CHAPTER 2
Obsession
One morning, Guy was shaken from his slumber.
“Guy—hey, wake up. Guy!” The voice was drawn out, but urgent.
Rubbing his eyes, Guy looked up to find his roommate, Yonatan Jelinek, acting rather upset. They’d lived together for three years now, since day one. They’d built a cordial relationship—not as close as the Sword Roses, but the pair got along fine.
“…Mm? Is it that time?”
“Not really. Just, like, your plant? It’s weird.”
Yonatan pointed at the window. Guy had a number of plants in pots growing there, but one was set well away from the others, surrounded by an elaborate magic diagram. The trunk was dark blue, the branches winding and wriggly—and the bloodred fruit dangling from the end of one branch made this all much more ominous than any standard plant.
“…It’s bearing fruit already? That was fast.”
“So we’re good? It’s not gonna, like, reach out for us?”
“…As long as you don’t try anything funny, it’ll be fine. I’m the one feeding it blood.”
Guy heaved himself out of bed and grabbed his athame from the table. He nicked the tip of his finger and held it over the pot. Blood dripped into the pot and was swallowed by the soil, then ripples ran up the creepy plant like it was celebrating.
Guy snorted. This might have been scary to look at, but he was an old hand with dangerous magiflora, and it posed little threat. He was more bothered by how he’d come to possess this particular specimen in the first place—it was all thanks to an encounter from the year before he would not soon forget.
A number of successes in cultivating endangered species had spread the word among Guy Greenwood’s year of his talent for magical botany. But not many students were aware of his second-best subject.
“Are your hearts quite ready?” a raspy voice inquired. “You’ll all be taking one step closer to becoming curse wranglers.”
The curse instructor, Baldia Muwezicamili. Her classes ordinarily took place indoors, but today they were gathered in an outdoor training space. Those used to Kimberly classes could guess why—and the row of animals lined up behind Baldia proved their theory.
“Classes thus far have focused on how to handle curses. What curse energy is, and how it is transmitted. But that much is simply standard-issue mage curriculum. You know that, yes?” she asked. “What separates a curse wrangler from other mages is quite simple: Can they turn the curse energy inside themselves into power? Thus far, when cursed, you’ve only considered how to free yourself from it. From this point on, we shall do the opposite. We’ll be looking at how to befriend it!”
With that, Baldia waved a wand. The beasts all filed into the practice space, with one stopping before each student.
Guy took a good look at the magical beast in front of him. It was something like a goat, but its breathing was ragged, its eyes cloudy and bloodshot, its milk-white pelt stained by a sinister moiré. At a glance, you could tell it was infected with a curse.
“I’m sure you can tell—Vana provided these drowsy goats, and they’re quite cursed. Each of you is going to slaughter one, and receive the curse energy from that. For now, if you can pacify that energy within you, you pass. Individual aptitude varies wildly, early on. I’ll give an easy extra assignment to those who handle it well.”
The specifics of their task made Guy’s friends frown.
“…Glad Katie chose not to attend.”
“Yes, she could never have managed this.”
“I am hardly eager, either. I must convince myself ’tis for my betterment.”
Oliver, Chela, and Nanao were disturbed, but able to function. They knew that working with curses required a considerable degree of self-control. That was true even for Guy, who had a knack for this. All eyes drifted to the last of their number; Pete looked rather pale, aware this was not his strong suit.
“Everyone ready?” Baldia asked. “It’s fine if you make them suffer, but that will make it harder to control the curse energy. For today, I recommend making it quick. Oh, don’t worry; I’ll take all the curse energy from you at the end. Okay? You may begin.”
Guy was already moving even as she gave the sign. He drew his white wand and aimed it right at the drowsy goat’s head. He’d done this sort of thing back home and knew just what spell to picture.
“…Impediendum!”
He put solid force behind it. The spell hit the goat’s skull, and the animal toppled over dead. His spell had paralyzed the brain itself, providing a painless demise.
Baldia grinned at him. “You’re so nice! Is that how your family does it?”
“I was taught how not long after I got my wand.” Guy sighed. “My folks are big on causing no suffering for the lives you take.”
His friends nodded, and handled their goats in the same way. As Guy watched them, something hazy began to ooze out of the corpse at his feet.
“…Here goes…”
Steeling himself, he awaited the curse energy. A beat later, he felt the uncanny pain of it flowing into him and did his best not to reject it. He quickly finished up as his friends began tackling their own challenges, each focused on getting the energy under control.
“…Urgh…!”
Pete’s knees buckled, the curse too much for him. Guy quickly stepped over, gripping his friend’s shoulders firmly.
“Relax, Pete. Don’t try and do anything to it. Just keep your mind intact and focus on feeling it.”
“…Ah, ahh…”
Through the hands on Pete’s shoulders, he felt Pete’s temperature stabilize. The boy was taking Guy’s advice and facing the curse energy within him. The other three got theirs under control as well, looking relieved.
Feeling much the same way, Guy turned to Baldia.
“Mind if I keep the corpse, Instructor? I’d feel better if I could dress and eat it. Nanao, you in? You’d rather eat your kills, right?”
“That I would!” she cried, throwing a hand up.
Guy grinned and looked back at Baldia. “See? Oh, and about that extra assignment…”
“…Heh-heh, but of course.”
Baldia readily gave permission, neither rebuking nor scoffing at her students’ peculiarities—just watching it all with adoration.
“How are you faring, Guy?”
After class, Guy had split off from the others, carrying the drowsy goat corpses down the hall alone. These words hit his back as the crowd thinned around him. Hardly one to mistake that raspy voice, he turned, aware that it was his curse instructor addressing him.
“Well enough. What’s up, Instructor Baldia? I’m not about to slack off in your class, I promise.”
“Eh-heh-heh-heh, I know that! You’re a remarkable talent. Have been since day one!”
His carefree attitude made her chuckle. That baby face peeking out of her sinister frame—Guy was getting used to it. Once upon a time, if she’d gotten this close to him, the residual curse energy would have made him puke. Now he merely had to brace himself, and he could hold out long enough for some chitchat.
“There are many types of wranglers, but generous, patient types are generally suited for this line of work. Those same qualities give you the capacity to put up with the curses you take in.”
“That’s nice to hear, but…flattery will get you nowhere.”
“A breezy retort like that is reward enough! So few people manage to talk to me like that.”
She sounded forlorn, and Guy was at a loss for how to respond. Realizing as much, she pressed on.
“Much as I’d love to stop and talk to you all day, dear, I don’t want to be a bother. Let me get to the point. Things are changing. It’s unclear if I’ll be at Kimberly next year.”
“…Oh yeah?”
“Can’t say more, so don’t ask. Just be aware there’s a chance I’ll be away for a year. And if that happens—while I’m gone, Instructor David will make you his!”
Her lips twisted with envy, then curled into a grin.
“So I’m doling out a little favoritism ahead of time. Your hand, if you would?”
Gulping, Guy did as he was told. A white hand extended from that black robe, and pinched fingers dropped something tiny into his palm. Guy frowned at it; those hard botanical fibers were unmistakable.
“…A seed…?”
“I want to show you the real thrill of curses, so I’m loaning you a tiny fraction of my own. Heh-heh…I put it in a plant, so that you might handle it more easily.”
“And what do I do with it?”
“Cultivate it in soil mixed with your blood. It should bear fruit in a month; harvest that, and keep it in your pocket. I suspect it’ll serve you well in a pinch.”
When Guy said nothing, Baldia began pacing around him.
