The faces of students entering a classroom provide a valuable clue as to the
subject of the class ahead. If the stressed-to-excited ratio was one to one, it was
sword arts. Two to one, spellology.
But for this class, the ratio was between fear and grim determination, at a
mere one to four.
"Is everybody ready?" Chela said, glancing at each of her friends in turn. All
five nodded wordlessly. They had long since adapted to this tension. It was part
and parcel with Enrico Forghieri's magical engineering class.
"…Let's hope everyone keeps their limbs today," Guy replied.
"That depends on the assignment," Pete said, not looking up from his book.
Surprised by the lack of emotion, Katie leaned in. "…You're awfully calm, Pete.
These classes used to leave you shaking."
"Whatever he throws at us, our approach is the same. Observe, analyze, and
handle it as best we can. Nothing else to it."
Pete snapped his book shut. A grating laugh echoed through the door, and
every student braced themselves. A moment later, the door burst open, and a
little old man sailed in.
"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Good morning, children! Today's assignment…will have
to wait, I'm afraid."
Enrico stopped at the podium, pausing dramatically. The students had been
ready to put their lives on the line and did not know what to make of this.
"First, a very important announcement: …I'm dead! Actually, legitimately
deceased!"
There was a clank, and Enrico's jaw slid downward, flipping like a
ventriloquist's dummy. A terrifying sight that stunned every student present.
"…Um?" Pete said, his voice shaking.
But this thing shaped like Enrico continued prattling away. "What you see
before you is merely a dummy golem. Designed to activate automatically if I fall
out of contact for a set period of time. No one has verified my body, but
circumstantial evidence suggests a high likelihood I have met with an untimely
demise! Proceed accordingly. Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
As he explained further, his eyeballs popped out, bouncing on the ends of
springs. The goofball visuals were so removed from the grim nature of the facts
at hand that no one present could process the news. And yet—it made sense.
The mad old man would hardly shed a tear over his own expiration.
"But still your beating hearts! This golem is fully equipped to conduct class. It
may lack my creative panache, but I have filled it to the brim with my vast
reserves of knowledge. Rest assured, this class is in capable hands. You will
hardly notice the difference!"
"Er, um…" Pete shot to his feet.
Dummy Enrico pushed his eyes back into his face and beamed at him.
"You have a question, Mr. Reston?"
"Y-you died, but…how?"
Pete was definitely speaking for everyone.
"That's under investigation," the golem said, hands out wide. "But indeed,
who killed me? That is the question on all our minds."
The mechanical old man cackled with delight, and Pete just stared, aghast.
Behind him, Chela turned to the boy beside her.
"…Oliver, what do you make of it?"
The boy folded his arms and grimly shook his head. They knew too little, and
careless speculation would do no one any good. His expression spoke for him.
The crease on his brow, the slight incline of his head—every gesture the
spitting image of Oliver Horn, deep in thought.
Meanwhile, on the labyrinth's first layer—the quiet, wandering path—in the
Sherwoods' secret atelier.
" AaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
A boy's screams echoed ceaselessly through a soundproof room.
His future hung in the balance. Oliver was strapped to an operating table,
struggling with all his might, entirely out of his mind. Left to his own devices, he
would destroy his own body. To prevent that, every comrade with healing skills
was here, and his cousins were on a sleepless vigil.
"Inject a triple dose of red spotweed anesthetic! Apply a seventy-percent
paralysis spell on the tendons of every limb! Hurry! He's about to blow!"
"...!"
It would be so much easier if they could just put him to sleep. But the
rejection from a soul merge was nothing so mild that sleep would help—quite
the opposite. He had to fight off the haphazard spasms with his mind alert and
conscious. Oliver was in the throes of a battle for his life.
Those who wished to aid him had only two options available: protect his
body, ensuring this struggle did not damage it permanently, and use spells and
magic herbs to ease the pain wherever possible. With those tasks handled
flawlessly, there was little left to do but have faith in Oliver himself. His battle
had raged for three days and nights, and all they could do was watch.
"Take a rest, Gwyn," a comrade said.
Gwyn's fatigue was more than evident. He was running on zero sleep, and it
had been a good twelve hours since he'd last eaten anything, much less had a
sip of water. Aware that this path led only to his own collapse, Gwyn stepped
away from the table.
"…I'm gonna go splash some water on my face. Shannon, let someone else
take over. You need rest."
