The headmaster's office of any academy would usually be a decent-sized intricate office that almost looks like a study room built to intimidate or comfort depending on the person's viewpoint.
But the headmaster's office in the world of International Requiem Academy, it looked like the UN assembly but filled with staff members and the referees.
At the very center, there were three state-of-the-art desks set up in a triangular formation.
On the left desk sat the secretary of International Requiem Academy, Mireyo Kiyomasa, who had short hair that was blackish purple with low bangs and green eyes, while also maintaining an enigmatic serene composure.
Mireyo before becoming the secretary of the academy, was a serial killer in Japan who was known as the bleeding heart killer known for killing their victims and bleaching their skin, and draining their blood while preserving the heart to use it and the victims limbs into a work of art that has the heart in the center of her masterpiece. She also had academic intimate knowledge in the realms of forensics, psychology, sociology, and anatomy. And despite her attractiveness that makes her look like her mid twenties, she was in fact only fifty-one years old while having a thirty year long serial killer career. And given her influence and circles she was in, it eventually landed her a job as the secretary of International Requiem Academy with only the Vice-Headmaster and the Headmaster knowing her actual nature due to her self-confession.
Then on the right desk across from Mireyo, was Otto Siebert, a sixty-year-old blonde and the former chancellor of the New German Democratic Republic, he was the first chancellor of the 22nd century to reform the entirety of Germany to become the new and refined German Democratic Republic. He had black hair that was in the style of a middle part cut, and had Alice color his iris within his sharp eyes. He was the Vice-Headmaster of the International Requiem Academy.
And finally, the one who sat at the middle desk, a man of the age of seventy, a prodigy of America's own brutal elite private academy known as Saint Columbia's Star Institution in teenage years, after graduating successfully became the world's best leader of the international special operation organization known as the Sentinel, and outstanding sociologist and psychologist and he has never been physically out of his prime even now. He was not only the Headmaster of the International Requiem Academy, but also the Founder and Architect. He currently has a sharp, small black beard and a mustache while having black Ivy League-style hair while wearing small black sunglasses, and holding a cane. He wore an unreadable expression. His name was Stanley Dixon.
And they were surrounded by all of the first-year staff in their corresponding seats, along with the top fifty referees.
Stanley himself was more or so looking at the large screen that displayed all the current two hundred students' faces and profiles.
"So Tomose Minami..." Stanley said in his raspy voice, stroking his beard, not looking away from the screen. "Your request about the particular student of Isaac Mahoka's assessment has been accepted. What would you like to know?"
Tomose, who sat with Lexis and Bolivar, remained composed as the attention went to her and despite her composure, she did develop a cold sweat from the three main heads of the International Requiem Academy due to their auras. "Yes, given the standards of how we assess on the Ranks being correlated with the Class Placement with Rank 1-25 being Class A, 26-50 being Class B, 51-75 being Class C, 76-100 being Class D, 101-125 being Class E, 126-150 being Class F, 151-175 being Class G, and Class H being 176-200. The ranks are considered to be standardized by their psychology and post-human adaptability potential. And Isaac Mahoka out of the other current students portrays a rather dissonance than the rank and class placement suggests given the footage of the flora reading performance and of the dodgeball game, and the biometric wrist band analysis... His post-human adaptability and fluid psychology should put him in the higher ranks of Class B or even Class A so to speak... So why was he placed so low? It most certainly can't be from the academic entrance exam since he was one of the ten individuals who scored a perfect hundred across all fields and it also can't be from him wanting to be a magician... So why?"
"Hm," Lexis hummed with her enigmatic ominous smile. "I've also been wondering that as well."
Stanley didn't speak immediately as he processed Tomose's statement, however, Mireyo spoke as she grabbed a small silver remote and pointed it at the screen to press Isaac Mahoka's profile as it displayed quite a bit about Isaac Mahoka.
"His external early history is interesting don't you all think?" Mireyo calmly spoke, not answering Tomose's question.
It was Class A's physical education teacher, Ezra Knight, a former British special operative, he had grey hair and a black eye patch. "It mentions that he was born in Japan in an predominantly Anglo-Japanese private family but then his mother and father were divorced to which Isaac Mahoka and his mother moved to Europe which his mother's side of the family were vastly diverse in Romance Europe and at the age of eleven he and two others walked in to see his mother crucified on a wall in a living room. But I don't see—"
Bautista Abarca, the Class B home room teacher, interrupted his one available eye looking at the screen intensely. "And yet... look at the biometric analysis of Isaac Mahoka."
