The next day started with Jeremy heading to the academy library early in the morning. He grabbed a bunch of books on unlocking Observation and spent the morning flipping through them. The exercises seemed interesting—learning to notice tiny details, figuring out patterns, and spotting things most people would miss. It felt like training to be a detective or something. But unlocking Observation wasn’t just about training—it was about staying alive next time he entered a dungeon.

Later, as he got ready for his electives, Jeremy paused. His Memorization elective was still an option. He’d done well in it, and with him already having it at Simple, there was a good chance he could be at the top of his batch for the month, and for the rest of the year to come. That dungeon quota reward sounded pretty sweet. But right now, Observation came first. He’d get back to Memorization later when things settled down.

----------------------------------------

As Jeremy stepped into class, the smell of chalk and old wood filled his nose. He rubbed his chest absently, feeling the faint ache that hadn’t left since the hospital. The wide, open room wasn’t what he’d expected—no rows of desks, no buzzing chatter. Instead, there were strange setups: a table covered in random objects, mannequins posed awkwardly, and screens showing shifting images of landscapes.

“Find a seat anywhere,” a voice called from the front. Jeremy turned to see a tall woman with short-cropped gray hair standing near a blackboard. She wore a long coat with dozens of small pockets, each stuffed with something—pens, a compass, and other random tools. Her green eyes scanned the room, landing briefly on him before moving on. “We’re about to begin.”

Jeremy slid into a chair near the back, lowering himself carefully. He darted a glance at the other students, most of whom looked older—probably second or third years. A few whispered and glanced his way, but he ignored them, pulling out his notebook.

“Alright, listen up,” the instructor said, her voice brisk. “I’m Professor Ardin. This class is about training your mind to notice what others overlook. Observation isn’t just looking—it’s interpreting. Patterns, details, movement—all of it can save your life. Fail, and you’ll miss something critical. In dungeons, that usually means you’ll die. Any questions?”

No one raised their hand. Jeremy sat straighter, feeling a nervous energy settle over the room.

“Good,” Ardin continued. “We’re splitting into groups. Stand up, and when I call your name, move to the corner I assign. Those who haven’t unlocked Observation yet will start together. Basic, to the mannequins. Simple, to the table. Advanced, to the screens.”

Jeremy forced himself to his feet. He joined four others—mostly first years like him—in the corner near the chalkboard. A tall boy with spiky black hair gave him a nervous grin as he approached.

“Hey,” the boy said. “I’m Ben.”

“Jeremy,” he replied with a nod.

Ardin’s sharp gaze swept over their group. “Alright, Skill-less. To unlock Observation, we’ll start with the basics. Study patterns. Focus on details. By the end of this semester, I expect every one of you to unlock the skill. Got it?”

Everyone nodded quickly.

“Let’s start with memory. Head over to that table.”

The group shuffled to the table with a pile of random objects. Jeremy eyed the clutter—a half-melted candle, a rusty wrench, a jar of marbles, and more.

“Here’s how it works,” Ardin said, stepping behind the table. “You’ll get ten seconds to memorize as many objects as possible. Then I’ll cover the table, and you’ll write down everything you remember. Ready?”

Jeremy’s stomach flipped, but he nodded along with the others.

“Go.”

Everyone leaned forward. Jeremy tried to focus, his ribs aching as he bent over the table. He caught the torn edge of a book, the color of marbles, and the texture of the rope. But the seconds flew by too quickly.

“Time’s up!” Ardin barked, throwing a cloth over the table. “Back to your seats. Write.”

Jeremy returned to his chair, the movement slower than he wanted. He scribbled down everything he could remember: rope, marbles, wrench, clock. Was the candle half-melted or nearly gone? His hand shook slightly as he wrote.

“Stop writing,” Ardin commanded. “Who can name five objects?”

A girl near the front raised her hand, and Ardin gestured to her. “Go.”

“Uh… the rope, the wrench, the marbles, the clock, and… the rock?”

“Not bad,” Ardin said. “Who got more than five?”

Jeremy hesitated, then raised his hand.

“Alright, Hoppins. Let’s hear it.”

He took a slow breath. “The rope, marbles, wrench, clock, rock, candle, and book.”

“Seven. Solid start,” Ardin said. “Anyone beat that?”

Silence.

Ardin pulled off the cloth. “Here’s what you missed.” She pointed to a tiny metal gear tucked behind the clock and a folded piece of cloth near the edge. “Observation isn’t just looking—it’s noticing.”

Jeremy nodded, but his chest ached slightly from the effort. Seven was good. But he could do better.

----------------------------------------

The next exercise split the group into pairs. Jeremy ended up with Ben, who was still grinning nervously.

“Here’s the deal,” Ardin explained. “One of you poses the mannequin, and the other studies it for ten seconds. Then, the pose will change slightly. Your job is to spot the difference.”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Ben went first, twisting the mannequin’s head and raising one arm. Jeremy studied it closely—the angle of the arm, the tilt of the head, the slight bend in the fingers.

“Turn around,” Ardin ordered.

Jeremy turned, listening to Ben adjust something. When Ardin called time, he spun back.

“What’s different?” she asked.

Jeremy’s eyes scanned the mannequin. For a second, it looked identical. Then he noticed—the hand was turned downward instead of curled.

“The hand,” Jeremy said quickly. “It’s pointing down.”

Ardin nodded. “Good. Now switch.”

Jeremy posed the mannequin, bending its legs at odd angles and twisting one arm. Ben studied it, then turned. Jeremy adjusted the other arm, raising it as if the mannequin were waving.

When Ben turned back, he hesitated, then pointed. “The arm. You moved it.”

“Correct,” Ardin said. “Keep going.”