“You’re looking for a shortcut to strength, aren’t you? Curses can do that more than magiflora ever will. After all, this is a field only ever meant to do harm.”
“…But I ain’t planning on—”
“I know! It’s not what you want. Once you’ve been cursed, it’ll affect how you deal with people and plants. But you can work around that once you get better at it. And you haven’t yet experienced the power you gain in return for all those inconveniences. I think it won’t hurt to make up your mind once you’ve had a taste.”
Guy could feel his resistance to the idea fading with each word she said. Kimberly faculty were prone to get right to the point, but Baldia never hesitated to lay a foundation first. She’d spent years plying him just for this one opportunity at recruitment.
“Why not give it a shot? Your little circle doesn’t have any curse wranglers. If you learn the craft, it’ll help all of you. Let you be there to take the curse if someone you care about is afflicted.”
“…”
“Heh-heh. Don’t worry, it’s just a loaner. I’ll scoop it right back up when I return to Kimberly, and even if something happens to me, it’s mild enough that other teachers can manage it. There’s no way you’ll end up permanently cursed. I do hope you’ll trust me that much.”
She batted her eyelashes at him, and he was forced to concede the point. From the very first class, he’d maintained the same stance: He wasn’t about to take a dim view of her based on her field of expertise alone. This was fundamental to Guy’s gregarious personality.
When he slipped the seed into his pocket, Baldia grinned.
“You’ve accepted! Then that’s all I have to say. Except…you’re rather pent-up.”
“…? Meaning?”
“That phrase has only one meaning. Still…simple abstinence wouldn’t get you this bad. You’ve got someone you’re physically close to, but who you can’t touch?”
Baldia tapped her chin with one finger, cocking her head to one side. Guy was baffled, but a few seconds later he worked out the implication, and turned red. Baldia seemed to find that adorable.
“Such a shame! If you were a full-fledged wrangler, I could help you out. Few things feel better than sharing curses while you copulate. Like you’re in a pit of mud, dissolving into it together.”
“…Too much information! Leave me out of this conversation.”
“Eh-heh-heh. You’ll be an upperclassman soon enough, and I’ll be treating you accordingly. Still, let me be clear—I don’t do this for just anyone.”
Baldia took a big step closer. Guy stiffened up, and she sniffed him.
“You always smell like sunshine. I love that. I imagine quite a few people here do. I envy the one you let in.”
“…”
Guy had no response to that.
On some level, he’d been self-aware. Each new year only added to the darkness at Kimberly, and his disposition made him stand out. It was the same reason that Katie came to Guy for comfort, and Oliver let himself relax in Guy’s company.
“But if you sink into this same darkness, I could love you even more. Remember that, Guy.”
With that last comment, Baldia spun around. Guy watched her tiny frame scuttle off down the hall. As befit someone in her field, that final remark was itself a curse.
“…Goddamn. I know how dangerous she is, but I can’t bring myself to hate her.”
Guy scratched his head, remembering how lonely she’d looked. Yonatan had been peering over his shoulder, but now he lay back down in bed.
“Lot on your mind, Guy? You have got to find a way to vent.”
“I ain’t pent-up!”
“Don’t get mad at me. I’m still sleepy—wake me on your way out.”
With that, Yonatan pulled the covers over his head. As the room fell silent, Guy turned his eyes back to the plant, which writhed with the curse it harbored, and sighed.
Morning classes were over, and the Sword Roses were kicking back in the Forum. To Guy, this was a reminder they were fourth-years now. The Fellowship was full of fresh-faced new kids and boisterous underclassmen, while the upper forms’ dining hall was far more subdued. It was no less bloodthirsty, though; all occupants here had long since perfected that “ready to draw wands at any time” stance.
“Guy, take a look at this!”
Guy had been working his way through a galette when someone flung their arms around him from behind. Katie had maintained her cheery disposition into the upper forms, but her growing chest was definitely getting harder to ignore, and Guy squirmed a bit. Oblivious to this, she placed an open book before him.
“…Mmkay, what am I looking at?” he asked.
“Here—this claim’s way different from the last book. Sounds like the concentration of magic particles isn’t the sole deciding factor for branching evolutions. I’ve got a hunch that—”
“What’s going on?”
Another friend had arrived late, and their eyes met. Katie hastily peeled herself off Guy.
“Ack, Oliver! N-n-nothing! Just got caught up in this book!”
“Yeah? I thought I could help.”
“I’m good! Want to think on this myself.”
Katie pivoted as best as she could and scrambled off. She no longer hesitated to cuddle with Guy, but when Oliver was around, shame still got the better of her. Feeling rather relieved, Guy snorted—and Oliver shot him a worried look.
“…Guy? You aren’t looking so hot.”
“Man, I’m fine, okay? I’m rock-solid, you know that.”
Unable to withstand that look, Guy scrambled to his feet and quickly left the Forum, well aware he was off his game that day. The plant bearing fruit had dug up memories of Baldia, and his mind had been scattered all morning long, distracting him enough that he couldn’t even maintain his cool around his friends.
Best to put his mind on other things. To that end, he hit up the library, but as he reached for a book, his hand overlapped with another’s. Surprised, he turned to find Rita Appleton standing there. She was a year below him.
“…Ah…”
“…Yo, Rita. Here to read?”
“Y-yes. Magical botany class has us analyzing a species from the second layer.”
“Ah. Don’t let me stop ya.”
He let her have the book and headed for a different shelf.
Rita hesitated, then called after him. “Er, um…!”
“Mm?”
“C-could you join me? I actually have several questions…!”
“? Uh, sure. That works; I needed a change of pace.”
Guy nodded readily, turning back to her. Rita’s cheeks were slightly flushed, but her smile was genuine.
If she had questions, it was best they go somewhere suitable for chatting. With that in mind, they hauled related readings to the nearest lounge, settled down there, and began discussing Rita’s assignment. Guy had been through the same thing himself a year before, so the answers came readily, and he’d cleared up her concerns inside twenty minutes. Rita looked relieved.
“Thank you. I have a far better understanding now,” she said.
“Cool.” Guy nodded. “Easy to forget after a while at Kimberly, but there’s nowhere else quite like the labyrinth. Same plants don’t grow that way on the surface. That’s something we’ve always gotta take into account in our papers.”
A trap he’d fallen into himself. Rita glanced at his profile and smiled.
“…I’m glad you’re doing okay. Maybe I was imagining it, but you looked awfully worn-out earlier.”
“If even you’ve noticed, then it’s definitely catching up with me.”
“…If there’s something on your mind, I’m happy to listen.”
Rita balled her hands up on her knees, leaning in.
“It ain’t that bad,” Guy insisted, eyes on the rafters. “Just thinking on what’s best for my buds. How’s your group doing? Dean and Teresa still going at it?”
“W-we’re doing just fine. Sounds like Teresa really enjoyed that trip. She told me all about your house.”
“Ha-ha, good to know,” Guy said, brightening up. “Tell her she’s welcome over anytime.”
Sensing a hidden pain beneath that cheeriness, Rita pursed her lips. She always paid him a lot of attention and had a good idea of just what was undermining his usual disposition.
“…This is about Ms. Aalto…right? She’s been occupying your mind…”
“…Well, no use arguing the point. She’s the biggest risk we’ve got.”
Guy nodded, figuring he wasn’t wriggling out of that one. But that didn’t mean he was inclined to grumble about it to a junior. When he said nothing else, Rita felt her frustrations swirling.
Why wouldn’t he talk to her? Was she not worth trusting? She wouldn’t tell a soul. She’d always looked up to him, and hated how little she could do to help.
