The first week holiday from the academy was coming up, though the significance of it was dampened by the school’s closure thanks to the attempts on Felipe Escobarus’ life. The older students were furiously preparing for practice exams, while the younger students were simply happy to have some time away from studying.

None more so than Claude.

Maria’s words of guidance at the start of the term had worked wonders to get him more interested in certain subjects, so long as he could mentally connect them with an aspect of working as a police detective. The robbery of Adrian’s watch had spurred a sudden and deep obsession with botany and flower language. Claude avoided saying anything to Max because he knew he’d be upset with him for focusing on a criminal act again. Max didn’t need to hear it from him anyway.

Finding a pile of books about a singular topic in Claude’s dorm room was not an unusual sight. Genetics, crime scene investigation, criminal law, so long as he believed that it would help him in his future career as a detective, Claude was heavily invested in studying it. The methodology may have been ludicrous but Max was not going to stop him considering the improvement to his grades.

Claude sighed theatrically, “Still no news about catching that odd thief yet.”

Max paused eating his lunch for a second with a dissecting eye, “No. No news at all.”

Claude thought he was being subtle, “Man – I sure would love to hear the full story behind that fellow. I went back and read the book again, and he really was copying every bit of his act from it. The outfit, the speeches, the flowers, even the magic he used.”

“I’m sure that the police have taken all of that into consideration. They even collected the scraps of his cape to inspect later. They didn’t leave a single piece of evidence behind.” Max was hoping that this fact was enough to deter Claude from continuing down this path.

“I guess. I wonder if there was anything that they missed, or don’t know about.”

His restlessness was evident to Max. He was dying to go and investigate the robbery, even after receiving a gunshot to the waist. It was inevitable that he could not restrain his lust for mystery for long.

The dam burst seconds later, “Ugh! I really want to track that guy down.”

Max hesitated to slap him around the back of the head in response. “Didn’t you learn a single thing from what happened at the theatre? He’s going to catch you and hurt you. Just sit tight and let the police take care of it.”

“But he was right there, and he even left a clue for us. Don’t tell me that we couldn’t make a start by tracking down where he got that rose from! And I’m curious about that watch too. Adrian was really upset about losing it.”

“There you go accusing people of ill-doing again.”

“I never accused him of doing anything wrong. It was plain to see that the real culprit was the man who stole the watch in the first place.”

“That isn’t what I mean – you’re saying that Adrian is hiding something from us, which implied some kind of malicious intent on his part.”

Claude shrugged, “I think he is hiding something. Why would anyone decide to break into the academy, enter his room specifically, and only steal this supposedly normal gold watch without doing anything else? That watch is more important than he’s letting on. It isn’t an accusation, it’s a deduction.”

Max grabbed his shoulder and held him back before he could run away and start causing mayhem, “And what do you expect us to do about it anyway? Isn’t it better to leave this to the police?”

“We have the chance to really do a good thing here! I’m not asking you to help me arrest the bloke, I want your help to figure out where he’s getting the roses from. We do a little snooping, see if we find anything, then we can forward it to the police and call it a job well done.”

It was true that the police weren’t taking the rose seriously. It was bagged up and taken from the scene for the case file, but it demanded the eye of an experienced botanist to notice the difference between a domestically grown rose and the variety of rose that the thief was fond of. Not to insult their intelligence, but it was an extremely obscure fact, one that only someone like Max would know at a glance. They never got the chance to explain to the police why the rose was significant. The only thing they wanted to hear was a basic description of the theft from their perspective.

Claude wasn’t going to let it go, “Can you believe that guy? Telling us to ‘leave it to the professionals,’ why would you discard key evidence like that?”

“People don’t like it when amateurs show up and start telling them how to do their jobs. It doesn’t matter if you’re in the right, that’s a natural reaction that everyone will have.”

Claude pouted and swung on his chair’s legs. Studying wasn’t interesting to him at the moment, not with the smell of mystery in the air. He could hardly lull himself to sleep in the evenings, because his mind was always racing with new possibilities and theories. The corkboard in his room was quickly engulfed with dozens of pages of notes taken from the books he was reading. The organised chaos made sense to him and only him.

“Did you know that there was another thief who used the name Caius Willow? Well, it’s more accurate to say that there are a dozen copycat criminals who tried to use his reputation to get an easy ride.”

Max nodded, “Is he a copycat?”

“I don’t know – but it holds a lot of significance to people who care about that sort of thing. If he could get into the academy without being seen, and then escape again, he’s a cut above the average robber you’d find on the street.”

“The police will be aware of that.”

