The headmaster had been speaking for twenty-three minutes.
I knew because the clock above him had become the most interesting thing in the room.
Around us, rows of new students sat beneath the vaulted ceiling of the academy's assembly hall. Banners hung between tall windows. Sunlight spilled across polished floors. Somewhere overhead, an enchanted arrangement of silver rings turned slowly around a glowing crystal.
It was magnificent.
The speech was not.
"For seven centuries, this institution has upheld the sacred responsibility of cultivating those entrusted with the gifts of the system."
Entrusted.
Interesting word for something distributed by a countdown that occasionally ended in crushing disappointment.
I thought of Mother, then looked back at the clock.
Twenty-four minutes.
My first day at a magical academy.
And somehow, I was already attending a mandatory briefing.
Headmaster Aldren Vale looked exactly like a man who had spent decades being listened to.
Silver hair. Immaculate robes. Long fingers resting on either side of the lectern.
No enormous beard.
A missed opportunity, in my opinion.
He spoke about tradition.
Then responsibility.
Then the responsibility of maintaining tradition.
I began to suspect the speech had entered a dungeon with repeating corridors.
Beside me, a broad-shouldered boy struggled to keep his eyes open.
Ahead, somebody's stomach growled.
Nobody laughed.
We were all too busy surviving.
"At these gates," Vale continued, "you leave behind the assumption that birth alone determines your worth."
That got my attention.
Around the hall, a few students straightened.
"The system recognizes potential without consulting a family register. It does not ask whether your father commands soldiers or repairs their boots."
Good line.
Probably worked beautifully on academy brochures.
"A farmer's daughter may surpass a count's heir. A merchant's son may become a healer whose name outlives kings. Here, your progress will be measured by discipline, judgment, and achievement."
I liked that.
I also wondered how long it would take somebody to test it.
"Your titles will purchase no marks. Your wealth will excuse no misconduct. Each of you possesses a system. Each of you has earned the opportunity to stand here."
He paused.
Then began explaining the academy's founding charter.
The boy beside me shut his eyes.
A brave man.
By the time we were released, I had learned three important things.
The academy valued equality.
The academy valued tradition.
The academy desperately needed a shorter speech.
Students spilled into the entrance court, blinking at the daylight. Senior pupils waited beside colored banners to guide us toward our assigned buildings.
Milo was supposed to meet me near the east passage after finishing his own orientation.
I spotted him beneath an archway with my document satchel across his chest.
He waved.
I started toward him.
Then a book hit the paving stones.
Not dropped.
Knocked.
There was a difference.
A thin boy in a slightly oversized uniform stood beside a stone bench. His belongings lay scattered around his shoes: two books, a folded timetable, a wooden pen case.
Three other boys faced him.
The one in the middle had carefully arranged blond hair and the expression of someone discovering that the universe had failed to provide enough applause.
"You can pick that up," he said.
The thin boy looked at the books.
Then back at him.
"You knocked it out of my hand."
Oh, buddy.
Correct.
Dangerously correct.
I slowed.
The blond boy stepped closer.
"You walked into me."
"I stopped."
"After."
One of his companions snickered.
The thin boy's jaw tightened, but his hands stayed at his sides.
That was what caught me.
He wasn't meek.
He was calculating.
How much trouble could he afford?
What would happen if he pushed back?
I'd seen that expression before.
Usually on people who had already learned the rules were applied differently depending on who was bleeding.
Behind me, Milo went quiet.
The blond boy noticed the pen case.
He set his shoe on it.
"Apologize."
I glanced toward the assembly hall.
The headmaster was probably still inside receiving compliments about his beautiful speech.
That had to be some kind of record.
Equality had survived approximately forty paces.
"Hey," I said.
The blond boy looked over.
I approached at an ordinary walking pace.
No dramatic mana flare.
No rifle.
Tempting, but Veronica's voice occupied a permanent room in my skull now.
Use this before the launcher.
"Your foot," I said.
He looked down.
Then at me.
"This doesn't concern you."
"Not yet. Move your foot and we can keep it that way."
The boy's companions stopped smiling.
Good.
The situation had become less entertaining once somebody interrupted the performance.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
There it was.
An absolute classic.
I almost thanked him.
"No," I said pleasantly. "We should fix that. Darien Lewis."
I offered my hand.
He stared at it.
Then at my face.
"Cedric Voss."
"Nice to meet you, Cedric."
"My father is Viscount Voss."
"Excellent. Mine's Duke Lewis."