She couldn’t exactly admit that. She swallowed the words, but something else spilled out. Feelings she’d kept bottled up right alongside her crush on him.
“…She’s…she’s so…underhanded.”
“Huh?”
“…Everyone knows she’s got a thing for Mr. Horn. Yet, she’s all over you. Like she’s using you as an outlet because she knows she can’t have him.”
The dark fury in her voice made Guy’s eyes widen. Rita caught herself and put a hand to her lips. Realizing just what she’d said, she turned pale.
“S-sorry, I didn’t…”
“Uh, Rita…”
“……! I—I gotta go.”
Rita bolted out of her chair and fled the room, leaving Guy staring after her.
“…What is going on today?”
“You’re a heartbreaker, Guy.”
A familiar voice. Guy flinched and spun around to find a short-statured boy behind him, with a hefty tome under one arm.
“…Pete…”
“Don’t give me that. You are where you are. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.”
Letting that stand as his excuse, Pete glanced around, and several curious gazes were swiftly withdrawn. Rita had been too emotional to put up a soundproof barrier, and everyone had heard how their interaction had played out. Guy clutched his forehead, and Pete stepped in close.
“Look,” he told Guy, “I’ve been keeping an eye on you myself. You’re giving Katie a bit too much. Even if it’s what you want.”
“Oh, come on…I can’t exactly turn her away. Not in her condition.”
“No. I wouldn’t want you doing that. You’re the only one in any shape to deal with her—I couldn’t do the same if I tried.”
Pete was quite firm on this. He then caught Guy’s eye.
“But it’s gotta go both ways, Guy. You’ve gotta want her. Why aren’t you making the moves? You’re not her dad.”
“…No…I just don’t see her like—”
“Then who else is there? You gonna go with Ms. Appleton instead? Seems like she’d be up for it.”
“Hey!”
Dropping Rita’s name here definitely got under Guy’s skin, and he grabbed Pete’s shoulder roughly. Pete didn’t budge. With unclouded eyes, he looked right up at Guy, his tone harsh.
“…Katie’s going to you for comfort. But who’s comforting you, Guy?”
“ !”
Pete had spelled out an issue Guy had no response to. Guy’s grip loosened, and Pete shook him off, straightening his robes.
“Katie’s your best bet,” Pete said with a sigh. “Keeps it in the group. That’s all I’m trying to say. If I’m being totally honest, I don’t want you getting that close to anyone else, even Ms. Appleton. That would probably rattle Katie even more. It’d be one thing if you were the kinda guy who could hook up with someone on the sly, but…”
“…Perish the thought.”
Guy threw up his hands and sank back into his chair.
“Sorry.” Pete flashed a smile. “Don’t let it eat you up. I’m not trying to torment you here!”
He stepped closer.
“Tell you what—if you don’t have it in you to go to Katie…” He cupped Guy’s cheek and whispered in the bewildered boy’s ear. “I could take care of you. Keeps it in our circle, so that works for me.”
“Huh?”
This invitation made Guy stiffen up. Pete backed off before Guy could recover.
“Lemme know if you’re interested. I’ll need time to get myself ready. Can’t have you just jumping me out of the blue!”
“Y-yo—!”
Guy’s protests went unheard; Pete was already out the door. He’d dropped a whole new mess on a brain that was already overheated. Guy was left scratching his head with both hands.
Meanwhile, in the student council room, the Watch members were meeting, their leader and lineup having been renewed.
“That everyone? Let’s do this thing.”
At the head of the table was a small-statured seventh-year, Tim Linton, who had overcome the odds to succeed Godfrey as student body president. Kimberly had never had strict uniform standards, so his frilly girl’s outfit was now becoming a recognizable trademark. If anything seemed off here, it was less the boy’s wardrobe than the boy himself being quite unused to command.
“Before anything else, I have a question,” said a sixth-year to Tim’s right. “Does anyone have the first clue what’s going on at Kimberly? Any big-picture views, however hazy?”
This was Percival Whalley, aide to the new president. He’d been the opposition candidate in the election itself, but Tim had gone, “That dude’s useful,” and in a strange twist of fate, he’d wound up joining the new council. It was not hard to imagine how conflicted he’d been about the invite, but he’d accepted on the spot.
“No one, right? I thought not,” said a seventh-year girl, her face planted on the table across from Tim. She sighed. “I’m certainly clueless. I thought I had a good read on who’d come, but the great sage blew my mind. I’ve got enough on my plate with all these debts.”
Vera Miligan needed no introduction. She’d aided the Watch since Godfrey’s reign and had been a key figure in the election; her spot here had been guaranteed. And that had been a major reason why Whalley had also been made an aide.
“How do we control her?”
“I ain’t up to it.”
“Fuck it—let’s just get some hardheaded nag and let them deal with her.”
That was the gist of how things had gone, and Whalley himself had agreed to the position on the condition that they never let Miligan control any finances.
“Before we let our imaginations run wild, let’s review the facts,” said a fourth-year—Richard Andrews, now the secretary. He began writing in the air with his wand. “Instructors Darius, Enrico, and Demitrio—three disappearances in as many years. Instructors Vanessa and Baldia sent away—three new teachers brought in to replace them, including the great sage Rod Farquois.”
With one eye on the future, the Watch had seen the need to bring in a capable fourth-year, and had spoken to a number of combat league stars, but ultimately only one had agreed to join them. Officially he’d backed the opposition, so, as with Whalley, Tim’s council was taking a flexible approach to appointments.
“Counting Instructor Ted, that’s four new hires,” Richard told the group. “He and two of the new ones all have long-standing ties to Kimberly; they’re no surprise. The great sage alone sticks out like a sore thumb. For obvious reasons.”
“There’s a few students we’d have liked to have joined us to discuss these concerns—but I’m guessing that didn’t work out, Mr. Andrews,” said Whalley.
Richard shook his head. “I spoke to both Ms. McFarlane and Mr. Albright, but they refused for the same reason. They’ve heard nothing from home, and even if they had, they could not share.”
“To be expected,” Miligan said, pursing her lips. “Ms. McFarlane just got slugged by Instructor Theodore during the league, and Mr. Albright’s father is the current head of the Five Rods. Neither scion can afford to share what they know—and likely weren’t given the information in the first place.”
“Fine.” Tim folded his arms. “What we don’t know, we dunno. Understanding that much is good enough. What we gotta do is clear as a bell. Prevent pointless student deaths, plain and simple.”
“But to do that effectively, I’d like a firm grasp on the situation,” Whalley growled. “Still, I agree that speculating on speculation is futile. We’ll just have to base our approach on the limited information available.”
“Then if we have a consensus, let us move ahead with these labyrinth entrance restrictions. These are less a difference of opinion than a simple emergency measure. Nobody wants to leave the underclassmen exposed in this political environment. If we don’t act, the school itself may well do so.”
“I won’t argue with the gist of what you’re saying, but we should expect opposition from the students themselves,” Whalley said. “A complete ban is hardly reasonable—even requiring an upper forms monitor would meet fierce resistance. I’d recommend requiring that they move in numbers, and issuing labyrinth entrance passes based on individual skill. Naturally, that would extend to the layer they’re permitted to access.”
He scribbled down these concrete terms in the air, and Richard pondered them, chin in hand.
“Given the escalating difficulty of rescuing anyone stranded deeper in, that’s a good place to draw the line. But Kimberly students instinctively seek to exploit rules like these. We’re going to need solid checkpoints at each labyrinth entrance, and between layers. Watching the campus paintings and mirrors is one thing, but do we have the capacity to permanently staff anything within the labyrinth itself?”