“I know. I just thought it was interesting, everything else about his persona is taken from that book. He was happy to let everybody know what his name was, he must be trying to build a reputation with other criminal elements.”

Max put things into perspective for him, “While that rose is a limited quantity item reserved for high-class boutiques, that still means it’s sent to several different locations during the transportation process. There are no less than six different botanists and flower arrangement services in this city alone, not to mention the logistical process that gets the flowers to each customer.”

“Six isn’t that many.”

“It is when you’re the only person looking into it. Unless you grow six pairs of eyes and ears, it’s unlikely that you’ll run into him through dumb luck. And before you suggest looking into the ledgers to see if any of the flowers were misplaced in transit, most of the managers will strike one or two from the stock and neglect to record them. A few misplaced blue roses hurt the bottom line, but losing them is cheaper than trying to tighten security.”

Claude pouted and slumped back in his seat – the universal signal of having his parade thoroughly rained on. Max was concerned about his friend’s safety and nothing more. Almost losing him in the theatre shooting put a lot of things into stark perspective. These were real threats that could cause real, permanent damage. He didn’t want to imagine the alternative outcome where Samantha failed to stem the bleeding in time.

He was worried that Claude was portraying this new threat as an oaf, a fool, a clown with whom he could safely spar and play mental games with. There was no such thing as a safe criminal in Max’s eyes, a majority of them possessed an innate capability for violence that stood in opposition to their normal exterior. The man who robbed Adrian was willing to risk his health and freedom, and knew a plethora of spells that he could use to evade capture and do harm.

“I’m not going to do anything stupid. I can’t ditch studying here before the holidays arrive anyway.”

“Are you visiting your Father?”

“Yeah – I’m not going to sit around in the dorms for my week away like a sad sack. I’m feeling a little homesick as well. The time I spent recovering there was mostly sleeping and being confined to my room.”

“Maybe I’ll swing by and say hello.”

Max and Claude lived close to one another. The Abdah estate was fairly large, but it was also located near a suburban area where middle-class workers and their families lived to get away from the bustle of the city centre. Max’s family preferred to be near the action, and it made commuting to their business interest at the harbour easier too. Max loved getting involved with the local boys and their mischief. He and Claude became inseparable at a young age.

Even if their parents were none too pleased with the pranks they played.

Cops and robbers was always Claude’s favourite, even if it only served as a simple game of tag with some roleplaying layered on top. Those were the bits that Claude was the most interested in. He’d even go to the effort of creating a mock jail for the captured crooks to be housed in. Once the game was over – he’d declare them guilty for a variety of misdeeds, both real and imagined, and sentence them to various punishments that were never followed through on.

“I’m being serious when I tell you to stay out of trouble, Claude. You can’t even run at full speed again yet.”

“I heard you the first time! Are you trying to be my Mum or something?”

“Me and Samantha were worried sick when we found you on the floor with that gunshot injury – we don’t want to see anything like that happening again.”

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Claude paused before launching into an instinctual defence of his behaviour, as he found it so easy to do so at times. Max and Sam had aired genuine feelings of anxiety and shock about what happened to him, so much so that it was as if they were more traumatised than he was. But there was no arguing with the way that they felt. This wasn’t based on reason, and it couldn’t be tied up with a semantic argument that let him have the last word.

“Ugh. Alright, I’m not going to do anything stupid, just stop giving me those sad puppy eyes for goodness sake. I can hardly handle seeing you act like this all the time.”

Max leaned over to see what Claude was studying, “You ready for the exams?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

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

It was time for my early morning run around the campus. Even though I was taking a more at-ease approach to things, I still wanted to keep myself in top physical shape in case another incident happened. It was extremely easy for a young girl to lose her stamina and what little strength she had if she slacked off on her schedule. Running and exercising in the mornings was a habit I enjoyed in my old life too.

The grounds looked amazing when the early morning fog rolled over the hills, and the sounds of wildlife were allowed to flourish without the other students awake to overpower them with chatter. I tightened my running shoes and opened the door to my room at the crack of dawn. Samantha was also an early riser thanks to her life on the farm. Before the theatre shootout, we never spoke with each other at this time of day.

That changed quickly once she started endeavouring to be my ‘friend.’

“Good morning, Maria.”

“And to you as well, Samantha.”

“You can call me Sam – everyone else does!”

“I’m afraid that my Father would blow a gasket if he heard me using a nickname with someone my age. It’s a difficult habit to switch off.”

Samantha smiled and straightened out her hair. She wasn’t anticipating a trip to the outside of the gardens like me, still wearing her comfortable slippers and silken bedclothes.

“I was wondering, what is it that you do on these mornings?”

“It’s when I exercise.”

