Mr. Poley leaned against his desk, arms crossed, his gaze sharp as he surveyed the classroom. The low hum of murmurs filled the air as students flipped through the pages of their books, eyes darting back and forth like they were searching for a secret answer. Beside me, Miop stayed quiet, her eyes fixed on the text. No unnecessary chatter. No forced small talk. Just focus. I liked that.

“Everyone ready?” Mr. Poley’s voice cut through the whispers like a knife. His gaze swept the room. "Let's start from the front. Ms. Miop, step forward."

“Yes, sir.” Miop rose from her seat, her chair legs scraping the floor with a brief, sharp screech.

“And which spell have you chosen?”

“A healing spell, sir.” She stood tall, her voice steady but unenthusiastic.

“Good choice,” Mr. Poley replied with a nod. “Healing spells are the easiest to cast but the hardest to make effective. Conjuring light is one thing. Actually mending flesh is another.”

He clapped his hands together. When he pulled them apart, a dagger shimmered into existence, floating weightlessly between his palms. Without hesitation, he grabbed it and drew a short, clean cut across his palm. A thin line of red welled up instantly.

Miop stiffened, her eyes locked on the trail of blood. She didn’t flinch, but she didn’t move either.

The room went dead quiet. Every head turned to watch. The only sound was the faint rustling of a few students flipping through their book more urgently than before. Students probably chose to cast healing spells just like Miop did. And now, seeing what was happening, they were having second doubts, trying to find another spell to cast.

“Don’t just stand there, Ms. Miop,” Mr. Poley prompted, holding his bleeding hand out to her. "You know what to do."

“Y-yes, sir.” She stepped forward, extending her hand over his. Her fingers hovered above the wound, trembling ever so slightly.

Her eyes shut tight, and after a moment, a faint green glow flickered to life in her palm. It pulsed weakly, struggling to stay lit. The light dimmed, faded, then returned, only fainter than before. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she focused harder, her brows furrowing.

It wasn’t working.

Her breath came in sharp, quick huffs, but she didn't give up. She lowered her arm, let it hang at her side for a second, then raised it again. This time, she didn’t close her eyes. Her gaze locked on the wound, unblinking. Her breathing slowed.

“That’s right.” He said. “You’re doing good, Ms. Miop. Concentrate.”

“Yes, sir.”

The green glow returned, stronger than before. Steady. Focused. Her fingers hovered just inches from his palm, and slowly, slowly, the cut began to close. By the time five seconds had passed, the skin was smooth again, the blood gone.

Mr. Poley inspected his hand, turning it over like he was looking for any signs of failure. Satisfied, he gave a nod.

“Well done, Ms. Miop,” he said, clapping his hands once. “I knew you could do it. Excellent control.”

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“Thank you, sir,” she replied, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. "Had a bit of a rough start."

“Completely normal,” Mr. Poley assured her. “Healing takes more mana than most of you realize. A small cut like this would drain half the mana of every F-class student here.”

“Ouch,” someone muttered from the back.

“You should feel inspired, not discouraged, Mr. Oper,” Mr. Poley shot back without missing a beat. “Back to your seat, Ms. Miop. Next up—” his gaze shifted to me. “Mr. Millo. Step forward.”

A few students leaned in their chairs, eyes glued to me as I rose from my seat. My legs carried me to the front on their own, steady but stiff. I could feel every stare on my back like pinpricks, sharp and… annoying.

Jane caught my eye from across the room, flashing me a grin and a thumbs-up. By the time I reached the front, Mr. Poley’s gaze was locked on mine. No smile. No encouragement. Just expectation.

“Alright, Mr. Millo,” he said, his voice cool and even. “Which spell have you chosen?”

“Ice Barrier, sir,” I replied, keeping my voice firm, steady.

His eyebrows lifted just a fraction, like I'd said something bold. "Ambitious." He shifted his stance, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. "Barrier spells are no small task. Conjuring one takes a lot of mana, and maintaining it drains you every second it stays active."

“Yes, sir,” I said, giving a small nod as if I’d known that already.

“Alright, then,” he said. “Let’s see it. I expect you to hold it for twenty seconds.”

“Understood.” I rolled my shoulders back, fingers flexing at my sides.

The spell activated without a hitch, a soft blue glow wrapping around me like a big shield. I flexed my fingers, feeling the faint hum of magic coursing through them. Mr. Poley looked at me with interest as he approached the front of the room, his gaze sharp but thoughtful. His hand lifted, and he pointed behind me.

“Your back,” he remarked, tilting his head toward it. “The barrier only protects the front—the direction your palm is facing. Try placing your other hand behind you and casting a second barrier.”

“I’ll give it a shot, sir.”

Shifting my stance, I followed his instructions, stretching my free hand behind me. I focused, feeling for that familiar pulse of energy. But the moment I tried to cast, I ended the spell and failed knowingly, the glow around me flickered and died. My arms dropped to my sides, and I let out a loud, exaggerated breath, wiping at my forehead like I’d just finished a marathon.

“Phew,” I muttered, slumping my shoulders as if I'd just run laps.

Mr. Poley nodded, his face softening with understanding. He gave me a firm pat on the shoulder. “Not bad, Mr. Millo. It’s a tough spell to control, and you managed it for a solid stretch. Well done.”

“Thank you, sir,” I replied, keeping my breathing a little heavier than usual to sell the act.

“Hard spell to pick for your first go, but you handled it well,” he added, folding his arms. “You can return to your seat. Let’s move on.”

I made my way back to my desk, dropping into my chair with a quiet sigh. Leaning back, I let my eyes drift to the window. The endless green beyond the city walls filled the view, wild and untamed. It was too much—too much life, too much open space. Back home, it was concrete as far as the eye could see. Sure, it wasn’t pretty, but it was familiar. The cold air, the colder people, the way everyone only cared about themselves. I missed that.

At least back there, nobody was trying to chop me up and eat me—well, aside from that one time with those crackheads chasing me through the alley. Weird night. Weird people. Come to think of it, I’ve always been surrounded by weird people.

“Not bad,” Miop said, drawing my attention back. She watched me with that same neutral stare, one wing shifting behind her like she was flicking away a fly. “You almost kept it active for fifteen seconds.”

“Almost,” I muttered, glancing at my hands. “But I didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter,” a boy behind me chimed in, his voice carrying a lazy sort of confidence. “We’re Class F. No one expects us to be great. We’ll move up to D next year for sure.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, propping my chin on my hand. “Next year…”

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