“I considered it, but it’s not that out of the question,” Miligan offered. “Regardless, we don’t exactly need checkpoints on the fourth layer or below, do we? No use worrying about anyone willing to go that deep. If we’re just staffing the entrances to the second and third layers, it’s not too different from the patrols we already do. And the restrictions on entering will simplify the rest of what we have to do.”
A rather positive take given her relationship to Whalley—it could have been interpreted as self-control. Sadly, it could equally have been mistaken for indifference. Whalley had clearly given up on distinguishing between them.
“If we only consider student safety, that’s likely the case. But what if we’re also attempting to look into the current situation? There’s a lot we could stand to learn by knowing just which students are delving deep.”
“Are students suspects now, Percival?” Tim said, looking him right in the eye and intentionally using his first name.
This sudden intensity caught Whalley off guard, but he didn’t let it show. “We shouldn’t rule out the possibility. Even if we doubt they’re the primary culprit in the teacher slayings, I think it’s more than likely that there are accomplices among the student body.”
“Fair enough,” Miligan said, resting her other cheek on the table. “But Mr. Whalley—our lovely president is speaking of whether we should allow our suspicions to show.”
That earned her a grunt from Whalley, and Tim nodded, snorting.
“…The whole school’s buzzing about infighting among the faculty. Ain’t smart to go planting seeds that’ll make the students suspect each other.”
“…Convincing,” said Whalley. “But that concern is no reason to abandon efforts to discover the truth. Doing so would leave us on the ropes just as the mood here grows far more desperate than it ever was in your predecessor’s day.”
“Right with you there. And steps’ll be taken, just not with us in the lead.”
With that, Tim took an envelope out of his pocket and laid it on the table. All eyes converged on the sender’s name.
“…A letter from Instructor Ted?” Whalley asked.
“A request to cooperate with campus safety,” Tim explained. “When a teacher asks that of us, we gotta go along with it.”
He waved his wand, opening the envelope, then opened the letter in midair.
“He’s got Instructor Hedges and that librarian, Liikanen, in the mix. Not one word about this being run past the headmistress, so feel free to speculate on the implications of that, but they’re all on the trustworthy end of this school’s faculty.”
“…Interesting. So we’re playing along?”
“It’s gonna be teachers digging into stuff. We’re just reluctantly following their lead. Which means…we’re required to share a little information.”
Tim grinned, and everyone caught his drift. He had no intention of playing defense; he was fully prepared to use the teachers’ actions to their benefit.
No one argued that point. This was how a Kimberly student ought to be. Taking everyone’s silence as agreement, Miligan at last righted herself.
“Then we have a plan,” she announced. “Gentlemen—let the new Watch begin.”
The next morning found Oliver and Pete headed into school, things still tense between them.
“ ”
“………”
Neither was saying much. Neither was particularly chatty at the best of times, but a silence this sullen had not happened since their first few weeks here. The fact that they weren’t actually fighting made it worse. Oliver would have loved to urge more caution vis-à-vis Farquois, but was painfully aware nothing he said would make a difference.
“…Gotta check on something, so this is me. See you in the dorm tonight.”
“Y-yeah.”
Just as they were about to part without another word, Pete tossed something back Oliver’s way.
“Take this with you,” he said. “You’re slacking. I’d have made it way smaller.”
“……!”
Oliver stared grimly down at his palm. He’d slipped this tiny golem into Pete’s robes in their dorm room and had set it to return if it detected anything amiss—but that did him no good now that Pete had discovered it. Pete himself showed no signs of anger; he just stalked away.
“…Get a grip,” Oliver muttered, forcing himself to take a deep breath.
“There you are!”
A cheery voice broke through Oliver’s frustration and startled him. He swung around to find a familiar cross-dressing youth glaring up at him.
“…President Linton?” he asked.
Tim grabbed his hand, pulled him into a nearby classroom, and rattled off a spell to close the doors. Then he prowled the room, checking every nook and cranny, only pausing when he was satisfied.
“Doors, good. Crowds, nada. Siddown,” Tim demanded.
“? O-okay…”
Not sure what this meant, Oliver took a seat. Tim came over to him, and without pausing for a second, laid his head down on Oliver’s lap, stretching his legs out along the bench like it was a makeshift bed. Oliver gaped down at him, and Tim let the strength drain from his body, exhaling.
“…Whew, I tell ya, it ain’t easy balancing ‘cute’ with ‘gravitas.’ Keeping the reins on Miligan and Whalley’s bad enough, and now I got teachers in the mix? I gotta steer this ship through these rough seas? Puh-leeze.”
At last, this spew of grumbling clued Oliver in. Wincing a bit, he played the part of a human pillow and gave Tim a gentle smile.
“…Hang in there,” Oliver said. “I know you’ve got what it takes.”
“Oh, like you ain’t involved! You know how much easier this would be if you’d joined up? At least Andrews stepped in. He’s a’ight.”
“Again, I apologize. I was relieved when Richard agreed to join. I guarantee he’s a man of character,” Oliver offered, half-sorry, half-trusting.
Tim closed his eyes and snorted. “No gripes there. Nobody’s slacking off; it’s my job to keep the kooks in line. Still, that leaves the question—who’s gonna comfort me?”
Tim’s voice shook slightly, and he rolled over, throwing his arms around Oliver’s waist and nuzzling his belly. Far more intimate than Oliver had anticipated, but considering how stressful succeeding Godfrey must’ve been, he could sympathize. Mindful of his senior’s burdens, he gently stroked Tim’s blond hair.
“…What do you think Godfrey’s up to now…?” Tim asked.
“I’m sure he’s fine. Ms. Ingwe’s with him, right?”
“She is, just… I keep wondering if they’re all over him. I miss him so much! I miss his face, his voice—his hands on my head.”
Everything he couldn’t say in front of other people came spilling out. Oliver realized everyone Tim had been able to open up to had graduated—and this role had now fallen to Oliver himself. He considered that an honor. Makeshift though the role might have been, their time together during the elections and in the Kingdom of the Dead had earned him that trust.
“…Don’t worry,” said Tim. “I’ll keep you all safe. I ain’t budging on that!”
“…I know you will. From the bottom of my heart.”
And so Oliver spoke his mind. Tim peeled his face off Oliver’s belly, lying back again and studying his expression.
“…I don’t like it.”
“Mm?”
“Your gloomy mug. Not good enough for you? I’m, like, cuteness manifest, and you can’t just be happy to cuddle?”
Oliver’s hand went to his face, probing his own expression. He didn’t think he looked distraught, but Tim had seen through it. Part of Oliver was glad for that, while part of him was disappointed in his own vulnerability.
“I can guess what’s on your mind,” Tim added. “It’s about Reston, right?”
“…Yeah,” Oliver admitted. No use hiding things here. “He’s very interested in contact with Instructor Farquois, and I’m far less sure about it.”
Tim reached up and clamped his hands around Oliver’s face. “You’re finally sharing! Why didn’t you come to me? That’s what the Watch is for!”
“…Oh…”
“Pfft. Listen, we’ll keep an eye on him. At least, we can provide eyes around campus that’ll cover for when you ain’t around. Unless you’d prefer I hurl poison directly at that Farquois fucker?”
Strong words, and an unwavering gaze. A kindness that echoed through Oliver, but which also elicited guilt. Oliver’s own hidden actions had played a major role in destabilizing Kimberly, and it pained him to pretend he was merely an innocent student.
