The last class day was the same as the second except that my day four schedule brought one new class with it, Charisma.
Day 4
Time:
Location:
Lair Team
6:30-10:00
Room 1G
Cooking
10:30-11:55
Room B-Kitchen
Lunch
12:00-1:00
Cafeteria
Martial Skills
1:30-3:00
Stone Cut Training Field
Charisma
7:00-9:00
Mancer Pub - Lower City
The class was later than the others. The strangest part, we were to meet at a bar called the Mancer Pub. Luckily, Beau stuck around to take me and Al to class.
As we entered, we saw the bar was almost empty aside from an extremely attractive foxwoman sitting on the bar. She wore knee-high boots, a short skirt, and a very low-cut blouse that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her lips were painted ruby red, and her violet eyes just drew you in.
“First to arrive,” the foxwoman said with a slight lilt to her voice. Her accent was somewhere between Blokena and something I couldn’t put my finger on. Not that it mattered. Her voice was . . . well, I’d never heard anything sweeter. “Well, don’t just stand there staring. Come inside and take a seat, anywhere you like.”
Al startled me slightly when he spoke up, “Are you the teacher?”
The foxwoman quirked an eyebrow, “I am indeed.”
I was utterly perplexed by Al’s behaviour. Why was he questioning who the foxwoman was at all? We should have done what she said, when she said it, and without question. I nearly pushed him to get around him and find a seat at the closest table.
“Hmm, overdid it a bit on that one,” she mumbled looking at me but she didn’t say anything to me, no matter how much I wished she would. I quickly took a seat at the table closest to her so I could better memorise everything about the stunning foxwoman.
“Resist, young badgerboy,” she said, staring me in the eye, but I was lost. What was there to resist? Why would I want to resist? Her violet eyes glowed purple, and she repeated herself, “Resist.”
I flinched and blinked several times, springing up from the table and backing away from the foxwoman. “What was that?” I demanded. My mind was still slightly addled, but I knew something was wrong. I liked the opposite sex, and I had my share of momentary crushes on girls growing up, but I had never had such a visceral response, such that she was all I could think about. “What did you do to me?”
The foxwoman frowned, “Calm down. I didn’t do anything to you. My natural charisma overwhelmed you.”
I returned her frown with one of my own. “Was that some kind of magic?”
Her frown turned into a bit of a smirk, “What I did to break you free was magic. You falling in love with me was your low charisma being easily dominated by my significantly more potent charisma. Believe me when I say I tried to tone it down for you, but clearly you are much weaker than I thought. But don’t worry, with such a weak charisma, you’ll improve quickly.”
“What does that mean?” I asked then added with a little more vehemence, “And I was not in love with you!”
She grinned, and I just about lost myself in that smile. It was just too cute and slightly mischievous. “Oh, you were. But again, you’ll improve quickly. What is your charisma rated? It must be Low . . . if not Terrible. Is it Terrible?”
I didn’t want to admit that my Charisma was rated Terrible. No one would. But especially not with Al being in earshot. However, if I didn’t want her to ensnare me again, being honest was probably the best option. I nodded.
“Good, thank you for being honest. It will make helping you grow that much easier,” she said before looking to the door, where another student came in.
“Hello, Professor Gurty,” a young and attractive doggirl said with an accent that matched that of my cover. It was the first kin from Rychania I’d met since coming to the academy.
“Welcome back, Misha,” the teacher greeted the girl. “Have a seat. We are still waiting on a couple more.”
Misha looked around before she moved straight over to Al’s table and introduced herself, “Hi, I’m Misha Fedorov. Do you mind if I have a seat?”
Before Al could reply, the teacher snapped, “Misha, find another seat. I’ve warned you about using your charisma on others before. And no, I don’t care how cute you think he is.”
Misha frowned at the teacher and then pouted before she flounced across the room, swaying her hips from side to side as she moved to an open table.
