...

Standing on what looked like an abandoned airport runway—cracked asphalt, rusted lighting fixtures half-leaning under a bruised sky—Alexander glared down at the front of his once-white shirt. It was smudged with dirt, dried blood, and the ghosts of old sweat. He blew out a long breath, arms tensed as if bracing himself against a memory threatening to resurface. "You really should stop digging around in my memories, Teach'," he said, his voice caught somewhere between annoyance and uneasy amusement.

Teach' materialized beside him with the grace of someone stepping out of a dream, her approach marked by a playful sway in her hips. She still wore that same dull office suit—a gray blazer, a pencil skirt just above the knees, sensible heels—utterly ordinary attire for a being so extraordinary.

It contrasted sharply with the surreal nature of these skill tests they had conducted for the last months in landscapes pulled from his own recollections. Yet her demeanor was anything but boring. With a grin that spoke of puppyish curiosity and mischief, she flashed him expectant eyes. "Why?" she teased, brimming with glee, "I adore your culture! Who can resist a classic like 'Die Hard'? So gritty, so... sweaty."

Alexander arched an eyebrow, at least thankful he wasn't wandering naked through Harlem or having a cook-off in a concentration camp—Teach' wasn't the most sensitive when it came to Earth, even less knowing that Orbis was by far worse.

He rubbed the back of his neck, feigning casualness. "Culture, huh? If that counts as culture, maybe I can introduce you to something classier next time. An art gallery, maybe?" He tried to sound magnanimous, but only half succeeded.

Teach' blew a loud raspberry, wrinkling her nose dramatically. "No, thank you! The Louvre was torture enough." She pretended to shiver, her shoulders hitching up theatrically. "All those statues and paintings... Bah! Boring."

He tricked Teach into revisiting the Louvre when he had his [Drawing] skill test right as she started her phase of choosing absurd locations. Instead of enjoying the Nostalgia, he got Teach' nitpicking every piece of art, making faces at ancient statues and muttering about the 'frumpy clothing' of Renaissance portraits.

'She has a point, though,' he mused bitterly. It was not the real Louvre, just echoes of his remembrance where he once had a date, whisps of artworks he barely looked at, trying to impress girls with the knowledge he got minutes before from a brochure.

Alexander tried again, forcing a thin smile that felt as stiff as the old control tower behind him. "Maybe you could—"

She cut him off with a manic wave of her hand. "Nope!"

His smile became forced. "At least hear me out—"

With exaggerated seriousness, she added, "If you dare bring it up again, we're doing the [Dancing] skill test as you try to avoid those giant lizards next time. Don't try me."

He pursed his lips, exhaling sharply. A strange mixture of exasperation and affection floated through him. Teach' had a way of toying with him that felt almost friendly if one squinted.

In the past, there was an implicit understanding that she could rummage through his memories—infuriating. But after the [Law] Tier test, she showed it openly, making every night a surreal visit into his past. Sadly, he could take little from it as he sought to fill the gaps in his knowledge.

'Maybe I can try again, though?' While it was almost impossible for him to remember things from his past life he didn't know from the beginning or just read over without focus, Teach' was still someone who led others through skill and Tier tests.

Once, in a slip, she hinted that someone had succeeded in a Grandmaster Tier test in [Physics]—a new way for Alexander to get the desired knowledge, to fill the library in the hopes that someone could build on it in twenty to thirty years, advancing his fief. But every time he probed too bluntly, she would shift the conversation or threaten him with outlandish scenarios.

Alexander narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. In the distance, where the runway's asphalt met a shimmer of heat and empty air, he could almost imagine shadows of phantom planes and the scent of kerosene.

Even though confused and thinking that the scenario felt a little off, he turned to her. "Alright, alright, no more Louvre talk," he said carefully. Then he shrugged, trying for a casual tone. "But can you at least tell me what today's skill test is? I've done quite a few, from cooking under siege by zombies and dragons to sewing under a waterfall while some Chinese guy annoyed me. And I'm thankful you're not dragging me through something like a German trying to hunt me down." He shuddered, recalling a previous test scenario in which he had problems—in the Normandie, trying to avoid mana-filled bullets with his [Mana Sense].

Teach' tilted her head and pressed a finger to her cheek, feigning an elaborate attempt to recall something important. "This is your skill test for—" She paused dramatically, stuck out her tongue playfully, and tapped her temple as though her brain were a stubborn vending machine. "Oops, I forgot!"

