On the first day of school, I wake up at 9:00, shower at 9:05, eat breakfast at 9:20, and head to class at 9:40 (alongside Harux, obviously). In light of that fact, this is what my current location looks like: a rectangular space like any other classroom stocked by routinely interspaced wooden desks. Unlike the first room I was in, which bore a greater resemblance to a lecture hall meant for hundreds at once, this one is far smaller. When I run the reasons why through my head, the answer becomes clear to me. This is fitter for what’s known as a ‘homeroom’. Essentially just a means to converge and discuss before separating into our respective classes.
“Oh well.”
Currently, there are ten students in class, with the room being able to hold exactly twenty. I mention this, though, in reality, it’s not something of particular notice. The time until class begins is in the single digits, so it won’t take long before the students come flooding in, like businessmen looking for a reprieve in bars after work…
Speaking of which.
“Hey, Yon.”
I greet the only other face I recognize besides Harux. He does so, too, waving back.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Bad.”
I’m relatively sure he’s serious, given that he looks about as dead as usual. Turning a 90-degree angle, I catch Yon sit behind me, immediately slump his face into his desk, and fold his arms over each other like a defence matrix against the external threat of sunlight and socialization. Sympathetic to his plight, I leave him alone, as does Harux, who munches on snacks while waiting.
Flashforward a few minutes—our teacher is here. Much like Yon, her demeanour remains a constant. She both walks with complete listlessness in her body and glances over us like unwashed stains on a plate.
“New students, introduce yourselves.” The words leave her mouth like water out of a broken faucet.
However, no one takes her up on the offer.
“Urgh.”
Aware that she’d made a mistake of some kind, the teacher then points her finger at Yon. It strikes me that he cannot entertain her request, however, as his face is still implanted in his desk.
“Wake up.”
No answer. He might be dead.
“Honestly, I don’t even care.”
Our teacher concedes no more than ten seconds in.
“You”. She presses on, thrusting her finger at the boy to my right.
Harux immediately lifts himself up, standing statue straight. “My name is Harux Y’ssanith!”
“What do you like?”
“I like fighting and eating!”
“Good.”
He settles down. Next, her finger falls on me. I follow in a similar manner, standing straight and chest forward for all the students to see.
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“Lucius Mortius. My hobbies include but are not limited to: engineering, reading books on theoretical sciences, magical study, business, and last but not least, making money.”
Lastly, her finger points to the girl in the corner. The one whose existence I was made aware of just now.
“Soliya,” she says as if narrating an epic. “My interests are martial arts, world domination, and pickling vegetables.”
“That’s my duty fulfilled. Now, since there are ten minutes until homeroom is over, feel free to do whatever.”
Our teacher’s parting words stimulate the youthful vigour of my classmates. Almost on cue, bursts of startling energy erupt all around. Soon, I understand, is that part of this energy is diverted towards the new students, or in other words, me and the three other fine people.
“Woah, Harux, are you, like, a warrior or something?”
“Yeah, I like fighting!”
“But, seriously, carrying two daggers and a sword?! That’s so like, extra!”
“Extra is good, I like extra weapons and extra food!”
Several girls nearby giggle at his response, possibly finding charm in his blatant stupidity. Having sated their hungry for elvish naivete, however, they shift gear. Their continued efforts at gauging their classmates' personalities then turn to me, no doubt a hungry morsel within their eyes.
“Soooooo, Lucius.” One girl elongates, perching her neck to the side like some handicapped swan. “What brings you to this school?”
While I estimate the probability of a potential friendship to blossom between us to less than 2%, I do suppose I should answer somewhat decently. After all, I am still not really acquainted with the power structure in this institution, and would prefer not to make any enemies.
“I wanted a change of pace, I guess?” I respond, tilting my head ever so slightly as a small smile forms on my lips.
“Oooh, I mean, that is cool, mhmm.”
I smile but say little else, a queasy feeling building in my stomach. As the girl slowly nods to herself, I take the time to look and inspect her sharply. At a glance, several things are odd. For one, her eyes are shut this whole time. The reason, I suppose, is a question of ability. Some individuals are just born this way. They come into the world with mutations in their body, manifesting themselves in manners ranging from eyes that can sense spiritual power, hands that bear the shape of demons, and bladders that piss literal liquid gold.
So common is such an occasion that it’s been given a title.
Dissonant Organs.
Hers must be an active sensory type. Forever bound to be closed, lest they impart their effect.
This is not a problem in itself. Rather, it’s by common consensus in the magical world that individuals of such calibre also happen to have a few screws loose. I’ve imparted most of my lessons from the comfort of my desk at home, but even the books I’ve studied haven’t neglected to mention this.
Further doubts are exemplified by her way of speaking. To every word she utters, there exists a simultaneous succession of sullen to joyful, altering between every line or, at times, syllable. Observing all of this, I can safely deduce that she is, in fact, crazy. Not in the sense of Harux’s childlike simplicity but in a way that transmits a deep, almost primordial sense of dread.
“So, why the hell are your eyes closed all the time?”
I blink long and hard at Soliya’s sudden question.
“People get scared, so I just keep them this way.”
“That’s it?”
“Mhmm.”
“You lack the fortitude necessary of a powerful mage. Cowardice is no way to success.”
“Mhmm, you could say that,” she replies, absent-mindedly curling the black locks at her neck.
Funnily enough, her attitude seems unchanged. Despite Soliya’s blunt grievance at her capability as a mage, the girl appears little worse for the wear and still dreamily hums to herself.
It’s strange.
Was Soliya just wrong? Could the implication that the girl was a mage be an error in judgement? What little time I have to ponder it over is nil. The bell that heralds the end of homeroom rings, and I find myself pulled upwards, preparing to go.
“Let’s head to class.”
Bemused but a tad tense all the same, I leave the classroom with thoughts of the encounter in mind. Then, with as much enthusiasm as I can gather, strut towards maths.