much, if at all. If anything, I have a better relationship with the other three non-humans than him.
Xolun Lacinto. Dark Elf. 19 years old (Human-age conversion). A moody guy. Doesn't speak much, even when it's necessary. Very direct and curt, but that's fine with me. Less is more in my book.
Makao Wasserman. Common Demon. 18 years old. Probably the most normal one of us in the class. Tried to befriend everyone at first, but soon realized his mistake. He's stopped caring as of now.
Kardeen Baphone. Half-Dwarf. 17 years old. Not as short as you imagine him out to be. Guess the other half in him won out over his Dwarf side. Made mead using stolen chemistry department equipment once. It didn't taste that bad, to be honest. He's an alright guy, I suppose.
I know their names, faces, and a bit about their family backgrounds, but I can't really call myself friends with them. We do our best to stay out of each other's hair whenever possible.
We don't have an extremely friendly relationship, but it isn't a terrible one, either.
To put it bluntly, we have more of a business-orientated relationship than an informal, casual one as friends. Since there are only five of us left, it's an absolute given that we've been forced to become group members for laboratory projects when they come up.
Fast, accurate, and highly efficient — that's how I'd describe our motley little group. And it's no surprise at all given we've been groupmates for two years now. Everyone knows their assigned roles and what is expected of them.
Like finely oiled gears in a soulless machine, we have reached the zenith of efficiency to the point that we rarely even speak to each other anymore these days.
We get work done as quickly as possible and then disperse as if we never even knew each other after class is over. Just how I like it.
I won't lie though, we're a group of oddballs, but we don't hold a candle compared to him...
The Professor.
Sandals and socks. A summer-themed floral dress shirt and an outrageous death-metal t-shirt underneath it. And if that wasn't enough, he was sporting the holy grail of all things ignoble — a set of khaki cargo pants.
Our professor, Dr. Milton Sean Lancaster, was the anathema to all logic in existence.
And this was the man who gave me... my second chance at life.
If it weren't for him, my stupid ass would've ended up in juvie for the rest of my schooltime until I graduated. I cannot even begin to stress enough the extraordinary lengths this man went to pull me out of the shithole I had dug myself into back then.
"Gooood morning, ladies! How'd the weekend treat of all you? Did 'ya spend it with a special someone, eh? Or were all of you holed up in 'ya rooms again, wasting your precious days playing video games?"
This man was incorrigibly optimistic and friendly, to a goddamned fault. He had absolutely no qualms about joking around with some of the most lifeless ice cubes in this academy.
Where the majority saw an impossible task, Dr. Milton only saw that it was Tuesday.
Impossible was not a word in his personal dictionary, which I found both especially vexatious and admirable at the same time. The guy simply did not know when to quit or rather, did not know "how to quit" in the first place.
It's the same reason why he tells these stupid jokes every time class starts and...
Why he did not give up on me after I hit rock bottom and fucked everything up.
"Come on, lads, don't leave a brother hanging! What have you guys been up to? How about you, Xolun? Whatcha been up to since we last met? You, Kardeen? Where are them juicy stories, guys?!" said Dr. Milton as he waited for his holo-comp to boot up so he could start the lecture.
I would not normally even consider speaking aloud of my own volition, but there was something itching at the back of my head and before I knew it, my lips had already moved against my will.
"I, uh, did something last week, Doc."
Dr. Milton's face shone like a lightbulb when he heard me and enthusiastically replied, "Lay it on me, little brother! Regale us your epic and set our hearts aflame with passion!"
Was he department head of Magical Engineering or the English Literature department?
"You know, I... sort of met a girl last week. She was a bit of an oddball and... we had a rough first introduction, but I think that she might not be all bad."
My words sent Dr. Milton into a catatonic state of shock as he dumbfoundedly stared at me with his large, bewildered eyes. Was what I had said that astonishing?
The other four turned around and stared at me with equally astonished, disbelieving expressions, which I found annoying as hell.
What? I can't meet a girl? Exactly who do you people think I am? I knew my reputation at school was terrible but I didn't think it was this godawful, to the point that my meeting a girl was that much of a surprise.
Dr. Milton's face broke into a huge grin and he said, "Awww, yeah! Finally, some damn good news from the frontlines, am I right, lads? So, who's this lucky lady you've become acquainted with, Cassanova?"
The four bastards turned around, but it was painfully obvious that they were interested in the conversation, despite their futile efforts at playing dumb. Their hands were on their holo-comps' keyboards, but they weren't fucking moving them.
But it wasn't as if I could pull out anymore. The delighted expression on Dr. Milton's face was such that I found it far too difficult to reject his questions outright.
"She's... not from around here. You know, because of my bad rep here and all. I sort of met her at a... bookstore last week in the Tenth District."
I hated the idea of lying to him, but these were special circumstances. If I gave even the smallest clue that could give away her true identity, I'd likely fuck everything up beyond repair — for myself and her.
So I told the best half-truth I come up with on such short notice. In truth, I shouldn't have even opened my mouth altogether.
Dr. Milton scratched the stubble on his chin and said, "Hoh, at a bookstore, hm? One of them reserved, quiet types, I bet. They're hard nuts to crack because they usually don't talk much. My advice for those types of girls is to find out what they like and approach them from... the opposite angle if you wanna catch their attention."
I nodded slowly like a robot out of reflex until I processed what he had said. Approach from the opposite angle? ...Isn't that counterproductive to the final goal, as in — getting the girl to like you?
"...But aren't we supposed to make girls like us? How will that help?" said Xolun in a confused tone.
"Isn't common sense to approach girls by using shared common interests? I don't understand your advice, Professor," said Makao as he turned toward the others for some form of agreement.
Before I knew it, my four classmates had already begun proposing their own counterarguments about Dr. Milton's advice for me.
A heated debate had arisen between themselves and Dr. Milton as they continued to argue the philosophy of dating stratagems and the most optimal pick lines.
Are these motherfuckers genuinely trying to speedrun the concept of dating? Do they have any idea how stupid that sounds?
Dr. Milton slapped his head in frustration and said, "No, you morons, don't you get it?! These shy, reserved types are almost always extremely passionate about their hobbies, so if you pick the opposing viewpoint to her's, she'll naturally fight back hard to defend her side!!
The goal is to get these girls, who are often very hard to open up and converse with, riled up on PURPOSE. Let them get angry and debate them till the cows go home, as long as it gets you through the door. Why are you doubting the advice of the guy with a wife, you little punks?! I've already completed my speedrun!"
I sighed. The five of them have already entered their own dimension, as per usual. They love debating as much as they love being correct. Being in these classes with these five was always a headache.
Still, I couldn't skip these classes. I had a promise to uphold.
To my eternally optimistic professor, Dr. Milton.
Though it didn't mean I wanted to be here. Frankly speaking, I wanted it to be over — my classes for the day, I mean.
There was a certain someone I wanted to meet. Well, if she happened upon my sanctuary again, at least.
Hopefully.
I gazed at the clock in the classroom, above Dr. Milton's head. It felt as if it had all but stopped in its tracks.
...Today was going to be a long, long day it seemed.