Professor Gurty grumbled under her breath, “That girl is going to get me in trouble one of these days.” Then she walked over to the table where Al had his eyes fixed on Misha, a bit of a stupid grin on his face. The professor leaned down to look him in the eyes and ordered, “Resist.”
Al blinked a few times then blushed in embarrassment. We shared a brief look of understanding between each other, but the comradery was gone as soon as the door opened and two more students entered, a wolfman and a lionman, both grinning and laughing with each other as they entered, giving the professor a brief wave before they sat at their own table.
“Welcome back, Mister Sanchez and Mister Laurent, I see you two are still thick as thieves,” Professor Gurty said with a sigh. “How are you two ever going to be able to go home? What will your families say about this friendship?”
“Piss on them,” the wolfman said, his Aulidoan accent barely there. “My family could be eaten by beasts tomorrow, and I wouldn’t blink an eye.”
“Aye,” the lionman agreed with an equally faint Rugirian accent. “Besides, we’re not going back there, not if either of us has anything to say about it. There are plenty of merc companies that recruit from the Academy. I know for sure we could get on with one of them.”
“And if that doesn’t work, we’ll start a band, travel the world, become rich and famous,” the wolfman said.
Professor Gurty sighed again and rolled her eyes before she softly complained, “Bards.”
The two young kin seemed to have taken the complaint as a compliment. I could only guess they each held the Job Bard or something along that vein. Bards were . . . odd. I’d seen them around growing up on streets of Puerto Manada, but they were just . . . odd. They were more or less travelling minstrels, singing songs, playing instruments, or telling stories. I heard they were also known for their ability to woo any kin of their choosing, but I’d never seen it for myself.
The door opened one more time, and a young badgergirl entered. I recognized her immediately as the pretty girl who first said hello when I came to the academy and handed me a map to help me find my classes.
I watched as she sashayed across the room, her graceful movements leaving me spellbound. A lovely, soft, and delicate voice asked, “May I sit?”
My heart raced like wild horses in my chest, and I barely managed to whisper, “Certainly.” Hastily, I stood and pulled out a chair for her with trembling hands.
She blushed lightly and sat down. “Oh my, such a gentleman.” I couldn’t place her accent. It wasn’t from this continent, at least, not that I knew of. I would need to find out where she was from.
I had to remind myself to maintain my cover persona as I gave her a polite bow and retook my seat. “I am Burion Belov, proud son of Rychania.”
The girl giggled before introducing herself, “Bella, Bella Brightwood of the Brightwood Group.”
“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Comrade Bella,” I said. Unfortunately, her introduction meant nothing to me. I’d never heard of the Brightwood clan. It could mean she came from a wealthy family or it could mean nothing at all. “I do not believe I have seen you in any of my classes.”
Bella smiled and blushed slightly. “We must be on different paths. I am here to study diplomacy and mercantilism. I assume then you must be here on the Mancer path.”
I nodded and answered, “Indeed, I am.”
It looked like she was about to say something more when Professor Gurty cleared her throat, drawing all eyes. “Welcome, welcome, everyone, to Charisma. No matter what level you are at, our method remains the same. Follow it, and you will certainly advance.”
“Ahem, anyway, my name is Gertrude Kelly, but you can all call me Professor Gurty. Charisma is the art of attraction. The higher your charisma rating, the more attractive others will find you. Some of this is the way you dress. Are your clothes well kept? Were they designed by a famous artisan? Are they in style?” She paused to look around, giving each of us a look up and down.
Stolen story; please report.
“Another part is how well you maintain your hygiene. Are your teeth white or yellow? Is your hair combed or styled? Are you clean and washed? Do you need to shave? Then there is how well you speak. Does your accent make you unintelligible? Do you speak with proper grammar? Are you speaking of appropriate topics?” she said with a smirk as she focused her gaze on Bella and I.
“All of these factors affect your charisma in an absolutely minimal way. They are all external and have no impact on who you are. They mean so little it is almost not worth mentioning except to tell you they do not matter,” she explained.