She was on the other side of the table from him, but her only response was a
vehement shake of her head. Gwyn knew full well nothing he could say would
change her mind, so he let her be and left the operating room, headed for the
sinks next door. He had the attending elemental generate water so cold, it was
almost ice and splashed it on his face to wake himself.
"…This is rough."
He looked up from the sink to find a girl standing next to him. One of their
number. Like him, a sixth-year student—Janet Dowling.
Listening to the screams from the next room, she spoke again.
"Three days since the fight, and he's still not stabilizing. This soul merge thing
is gnarly."
"...…"
"Not that you're faring much better, though. You look about ready to hang
yourself."
She reached out and pulled his chin to face her. There was a moment of
silence, and then she smirked.
"Take a load off," she said, her tone suddenly far softer. "I know you don't
want to hear it, but torturing yourself isn't gonna ease your cousin's pain."
Gwyn silently pushed her hand away and got back to washing his face.
Janet changed the subject. "How's the cover-up going? Not just the battle site
but our lord himself. He's been absent from class for three days, right?"
"We've got a double in his place. Should work for the time being. The longer
this drags on, the more we'll have to consider alternatives…"
When the cold had turned his lips blue, Gwyn finally stopped. He grabbed a
towel and dried his face.
"As for the site of the battle, that's at a critical juncture. We've eliminated all
evidence that'll directly tie it to any of us, but there's no hiding Enrico's
disappearance. We'll need to concoct a cover story."
"Like that he was consumed by the spell?"
"That would be the obvious choice. A Deus Ex Machina is absolutely the sort
of project that harbors that threat. But that won't be enough to fool Kimberly's
staff."
Gwyn scowled at his reflection in the mirror. His exhaustion was plain as day,
yet his eyes had already turned toward the battle ahead.
"Like with Darius, when a teacher here dies, the first suspects are always
other instructors. For the simple reasons that they are the most likely to be
capable of it. And that works to our advantage—we'll sow the seeds of doubt."
"And potentially turn them against one another," Janet said, jumping ahead
of him.
Gwyn nodded. "We need them taking each other out. Noll can't handle more
fights like this one."
His fist was clamped so tight, the bones in his hand creaked. Janet's eyes
narrowed. Perhaps this man's heart would give out before his cousin's body.
"Subterfuge, huh?" She grinned. "Sounds fun."
Gwyn made to answer but felt a presence behind him. He turned and found a
covert operative standing uneasily, seemingly unsure of what to do with herself.
"Why are you here, Teresa? I told you not to come."
He shot her a stern look, and she mouthed a few words before managing to
vocalize anything.
"…Just…one look…"
"You want to see Noll spitting blood, writhing in agony?"
The girl flinched. He showed no mercy.
"There is nothing you can do here. Return to campus and remain in class until
you receive other orders. That is your mission."
"...…"
"Answer."
"...Mission received."
Teresa was frowning, not even trying to hide her frustration. She turned and
left the room.
"…I really felt that frustration," Janet said, fascinated. "Since when has she
been all emotional like that?"
"She's changed a lot since she first met Noll. I suppose that means she cares
about him…as best she can."
His voice had softened a tad.
Janet groaned lightly, rolling her neck. "That's adorable, but not ideal. Is our
lord feeling anything back? Will he be able to sacrifice her if the need arises?"
"I have no intention of putting that choice before him."
There was such steel in his voice that she flinched, then threw up her hands.
"Doing his dirty work for him. Like brothers everywhere. How noble."
She gave him a slap on the back, then headed for the door. He watched her
go.
Janet's smile was indomitable—almost diabolically so.
"Good, good. You won't be the only ones with dirt on your hands. This next
stage is our job as Kimberly's third-rate rag!"
Well-fed citizens crave information. Mage or not, this is a fundamental human
instinct.
"Hokay, how do we frame it, Chief?" a reporter said, licking the end of their
pen.
A tiny space packed with desks. The desks and floor were covered in notes,
documents, and photos.
Kimberly students ran multiple papers, and thus there were several press
clubs. This one was headquartered inside the labyrinth.
"Hmm, how's this?" they said, showing off a headline. "Pretty dang
inflammatory, but that's kind of our thing."
"Oh-ho-ho-ho! That ought to piss everyone off," another reporter said,
rubbing their hands together.
The mock-up had, in huge letters, ENRICO MISSING! INFIGHTING AT KIMBERLY?! scrawled
across the top. Like any good tabloid, this one stirred the pot with no regard for
ethics. Treating the incident as a murder before any facts were out and pinning
the blame on faculty conflicts—transparently biased reporting.
