As promised, Professor Nero began the mid-terms with the theory exams, that delightful exercise in brain torture disguised as education. The first set of papers was handed out with an almost ceremonial solemnity, and the room quickly descended into a reverent, paper-rustling, pen-scratching silence.
The questions were, as expected, pure sadism. Mana theory? Check. Political science? Of course. Beast analysis? Naturally. And not the straightforward "list three species" kind of questions either—no, these were the kind that demanded you understand not just the material but the very depths of the writer's cruel, creative soul. They didn't want answers; they wanted revelations.
'The answer is simple,' Luna's voice whispered in my mind, her tone unhelpfully smug.
'Then tell me,' I muttered internally, bracing for some miraculous insight.
'I can't tell you everything. You won't grow that way,' she hummed, managing to sound both teasing and condescending at once.
'Then why bother saying anything at all?' I snapped back mentally, gritting my teeth as I stared at the question that had reduced me to this internal dialogue. Somewhere in the background, someone sighed loudly, their frustration audible in the otherwise silent room.
The clock ticked on, dragging us through a marathon of beast behavior, political maneuvers, and mana flow dynamics. I found myself flipping through mental pages of textbooks, cursing every word I'd skimmed instead of read. Still, I pushed forward. Preparation and sheer stubbornness carried me through, one agonizing question at a time.
Finally, after what felt like three decades and a minor existential crisis, the first set of exams ended. I dropped my pen, leaning back in my chair with a groan that I tried to keep internal but didn't quite succeed. Around me, the classroom was a battlefield of slumped shoulders, pale faces, and the occasional glazed stare of someone contemplating alternative career options.
"Well done, everyone," Professor Nero said, his voice managing to be both congratulatory and faintly mocking. "Take a short break before we move on to the next set."
I sank further into my chair, hoping it might swallow me entirely before the second round began.
"That was so much fun!" Rachel chirped from across the room, her bright smile positively glowing with enthusiasm. Normally, that smile would have made my heart skip a beat. Today, it barely registered as my brain struggled to reboot.
"Fun?" Ren turned to her, his purple eyes wide with something between disbelief and betrayal. "In what world are those questions fun, woman?!" His voice rose with every syllable until he was practically shouting. The class collectively winced, some of us more dramatically than others.
'Even Ren's losing it,' I thought, somewhat comforted by the sight of the normally calm martial artist looking like he was one wrong word away from snapping entirely.
"Don't blame me just because you didn't study," Rachel pouted, folding her arms in mock indignation. "This is the level of questions we should have every test!"
"SHUT UP!" Ren yelled, clawing at his hair like he'd just survived a battlefield flashback. It was, admittedly, a bit much, but I couldn't exactly blame him. This was uncharted academic hell for all of us.
"It was tough," Cecilia chimed in, her crimson eyes sparkling with a mix of exhaustion and amusement. "But fair. Study more next time, Ren."
I snorted, catching Ian out of the corner of my eye. He looked like he'd seen the grim specter of death itself—or perhaps just the beast analysis section. Even Seraphina, normally stoic and composed, had the faintest crease in her brow, a subtle sign of her frustration. The only people who seemed unbothered were Rachel, Cecilia, and Jin, who looked like they'd strolled through the exam as though it were a scenic park.
"I think I've aged ten years," Ian muttered, his face pale and voice shaky.
"It was brutal," Seraphina agreed, her tone calm but lacking its usual impenetrable composure. "But it's done. We just need to get through the next set."
Lucifer finally spoke, his voice steady but less confident than usual. "We can handle it. We've trained for worse."
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else, which was mildly terrifying. If Lucifer was rattled, what hope did the rest of us have?
"It just means my perfect scores will be even more impressive," Rachel muttered, clearly thinking no one would hear. But in a room full of enhanced senses, that sort of comment was practically an announcement.
Ren twitched. Ian turned to her with the look of a man on the edge of despair.
Rachel's face turned red as she slumped in her chair. "Sorry," she mumbled.
Our break ended too quickly, and we were thrust into the second round of exams. If the first set had been brutal, the second was positively sadistic. The questions were labyrinthine, designed to strip away every ounce of confidence we had left. By the end, even Rachel's boundless optimism seemed slightly subdued, though I suspected it was more out of pity for the rest of us than any personal struggle.