Still, that was not something he could ever share. Tim couldn’t see the roots of the conflict—only the gloom that lingered on Oliver’s face. That made Tim want to help all the more.
“Still can’t get a smile outta you… Goddamn, you are a handful.”
“Hmm?”
Frustrated, Tim put his hands around Oliver’s neck, pulling Oliver’s head down and himself up. Oliver felt lips upon his cheek. The pliant warmth stunned him—and Tim soon pulled away, hopping off Oliver’s lap and standing before him.
“L-let me be very clear! I ain’t cheating! It’s just, uh, charity! I’m taking pity on a hopelessly dour junior! Showing mercy!”
Blushing furiously, pointing wildly, Tim soon tore himself free of Oliver’s wide-eyed gaze.
With his back turned, Tim muttered, “I’ll be back soon enough. You’d better get that mug of yours a li’l less moody.”
“…Right…”
Oliver managed a stiff nod. Tim unsealed the doors and sailed on out—and for a long time, Oliver just stared after him.
If Farquois was on the Watch’s radar, that effectively meant they were being monitored everywhere on campus. Not just by council members, but by any students who were cooperating with the council. It would not be easy for the sage to avoid all those gazes up here.
“…Hmm…”
Conscious of that attention, Farquois folded their arms, pondering the matter as they strode down the corridor. Too relaxed to be called guarded, they wore a much subtler expression, like they had something stuck in their teeth. It was hard to tell if there was even an expression to discern.
“…Mm, something’s nagging at me,” Farquois muttered.
Several students in the area tensed—everyone the Watch had asked to keep an eye on Farquois. Not one let it show on their faces, but the great sage saw through it anyway; they flashed a half smile.
“Oh, no, not you. You’re all free to play at following me around as much as you like. Though I’d much prefer you just come to talk to me!”
Ignoring the ripples this caused, Farquois spun around. Their eyes on the bend a good twenty yards off, the great sage drew their white wand, pointing it in that direction.
“Someone else bothering is me—and I think you’re standing there?”
“…!”
The moment the great sage focused on her, the covert operative lurking around the corner—Teresa Carste—gulped. She’d been monitoring the sage for reasons quite unlike the Watch’s, and had not expected them to spot her. Very few people had ever pulled that off at this distance, and they were all exceptions who were on Garland’s level.
She had to make a snap decision. If they’d detected her while she was standing still, then if she tried to move now—she’d be outed entirely. Yet, if she remained still, they might well approach her location—leading to the same outcome. A mere twenty yards lay between them. It was unclear if she could shake the sage off at this range while moving at her top speed, but despite the risk, it might well be her only option.
Teresa was about to take those odds when a small orange thing wafted past her.
Farquois spotted it before Teresa could respond. A vaguely humanoid shape floating in the air, looking their way. The great sage’s eyes widened.
“…Ah, might that be…?”
“Something wrong, Instructor Farquois?”
A big man rounded the same bend: Cyrus Rivermoore, now hired as part of Kimberly’s extended faculty but still dressing like an evil priest. Farquois looked delighted.
“Mr. Rivermoore! I thought something odd was following me, but it was your astra? That explains it.”
“Sorry. It’s still very young—not quite trained.”
“Sorryyyyyy!”
Ufa, the world’s one and only astral life, was shifting shapes in the air between them, spinning.
“Always a fascinating sight,” Farquois said, stroking their chin. “You’re an interesting fellow yourself—fancy a longer chat sometime?”
“Certainly. An invitation from the great sage is an honor.”
Rivermoore bowed respectfully. Farquois smiled and spun around, slipping through the frozen crowd. When they were out of sight, Rivermoore muttered to the shadows behind him.
“…Thank Ufa for that one, tiny meat.”
“…I’m not meat, I’m Teresa. I didn’t ask, and I’m not that tiny.”
A narrow escape. Teresa let herself relax, just barely managing to talk trash in return. Having Rivermoore spot her was hardly ideal, but he already knew of her covert skills. And this was a thousand times better than having Farquois directly perceive her. On campus, in public—the great sage could not have taken drastic measures, but even in light of that, this moment could have gone very poorly for her.
“Teresa! Plaaay! Plaaaaay!”
Oblivious to Teresa’s state of mind, Ufa was wrapping itself around her arm. For once, she could not work up the energy to shake it off and just watched it innocently cajole her.
“Not sure what you were trying,” Rivermoore warned, “but you’d best keep your distance. You’re no match for them.”
“…”
Teresa could hardly argue that point, much to her chagrin. Leaving her there, Rivermoore took a few steps in the other direction while calling over his shoulder, “And you’d better hurry.”
“Mm?”
“Curse class is next, right? Don’t be late for any class I’m helping with.”
“Doooon’t! Doooon’t!” Ufa parroted.
Ufa was hurrying her along, reminding Teresa that she was a student and that the man before her was one of her instructors. She hesitated, but after what had happened, she could hardly ignore them. Scowling, she moved to follow Rivermoore.
With three new teachers, the students could not devote all their attention to Farquois alone. Marcel Oger was filling in for Vanessa in magical biology, and was the recipient of some especially desperate looks. At Kimberly, Vanessa was equated with the word tyrant—the urge to take the measure of her successor was less curiosity and more survival instinct.
“Ha, ha-ha…that’s how to handle a hibernating amber insect. Y-you all have good instincts! The less I have to teach, the better. Ha-ha…”
The result: Their stress proved unnecessary. His distinctively low-key energy kept the class moving smoothly, and things came to an end with no limbs sent flying and no classmate’s organs on display. Everyone looked rather nonplussed. Marcel smiled feebly as they filed out of the outdoor practice space.
Katie herself seemed rather puzzled. “I was wondering what he’d be like…”
“He is far more reasonable than Instructor Vanessa. So far, at least.”
Chela spoke for everyone, but magical biology class had long been a battleground for Katie, and she was not yet ready to relax. She took a step toward the instructor, away from her friends, and then turned back to them.
“I’m gonna go chat a bit. Go on ahead… Guy, you okay there?”
“…Yeah,” Guy said, raising a hand. That did nothing to convince the group; he still looked pretty downcast. Granted, if he wasn’t sharing what was on his mind, he must want to be left alone for the time being.
That bothered Katie, but she chose to tackle the teacher first.
Watching her go, Chela said, “You are not okay, Guy. You look almost as gloomy as Instructor Marcel.”
“…Hate to admit it, but…it’s all catching up to me.”
“I won’t pry, but if it’s too much, then the sooner you come to us, the better.”
With that, she moved on, catching up to Pete, who’d gone ahead. She gave Pete a searching look.
“I take it this is your fault, Pete?” she asked.
“You’ve got keen eyes.”
“I’m sure you had your reasons. What did you say?”
“Nudged him to make a move on Katie. Can’t stand to see him in this state.”
Pete shrugged it off, but Chela’s frown deepened. Sensing the unspoken reproach, Pete shot her a glare.
“Don’t try and stop me. We agreed we’d both make our moves this year.”
“…That we did, but if you go too far, I will say something.”
“Go right ahead. I don’t have time to toe the line.”
With that, he turned his eyes to the fore.
“I’m not visiting the base tonight. That should tell you everything.”
“ !”
It did. Chela knew her friend was about to take a big step toward their mutual goal.
For Oliver’s efforts, he could not monitor every inch of campus. He did his best to broaden that range, but there was little payoff—all the day earned him was fatigue.