Silence.
Beautiful, complicated silence.
Cedric's eyes flicked toward Milo.
The satchel.
The household crest worked discreetly into its clasp.
Back to me.
"Oh."
"Yeah," I said. "That one."
His foot moved.
I crouched, picked up the pen case, and checked the hinge.
Still intact.
Good.
I handed it to the common boy, then collected one of the books.
Cedric swallowed.
"I didn't realize—"
"That I was a duke's son?"
He said nothing.
I gave him the book to hold.
He accepted it automatically.
Wonderful.
"Here's the awkward bit," I continued. "If we're doing the academy thing, he gets to collect his books without being bothered."
I nodded toward the thin boy.
"And if we're doing the family-rank thing, my father outranks yours by a fairly comfortable margin."
Cedric's ears turned pink.
"So either way," I said, taking the book back and passing it to its owner, "this seems like a good place to stop."
"I wasn't trying to insult your house."
"I know. We only just met."
One of his companions looked away.
Possibly hiding a smile.
Cedric noticed.
I softened my voice before humiliation could turn into something stupider.
"Look, long morning. Everybody's tired. Pick up the timetable, apologize, and we all go find out where they keep lunch."
He hesitated.
I waited.
No threats.
No audience invitation.
Just enough room for him to choose something sensible.
Finally, he bent down.
"Sorry," Cedric said.
The word seemed to scrape on the way out.
The common boy accepted his timetable.
"Thank you."
Cedric looked at me.
I nodded once.
"All right. See you around."
He left with his companions.
Walking.
Not fleeing.
That mattered.
People who could leave with a little dignity were less likely to return carrying a larger problem.
At least, that was the theory.
I watched until they disappeared beneath another arch.
Then the common boy exhaled.
"I could have handled that."
"Probably."
He looked surprised.
"I wasn't planning to hit him."
"Excellent. Paperwork's terrible."
His mouth twitched.
I offered my hand again.
"Dare."
"Tomas Reed."
We shook.
His grip was firm.
"Was that true?" he asked.
"Which part?"
"About your father."
"Unfortunately. Makes sneaking out surprisingly complicated."
He laughed.
Just once.
Enough.
We walked toward the placement boards together.
Tomas's mother repaired clothing in a market town south of Crownstead. His system concerned barriers.
He told me the second part cautiously.
Like he expected disappointment.
"That sounds useful," I said.
"It's not very powerful yet."
"Neither was my handwriting. Still isn't. Apparently, they're admitting me anyway."
He glanced at Milo.
"And he's—?"
"Milo. He's with me."
Milo gave a small nod.
Tomas returned it without changing his expression.
I appreciated that.
At the boards, we discovered Tomas and I shared introductory mana theory.
Excellent.
A familiar face that hadn't opened negotiations by standing on somebody's belongings.
Already exceeding expectations.
The rest of the day passed in schedules, introductions, and increasingly specific instructions about where magic was forbidden.
Most places, apparently.
Our mana-theory instructor began by writing CONTROL BEFORE OUTPUT across the board.
Veronica would have loved her.
Our academic adviser explained attendance requirements.
A senior student showed us the dining hall, infirmary, library entrance, and three different routes to the first-year dormitories.
I remembered two.
Milo remembered all three.
Disturbingly useful child.
We collected my room key before supper.
Small room. Desk. Bed. Wardrobe.
No canopy.
I would try to remain brave.
Milo's accommodation was in the supervised attendants' wing nearby. We checked it together before eating.
Afterward, he left for his evening lesson.
I sat at my desk and finally let myself grin.
That had been thrilling.
Not Cedric frightening somebody.
That part had been pathetic.
But stepping in?
The introduction?
The precise moment his expression changed when he heard my name?
Oh, that was the good stuff.
That was exactly the sort of scene a Fantasarian imagined while lying awake at night.
New academy.
Arrogant noble.
Unexpected intervention.
A potential friend with an underestimated skill.
I leaned back in my chair.
"I love being the protagonist."
There.
Said it.
No point pretending otherwise.
But Tomas hadn't known he was participating in my fantasy.
Neither had Milo.
For them, it had simply been another moment when someone stronger decided what happened next.
That thought took a little shine off my grin.
Not all of it.
Just enough.
Tomorrow, I would still enjoy my magical school.
I would still investigate the library, improve my skills, and appreciate the occasional deeply satisfying dramatic entrance.
But if I was going to love being the protagonist, I could at least make sure the people standing beside me enjoyed their chapters too.