Samantha recalled my display of athleticism at the physical exam and made a sound of affirmation, “That’s why you’re so well-built!”

“Well-built?”

By my standards, I was still a dainty little thing. It was one issue to go from being an adult man to a young girl, but even as young girls went I was on the smaller side. Samantha towered over me and had much broader shoulders. That wasn’t an aspect that people valued in this time period, but I was jealous of how robust she looked.

“Well, you’re still short – but I could tell how much hard work you put into keeping healthy. A lot of the other farm girls I know are the same. We have a look that’s shared between us. It’s the sort of style you only get through hard graft!” She lowered her voice and leaned in, “Do you do it because of the... you know, violent stuff?”

“Yes,” I responded simply. There was no elaboration needed from my perspective.

Samantha dug further, “You never told me why you know how to do this stuff.”

“No, that was on purpose.”

Sensing that I wasn’t going to give up the information that easily, Samantha came up with another devious plan. “Would you mind if I tagged along with you during your run?”

“No, so long as you hurry up and get changed.”

Samantha headed back into her room and quickly switched over to some sporty clothes that she usually used for physical education. She locked the door and followed me out into the back garden, copying my movements as I warmed up my arms and legs. She was going to regret trying to keep up with me.

“How far as you going to go?”

“Too far for you. Just stop when you can’t move anymore.”

“Confident, are we?” Samantha smirked. I ignored her and set off running on my usual route. It took us around the greenhouse, down the nature path at the rear of the campus, and through the fountain plaza that rested near the river. From there it was a straight line back up to the building. I repeated the process several times until my legs were crying out for mercy, but I took things slowly so as to not overwhelm Samantha with my pace.

It was bemusing seeing Samantha’s confidence slowly degrade as we hit the third lap. She was all smiles at the start, but by the second she was panting and sweating, and by the third, I could tell that her legs were starting to move the wrong way without her asking. She furrowed her brow and continued on regardless. She wanted to prove a point by keeping up with me. I wasn’t sure what the benefit of that was. I knew full well that she was unlikely to complete the full routine on her first try.

She finally gave up the ghost as we passed the fountain, crumbling down onto her knees and sucking up as much air as possible to try and stop the bile building up in her palette. I jogged to a halt and doubled back to make sure that she was okay.

“I warned you not to push things too hard,” I chastised her.

Samantha waved it off, “Agh. Ha... what the heck, you don’t even look winded.”

“I’m not. I run ten laps on a good day.”

“T-Ten laps?” she squawked, breaking down into a violent coughing fit.

“I’ve been doing this every other day for years. With enough time and effort, you could do the same thing. Those long legs of yours give more room for improvement than what I can manage.”

I helped her up onto her feet and sat her down on one of the benches. She flopped back and stared at the overcast sky, her chest swelling in rhythm as she replenished her depleted oxygen.

“You’re trying to scare me off again, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged. I didn’t anticipate you trying to join in on my morning exercise though.”

“I guess I understand how you manage to do all of those incredible things a little better now. You put more effort into this stuff than anybody else.”

It was true that there were a lot of expectations put on me, but it wasn’t fair to assign all of the credit to me alone. I had the benefit of paid tutors, private educators, and the time and money to learn all of those things. Samantha, by contrast, was expected to help out on the family farm when she wasn’t studying feverishly to get into the academy. The only truth to it was that the time you put in was what mattered. Getting that time was the real difference maker.

It helped that I lived an entire past life on top of that. A girl my age shouldn’t have known these things, not how to kill people and get away with it, not how to blend in with a crowd, and not how to manipulate other people to get their way. In an ideal world, that sort of knowledge wouldn’t be needed at all.

“I think I’m okay now.”

I decided to call it early and bring Samantha back to the dorm. I could make up for the lost laps tomorrow if I really felt like it. She staggered all the way back, moaning and groaning about how much her legs were aching along the way. A quick trip to the showers and some fresh clothes shut her up, at least until we reached my dorm room again. There was still some time before our first period since we ended early, so I walked over to the magic books Jennings had lent us and picked up from where I left off.

Samantha sat on the edge of my bed. I could feel her eyes boring into me.

“What is it?”

“What we talked about a few days ago. I got to thinking that we could find you another hobby to spend time on!”

My eyes rolled, “If I had a hobby I’d like to pursue, I’d be doing so without your input. And for your information, I’ve been trained in several classical arts like piano, painting, cooking and flower arrangement.”

“You can play the piano?” Samantha gasped, ignoring my point.

“I can. Don’t ask me for a display of skill – it’s been quite a long time since I’ve had the opportunity to practice.”