They both broke into laughter, their voices echoing over the vacant tarmac. Despite the annoyance and his trying not to wring her out as his patience reached the limit, he couldn't help but enjoy these odd exchanges—slightly—a hint that she enjoyed his company as much as he begrudgingly enjoyed hers.

Alexander took a half step closer, adopting a conspiratorial lean. The sun above them was low and red, and the hum of distant cicadas—if that's what they were—added a surreal note. "Look," he began more softly, "I'm not just curious about the skill tests. I've got Nature's Break looming over me, and with the blessing I received, I can actually press on." He continued, his lashes fluttering with charm, "I've heard rumors. If I reach Tier 3 before my legacy, I get a 5% attribute boost and can choose one mystic skill. But I'm pushing beyond that. I'm nearing Tier 6. Does that scale up? Will I get some kind of super body modification? A 625% stat increase?"

She went utterly still. Her mischievous grin vanished, replaced by a carefully blank expression. For a moment, the air thickened, and Alexander's heart pounded. He wondered if he'd poked at something sacred, a forbidden question. He tried to maintain an easy posture, his tail twitching uncertainly behind him. His ears flattened slightly, a canine instinct he hadn't quite unlearned even though etiquette dictated it, showing he felt her sudden shift in mood. He remembered how she could instantly turn into a horrifying terror as if revealing her true nature—something beyond mortal ken.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Before he could backpedal, Teach's presence intensified, slowly increasing and making him feel dread. It was as if a silent god pressed a thumb against his head, slowly squishing him like a bug. Alexander's mouth went dry. He tensed, fighting the impulse to drop to his knees, bolt, fight back, or simply wet himself, hoping she would slip on the puddle, breaking her neck, before yanking his spine out. "You, uh," he ventured, his voice cracking slightly, all his skills making his mind burn as he fought his instincts. "You look... particularly sumptuous today." He flashed a disarming smile, equal parts flattery, and desperation, mostly desperation, though.

She smirked, and just as quickly as she'd stiffened, she vanished, leaving him reeling, heart hammering, bladder waving. The airport around him shimmered. Then her voice came, hollow and distant, echoing mechanically: "Congratulations. Your skill test is concluded. You have succeeded in—" The voice cut off as the test.

...

Alexander jolted awake in his bed next to Sarah, heart pounding. The comfort of the familiar linens and the soft breathing of someone nearby offered a frantic kind of relief. His bladder reminded him urgently of the stress he'd just endured.

As he hurried toward the bathroom, each step deliberate and stiff, he tried to piece together what had just happened. 'I really need to stop poking that bear.' He grimaced, 'A very terrifying bear.'

Turning on the bathroom light and splashing water on his face. 'Janina mentioned she got a stuffed animal as a guide. Lorient got some kind of handsome K-pop guy cameo. But me? No, I get a cosmic horror who might be a god rummaging through my memories. Just... fuck.'

He sighed heavily, running his fingers through his fur. As irritating as Teach' could be, at least she kept things interesting. He wondered if he could ever glean more knowledge from her—maybe about those theoretical physics breakthroughs, maybe about how to help his students reach higher Tiers faster. She was a key, a gatekeeper of hidden knowledge, and he'd have to tread carefully if he wanted to open those gates without losing his sanity.

Looking into the mirror, he saw himself smile, filled with madness and greed, 'I am so fucked.'

...

Far away, in a realm beyond conventional space and time, Teach' emerged into darkness so complete it swallowed sound. She wore the same gray suit, but now it looked almost militaristic under the weight of silence and shadow—only seen by her.

"Great, now this," her voice echoed through the empty void. "Did Winston dim the lights again?" A single snap of her fingers conjured a dim, honey-colored light from nowhere, illuminating a small, rustic farmhouse interior—wooden walls warped by age, straw bedding half scattered on the floor, dusty shelves laden with odd trinkets. It was a place that looked as if it shouldn't exist anywhere but a nostalgic memory.

Her frown softened into a warm smile as she looked around. She gently pulled a rough-hewn chair and sat, crossing her legs. A sigh escaped her lips as she fell into the rest, trying to calm down, her eyes closed, enjoying the place through her other senses.