"…Psh. Weak," Janet snapped. She waved her white wand, erasing those
letters, and filled the blanks with words of her own. The reporters looked
aghast.
"…Uh…"
"Whoa…"
"I'd go with this," Janet said, turning around. All eyes were on the board
behind her.
WHO IS THE COLLEAGUE KILLER?! SECRET STRIFE AMONG THE KIMBERLY FACULTY!
Everyone gulped.
"The chief's lost it…"
"Oh-ho-ho! Coming on strong!"
This would be published. The faculty would see it. That idea alone sent a chill
down their spines. But none of them tried to stop her. The article's accuracy
was irrelevant—Kimberly's third-largest paper existed for one thing and one
thing only: sticking it to the man.
"You guys need me to remind you what we're all about? One hundred and
twenty years of being the trashiest rabble-rousing rag around. We can't let this
shit go unstirred!"
Their article was in ink that very day, spread to every corner of the campus
right as crowds began to form.
"Extra, extra! Latest news on Enrico's disappearance!"
Desperate for information, students snatched up copies for themselves.
Eighty percent of the article was entirely baseless speculation, but that fueled
vehement arguments. This was no longer "Enrico's disappearance." The whole
discussion had been shifted, and everyone was talking about who the Colleague
Killer could be.
Two AM. After a long struggle and an ensuing coma, Oliver's eyes slowly
opened.
"...... "
For several seconds, he was at a loss. His body wasn't racked with pain. At this
point, that felt far stranger. He looked around and found himself no longer on
the operating table but on a proper bed with clean sheets. His sister was on a
chair next to the bed, clutching his hand, nodding off.
"…Shannon," he said, sitting up.
Her eyes snapped open, focusing on him. "…Noll…you're awake…!"
She'd clearly been crying a lot, and now fresh tears welled up. She threw
herself onto him, wrapping her arms around him tightly and sobbing in his ear.
That alone proved just how bad things had been, and it left him at a loss for
words.
Eventually, he managed to ask, "…How many days has it been?"
"Four days and twelve hours," Gwyn answered as he entered the room.
"Acceptable range. Go back to sleep."
He came over to the bed. His fatigue was undisguisable, but relief was
winning out. Relief that Oliver had woken up intact.
"Anything feel strange or out of place?"
Making no attempt to pry Shannon loose, Oliver turned inward, feeling
himself out. His limbs were limp—lingering anesthetic. Otherwise, nothing
noticeably amiss. But "strange"—well, that described every part of him, down
to the tips of his fingers.
"No…pain. Just… It all feels wrong. Like every part of me's been replaced," he
said, picking his words.
Gwyn nodded. "It has. This soul merge induced a clear physical change. You're
nearly an inch taller. Muscles, bones, organs, and mana flow—there's gonna be
countless little changes all over."
"...…"
"We'll monitor your progress with it. There's a lot we don't know about the
physical side effects of a lengthy merge. But there's one thing I can say for sure
—"
"—I carved a huge chunk off my life?"
These words made Shannon tighten her embrace. Oliver winced. He knew
only too well how she felt, but at this rate, he'd never get moving.
"Let me try it out. Shannon, if you could—"
"No."
"Please…?"
"No!"
Each time she refused, her embrace grew tighter. With the anesthetic
lingering, he wasn't capable of pushing her off, and he would never have done
that to his sister in the first place.
Seeing his little brother helpless, Gwyn shot him a grin.
"All right, you two just sleep together here. She hasn't slept a wink since."
"S-sleep…in the same bed?"
"Not necessarily, but good luck peeling her off you."
Clearly, Gwyn knew better. Oliver put an arm around his sister and lay back
down. Gwyn put a blanket over them both and turned to go.
"Let us love you. It's how we get through this."
And with that, he was gone, leaving Oliver and Shannon pressed tight against
each other. Shannon adjusted their positions under the covers, pulling his head
against her chest. His nostrils caught a sweet scent, and his heart almost leaped
out of his chest.
"Hee-hee. It's been so long…since we slept together."
"...…"
"And you're still…very red."
He couldn't really move, but he did his best to turn his face away. Shannon
just smiled at him…and then felt something by her hips and peeked inside the
blankets.
"That…hasn't changed, either."
"...!"
All too aware of his shame, Oliver looked ready to cry. He normally had these
involuntary responses under complete control, but since he'd just been through
the fight of his life, the drugs in his system weren't allowing that. He tried to
pull his hips away, but Shannon was holding on tight, not letting him flee.