During the biometric wrist band blood taking analysis, they also analyze any genetic or medical conditions, and also their ethnic background.
They all looked.
"He had two rare genetic conditions which is Mosaicism, which explains the two tone half hair of black and white. And the second one being Oculocutaneous Albinism Type 1B," Otto murmured. "And his ethnicity palette chart contradicts the Anglo-Sino ethnicity given that the actual chart shows he is 15% Pan European Latin and 85% Pre-Arabian Egyptian. The ethnic dissonance is staggering."
It was true, given that he looked pale and looked like a Greek statue or a handsome roman that stepped out of a painting, but looking closely at Isaac's nasal aperture and orbital morphology. It was strikingly like that of the Ancient Egyptians.
Though Isaac's facial structure remains that close to Classical Romance European given his mother's lineage.
Though the other 85% on the other hand... Came from Isaac's father.
Another thing worth mentioning is that this would mean that Isaac's apparent past on the public surface of living in Japan until the age of six and having an 'other' mother was completely fabricated.
Though the 'other' mother itself was not a literal person, but in fact a symbolic representation of the Moonlight Society.
"Intriguing..." Class C's homeroom teacher, Chica Zenaida, a former mercenary leader with dark skin, with dark brunette and blonde mix hair into an afro dreadlocks with blue eyes murmured. "It also says on the biometric analysis that he withstood three high levels of voltage and almost reached the fourth level which would cause instant death."
"And he was as composed externally and internally and his heart beat remained the same." Bolivar added, which made the existence of Isaac Mahoka even more interesting.
Lexis looking at the profile of Isaac Mahoka found something. "Well now that's interesting, look at that birth certificate, the apparent orphanage he came from, that looks incredibly new and despite its origins and the school records that orphanage provided looks entirely new."
"There is another discrepancy in it regarding the murder of his mother by the Azrael Killer," Otto spoke once more. "Despite his detailed testimony of Isaac's mother, Moon Mahoka's murder. There was no body or any residue that suggested a murder had taken place. And another thing worth mentioning is that the only thing that proves the existence of Moon Mahoka is a birth certificate that looks as new as Isaac Mahoka's birth certificate. Which I determined to be at least five years old. And the orphanage that Isaac is apparently from is coincidentally owned by the Azrael Killer, and is also the founder of the European Vanguard Association..."
"You also forgot to add that two other particular students at this academy were close to Isaac Mahoka and also have the same birth certificate problem," The number one referee and former assassin, Lewis Moore, he had black hair that was parted to the side and had black matte eyes, spoke flatly. "Lucico Dimensi from Class D and Isidora Claire from Class B also came from the orphanage. And the three do not have any photographic images of themselves prior to the age of ten. The discrepancy doesn't seem to be a coincidence... it feels intentional."
And once more, it would mean that the supposed coincidence of Isidora and Lucico joining the academy for the well-being of Isaac Mahoka was not a coincidence but planned by Isaac himself after all.
Intentional yes... Stanley thought to himself, keeping silent till the end. But for what purpose...
"I assume we have all come to the conclusion, no?" Mireyo voiced, silencing the room. "That Isaac Mahoka has fabricated a documented past that was able to establish himself that he legally exists."
Levant Britton, Class A's homeroom teacher spoke. "Would that also extend to his age as well...?"
"Of course not Levant, the biometric analysis on Isaac Mahoka confirms that he is genuinely fifteen. It is just that his actual past is hidden." Noka Suzumi, the 002 Referee spoke loudly with her grin, she had pink hair tied in two long ponytails, and had red eyes with a black metal patch on her left eye and a small frame similar to Marie's.
Noka was part of the special forces group of the Japan Ground Self-Defense Force, who was exceptionally skilled in swords and close-range combat and the speed enough to travel from Japan to France in a matter of three minutes. And was also a former detective that worked on the Bleeding Heart Case, which in itself was ironic given who the Secretary of the school is.
And she was one of the two interviewers who interviewed Isaac Mahoka.