Like most skills, there were certain fundamentals that you would never forget through sheer repetition and muscle memory. The piano was something that my Father was adamant that I needed to play. It was a traditional noble courtship technique for a young lady to demonstrate her intelligence and deftness through the play of an instrument. As you could imagine – I had zero interest in using my piano playing to woo anyone, romance was the last thing on my mind.

“I’m sure it’ll be more than enough to impress a country-bumpkin like me.”

“But it will presumably not be to your taste. The sort of music played at a country harvest festival differs greatly from the classical pieces I was shown.”

“You never know until you try it!”

“I get the feeling that you won’t like it.”

Samantha shook her head, walking over and taking the third book from the pile. Once I was finished with the first, she started working through them in the same order to try and catch up. I was still being frustrated by what was a dogmatic approach to a perfectly inane field of magic. Those select few who used it extensively had certainly generated an odious reputation for nihilist spellcasting.

The method was what scared people.

Hitting someone with a ball of flame or a lightning bolt was horrible. It was a death that was painful and lengthy versus the alternatives, but nobody seemed to care so much about that. The prospect of destroying a thing or person on such a fundamental level terrified the writers of these tomes. It elicited images of an act that could not be taken back or repaired, even if the outcome was the same as those other spells. I concluded that a lower-grade mage with a penchant for mayhem could do a lot more damage a lot faster with fire or thunder than I could with nihilism.

It did offer a distinct utility that no other magic could – it simply came at a high price.

“With my lessons, studies and exercise, I do not possess much time for any other hobbies.” There were no computers in this world, so I could no longer waste away my precious time by binge-reading hundreds of visual novels. I expanded the amount of time dedicated to those other fields to compensate. “And besides, you are not a member of any of the academy’s societies. How can you make an earnest recommendation about one of them?”

“Ah, well – they were a little intimidating at first, so I didn’t have the nerve to join any of them.”

The societies were all boring garbage as far as I was concerned. Shooting, debate, ballroom dance, classical music, flower arrangement, botany, performing arts, the academy offered a wide range of topics that students could choose to fill their free time with. The shooting society was the closest to my area of interest, but they also had strict rules about the age of the participants. I could not join until I was in my third year. Though my history of winning competitions may have given me a way in – academies loved collecting trophies. There was a huge cabinet stuffed full of them in the dining hall.

They were also concentrated areas of insufferable class privilege. Samantha was not going to say it to me directly, but the reason she was worried about joining one of them was the way that certain students treated her. She must have heard every insult and dismissive comment in the Walman language, laser-focused on her appearance, accent, intelligence and hardiness.

In closed-off communities like the academy’s societies, it would be even worse. They gathered together some of the most insufferable, entitled and ill-mannered children and injected them with an undeserved sense of accomplishment. The shooting society hadn’t won a trophy for four years, a legendary dry spell in a sport with dozens of large and small tournaments every year. That was part of the reason they were desperate to recruit me, but the bigger issue was that most of them seemed to believe that it was a social club and not one dedicated to a competitive sport.

“I do hope that nobody is giving you grief for being around me,” I said.

Samantha tensed up, “Some of the girls are pretty darn upset, but it’s nothing I can’t deal with. I don’t get it. It’s not like you can only be friends with so many people.”

“That is not why they’re angry. They see you achieving a goal that they share, but they also see you as an inferior. It enraged them to know that someone ‘beneath’ them on the social ladder is associated with the great Maria Walston-Carter,” I explained with sarcastic venom.

Samantha giggled at my impression, “I feel a bit of that reputation is rightly earned. You’re everything they say you are – but also a lot humbler than I was anticipating.”

“I can understand why they find me impressive. I’m fully aware of my own accomplishments and talents, but is it so essential to them that they are associated with me? I believe they would find themselves sorely disappointed with the girl who stands behind the proverbial curtain.”

“But what about the-”

“I am speaking under the assumption that they don’t discover my secret as you have,” I interjected.

A bit of that country air returned to Sam’s voice, “That secret being that you’re some kinda’ super-spy sleeper agent who can win a shootout against two dozen folks without breaking a sweat?”

“I never said I didn’t sweat, and I’m not affiliated with any government agency – it’s all self-taught.”

Her eyes narrowed with fresh scepticism but it was one of the few truths I could offer without compromising myself. I was a self-made killer - unless you took the roundabout view that my life’s circumstances, driven in part by government decision-making, led to me being desperate enough to become an assassin. I disagreed with that view.

I could have just gotten a job at a supermarket if I hated it that much.

Samantha kicked her legs on top of the bed, “Aw. That was my running theory this whole time.”

“Claude is already enough with his inane theories, please do not join him.”