I didn’t know much about charisma beyond it being able to be used to get others to like you. I was never well liked, so having a Terrible rating wasn’t really a surprise.
“Charisma is about you as a person. How comfortable you are in an environment is more important than what you’re wearing or how it compares to what others around you are wearing. While hygiene is important, it is more for your health than for the good of those around you. What you say is more important than how you say it, so if you have nothing to say that matters, then no one will care,” she lectured.
“Being charismatic is about drawing people in with confidence and adding weight to your words. If you lack these, you will never improve your charisma,” she stated seriously. “Now, the good news is, I know what I’m doing. The students who were with me last year and are still here today can vouch for me.”
Professor Gurty finally hopped off the bar and stretched, showing off her curves and nearly entrancing me. It was only the presence of Bella next to me that saved me from succumbing to the teacher’s wiles . . . again. “The first hour is what I like to call fake it ‘til you make it,” the professor said with a laugh, getting chuckles from the wolfman and lionman and a scoff from the doggirl. “It’s all about confidence. If you can fake confidence and keep faking confidence, eventually, someday, you’ll discover that you really are confident.”
I wanted to ask how that worked exactly, but she called me up. “Mister Belov, come ask me to dance.”
I furrowed my brow in confusion.
“Come on, be brave. Be confident. Come ask your unbelievably attractive and witty professor for a dance,” Professor Gurty said.
I looked around and saw grins on the older students’ faces that made me think I was walking into a trap. Unfortunately, sometimes the only way through a trap is to spring it.
I stood from the table and approached the professor. I offered a hand and bowed formally as was customary in Rychania and asked, “Professor, would you care to dance?”
There were groans of disappointment from the older students, as though they were expecting a much different outcome.
“Excellent, very well done,” the professor praised, clapping excitedly. “I’ll be honest, I did not expect that. You are not lacking in confidence, are you? Why? Ah, badger-folk, right? Fearless, no?”
I nodded.
She clicked her tongue. “As wonderful as that boon is, it will make helping you more difficult. You see, the greatest opponent of confidence is fear. You do not fear, therefore you act rationally, confidently. Instead, we go with another method. You two will need to work on resisting my charisma. Moving on, Mister Romano, come ask me to dance.”
Alphonse approached her with a serious look on his face though his movement was stiff and looked uncomfortable. He stopped, and his voice squeaked and stuttered, “W-would you l-like to d-dance?”
“Good effort. Have a seat. We’ll try again shortly,” the professor said. She moved through the class, asking each of us to walk up to her and ask her to dance, even Bella and Misha. I was a little confused why the others, who must have had a higher Charisma rating than Bella and I, still stuttered or tripped over their words—or just plain tripped as was the case for Mister Sanchez, the wolfman.
After the first round, she paused and gave some of us a look and a smirk, “I see confusion on the faces of our new students, so let me explain. With time and a great deal of practise, you can learn to control your Charisma. Where I might use an average or moderate amount of charisma on those of you with a terrible or low charisma rating, I can have a similar effect on others by simply increasing the charisma rating I’m using. So, when I said the two of you would need to try to resist my charisma, I meant it.” She turned to me and asked, “This time, Mister Belov, I want you to not do what I ask, understood?”
I nodded.
“Walk to me,” she said, her violet eyes glowed slightly and I started to take an involuntary step forward when I hesitated. Unfortunately, my little bit of forward momentum sent me crashing into the floor, face first. It didn’t feel great. The professor helped me back to my feet and looked me over, brushing some dirt from my shirt as she did. “Not bad. Go take your seat. We’ll try again shortly.”
And that was the first half of the class. She had us each take turns either asking her to dance or trying to resist her charisma.
