As Malich waited outside the door, he was greeted by a gruff yet somewhat melodious voice that called out from behind the door. "Come in," the voice bade him.
Taking a deep breath, Malich stepped inside the room, his eyes immediately drawn to the ornate décor of the space.
His gaze settled on the human skeleton, which was displayed to the side of the room. Next to it, an automaton skeleton had been crafted to mimic the human one with an impressive level of detail and intricacy.
Malich felt an intense curiosity tugging at him, tempting him to move closer and examine the automaton more closely, but he managed to resist, instead focusing his attention on the man seated behind the desk.
To Malich's surprise, Mr. Alkinous looked far younger than he had imagined. He had been told that Mr. Alkinous was a man with a full head of white hair, which made Malich assume he was old and wrinkled, and while he indeed had a head of white hair, he did not have the decrepit body most would associate with it.
He didn't look a day above forty, his skin was free of wrinkles, and he met Malich’s gaze with a sharp glare of his blue eyes that conveyed a keen intelligence and a no-nonsense demeanor.
"Malich Kasar, I presume," Mr. Alkinous said, his voice carrying an air of authority. "I am glad to finally get the opportunity to meet you in person."
"I'm also glad to finally have the opportunity to meet you. I've read many of your works and have always wanted the chance to meet you," Malich replied, struggling to keep his composure.
To his surprise, Mr. Alkinous responded by pulling out a small stack of papers. They were filled with designs of gears and pumps. "And I have also read your work," he said, indicating the stack of papers.
Malich's heart raced as he saw the familiar design in Mr. Alkinous' hands. It was the mechanical design for the automaton he had spent months scribbling over before finally copying it onto a clean sheet of paper to submit as part of his scholarship application to the Timeforge academy, one of the most prestigious schools in the Commonwealth of Carillon. It was his only chance at a better life, as his family had no money to send him—not after his father had wasted it all.
"My design." Malich said, his voice steady.
"It is indeed," Mr. Alkinous replied, his gaze shifting back to Malich. "I must say, I was quite impressed by it. Compared to all the uninspired designs I had to look over, yours stood out from the rest. You threw everything but the kitchen sink into the design, and somehow it seems it would still be operational. Horribly inefficient and outrageously expensive, yes, but still operational. That is why I chose to meet with you."
Months had passed since he had submitted that design, and the silence had been deafening. But now, in a moment he had long since given up hope of experiencing, he found himself face-to-face with the man who held the fate of his dreams in his hands.
“So, have I made it past the application process? Is this the interview stage?” Malich inquired, his heart pounding with anticipation.
Mr. Alkinous slowly shook his head, a grave expression on his face. “I'm sorry to say, but no. You did not pass the application process. If it were solely up to me, you would have been accepted. However, other members of the selection committee did not share my enthusiasm for your design.”
Malich's eyes darted over the pages that displayed his creation. “What's wrong with it?” he implored.
“Nothing is wrong with it per se,” Mr. Alkinous began, his voice heavy with regret. “The issue lies in the fact that the school is currently seeking out more students in combat studies rather than mechanics. We simply were not allowed to send out as many scholarships as we did in previous years. The few mechanical scholarships we did offer this year went to those with connections to the school or to individuals who submitted designs that were nothing short of exceptional. While your design was certainly creative, it didn't quite meet the high bar of excellence set by those we ultimately selected.”
The weight of Mr. Alkinous' words settled on Malich like a crushing burden, his disappointment almost too much to bear. But as he began to resign himself to the notion that his dreams were dashed, a glimmer of hope began to flicker within him.
"Why am I here, then?" he wondered to himself, the faintest hint of optimism creeping into his thoughts. Could it have been that all was not yet lost?
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
"Is there another way for me to be accepted?" Malich inquired, his heart racing with a newfound sense of purpose.
"How would you like to reapply under temporal combat studies?" Mr. Alkinous suggested as he tapped his finger against the desk.
Malich hesitated, unsure if this was a path he wanted to pursue. "I'm not sure that's the best fit for me," he admitted. "I may be a chronomancer, but I'm not exactly a skilled one. I doubt I could even pass the physical exam. And even if I could, I don't think becoming a field agent or a soldier are the types of professions I want to pursue."