After dinner, he left the building, walking with Nanao toward the dorms, in the light of the setting sun. They’d considered heading to the base, but Pete had said he wasn’t going, so Oliver had chosen to go to the dorms instead. He did not want to leave Pete to his own devices right now. He knew this was hardly rational thinking, but it felt as if one false move would mean he’d lose his friend forever.
Nanao was well aware of this concern. Matching his pace, she spoke, hoping to share even a little of his burden.
“…You were downcast the whole day long, Oliver.”
“…I’m not trying to worry anyone. Just…there’s a lot on my mind.”
“I am aware. Pete’s affairs concern us all. I have kept my eyes peeled and am fully prepared to put him in a headlock if I spot a rash act forthcoming. Katie, Guy, and Chela are likely poised to do the same.”
“Yeah, you’re right. This isn’t something I need to handle alone. But Guy’s got issues of his own right now— Ah, damn, I’m going in circles again. Here you are, trying to help, and I’m a mess.”
He gritted his teeth, kicking himself mentally. Nanao reached out despite herself, pulling him close.
“…Nanao.”
“…Knowing your pain, I am loath to part as such.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. Accepting her embrace, Oliver dithered for a moment, then drew her into the trees that lined the path. He put his hands to her cheeks and gave her a lengthy kiss. Regretting the concern he’d caused, yet glad to receive it, and acting upon the love it engendered.
“…Let me off with that for now,” she told him. “We shall spend tomorrow in the base, so let us talk further then.”
“…I’ll hold you to that.”
Lingering disquiet left her lips pursed, but Nanao returned the kiss. His approach may have been clumsy, but she understood his intent, much to Oliver’s relief. He gave her one last hug, and they reluctantly parted, each heading to their own dorm.
Through the door, up the stairs, outside the door to his room. Oliver took a deep breath, then turned the knob.
“…I’m back, Pete. Are you still—?”
But the sight he beheld made the words die on his lips.
The pale glow of crystal lamps lit Pete’s upper body, clad only in a bra. The roommate he saw every day—in a garment he had never worn before. A skirt.
“…What? Close the door,” Pete barked.
“………R-right.”
Snapping out of it, but not at all hiding how rattled he was, Oliver shut the door behind him. Before he was able to pull his brain free of the confusion, Pete pulled on a blouse, checked the fit of it in the mirror, and turned back to face Oliver.
“You came at the right time. I was hoping to get your opinion. What do you make of this?”
“…Well, um…I think it looks…good…?”
“How can you tell with your eyes averted? Look at me.”
Oliver’s gaze swam. He couldn’t look directly at his roommate. Pete reached out and cupped Oliver’s face, forcing the point. Now he had to look. A modest outfit, yet one that had clearly been chosen carefully.
“I thought…you were reluctant to wear girl’s clothes.”
“To a degree, but the reluctance was never all that strong. I mostly didn’t want to be Katie’s dress-up doll.” Pete put a hand on his hip with an elegant smile. “Well? I may not be as gaudy as President Linton, but you actually prefer the subdued look. I’ve noticed you offer more praise for the neat and tidy than the formal or the casual.”
“…I’m not denying that, but…”
“This is my best shot at hitting that sweet spot. And you catch my drift, right? I’m wearing this for you.”
That took Oliver’s breath away. He had noticed. What Pete had on was all too specific to Oliver’s tastes. A feat that would have been impossible unless every detail had been considered twice over. Pete must have spent ages analyzing Oliver’s preferences, considered any number of combinations to reach his goal, and arrived at this ensemble after a great deal of trial and error.
That was why Oliver couldn’t bring himself to look at Pete. If he did, he’d be forced to grasp his friend’s full intent.
Oliver froze, saying nothing—which was what Pete wanted.
Pete took a step closer. “You’ve got to see it to appraise it. Look close. Come on.”
“……!”
“Why so reluctant? Go on, touch me anywhere. Like with the healing you always do.”
Allowing himself a bit of snark, Pete took Oliver’s hand and pulled it to his chest. Oliver’s shoulders quivered. Pete was very much in his female body, and Oliver was acutely conscious of the swell of the breast beneath his palm—along with the heart racing beneath it.
“Oliver, I haven’t told you this…but I’m planning on making some big changes this year.”
“…Like what…?”
“I’m gonna be more like a mage. I’ve got the knowledge and strength to fend for myself, and I’ve adapted to this reversi thing. No more reason for me to keep my head down.”
He slid his hand up Oliver’s side, gently caressing him. Oliver’s response to this stimulation sent a burst of ecstasy through Pete’s mind, but did not dull his thoughts. He still needed those. This was a negotiation.
“And I’m a fourth-year now,” Pete went on. “From ordinary blood, the first mage of my name—and soon enough, I’ll have to consider propagating that line. Do I marry into an existing family, or start my own clan? Either way, if I’m inexperienced…I’ll struggle.”
Oliver’s body shook; he sensed the heart of the matter approaching. Pete closed the gap between their faces, and he smiled sweetly, inches from his friend’s eyes and nose.
“ !”
“I’m not asking for your seed. I’m asking you to help me practice. Oliver, we’ve been together for three years. We know each other. If I have to pick someone, I’d rather it be you.”
He’d made his request. And then, Oliver’s mind pulled forth a memory.
Guy’s home had been the grand finale of their return voyage, but they’d stopped at Pete’s birthplace on the way. A decent-size property on the edge of a midsize town, one glance made it clear this belonged to a wealthy ordinary.
Pete knocked, then flung the door open.
“It’s me, Dad. Been a while.”
The interior was spotless but dimly lit, with only a few pairs of shoes waiting at the side of the broad entrance. Few signs of life compared to the scale of the building itself. They waited…and in time, the owner appeared.
“…Oh. You really did bring friends.”
A man in his prime, in a well-tailored suit, was descending the stairs. Slightly slimmer than average, and his facial features bore little resemblance to his son’s; only the prickly set to his eyes suggested any relation. When he reached the entrance, his gaze shifted to the friends behind Pete, and he made a florid bow.
“Howard Reston. For you to join my son on his visit here is a tremendous honor. Would that I could offer you an appropriate reception—but I am neither royalty nor nobility, merely an ordinary man. No matter how strenuous my efforts, I could not possibly hope to entertain mages in the manner to which you are accustomed. On that point, I must offer my humblest apologies.”
Courteous, but very distant. Pete’s friends exchanged glances. Mindful of who they were visiting, they’d left Marco at the inn, and Teresa had chosen to keep him company. Since they’d written ahead and received acknowledgment, these arrangements could hardly be considered rude. With that in mind, Oliver spoke.
“Oliver Horn, Kimberly fourth-year. We’re visiting to learn where our close friend was born and raised. We require no excessive hospitality. We’d prefer to put aside divisions between ordinaries and mages, and have you treat us as your son’s friends.”
“My, my. I find your generosity most touching.”
Howard’s voice betrayed no added warmth, and Oliver repressed a sigh. He’d been attempting to lighten the mood, but had clearly made no progress. Perhaps he was simply the wrong person for the role. With that same thought, Katie made an attempt.
“Er, um! We brought gifts! These are very popular in Lantshire. Give them a try; they’re really neat! With some tea—”
“I couldn’t possibly. Your kind offer is most appreciated, but please, share them among yourselves. I fear a gift that extravagant would be lost upon the ordinary palate of a man like me.”
Howard cut her off, leaving Katie hanging, the parcel in her hands. By her side, Guy furrowed his brow. Oliver felt the same way, but kept it from showing.