Heedless of the stiffness pressed against her.
"No you don't. Sleep. Sleep right here…with me."
The inappropriate urge soon faded in the warmth of his sister's embrace and
the relief it brought. She gave him no choice, so he surrendered to her love…
and before he knew it, Oliver was asleep again.
It was a full five hours before he woke once more. He left Shannon sleeping
like the dead and found a sink, washing his face and making himself
presentable. By way of self-evaluation, he ran through a few movements and
spells. The precision left much to be desired; it felt like he was controlling
someone else's body entirely. But he'd trained through these sensations at a
much younger age, and it likely wouldn't take too long to adjust.
Nothing to worry about. Just as he was wondering when to return to school,
someone spoke the password, and the atelier door opened. In came…Oliver
himself, a flawless match, from the clothes to the face. The double who'd filled
in for him during his absence. A fourth-year named Theo Jeschke. Their true age
and gender were unclear—in fact, almost everything about them was shrouded
in mystery.
"Welcome back. No trouble filling in for you on my end."
"…Good. That's a huge help."
Theo spoke a spell and shifted into a new form before his very eyes. Oliver's
gratitude was genuine. Post-transformation, Theo appeared to be a rough-andtumble gal, but that was likely not their true face. Even Oliver had no clue what
they'd originally looked like.
"Well, while we celebrate, let me run you through impressions and updates.
Everything you need to know about my time doubling for you."
Theo took charge without even bothering to ask Gwyn for permission, sitting
cross-legged on a table and waving Oliver to the seat opposite. He obliged.
"Gut reaction: Being you is damn hard. You're close with a bunch of your
peers, which makes it extra tricky to avoid giving myself away. That's not a
criticism! I'm actually impressed. Not everyone can build bonds that
meaningful."
They let out a long sigh, then continued.
"All your friends are forces to be reckoned with. Especially the samurai girl.
Every time she fixed her eyes on me, I felt a chill run down my spine. Granted,
as long as I'm transformed, nobody can tell."
This, Oliver agreed with. Nanao's gaze was a force to be reckoned with.
"But remember this—the ironclad law of transformation. No matter how
good you are, you can't ever become someone else. Not even a dazzling talent
like myself. There's always something you can't quite hide and gotta talk your
way out of or cover up the best you can. And the longer I'm standing in, the
greater the risk of discovery. Situationally dependent, of course."
Oliver nodded, accepting all these warnings.
Theo grinned, folding their arms. "That said, a few days ain't gonna pose a
real threat. Call me when you need it. As for what you're supposed to know…"
Before Oliver headed back up, he needed a full briefing on every conversation
Theo had had while covering for him. This took a good fifteen minutes. Once
fully prepped, he thanked them again and turned to go.
"Oh, wait. One more thing," Theo called. "No swapping during exam periods
without a really good reason. You've gotta pass those yourself, kiddo."
"I plan to," Oliver said, grinning.
Then he left his cousins' atelier and headed out into the labyrinth beyond.
With memories of his brutal fight still raw, banter like that really helped take his
mind off things. His double knew how to manage people's emotions, too. And
that made Oliver's steps all the more assured.
"Oh, there you are, Oliver."
"The mutton ribs are truly magnificent this morning!"
He met up with his friends for supper. Business as usual for them, but for
Oliver, it had been several days, and he'd spent those staring death in the face.
He sat down, keeping those emotions at bay. Then he took a sip of the tea
Chela handed him and looked around.
"…Feels tense in here," he said.
"All because Instructor Enrico disappeared. The paper's extra edition spread
like wildfire, and now few people are talking about anything else."
Chela had a copy of it on the table even as she spoke. Oliver glanced down at
it and frowned. WHO IS THE COLLEAGUE KILLER?! was certainly a provocative headline.
He immediately knew which paper was responsible. The editor in chief was a
comrade, and this must have been part of their disinformation campaign:
baiting the student body into believing the faculty had turned against one
another.
Glancing around at the gossiping students, Chela sighed. "Last year, there was
Darius, so this makes it two years straight. It's no wonder speculation is so
rampant."
"Shit's not funny," Guy said. "Student scuffles make this place dangerous
enough, and now we've got teachers killing each other?"
"…But are they?" Katie asked.
"Opposing viewpoints, the urge to pursue your own sorcery—it's hardly
unusual for mages to find themselves fighting to the death. But Kimberly faculty
are a different story," Chela explained. "If the students here are fish, then the
instructors are the tank that holds us. They are what allows us to swim freely
through the campus, and should that break down, there would be nothing left
but chaos. I certainly hope this article is entirely meritless…not least because
my father would be right at the center of it."