They traded turns, each round sharpening Jeremy’s focus. By the end of the exercise, his nerves were gone, replaced by a growing confidence. This was what he needed—hands-on practice to push himself.

----------------------------------------

As class wrapped up, Ardin gathered everyone in their groups. “Good work today,” she said, her tone brisk. “Observation isn’t flashy, but it’s useful everwhere. Practice it every day, and you’ll do better in no time. Dismissed.”

Jeremy packed up his notebook, his mind buzzing with what he’d learned. As he left, excitement rose in his chest. For the first time in days, he finally felt like he was making progress.

But as he walked back to his suite, the ache in his chest reminded him just how far he still had to go. The bursts of energy he’d felt in class faded quickly, leaving him drained. Every step felt heavier, his legs shaky by the time he reached his door. Sliding onto the couch, he let out a slow breath, hating how weak he still felt.

Then there was a knock. Mia and Timothy. They’d asked to talk after class, something about “being honest.” Jeremy frowned, his stomach twisting. He wasn’t sure he had the energy for a serious conversation right now, but something in Mia’s voice earlier had sounded... weird.

----------------------------------------

Jeremy sat on his couch, his arms resting on his knees. His body still felt weak from his stay at the hospital, his chest still aching if he moved too fast, and his legs shaky if he stood too long. He hated feeling like this—fragile, like the tiniest thing could knock him over. But Mia and Timothy had asked to talk, and now they stood awkwardly near the door, avoiding his eyes like they’d been caught sneaking into the kitchen after curfew.

“So… what’s up?” Jeremy asked, his voice quieter than usual. Their weird behavior was starting to make him nervous.

Mia glanced at Timothy, who gave her a quick nod like he was saying, You first. She sighed and stepped forward, twisting her hands together. “Okay, um… we wanted to talk to you. About something important.”

Jeremy frowned, sitting up a little straighter despite the way his ribs protested. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not—it’s not like something’s wrong,” Mia said quickly, but her voice wavered. “It’s just, like, something we felt like we should tell you. You know, before you... find out some other way.”

Timothy scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. Uh, we’ve kinda been feeling bad about it all week.”

Jeremy’s stomach churned. He leaned back slightly, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. “Just say it.”

Mia looked at Timothy again, then took a deep breath. “Okay, so when we first… like, started hanging out with you and everyone, we kinda thought… well…”

“We thought it’d be cool because of your family,” Timothy blurted out, his words tumbling over each other. “Like, you’re a Hoppins, you know? And, uh, we figured being around you would be... good for us.”

Mia winced but nodded. “Yeah. I mean, at first. But that’s not how it is now!” Her voice rose a little, almost desperate. “We swear. It’s just, after hanging out with you and the group, it’s been really fun. Like, we actually like being around you. For you, not… you know.”

Jeremy stared at them, his stomach twisting harder. He tightened his grip on his elbows, trying to keep his breathing steady. “So, what? You wanted to use me?” His voice came out sharper than he’d intended, but he couldn’t help it. The words stung.

“No! It’s not like that!” Mia’s face flushed, and she waved her hands frantically. “We’re just being honest because... well, you’re, like, important, and if you found out later, we didn’t want you to think we were lying the whole time.”

Timothy nodded, his voice quieter. “Yeah. And, uh, especially after, you know...” He hesitated, glancing nervously at Mia before continuing. “What happened with the attendant.”

“So what? You’re scared I’ll sick my mom on you?” He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but his chest hurt, his head ached, and their words cut deeper than he’d expected.

“No! I mean... maybe a little,” Mia said, her voice tiny. “It’s just... that was intense. And scary. And we didn’t want you to think we were keeping secrets, because then you might think we’re, like... enemies or something.”

Timothy nodded quickly. “Exactly. We wanted to tell you because we’re friends now. Like, for real. And we don’t want you doubting that.”

Jeremy’s jaw stayed tight as he looked away, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch. A part of him wanted to believe them, wanted to think they were being honest. But another part whispered doubts in his mind. Were they just scared of his family? Of what might happen if they weren’t on his side?

“So why tell me now?” he asked, his voice quieter but still guarded. “Why not just... keep it to yourselves?”

Mia shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Timothy again. “Because it felt wrong,” she said. “We’re your friends. At least, I think we are. And friends don’t... keep stuff like that, right?”

Timothy nodded. “We really like being part of the group. And hanging out with you. It’s not about your family, I swear. We just... didn’t want this to mess things up between us.”

Jeremy studied them for a long moment. Mia was clenching her hands so hard it looked like she might crush her fingers, and Timothy couldn’t stop fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. They looked like they were telling the truth. They sounded like it, too. But… what if they weren’t? What if they were just afraid of what his parents might do?

He let out a slow breath, leaning back against the couch. The ache in his chest flared slightly, and he hoped they wouldn’t notice. “Okay,” he said finally. “I hear you. I just... need some time to think about it.”

“Of course,” Mia said quickly. “No problem. Take all the time you need.”

“Yeah,” Timothy added. “We just wanted to be honest with you, that’s all.”

Jeremy nodded slowly, his eyes avoiding theirs. “Alright. Thanks for telling me.”

They both relaxed, the tension in their shoulders disappearing. “We’ll, uh, let you chill,” Timothy said, glancing toward the door. “See you for lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Jeremy said. “Tomorrow.”

As they left, Jeremy stayed on the couch, staring at the door long after it closed. He wanted to believe them. That they liked him for who he was, not because of his family. But a small part of him couldn’t help but think.

What if they’re lying?

He sighed. For now, he’d just have to hope they were telling the truth. But he wasn’t sure he could let his guard down completely—not yet at least.