"I don't expect you to even think of those careers," Mr. Alkinous assured him. "With your talents, it would be a waste. I simply want you to apply so that you can get into the school. The school has been practically giving away scholarships to students who have been going into combat studies. I'll make some adjustments to the process so that you don't have to worry about the physical exam or any of the other tests. As a combat student, you'll need to take some combat classes, but otherwise, you'll still be free to pursue the mechanic courses."
Malich was hesitant. "Wouldn't that be cheating?" he asked.
Mr. Alkinous sighed heavily. "In some ways, it could be seen as such, but I’m going to say technically no. The fact of the matter is that the school has drastically reduced the number of mechanic applicants from getting scholarships. I see that as a disgrace to the very foundation of this school. I'm merely taking some liberties to ensure that the foundation doesn't die. So long as you keep quiet about it, no one should be any the wiser."
“Will they not realize something’s off once they see my poor performance in class?” Malich pressed.
“I’m sure many of the students who had their parents pay their way into this school will do just as poorly, and when I fill out your documents, I will make it so you just barely pass the physical exam so no questions are raised about discrepancies. Though I doubt anyone will take a look at your application unless you either fail miserably or do something else to get the attention of a teacher.” He said.
As Malich considered his options, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt at the prospect of cheating his way into the school. But at the same time, the thought of giving up on his dreams was almost too much to bear.
"Is it even cheating when he is the one who suggested it and is putting in all the effort to get me in? All I’m doing is saying either yes or no." Malich thought.
With a heavy heart, he made his decision, not knowing what the possible consequences could be if he was caught. But for now, he was willing to take the risk in the hopes of one day achieving his long-cherished goals.
“Okay, what do I need to do?” Malich inquired with a determined tone.
Mr. Alkinous opened a drawer and retrieved a crisp sheet of paper along with a pen. The paper was emblazoned with the title 'Application for Scholarship in Temporal Combat and Conflict Handling'. Without hesitation, Mr. Alkinous presented the paper and pen to Malich.
With only slight hesitation, Malich promptly affixed his signature to the dotted line.
"Orientation commences tomorrow at eight AM," Mr. Alkinous informed Malich with a faint smile. "Be sure to inquire with the receptionist located downstairs for the necessary materials that a new student requires. And I implore you, try not to be late this time."
Malich forced a thin, strained smile as he struggled to maintain his composure. With a deep breath, he collected himself and thanked Mr. Alkinous for his time and the opportunity that had been presented to him.
With each step he took toward the door, the weight of his realization that he had cheated his way into the school seemed to grow heavier, tainting what should have been a joyous moment.
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Malich stood patiently for the elevator to arrive. The contraption above the elevator door slowly moved to the side, indicating that it was getting closer. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and trying to push aside the nagging feeling that he had made a grave mistake.
The elevator doors suddenly slid open with a sharp ring, revealing the very same girl with whom he had conversed earlier. She was perched on her stool, dressed in an oversized red uniform that dwarfed her petite frame. "How'd it go, bub?" Her voice dripped with curiosity as she eyed him quizzically.
"Good, I guess. I received the scholarship I had hoped for," Malich replied, his tone wavering with uncertainty, as if he wasn't quite sure if he had achieved what he truly wanted. "So, I suppose we'll run into each other whenever I use this elevator."
With a nudge of the lever, the lift began to descend. "I'm sure we'll meet again, but where I don't know," she said. "As I mentioned earlier, I perform odd jobs all over campus. Sometimes, you might find me here, other times in the gardens. On rare occasions, I may even substitute for a teacher."
"Substitute for a teacher?" Malich exclaimed in disbelief.
"Like I said, I do odd jobs. I never said I did good jobs,” she retorted. “When I substitute, I just give them pre-prepared paperwork and watch over them.” She pulled the lever back to the center, and the elevator halted with a sharp ring as the doors opened. "See you later, whoever you are."
"Oh, I never gave you my name, sorry. It's Malich, Malich Kasar," he said, pulling off his flat cap and giving a formal bow.
The girl extended her hand in a gesture of goodwill. "Teralyn Moss. It was a pleasure meeting you, Malich. If you happen to see my older sister in class, be kind to her."
"Of course. I always try my best to be kind to everyone," Malich replied, stepping out of the elevator.
"That's a bad habit you might want to try and break," she remarked, glancing at a flickering gas light. "See you around." With that, she pulled the lever, and the elevator doors closed with a ring.