Oliver had couched it as respect for mages, but refusing to accept a visitor’s gift was inarguably rude. As was forcing them to stand at the door without having invited them in. They were forced to admit this was not nerves nor indifference, but an active rejection of those standing before him.
That was the end of their friendly overtures. Before anyone could make further attempts, Pete stepped forward, fuming.
“Quite the welcome. Can’t believe you’ve got that many empty platitudes in you.”
“Wait, Pete—”
“Sorry, Oliver, but I’m done. I can’t stand another second of this.”
Pete was quite clear on that. Understanding where he was coming from, Oliver said nothing more. They’d received different receptions at Katie’s and Chela’s homes, but had been welcome at each. They knew Pete had enjoyed his time at both. But here, at his own home, his father would not even let them in the door. To him, that must have been an unpardonable insult.
“Just say it. The son you despise became what you hate most and brought more of his kind back with him. You must be livid. You want to send us packing, but you wouldn’t dare to take that tone with mages. So you’re hoping we’ll get fed up and go. Am I right?”
Pete wasn’t holding back, and for the first time, Howard’s face betrayed several emotions: irritation, bitterness, and loathing.
“Is that your goal?” Howard snarled. “To embarrass me in front of your friends?”
“Sorry, but I don’t have the time for that. I’m here to sever our connection. I will not grace this doorstep again. Per the rules of the magical world, I’ll be keeping the name alone, but the Reston clan of mages will be unrelated to your family. I wanted to make that point clear.”
His writ of severance was fueled by fury, years of pent-up feelings spilling out.
Howard sighed dramatically. “Years away, and that’s all you have to say to me. I never expected anything, but clearly Kimberly does not teach manners.” He narrowed his eyes. “Sever whatever connections you please. I never wanted a son like you, reduced to some foul creature who doesn’t even know if it is a man or a woman.”
“Wha—?” Katie gasped.
“Yo, take that back!” Guy spat.
This was an insult far beyond what Pete’s friends could bear. Katie gaped, and Guy was ready to take a swing at him. Pete weakly raised a hand, waving them down, his hollow laughter echoing.
“This body unnerves you? It would. That’s the sort of man you are. You cannot abide anything with even the slightest hint of magic. Even if it is your own son.”
His voice shook as he assessed his father’s character. Howard’s face contorted, that hostile look replaced with blind rage.
“Very true. You should never have been born! If I’d known you’d be a mage, I’d never have allowed it!”
A total rejection of Pete’s very existence. The last shred of tolerance vanished from Chela’s eyes. Katie, Guy, and Nanao each took a step forward, as if to seal Howard’s lips. Even Oliver forgot to hold his friends back. But all that was swept away.
“It’s not like I wanted Mom to die!”
Every ounce of air in Pete’s lungs forced out that cry. Large tears spilled from his eyes, and he clenched his fists till the knuckles turned white. He was shaking with emotions he could no longer control.
That stopped his friends. The sight of this forcibly diverted their emotions. This was no time for anger. Would silencing this ordinary man make Pete happy? Would throwing down with him solve anything? Would violence heal their friend’s wounded heart?
It would not. In that case, they merely needed to take him away. Remove their beloved friend from anything that hurt him.
A glance for consensus, and then they acted as one.
“Come, Oliver,” said Chela. “Clearly, we do not belong here.”
“Indeed!”
Chela pulled Pete under her wing and turned him around. Nanao strode beside them like a knight on guard duty. Katie and Guy ran ahead and kicked the door out of their way. Oliver took up the rear, following his friends.
He glanced back. “We’ll be going, Howard. Apologies for the confusion—it seems we were at the wrong house.”
Speaking for them all, he left the space behind that door dripping with sarcasm. No response was forthcoming—the man was not even looking their way. The former father of a friend had never once truly faced them.
They went straight back to the inn where Marco and Teresa were waiting, packed up their things, checked out, and headed for the nearest port on the loop waterway. Their tickets were for a later departure, but no one argued against switching their reservation to an earlier one. None of them wanted to keep Pete here a second longer.
“…I’ve settled down. Sorry for dragging you all along for that,” said Pete.
He was on Chela’s lap, with her arms around him—and his voice sounded a bit raspy. Like on the trip here, they had the whole ship reserved, and had been taking turns holding Pete tight. Teresa figured it would be hard for him to vent with her around, so she had taken Marco for a walk on deck.
Their cabin was now a makeshift hideout, and seeing Pete in Chela’s embrace made Oliver very glad they’d instituted a free-hug rule. No one here would have hesitated to comfort a friend.
“None of us mind, Pete,” Chela said, cupping his cheeks. “You warned us in advance this would hardly be fun. We tagged along well aware of that.”
She was a prolific hugger at the best of times, but today Oliver felt like every gesture she made carried a maternal warmth. Perhaps she was consciously evoking that, feeling as if that was what Pete needed most after that harrowing visit home.
“…I appreciate it, but you don’t have to hold back. Please, tell me how you really feel. I want to know. It’ll help me move on.”
The others exchanged glances. They hadn’t expected Pete to say that and had intended to keep their thoughts to themselves, but could hardly deny the request. Guy took a deep breath, going first. It was very like him to be deliberately insensitive when needed.
“…Right. Damn, what an asshole. Even if there’s bad blood between you, there’s a line you plain shouldn’t cross. Especially with your own kid! Harassing you about something you were born with…”
This set Katie off, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I know! Does he not know what fathers are?! That was totally unacceptable! He doesn’t see Pete—our friend—for years, and all he can do is hurl vile insults? If he’d been a mage, I would’ve given him a good slap!”
Nanao pulled her close, rubbing her back. Katie was always the most empathetic of the group, and they’d known it would hit her hard. Nanao made sure to ease her sadness.
“…You have a kind soul, Katie. You are furious enough for the both of us.”
“…Wahhhhhh!”
This proved to be the last straw, and Katie buried her face in Nanao’s chest. Still rubbing her back, Nanao added, “…A very sad sort of man. The doors of his heart are shut so tight he no longer knows how to open them.”
Nanao had felt anger, too—but not just that.
“I’m aware,” said Pete. “And he lacks a baseline understanding of the whole reversi thing.” He nodded, sniffing. “I gave him a brief rundown in my letter, and if he’d asked the town mage, he could easily have figured out the rest. But I knew he wouldn’t bother. He keeps his distance from anything remotely uncanny, anything he can’t understand. That’s how he’s lived his whole life.”
Oliver considered this description of his friend’s father. It felt accurate, but hardly complete. A failure to comprehend reversi alone could not explain such harsh rejection. Choosing his words with an eye on Pete’s state of mind, he voiced that question.
“…Ordinaries who hate all things magic are not exactly unusual. Typical mage attitudes actively encourage such backlash. But—your father seems to coming from a different place. I sensed a much deeper hatred for our kind behind his actions.”
Even that brief interaction had made that clear. Eyes closed, Pete nodded again.
“I’m to blame for that. We yelled about it there—my mother died giving birth to me. I’m told she was never particularly robust…”
A sad story, and all eyes were downcast. Chela’s grip on him tightened. The tragedy he spoke of implied more than the literal meaning of the words—bearing a baby with a magic factor took a huge toll on any ordinary woman. Studies showed a clear discrepancy between mage and ordinary babies, and giving birth was hardly easy at the best of times. It wasn’t at all unusual for the process to weaken ordinary mothers to their deaths. This was a tragedy often unavoidable even with a mage present for the birth—and like in Pete’s case, it was all too common for the newborn mage alone to survive.
“If I’d lacked the aptitude, perhaps my mother would have lived. In his mind, I killed her. Ha-ha, worst of all, I can’t say he’s wrong.”