She concluded on a grim note.
Pete had been thinking hard this whole time, and he finally spoke. "…If the
culprit isn't a teacher, what then?"
"An accident in the labyrinth's depths or consumed by the spell doing one
experiment too many. Those are the most likely explanations, but for that to
happen two years in a row strains credulity."
"No way a student did it." Guy scowled. "The teachers here are all beasts."
Chela's frown deepened. She locked her fingers together.
"And both missing teachers served on the front lines of the Gnostic hunts.
Even a team of the best upperclassmen likely wouldn't fare well. Hypothetically
speaking, at my current abilities, a hundred of me wouldn't stand a chance
against my father. That's a simple fact."
Oliver nodded quietly. He knew full well that was no exaggeration.
A silence settled over the table, so Chela brought the discussion to a close.
"Either way, this is no ordinary situation. The headmistress will be forced to
take action. And once the witch of Kimberly is motivated, no crisis will last for
long."
Meanwhile, in a third-floor meeting room, the Kimberly faculty were in
session.
"State your views."
The silver-haired witch sat at the narrow end of an elliptical table—the closest
thing to a throne this school had.
The tyrant to her right was the first to respond.
"Views, my ass," she snarled. "Someone here did it."
This was the magical biology instructor, Vanessa Aldiss. She'd been dead sure
another teacher had killed Darius, and that opinion hadn't wavered in the
meantime.
"Don't be absurd, Ms. Aldiss," scoffed the man across the table from her.
"What would be the point of that?"
This was the broomriding instructor, Dustin Hedges. Vanessa shot him her
fiercest glare, but before she could respond, the teacher to Esmeralda's left
chimed in.
"I agree with Dustin. Kimberly is an ideal home for any mage. I find it hard to
believe any of us would choose to wreck that."
The speaker wore a dapper brown suit—Theodore McFarlane, part-time
lecturer. Like Dustin, he clearly thought the colleague-killer theory was entirely
without merit.
"One fact is clear. Darius and Enrico have both vanished," said a man in oldfashioned robes. "And I think it highly unlikely that instructors just happened to
be consumed by the spell two years running. On that, I am sure we all agree."
Demitrio Aristides, astronomy instructor.
"There is a threat somewhere on campus," an elderly witch added, nodding.
"Foe or foes, this enemy has the strength to take on those two warlocks. Our
discussion should proceed with that assumption in mind."
Frances Gilchrist taught spellology and had lived for more than a thousand
years. Her words had weight, and a long silence followed them.
A timid voice broke it. "W-we might be worried about nothing. Perhaps both
Darius and Enrico could come strolling back in tomorrow…"
This strained croak came from the plump woman at the far end of the table,
the school librarian, Isko Liikanen. Since she was not a teacher, few took what
she said to heart. Several present were openly smirking.
"Fair enough, Isko," the teacher next to her said. "Part of me feels the same
way. If only they were both safe and sound! But right now, we need to make
plans on the assumption that they aren't."
Darius had been the alchemy instructor, and this was his replacement—Ted
Williams. Even this soft response was enough to make the librarian lower her
head.
A deep voice cut in. "Don't care who did it. Only care if my flower beds get
messed up."
The man's gloomy scowl scanned the faces present. He taught a magical
biology specialty course dealing only with magiflora. His bangs hung low like so
much shrubbery, and he looked less like a teacher than an ornery gardener
fending off interlopers.
"Bring me a body, and I can do summat wit' it," snapped a woman with blunt-
cut blond hair. Kimberly's school physician, Gisela Zonneveld. Lord of the
campus infirmary, she'd reattached countless student limbs and stuffed their
guts back inside their bodies. It took a lot to make her leave that post—
according to the woman herself, "If they can't get ta the infirmary, they're dead
anyway."
The more faculty members spoke, the tenser the room got. A teacher near
the center rose to his feet, his voice ringing out above the grumbling.
"No need to get ahead of ourselves. Unlike with Darius, this time, we have
evidence. Let's begin by reviewing it."
Luther Garland. Clad in white robes, he was the sword arts instructor. His gaze
fell to the table where Enrico Forghieri had once sat—and where a golem made
in his image now resided.
"Dummy Enrico, will you elaborate?"
"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha! With pleasure."