“Okay, in the first half, we worked on confidence. In the second half, we’re going to work on adding emotion and passion to what you say,” she said, turning back to the bar and pulling out a thick stack of parchment paper from a bag that was laying there. She set the stack on the bar and turned to face us. “It’s time for the public speaking half of class. Come up, take a speech and read through it. Soon enough, you’ll be reading it aloud to all of us.”
Everyone went up and took a sheet of parchment, most just taking from the top of the pile, except for Misha. She thumbed through the stack before taking one. I was the last to take a sheet and return to my table.
“Now, some minor instructions,” Professor Gurty said before I could even start reading. “These speeches are yours to do with as you please. Remember what I said before about adding weight to your words. Sometimes that means adding a pause at just the right time or emphasising a specific word of importance. As you read, you should be noting those moments in the speech. Underline them, circle them—I don’t care what you do with those papers. They are yours now, so do whatever you need to do.”
I looked down at my speech again after she went silent. I laid the sheet flat on the table and fished through my bag for my ink and fountain pen, setting them next to the sheet of parchment. I filled my pen with ink then began to read only to immediately grimace.
The Aulido Empire and Rugir Republic have been at war for decades following the failure to assassinate the Aulidoan Royal Family . . .
I was not looking forward to reading this particular speech. Partly, because I knew it wasn’t true, and partly because I didn’t want anything associating me with either Aulido or Rugir.
I looked up and met the professor’s gaze when she finally turned in my direction. I asked, “Can I choose a different speech?”
Professor Gurty quirked one of her delicate and perfectly manicured eyebrows, nearly sucking me in again with that one simple motion. Eventually, she shook her head. “Let’s not waste time. Next week, you should read a little of the speech before you select one. For now, you’ve got what you’ve got. Let’s see what you can do with it.”
I sank a little in my seat and went back to reading the speech. It was less a speech and more of a history lesson, one that was wrong. And there was nothing I could do to change it. I read through the speech from top to bottom and found it kind of boring. It was dry and technical. How was I supposed to add weight to this speech?
“Mister Sanchez, start us off, will you?” Professor Gurty asked, drawing me away from my thoughts. Maybe listening to him would help me understand how to do this.
Sanchez leaped to his feet and just about sprinted to the bar top. He turned dramatically and began speaking. “The tale of Janika Whorl is a sad and tragic story. Born into slavery, sold away from her family at a young age, she strived for freedom.” Sanchez was . . . passionate and seemed to draw in the entire room with his story. It was emotional and powerful. I’d never heard the story of Janika Whorl before.
Slavery still existed in the world. It was unfortunate, but true. Not many nations practised it these days, and those who did were mostly frowned upon. Rychania didn’t technically practise slavery as the undead were mindless and were only created after the kin passed away. And even then, the family would usually sell the body to the necromancers. Still, there were plenty who called it slavery.
Sanchez’s story ended much too soon for my liking, and the story was indeed a sad one. Janika eventually escaped from slavery and then went in search of her family. When she finally found her original slave plantation, she found out her entire family, all the slaves and slavers, everyone died to a plague years earlier. Sad indeed.
The professor applauded the performance, “As always, a story told with passion and enthusiasm, Mister Sanchez. Well done. Mister Laurant, you’re up.”
I was amazed once more by the storytelling capacity of the students in this class. After the lionman’s story of triumph over the lair most foul, the doggirl spun a tale about a princess from a long-forgotten kingdom and her struggle to marry whom she loved. After her, Al had his turn to tell a story about a thief who stole the wealth of a kingdom. He wasn’t nearly as good as the other three but kept my interest.
Bella also kept my interest but for reasons other than her story.
“Louder, we need to be able to hear you in the back of the room. Start over,” Professor Gurty instructed.
Bella started over, almost yelling.
The professor complained, twisting a finger in her ear as if she were hurt by the volume, “Not that loud. You don’t need to yell. Just fill the room with your voice. Start over.”
The poor badgergirl was made to start over three more times before she was able to finish her story about a little ugly duckboy who was actually a swanboy.
