It was another typical day at School, a modest institution where commoner children gathered to learn basic skills in reading, writing, and arithmetic. The wooden structure was simple, and the classrooms, filled with roughly carved desks, echoed with the sound of children laughing and learning. Damian sat in the middle of the class, his face adorned with that practiced, friendly smile. His eyes, however, reflected the sharp intellect lurking beneath.
"Damian, would you come to the front and solve this?" the teacher, Mr. Aldren, asked, gesturing to a math problem scrawled on the blackboard.
Without hesitation, Damian stood, brushing the dust off his simple shirt, and walked to the board. The problem was simple, but he made a show of pretending to think about it for a few seconds. Then, with a few swift movements, he solved it, turning back to the class with a grin.
"That's correct!" Mr. Aldren said with a proud smile.
Damian returned to his seat, basking in the admiration of his classmates. To them, he was a model student, someone to look up to. Inside, though, Damian's thoughts were colder.
Twice their age and not a single one can challenge me. It would be embarrassing if they beat me in intelligence.
He kept his mask firmly in place, laughing with his classmates when needed, helping others with their lessons, and participating in the games during breaks. He played the role of the cheerful boy perfectly.
Damian's routine had fallen into a predictable rhythm. Mornings were for school, afternoons were for reading in the library, and evenings were for light exercise. It had become something of a habit for him to train his body, a pastime he had come to enjoy for reasons he didn't fully understand.
"I've been working out," he would say to himself in front of the mirror. His body was already starting to show the results of his efforts—lean muscle forming, his posture straighter, his appearance sharper. He didn't care about the strength for any particular purpose, but maintaining a certain outer appearance helped sustain the illusion of a content, thriving boy. In a world of nobles and commoners, looks often played a role in gaining attention, and he was determined to at least be presentable.
One afternoon, after finishing his routine, Damian decided to visit the Ilyara Public Library. It was his favorite place in the city, a towering building of stone and wood filled with rows upon rows of books. It was quiet here, peaceful, the perfect escape from the bustling life outside.
As he wandered through the shelves, he picked up a book on Aura Manipulation, something he had been reading obsessively since his encounter with Rael. He settled into his usual spot near the back of the library, surrounded by books and the faint smell of parchment, and opened it, ready to immerse himself in the intricate theories.
But his focus was interrupted by a loud, irritated voice.
"What a drag! Honestly, I thought something exciting would happen today, but it's all just books and dusty old pages."
Damian's eyes shifted toward the source of the voice. There, standing not too far from him, was a girl. She had ordinary brown hair, and her clothes were that of a commoner, but something about her felt off. She seemed out of place. What caught his attention most was her hands—they were calloused, like those of a warrior who had spent years in training.
Damian's eyes narrowed slightly. Why would a girl have hands like that?
The girl suddenly turned toward him, locking eyes with him. Her gaze was sharp, piercing, as if she could see straight through him. She approached with a cocky grin, and before Damian could react, she leaned in, her fingers brushing lightly over his eyes.
"I hate your eyes," she said, her voice low but clear. "They're soulless. You're dead inside."
Damian's smile faltered, but only for a second. He quickly regained his composure, masking the slight surprise with his usual easygoing expression. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, his tone light.
The girl smirked, stepping back and crossing her arms. "Don't play dumb with me. I can tell when someone's dead on the inside. You're one of those creepy people ."
"Then why are you interacting with me now?" Damian asked, raising an eyebrow. His smile remained, but his heart beat faster in his chest. Who is she? he wondered. There was something unnerving about her presence.
"Boredom," she said with a shrug. "My first impression of you was that you're boring. But now... maybe I'll stick around. Maybe something interesting will happen."
Damian laughed softly, shaking his head. "Interesting? I wouldn't count on it."
She tilted her head, her eyes glinting with amusement. "We'll see. But for now, I'll just say this—you're trying too hard."
Damian blinked, caught off guard by the comment. "Trying too hard?"
"To be normal. It's exhausting, isn't it?" she said, her tone light but her words heavy with meaning. "Pretending to be someone you're not."
Before Damian could respond, she turned on her heel and began walking away, leaving him standing there, confused and slightly shaken.
As she disappeared around the corner, Damian sat back in his chair, his thoughts racing. 'Who the hell was that? Didn't she said she'll stick around then why the hell is she leaving'
His eyes wandered back to the book on Aura Manipulation, but he couldn't focus on it anymore. That girl had seen through him, pierced through his mask like it was made of paper. His smile faded, replaced by a hard expression as he stared blankly at the pages.
I'm dead inside, huh? he thought bitterly.
The next day, Damian returned to the library, half expecting the girl to show up again. She didn't. But her words lingered in his mind, gnawing at him.
Days passed, and Damian continued his routine—school and studying. Yet something had shifted inside him.