The cheery golem bent over backward, and his chest split open vertically. A
quadruped golem clambered out, scuttling across the table and stopping at the
center. There was a pyramid-shaped crystal on top of the golem; it lit up,
projecting a 3D image of elsewhere.
The faculty were now looking at a rocky landscape on which lay the body of
an immense golem.
"…Fifth layer," Demitrio said. "Just outside Hall Eleven?"
"Talk about getting your ass beat!" Vanessa cackled. "That's the old man's
precious Deus Ex Machina, right? Or what's left of it!"
Ted leaned in, inspecting it closely. "Only major damage is to the head.
Melted via extreme heat, I suppose?"
"Melt marks on the right palm, too!" the dummy said. "High odds it was
downed by the power of its own spirit light."
Dummy Enrico zoomed in to show the palm and head in close-up.
Examining these thoroughly, Dustin said, "Honestly, at a glance, it looks like
he lost control of the golem during activation."
"Poppycock," Gilchrist snapped. "The boy would never make such a silly
mistake."
Everyone scowled at the projection. "…Zoom in on the torso," Garland said.
The dummy did as requested, giving them a better view of the countless
scratches on the adamant armor.
"Claw marks," Theodore muttered. "Given the location: wyverns? The
lindwurm?"
"Something about that bugging you, Garland?" Vanessa asked.
Dragon claws were among the hardest things around; they could easily
scratch adamant like this. Garland was well aware of that, but he still stared for
a long moment before answering.
"…No, I can't see anything out of place."
He broke off his search, falling silent.
"Ms. Muwezicamili is securing the scene," the dummy added. "Given the size
and the location, recovering the construct will take a while. If we find any
further clues, I'll make sure everyone hears."
"Please do," Theodore said. "It is our one tangible lead."
The smaller golem ended the projection and moved toward Esmeralda,
offering itself up as evidence.
One eye on the witch of Kimberly's steely profile, Theodore changed tactics.
"However, it seems we are without actionable clues. Which means we have
our work cut out for us, Headmistress."
At this prompt, Esmeralda intoned, "Conduct a school-wide investigation."
Everyone looked tense. Demitrio voiced the obvious question. "To what
degree?"
"Primary and secondary would be tricky," Theodore said. "At this stage, the
best we can manage is tertiary."
Esmeralda's silence on the subject signaled agreement.
The Kimberly witch added, "Use the estimated time of the incident to
formulate a list of potential suspects. Teachers, students, and all other staff
included. I will personally speak to anyone on that list deemed noteworthy."
Clearly, she meant business. And every instructor here was acutely aware that
any actions they took during this investigation would be under the utmost
scrutiny. With a faculty member as the most likely suspect, flushing them out
was the goal.
"Good plan," Theodore said, ignoring the rising tensions. "But given the size
of the school, we can hardly handle everything ourselves. There are any number
of ways to skirt our attentions. As I'm sure you're all aware."
"State your point," Esmeralda growled.
The ringlet instructor winked at her. "I've already planted someone. Inside the
student body."
"So good! Gosh, what a feast!"
A loud voice rang out above the dinnertime hubbub in the Fellowship.
"This is so not fair! You've all been dining like this the whole time?! No
wonder everyone from Kimberly grows up so strong! Food is life! Life is power!
That's just fundamental! Other schools could learn a thing or two."
Oliver's group looked up from their meals. Chattering away to no one in
particular, a male student was drifting between tables, a plate in each hand.
Anytime he found a new dish, he piled more on, and each plate already had
quite a mountain.
His uniform indicated he was a second-year, but no one present had seen him
before. Anyone who stood out like this would be hard to forget.
"Anybody got an empty seat? I seem to have arrived at peak dining rush! Oh
dear. Oh dear! I can't just come back later; I've already got too much food! And
I'm starving."
He made a huge show of looking around, and several students hastily averted
their gazes before they made eye contact. The boy was left table-less. Oliver's
group glanced at one another, collecting opinions from looks alone. These
ranged from Weirdo. Don't bother to Poor kid. Let him sit.
Chela tabulated these silent votes and turned to the boy.
"…Excuse me—you there. We've got a spare seat."
"What, really?! Ha-ha-ha! I was just talking to myself, but it looks like you
happened to hear!"
The boy dashed over to them, plopping his two heaping plates down on the
table.
He pressed a hand to his chest theatrically.
"I'm Yuri Leik, second-year. Just transferred to Kimberly from a nonmagical
school," he said. "Kind strangers, I'm sure we're going to be friends! Please,
may I have your names?"
This introduction made their opinion unanimous: This boy is super shady.