“But he is.”
“Totally wrong.”
“Completely.”
Nanao, Guy, and Katie all spoke as one, and their encouragement got a smile from Pete.
“That’s nice, but…he hated magic to begin with, and it’s a fact that her death made him double down on it. I can’t remember him ever picking me up. I was raised by a nurse he hired. She wasn’t a bad person or anything, but…”
As his mind drifted back, the emotion drained from his voice.
“The clearest memory I’ve got, I was out for a walk with my dad. The neighbors all knew I was born with the aptitude. When they saw me, they’d act jealous, flatter me—the worst of them even took a knee. And the look on his face…anger, grief, loathing, all plastered over with the thinnest of smiles. Like it was all he could do not to strangle them on the spot. Every time I s-saw that, I—”
“Enough. That’s enough, Pete.”
His memories were a curse, and he was acting like it was his duty to relay them. All his friends made to stop him, but Chela got there first, hugging him like she was trying to pull him back from the brink. Her grip was almost painful now, and that love pulled him out, reminded him where he was, and provoked a sigh of relief. He was no longer a part of that.
“Sorry—no use digging up the past. I’ll be okay. I feel better now. I’ve severed all connections to that house.”
He reached up, brushing Chela’s cheek gratefully. Then he slowly rose from her lap, standing on his own two feet again. He rolled his shoulders, as if setting down a burden, then turned to his friends. The tear tracks still visible on his cheeks, he mustered all the cheer he could: a most fragile smile.
“I’ve got no home to return to. I’ll have to make my own. Won’t that be nice?” he said. “I mean, I can choose. For the first time, I get to be with who I want.”
Oliver knew all that. He knew Pete’s desires had always lain there.
“…Please…think this through, Pete.”
Oliver’s voice shook pleadingly; he was unable to do anything else. No matter how hard he thought, he could find no arguments that would convince his friend.
Because Pete wasn’t wrong. What he desired was such a small thing. A loving family, nothing more. A warmth so many people were granted at birth, without ever needing to wish for it. Oliver had lost his, but it had once been there. But not for Pete. He was making up for that deprivation—and how could that be a bad thing? Who in the world could blame him for this yearning?
“I have thought this through,” Pete insisted. “I could stand here counting your eyelashes, and my feelings still wouldn’t change. I promise I’m not forcing you. If you’re dead set against it, just refuse.”
Oliver felt like each word Pete spoke was building a wall, one without a crack or a gap to be found in it. There was already no escaping, but Pete was not yet done shoring it up.
“But if you do refuse, I’ll have to go to someone else. That won’t be hard. Plenty of students are interested in reversi blood. I can pick one at random, invite them to bed, and make love to whichever of them proves most compatible.”
Oliver was screaming on the inside. He could not let that happen. That was how mages lived. Like with Ophelia Salvadori, that was a life that whittled away your humanity.
Maintaining multiple partners at once was not the problem in and of itself. Oliver’s own mother had done that. What Oliver objected to was reducing oneself to a means to an end, including the value of reversi blood. Pete absolutely did not want the life he’d outlined. He was merely offering it as a practical solution. One that would force him to adapt his own nature to that practicality. Unaware of what the consequences might be, he would warp his true self irreversibly.
Augh, what a nightmare. That would be just like—like—
“What do you say, Oliver? Will you accept me, or abandon me? It’s a simple choice. Nothing difficult about it.”
True. This had never been a choice at all. Just a nasty dead end.
He didn’t have it in him to reject Pete. The boy was too important.
But neither was Oliver capable of fully being there for Pete. Oliver’s life did not have enough time left in it.
“Don’t give me that look,” said Pete. “I know this is hard for you. I’m not trying to steal you from Nanao. You can keep treasuring her the way you have been, and just come back to me at night. That’s hardly an unusual practice here at Kimberly.”
No. Don’t. Bringing her name into it just makes my head spin that much more.
We haven’t even gotten there yet. I was trapped before that point.
You don’t get it, Pete. In a few short years, the boy you’ve chosen to be your family will no longer be alive.
My end is not far off. The repeated soul merges have left me with far too little time.
I cannot be with you for long. No matter how much you or I may want that.
“I’ll count down from ten. If you refuse, push me away. If you don’t, I’ll take it as consent. Ready? Ten…nine…”
The countdown began. Even as his emotions churned, a part of Oliver was far away, listening in. This had no meaning. There was no choice, so granting him more time was simply delaying the fall of the guillotine’s blade.
“…six…five…four…”
Oliver’s mind spun with empty thoughts.
Did I choose the wrong way to relate to you? Should I not have let us get this close? Should we not have let each other care? Should I have kept you at arm’s length, just one of many school peers?
I could never. If I went back in time, I couldn’t even try. After all, Pete—that first day we met, when the anxiety of stepping into this world must have been at its peak…
…you stood by my side and joined the fray.
“…three…two…one………zero.”
The guillotine fell. Pete stepped closer. Unable to move a finger, Oliver found his lips stolen.
He couldn’t even feel it. There was merely heat. His skin knew just how great the emotions behind that kiss were, how powerful the love that lay within his friend was. Oliver had no right to respond. No hope lay here—only immeasurable despair.
They were beyond thought now. Time no longer passed. Oliver didn’t even attempt to breathe.
“…Gah…!”
Time resumed for Pete first. His vision strobing white, he pulled his lips away, drawing ragged breaths and clutching Oliver’s shoulders. It was just as well that he’d reached his limit first, or Oliver would have passed out and crumpled to the floor.
“…Ha, ha-ha… My legs are failing me.”
Pete’s knees knocked together, a surge of joy and guilt swirling within him. If he’d been in his male body, he was certain that kiss alone would have brought him to ejaculation. For the rest of his life, he might never match this pitch of excitement again—a pointed reminder of just how desperately he’d craved this. He had no regrets. If he ever needed to make amends to Nanao, he would gladly cut his belly open, but for now…
“You remember, Oliver? When I was captured by Ophelia, drowning in that bottomless swamp until you came and grabbed my hand?”
“……How could I forget?”
Oliver’s voice was hoarse. There were tears on his cheeks, and Pete reached up to touch them. The warm drops ran down Pete’s wrist and arm, dampening his elbow.
“I feel the same way. In that cold mud, it was your face I thought of. I wanted nothing more than to see you again—and then there you were. Before I knew it, you’d found me, and I was in your arms. Like fairy-tale magic.”
An emotional admission. Too concentrated to be called gratitude, too far gone to be chalked up as mere affection. But Oliver got it. It flowed into him like molten steel, and made its point known. In which case—fine. This might have been an awful thing to do as a person, but that was how mages lived.
“…What do you want me to do to you? I’ll do anything you ask. Anything…,” Pete said, sliding his fingers into Oliver’s shirt, eager to devote himself to bringing this boy pleasure while knowing full well that was a curse.
But it was also love. This might not bring happiness, but he at least wanted to give Oliver ecstasy. Perhaps that would be a balm for the wound Pete had caused.
Pete waited, but got no answer. Oliver’s hand moved, although only to brush the hair from Pete’s brow. Tender, yet forlorn—and it filled the void in Pete’s soul.
“If you won’t speak, then I’ll do what I want,” Pete said. “We’ve shared a room for three whole years now. I can’t wait a moment longer.”
With that, he shifted their embrace, moving that beloved heat to the bed. They’d lain together so many times as Oliver offered Pete healing, but tonight, their bodies would entwine for altogether different purposes.
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