There is something really pleasing, mysteriously fulfilling, and ambiguously infuriating about having your ass kicked for a beautiful girl.

I couldn't really tell if it was America's mastery of whichever martial art she was exercising on me, or just the full body contact that I got to enjoy while she was doing it. But it felt good enough to ease the egotistical damage from being beaten once and again for a girl after I'd basically insisted that I knew how to fight.

You should excuse me on this one, but that was what I came to a conclusion after Park, Kiki and I defeated Him, Schram, or whoever you want to call Him. After all, it was that experience precisely the one that convinced me that going further into my Sympathy apprentice was a good idea.

That afternoon, after reviewing my situation with Park, America agreed to train me during the next ten days, till the Second Son's Tournament, and my hence Academy's debut started. Their goal was to provide me with the ground knowledge most students should have before starting their freshman year, a sum of lifelong experiences growing inside the Dim Light, and Faenic Culture, as they called it. Mine was to survive the experience, and if I had time, try to win the goddam thing.

— And you're trying to tell that this guy bare-handedly beat an ancient Pagan God? —

Said America, standing on top of me. We were again outside, surrounded by woods. She was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, no weapons in sight, I was all sore inside my hoodie. I watched both of my hands, Hexes in each one, the same way last time. Flashbacks started to go through my mind.

— I don't understand either, back there everything just... worked —

Park raised his hands

— You're not facing a Concept right now, that's the thing, in the real world you can get punched in the face —

America laughed at that one.

— But, the Hexes aren't working, my energy projections should be stronger, and the impact of her punches should... —

Park waved a hand shutting me, like a teacher does with a hasty student.

— You don't get it, there's no impact nor energy to absorb in here, not enough at least, and those Hexes don't even work that way... she's just facing you with a decent enough technique —

— Hey! —

Protested America, puckering at him.

— Listen, it's everything about having a balanced building, avoiding critical flaws, and understanding the basics of Sympathy —

Oliver felt like he was being scolded

— I'm trying... it just seems like I've got to the starting point gain —

Park exhalated.

— You haven't, I can tell, you have an exceptional talent for Sympathy, the problems are likely the way in which you learned it —

Then, Oliver started to pay attention.

— How so? —

— Well, to begin, how did you even find out about it? —

Oliver thought of it for a second, then just answered

— I was searching for ways to make a Devil Trap online, till I found this website called The Archive —

Park and America looked at each other, then their faces went straight into disappointment.

— Rowan's site —

Said America

— Yeah, that's Rowan's site —

Confirmed Park

— Who's Rowan? —

— Someone who shouldn't get his nose into Faenic affairs —

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

Answered America

— He a Faenic themes enthusiast, self-thought in a way, who makes a living out of... well, I couldn't say solving, but getting into troubles with the Fae, yeah —

As something the idea became familiar to Oliver, he couldn't stop thinking about the way in which they talked about it.

— You keep saying that word... —

— Which one? —

— Fae, Faenic, Faenician, I don't get it, I've never read it through the Archive —

— That's because neither Rowan nor his army of paranormal-activity-freaks knows what they're dealing with —

Voiced America, clearly angry. Sitting still on the ground, Oliver watched through Park.

— Nor they should, Oliver and there are strong reasons for that —

— I still don't get it, what's with all of that? —

— The Fae, Oliver, is an ancient culture derived from an old extinct Kingdom, made out of creatures, stories, and phenomena, which we know under the name of Fairy Tales or Folktales —

Even when Park wasn't using any unknown word, Oliver couldn't understand what he meant by that.

— Folktales? like... Hansel and Gretel, Jack and the Beanstalk and Goldiloks? —

Park smiled

— That's why I say you have talent, exactly —

Oliver looked at America, whose expression had softened since the last time.

— This should be very new to you, Oliver, but much like Sympathy or Schram are partly made of concepts, this culture of which I talk to you is too —

— It's like an apple —

Intervened America, attracting the boys both sights.

— Like all apples are slightly different in shape, color, and even taste, but recognizable as apples, so are folktales, that talk about this world of wonders —

Park nodded with his head

— In that sense, Oliver, if that world of wonders is the Dim Light, the Fae is it's culture —

— And all Folktales are a depiction of it —

Oliver stayed quietly, absorbing the idea.

— So... you're telling me that all myths are true —

Parked nodded again

— It seems you learned from your time with Specter —

He was right, although briefly, the time Oliver had spent with Specter after being decapitated by Kiki and caught in the Academy, had taught him a lot. There were only a few conversations, but the black-suited A.M.A.T Agent was so filled with information, that it was unavoidable not to stay with something.

At that moment, Oliver realized, he longed to see him again. He had become somehow someone he wanted to learn more from.

— So, in The Dim Light, the Fae defines everything, as the same sort of untold rules "we live in a society" type of thing, then what? —

— As a foreigner, you need to become aware, learn and adapt, in order to develop successfully —

Answered Park

— Welcome to be a baby again, or what's worst, an immigrant —

America added. Oliver, eyes blank, threw himself onto the floor.

— I'll be honest, it's very interesting, but it's starting to be too much exposition for now —

— I have a solution for that —

Park stood up from his chair.

Suddenly them three were standing in a straight line, with Oliver in the middle.

— I've always believed that practical learning is way more important than theory, mostly because one can translate concepts from it quickly —

While rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt, Park said.

— Wait, what are we going to do? —

Asked Oliver, looking side to side, to find America cracking her fingers.

— Guy's, I don't think I'm prepared yet —

Park started to walk towards him.

— We'll skip today's history class, focusing on Arts from now on —

— This doesn't look like Art class, guys —

— The Fae's concept of Art is far more pragmatic than the human, Oliver —

Said America

— We believe Art should be able to define life —

Oliver swallowed

— Define? —

— Be or not to be —

Stepping strong, while retrieving his hand, Park threw a punch that made Oliver fall over his but. When he was able to see clearly, Park hadn't even moved a step from his place. But, how was it possible? With not enough time to think about it, Oliver had to roll himself aside. America, without previous warning, had left her leg fall over his head in a heel-kick movement.

Oliver started to seriously fear for his security, this time, he wasn't a ghost-like being, if he got hit by them, his bones surely wouldn't repair the same way they did again. To start, did he even have bones back them?

— Welcome to the Faenic Arts Introduction class —

Said Park, Oliver stood quickly, crawling through the ground, raising a thin stela of dust next to his feet.

— I've... heard that before? —

Too late did Oliver realize this time, Park had closed the gap between them two with his footplay.

— Watch your right —

He warned before, right in time for Oliver to avoid the jab-like punch. He didn't know why, but he had trusted him right away.

— Now left —

And it happened again, in a couple of moves, Oliver had recovered his balance enough to tell he had engaged in an exchange. Now was his turn.

Oliver punched left, first time awkwardly, then left again, feeling more secure. A third punch he throws from the right, making a one-two-three combination, like the ones he had seen on fight recaps. Then, Park's silhouette suddenly disappeared, and instead of Him, it was America the one fighting him. Again, his eyes seemed to fail him.

When she punched his gut, it was already late, Oliver was paralyzed for the reveal, and he got thrown onto the floor.

— Lesson number one, Sympathy is more than schemes and shiny magical scribbles —