As time passed, the subtle creak of old and brittle wood awoke her, making her eyes flutter. An old butler stepped into the light—immaculate in his old-fashioned attire: a perfect mustache, a monocle, and a top hat perched at a rakish angle. He was elegance incarnate, though in a setting that made no sense for his attire. It was as if someone had mashed together sets from different plays—one she clearly approved of.

"Mistress," Winston intoned smoothly, "about Alexander…"

Teach' drummed her fingertips on the armrest, her mind returning to what brought her into a space of solace. "We have a problem, Winston. I never thought we'd encounter someone like him—someone who actually acts far too different than all those others." Memories of the past surfaced, making her hand grip subconsciously into the armrest until a cracking was heard—a signal for her to stop dwelling on the past.

She continued, clicking her tongue, "I ignored it, but he is creating Legends—heroes, saints, sages, legendary artisans, and geniuses—as if it were nothing." Her eyes narrowed, her voice firm. "He is the second I know who actually shares all his knowledge freely, wanting to advance everyone by accelerating progression to an absurd degree." She rolled her eyes. "He's a headache, is what he is."

Winston's mustache wiggled, his eyes gleaming like a proud grandfather. "You say that, Mistress, but I recall you've taken quite a shine to him. You're lively again—youthful, even." He chuckled, his joyous voice deeply resonating within her. "He brings others up with him—like a rising tide lifting all ships." Admiration underlaced his tone, something only she heard when he talked about her.

Teach' scoffed, leaning back so far the chair nearly tipped, her defiance comically clear. "Great, as if it will help me to solve this problem—he's the first to reach such an absurd level before reaching his legacy, and I am the one who will revamp everything just to accommodate him and those little buggers." She gazed at the dust motes dancing in the warm light. Her tone softened, barely audible. "Change can be good, Winston. But too much change, too fast, invites uninvited guests. Vermin sniffing around the foundations of reality. We can't let that happen."

Winston's monocle gleamed. "Should I—"

She gave him a humorless smile, interrupting him. "No, they are a nuisance. But let them come. The boy's protected by that gross bastard—Prof. Chimaera." Her face contorted in distaste at the mention of the name. "No one will dare lay a finger on Alexander. Not yet, at least."

Winston bowed, mustache drooping slightly in what might have been sympathy or regret. "I understand, Mistress."

She shrugged as if trying to shake off a mood. "We will see where this goes. We have a lot to do for now, so let's do our best."

...

Somewhere in Orbis, far from mystic beings and grand prophecies, a lanky, unshaven figure slumped on a battered couch. He wore pajama pants that were too loud and colorful for his own good and pink plush bunny slippers that looked so grimy they might hop off and seek asylum elsewhere. He was half-conscious, fiddling with a TV remote, scratching at his hairless chest beneath a stained undershirt. A stale cigarette hung from his lips, ignited not by flame but by a muttered word and a puff of ambient magic.

He jolted as if hearing distant gossip. "Weird," he mumbled, smoke curling up into his nostrils. "Someone talking about me?"

From behind him, a childish voice piped up. "C'mon! The pizza's getting cold! For you, one-third is pineapple, ham, and tzatziki, one-third is a meat lover's paradise, and my third is vegan. Hands off my slice!"

The man turned slowly, eyes glassy behind smudged glasses. "Sure, sure," he said. "Let's watch that episode of Friends again. The one where Joey gets the turkey stuck on his head."

The child groaned, his snow-white tail swaying violently in defiance but gave in with a huff. "Fine. Toss in the cassette."

He stretched with exaggerated lethargy, reaching for a box of tapes on the lower shelf of the TV cabinet. As he rummaged, the cigarette smoldered, seemingly lighting itself at his slightest whisper. "Thermodynamics, air currents," he muttered as if reciting a mantra that would make his life easier. He cracked a grin. "Yes! I love this episode."

He pressed the cassette into the player in that cramped, dingy living room, oblivious to cosmic plans. The screen flickered. Laughter lines crackled out from the old TV. And as the show's canned laughter filled the silence, this odd pair settled in, pizza slices at the ready, unwitting extras in the grand tapestry unfolding far beyond their cluttered room.

A roar filled the space, and the boy pushed one part to their roommate. "Here you go—" He suddenly saw his piece taken away by what appeared to be a snake and goat drooling over it. "Hands off, I said!"