Life passes by like an obnoxious streetwalker, bumping into you and yelling unwanted slurs about your physical features. As you can tell, my current state of mind isn’t particularly apt at conjuring insightful metaphors. Whatever intellect I had was gradually whittled down by angst and constant attacks on my character.

In any case, two days have wasted away since that fateful encounter. Now I’m ascending to school. Up some remote mountain in the middle of nowhere, currently being driven by my butler in a large SUV.

“You should look outside, Lucius.”

I don’t. Every single frame that hillbilly academy is within view, a portion of my soul withers away. With my superior research skills, I’ve already managed to gather information about the place online in advance. And insofar, I am moderately unimpressed.

“Don’t look so glum, Lucius”. Guillaume bellows from the driver's seat. “You’ll get to make friends!”

“I already have friends.”

“Middle-aged businessmen who want your money don’t count, Lucius,” Morgana says, eyeing me.

Unlike Lucius Mortius (yours truly), our friendly Morgana Wittford is doing quite well. Seated across the SUV, hand holding a glass of sparkling water, a tinge of evil in her eyes all the while. It’s truly something. When it comes to responsibility, I have no doubt that she’s at least partially to blame for this whole ‘school’ thing. For all intents and purposes, it might’ve even been her who sowed such an irritating thought in the first place.

I struggle in place. No shot. What I feel is Vardosian Steel cuffed around my hands and some off-brand super-tape wrapped around my body. At this stage in life, I’m pretty much a prisoner.

No hope, no nothing. Just the calm passage of time until my eventual release.

I look up at Morgana.

Referencing her previous statement, I attempt to speak as derisively as possible. “Do you? (Implying if she does count as a friend). “Traitor.”

She shrugs. “Sorry for wanting to go to school, Lucius. I know it’s an awful thing. Women getting an education and all.”

I lose it.

“We already have an education! GUILLAUME WAS HOME-SCHOOLING US; HE’S SMART!”

“Pipe down, boy. I appreciate the compliment, but you should save your energy for school.”

Arguing is pointless. So, I sink into my chair and sigh instead, resting my gaze on the hands of my Rolek watch. The only consolation I have is that I got to bring three pieces of luggage. If worse comes to shove, I’ll have drones I can airstrike unsuspecting students with.

I let out a single “Whatever” before resting my eyes.

With my anger vented, the rest of the ride proceeded rather calmly. Though Morgana and Guillaume engaged in the occasional bit of banter, it’s not as if it was important enough to point out. After maybe another ten minutes, I finally feel the GORGON SUV slow and gently come to a halt.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

While I idly wait for my release, the doors open automatically, and an enthusiastic Morgana greets me. Treating me like some wayward object, Morgana slowly frees me from the tape, her terrifyingly long knife repeatedly passing inches away from my eyes and ears.

“And here we go!” she exclaims, removing the handcuffs from my wrists.

I rub at my now liberated flesh and take comfort in its warm touch. Finally free, I lean out and step onto something in the car park. What echoes is the resonance of a distinct ‘clack’, a sound unlike those you’d find in a usual carpark.

How peculiar.

Finding it quite odd, I turn to look down.

“Impressive.”

My suspicions are verified with a quick glance. Beneath my feet, or rather, what constitutes the flooring of the outdoor carpark, is marble. Everywhere, from as far as I can see, is the same pristine material, running along the carpark like misplaced gravel.

Pondering over how much it costs, I soon find my calculations promptly halted, a pat on the back bringing me to cold, bitter reality.

“Look up, Lucius!”

I do just that. Gazing upwards (my sunglasses protecting me from permanent retinal damage), I manage to see what’s gained my butler’s notice. Here before me is the main building of the school. Two stories tall and approximately 320,000 square feet in total. More than that, the whole thing is also made of marble, though its pristine charm is somewhat muddled by what looks like blends of random paint splashed onto it.

While all this happens, I start to count the seconds to my unending torment. In spite of how beautiful the school might seem, I remind myself that it’s only a cover. As no amount of cosmetic beauty can remedy the depravity of teenagers within. At this point, when I reach the count of five, I manage to spot a figure waltzing through the main entrance. Instinctively, I brush my hair back, smile, and stand straight as possible. Adjusting my eyes to the incoming figure, it occurs to me they’re none other than Rainee Althaiez.

He’s a tall thirty-ish-looking man dressed in a white shirt, black tie and blue jeans. His hair is a standard swept-back black and adorned with a few hair clips, but other than that, his overall impression is relatively standard. Amidst all my frustration, though, even the sight of Rainee is more than enough to quell it.

The reason being that this man is special.

More than just a headmaster of an academy, Rainee Althaiez also happens to be something else.

Something beyond normal humans, elves or dwarves.

Something beyond even money (maybe).

He’s a figure so influential that governments think twice before provoking his wrath.

In more rudimentary terms, Rainee Althaiez is the most powerful mage on the continent.

‘The Walking Nuke’, some people call him. Whether that’s accurate to his ability remains to be seen. Though maybe it’s best left ambiguous in the case. I’d rather not suffer from magically induced radiation, all things considered.

Motivated by success, I move out a few paces, my right hand extended firmly.

“Mr. Althaiez, thank you for having me here. It’s an honour to meet you in person.”

Rainee looks down curiously, possibly wondering if I’m even worth the effort.

“Not a fan of handshakes?” I throw out, nodding in affirmation.

“No, I’m good!” He shakes his head passionately. “Good as in, I am good with anything you know, handshakes, bows, kisses, whatever.” Rainee coughs into his left hand. “I’m, uh, very multicultural.”

I nod and then say, “Having an open mind is key to success.”

“Uh-huh.”

Rainee doesn’t follow up. He just stands there, visually dissecting me.

We’ve exchanged quite a bit of substantial dialogue at this point, and it comes to me that Rainee still hasn’t made an effort to shake my hand. I look into his eyes for some kind of indication as to what I should do and see him look not only elsewhere but also frantically dart from side to side.

This is something.

Uncertain, I throw out another affirming nod, hoping my good looks and charisma will mitigate the tension.

“Well.”

Withdrawing my hand to my waist, I decide to move things forward.

“So—”.

I stop my sentence midway.

Huh.

Something’s holding onto my hand. Or rather, someone.