Rasp... Rasp... Rasp...
Victoria crossed her arms, watching as Elijah drove the shovel into the dirt. His sleeves were rolled up, his expression deadpan, and frankly, the hole in front of him was far too deep for comfort.
She cleared her throat. "What… exactly are you doing?"
"Can't you see?" Elijah grunted, tossing a clump of dirt over his shoulder. "I'm digging."
Victoria's gaze drifted to the side, where an oddly organized pile of personal belongings sat—neatly folded clothes, a pristine spellbook, a toothbrush, and, most concerning of all, a framed family portrait that definitely didn't belong to him.
Her brow twitched. "There seems to be… a lot more than usual."
Elijah jabbed the shovel into the ground and let out a long, suffering sigh.
"I have a roommate now."
"And?"
"And he's annoying."
Victoria raised a brow. "Annoying how?"
"He's a clean freak."
"Oh!" She nodded, finally understanding. "So you're cleaning up your stuff?"
"No," Elijah deadpanned. "I'm burying his luggage as a prank."
Victoria blinked.
Then blinked again.
Amused and confused.
"…Wow."
Elijah wiped some dirt off his cheek and continued, completely unfazed.
"If I threw it away, he'd just find it again. The academy dumpster is too close to the dorms. But here?" He gestured dramatically to the pit. "Here, it disappears forever."
"You do realize that when he notices all his stuff missing, he's going to look for it, right?"
"That's why I dug it deep."
Victoria remained silent.
How did any of this happen? Somehow, she had found herself standing here, witnessing a man committing an act of first-degree pettiness.
'Prank my ass... he looks dedicated on this stuff...'
There were so many things wrong with that statement that Victoria didn't even know where to begin. But before she could properly respond, something caught her eye—an all-too-familiar, slightly rusted lunchbox peeking out of the dirt nearby.
"Wait… is that your lunchbox?" she asked, horrified.
Elijah clicked his tongue in frustration. "Exactly. That's why I'm annoyed. The best burial spot was already taken!"
Victoria stared. "Why are you even burying your lunchbox?"
"The Class F cafeteria only serves vegetables. I won't survive on that." He dusted his hands off. "They confiscated my fellow Class F student's lunchbox and food supplies, saying it was 'necessary to MAINTAIN A HEALTHY DIET.'"
Victoria looked at him like he had grown a second head. "You could just hide it under your bed or something."
"Better to be safe than sorry," Elijah replied sagely. "Besides, food tastes better when kept cold underground."
"Ew. Just—ew."
Victoria pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn't even bother to ask anymore...
'Let's just pretend he's a 'mole'. It's better to assume than to treat him as a human."
"How about you?" Elijah asked suddenly, stretching lazily. "Isn't your dorm on the other end? You know, Class S territory?"
Victoria visibly stiffened. "Well… haha… just… strolling?"
Elijah gave her a long, slow look. "You don't get along with your new classmates?"
"Rude! It's not like that!"
"It's fine," he said coolly, leaning on his shovel. "I understand. You're trying to master the art of being a lone wolf."
Victoria felt an overwhelming urge to punch him.
"You are so fucking annoying..." she grumbled, kicking a stray rock like it owed her money.
"Language, princess."
Before she could properly retaliate, the academy's bell rang, signaling the start of morning classes.
Elijah let out a sigh, stretching as if he had just endured hard labor.
"Looks like class is about to start." He turned, waving lazily over his shoulder. "Bye Bye, princess."
"Wait!" Victoria called after him, taking a step forward.
But Elijah didn't bother to turn around. He just kept walking, disappearing into the distance.
Upon doing so, Victoria sighed, lowering her hand.
"What did you do to the dungeon...?"
In the end, she simply whispered her question into the wind.
*****
Year 1019, January 8
Friday.
Elijah strolled through the academy's grand hallway, the faintest stench of dirt clinging to his clothes. He hardly cared, though. At this point, it was almost his signature scent.
The corridor bustled with students making way for passing professors, each step accompanied by hushed whispers and reverent nods.
That was just how it was—professors were practically nobles in the academy, their status are basically unquestioned.
Well… except for one person.
A frantic voice screamed through the hallway, accompanied by the chaotic rustling of towering paperwork.
A man barely taller than some of the younger students dashed through the hallway, his oversized witch hat bobbing wildly with every step. His slightly crumpled professor's robe did little to help his already childlike appearance.
At first, the students ignored him entirely, assuming he was some new student trying to carry too much at once.
It always took a few moments before the realization would click—before they finally remembered he was actually a professor.
Hovering above his head, visible only to Elijah, a holographic system flickered:
[ Sean Favian || The Mad Alchemist ]
'Oh my...' Elijah smirked to himself. 'My favorite character is here.'
As if on cue, Sean stumbled, his foot catching the edge of his robe, and crashed directly into another professor.
The older man clicked his tongue in irritation, barely sparing Sean a glance as he shoved him aside. Papers went flying, scattering across the marble floor.
"Professor," the man sneered. "You should learn manners if you want to set a good example for the students."
The older man adjusted his robes, not even bothering to help, before tossing one last remark over his shoulder.
"No wonder you're stuck teaching Class F."
A few students exchanged awkward glances, none bothered to speak a single word.
Sean, on the other hand, only let out a sheepish chuckle, bending down to pick up his fallen documents. Not a single student moved to help him due to the sudden tension.
Except for one.
"Professor here, you dropped this too."
"Haha… thank you, child—"
Sean looked up mid-sentence, only to see Elijah kneeling beside him, casually gathering the scattered papers.
The young professor blinked before it dawned him his existence.
"It's you—"
Elijah didn't respond at first, simply stacking the files neatly before handing them back. Then, out of nowhere, he asked:
"Professor, why aren't you fighting back?"
Sean tilted his head. "Pardon?"
"That baldy was nothing but an insect." Elijah sighed pretending to be confused. "Ah, don't tell me you forgot one of your spells? Well, I suppose it has been a while since you properly used one."
"What do you mean...?"
"Tsk tsk tsk... Well, it can't be help, I'll try to assist you in remembering."
Elijah stepped behind him and, without warning, placed his hand over Sean's, making the professor hold his hand.
By doing so, the young professor was visibly stiffened.
"If I remember correctly," Elijah mused, tilting his head, "just like Victoria, you don't need to chant your spells, right? You just need to write them in the air..."
"W-wait—... hold up-"
Too late.
Elijah begins by guiding Sean's fingers, tracing a set of letters into the open air.
"Let's see… uh… Class A spell… Flamme."
Sean's eyes widened in horror trying to resist back. "W-WAIT—!"
A second later—
BOOOOM!