Lucifer rubbed his temples as we gathered in the lounge after the exams, his usual composure frayed at the edges. "These theory exams were… something else."
"Brutal," Ren said, slumping into a chair like he'd just run a marathon. "I thought I was prepared. I wasn't."
"My brain is still on fire," Ian added, staring blankly at the ceiling. "I didn't know it was possible to think that hard."
Rachel, ever the optimist, tried to cheer everyone up. "At least it's over now. We did our best, and that's what matters."
The words were nice, but the lingering despair in the room suggested we were all contemplating the same thing: the practical evaluation might be terrifying, but at least it didn't involve another pen. For now, that was comfort enough.
"Hey, Rach, how well do you think you did?" I asked, pulling her aside from the others, who still looked like survivors of a battlefield, staring into the middle distance as though trying to remember what happiness felt like.
Rachel scratched her cheek, the faintest hint of sheepishness creeping into her usual sunny demeanor. "Well, I think I did okay," she said.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Okay. Sure. And the sun was "a bit bright." Rachel Creighton was a walking academic nuke, effortlessly dropping perfect scores even at Mythos Academy, the most cutthroat institution in the world. She wasn't just good at exams—she was the reason exams had self-esteem issues.
"Well, if you did just 'okay,' I hope you don't lose to me again, Ray-Ray," came Cecilia's unmistakable voice, laced with mischief as she joined us out of nowhere. She brushed against my shoulder in that casual, entirely-too-calculated way she had, and I instinctively stepped back, giving her a wide berth.
Cecilia tilted her head, her ruby-red eyes locking onto mine as her finger grazed her bottom lip in a mock-thoughtful gesture. Then came the wink, a small, playful dagger aimed with unerring precision.
'She's such a tease,' I thought, grimacing as memories of her past antics surfaced uninvited. 'How does a princess even learn to be this insufferable? Was it a required class? Teasing 101?'
"I've never lost to you," Rachel said, her usual brightness dimmed as her eyes narrowed dangerously at Cecilia.
Cecilia giggled, the picture of unrepentant amusement. "Hehe, sure, sure. But I'm pretty sure that last time we video called, I caught you on your be—"
"CECILIA!" Rachel's scream could have shattered glass. Her face turned a shade of red that I hadn't thought was biologically possible as she slapped her hands over Cecilia's mouth mid-sentence.
Then she turned to me, her blush somehow intensifying. If cheeks could combust, hers were probably nearing ignition.
'Is she… a tomato?' I thought, trying not to laugh as her trembling betrayed her utter mortification.
"Cecilia Slatemark," Rachel growled, her voice low and menacing, "die."
"Wait, Saintess! Mercy!" Cecilia managed to get out before Rachel's golden mana flared to life like sunlight condensed into fury. There wasn't even a proper fight. One moment Cecilia was standing there, laughing like she had just pulled off the world's funniest prank, and the next she crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
A hush fell over the nearby students as they turned to look at Rachel, who stood as still as a statue, her hands clenched at her sides. She seemed to realize what she'd done only after several long seconds of silence. Slowly, she turned to me, her eyes filled with a mixture of embarrassment and the kind of intensity that made my survival instincts kick in.
"Arthur," she said, her voice unnervingly steady but trembling at the edges, "wipe this moment from your memory."
"Yes," I replied immediately, because what else do you say when faced with an embarrassed Saintess who could smite you into oblivion?
Without another word, she spun on her heel and bolted, leaving behind a faint golden glow in her wake. The remaining students watched her retreat in stunned silence, unsure whether to laugh, applaud, or run for cover.
"Pfft," came a small sound from behind me.
I turned to see Seraphina, sitting calmly at a nearby table, her phone in hand, fingers tapping away. She didn't look up, but her lips were curled into the faintest smirk.
Our eyes met. Her smile vanished instantly, her face slipping back into its usual stoic mask as though the giggle had been a figment of my imagination. She returned to typing on her phone with the kind of focus that suggested whatever she was doing was far more important than the chaos around her.
I looked back at Cecilia, still unconscious on the floor, and Rachel's rapidly retreating form in the distance.
'I don't know what's going on in this world anymore,' I thought, shaking my head as I walked away.