“Okay, last up, Mister Belov,” Professor Gurty said, motioning to the front of the room.
I nodded and moved to the front of the room. I looked at the handful of students and the professor. Seeing the professor smirking bothered me. She expected me to fail. She was waiting on me to begin so she might tell me to start over and over the way she did with Bella. I was an Apprentice Shadow Agent. Infiltration was my Job. Reminding myself that this was my Job, that succeeding with this speech was my Job, gave me an unexpected boost. It also reminded me of what the professor said in the first part of class. Fake it ‘til you make it.
I returned her smirk but only for an instant before I bowed to my audience. I stood straight and looked at each of the other students, looking them each in the eyes with as much intensity as I could muster. Then, with a low, room filling, voice, and trying to sound grave, I began, “The Aulido Empire and Rugir Republic have been at war for decades following the failure to assassinate the Aulidoan Royal Family. All but one died. That lone survivor struck down the would-be assassins before he even had his first Job Day. That survivor ascended the throne to become the new emperor. And with his first act, he declared war on Roar.”
I kept up the intensity of the story, speeding up at points of excitement and slowing down at others. I did my best to draw them in. As I reached the end of my story, I was very tempted to tell them what I knew of the truth. I also knew it would have been a mistake. As far as I knew, the news hadn’t reached this far yet, even months later. Or if it had, people weren’t talking about it.
“Boo, down with Aulido,” Sanchez and Laurant cheered, smiles on their faces letting me know they were joking.
“That was . . . surprising,” Professor Gurty said, looking me up and down. “And you said your Charisma was rated Terrible?”
I nodded.
“I would not be so sure that is true anymore,” the professor said, a single eyebrow quirked. “You should check your status.”
I didn’t think it could have possibly improved after a single class. And yet, when I checked my Charisma it was rated as Fair. That was three full rating increases. I skipped right past Poor and Low. I didn’t even know such a thing was possible. I looked up at the professor with wide eyes. “How . . . How did you know?”
The professor shook her head. “I do not know if you are a savant or just lucky. How much did you improve?”
I looked around at the others, who were eager to hear my results, and felt the need to keep my mouth shut.
The professor chuckled, “Don’t worry about them finding out. Eventually, you will know what their rating is as well. So, tell us, how much did it improve?”
I frowned and considered it. Eventually, I answered, “Fair. It improved to Fair.”
The professor laughed. “Three full ratings higher. My goodness. You just might be gifted in the art of Charisma. Well, that should just about do it for this evening. Go on home, practise what I taught you, and we’ll see you in a week.”
I wanted to ask more questions, but Al was moving toward the door and I really didn’t want to miss our ride home. I said goodbye to Bella, holding her hand as I shook it a tad longer than was absolutely necessary, and then ran out the door to catch up to Alphonse.
“What a delightful class, eh Comrade Alphonse?” I asked the dogboy as we waited for our carriage in the cold night air. The street was empty, no one coming or going from the apartment buildings that surrounded us.
He looked back through the glass door at the rest of the students drinking and chatting, then turned away and shrugged, though I thought I saw a small smile on his face.
“Well, I thought it was. The professor seemed quite taken with me, no?” I asked with a smirk of triumph.
Al frowned at me for a moment then returned his own smirk, “Oh, yes. She seemed very impressed by your drooling as you fawned over her and her superior Charisma.”
“She was impressed. You heard her. I’m a savant. This son of Rychania is a genius when it comes to ‘the art of Charisma.’ Or did you not hear when I gained three ranks at once?”
Alphonse rolled his eyes. “You went from the lowest level of Charisma to being mediocre. You certainly weren’t charismatic enough to get a date with that badgergirl you were drooling over, were you?”
Alphonse's words pierced me like a dagger. I wanted to scream, to tell him he was wrong. I had changed from a dirty street thief, and I felt more confident than ever before. For the first time in my life, I even had the potential for a romantic relationship.
The carriage home could not come soon enough. And then the wind shifted.