Stanley spoke again. "Noka Suzumi, one of Isaac Mahoka's interviewers," He then turned to look at the secondary referee who also helped Noka.
The other referee, who was 004, his name is Thomas Wellington, he had a soldier's build and was dark-skinned with short black hair and a black beard, and had brown eyes. He was in the United States Marines.
"And Thomas Wellington," Stanley continued. "If you two don't mind, can you answer Tomose's inquiry?"
Despite his asking, only Otto and Mireyo had an educated guess on what Stanley may know or have deduced.
"Well considering the interview lasted six hours due to how hard he was to profile, even at the end we don't have a concrete profile on him due to how unreadable he was despite his expression reaching his eyes with a profound warmth. We have already considered him a psychological anomaly. And his consistency on how he spoke of his principles of magic. We at the end decided to place him in Class H and Rank 200." Thomas said.
"But there has to be more than that right?" Tomose persisted in her calm demeanor.
"Oh, there is," Noka grinned madly. "At the end, he was placed in Class H because we asked him which Class he wanted to be placed in, and during the interview, the only available classes left were Class A, Class B, Class D, and Class H. And he chose Class H. How humble he is."
It was silent, the referee and the three heads on their part remained composed and calm, along with the majority of the staff that was here in the meeting.
"You what?!" Seraphina, Class D's homeroom teacher erupted from her seat. "You... You can't do that! That exposes the school's mechanism before the actual enrollment begins!"
Lexi on her part laughed. "Seraphina, Noka only said she gave him options to pick a class, she didn't mention anything about the ranks or any of the school systems. And besides, it's not against the rules, right?"
Otto nodded. "That is true, while unprecedented, it is not in violation of any guidelines."
Tomose was stunned on her part. "So... he purposely handicapped himself..." the cognitive dissonance was staggering.
"Yes," Stanley confirmed. "Now getting part of Isaac Mahoka's background. We will be extracting Francois Osiris, and will be recruiting him as a referee to keep an eye on Isaac Mahoka from a distance."
The statement Stanley himself gave caused a lot of reactions.
Yusei Masafumi, Class E's homeroom teacher, was wearing a black overcoat, a beige blazer, black turtleneck, beige pants, and black dress shoes. And he was a former politician in Japan who founded the Kotetsu Taiyo Domei, a party that endorsed Japanese Supremacy and the restoration of the absolute monarch. Though he was considered treason under the Japanese government constitution for planning a violent revolution against the Japanese government, though during his evasion of the Japanese government. The International Requiem Academy offered him a position and he accepted it.
Yusei cleared his throat. "With all due respect Mr. Dixon, bringing in Francois out of anyone will cause a risk."
"The irony is quite amusing from someone who was planning a violent revolution to rebirth the Japanese Empire," Mireyo drawled, still maintaining her demeanor.
"Except Francois was the founder and leader of the European Vanguard Association that held control over all of Europe and Eurasia indirectly, making him one of the most dangerous individuals on the planet." Yusei countered, unfazed by Mireyo's statement.
Many amongst them agreed with Yusei's statement.
"Yusei makes a valid point," Varshini Hityasha, who was a former director of the National Security Guard of India, and now Class E's physical education instructor, said. "And we already have the official roster of all the referees, we have no need to add more to the list."
"Not necessarily," Lavera Vasilieva spoke, who is referee 003, and was a clairvoyant special operative for Spetsnaz, she had dark blue and brown hair that was long, and had blue eyes, and was one of the youngest referees in the International Requiem Academy. "The main heads of the International Requiem Academy along with 001 Referee can make the decision of recruiting more referees freely as they choose; while the top 49 referees' can make suggestions, but the other 40,000 referees are for lower internal affairs of the International Requiem Academy, which only 300 Referee's reside in the main location, and for the other referees are at the 56 foreign locations and 30 islands that the International Requiem Academy owns."
"But are we sure about this decision?" Seraphina asked nervously.
"If it means to keep an anomaly like Isaac Mahoka in check through close observation, yes," Lewis decided. "And if the possibility of what I think Mr. Dixon is thinking is that either Isaac Mahoka around the age of ten through fifteen made a deal with Francois that landed him in Level Zero in the La Sante Prison, most likely getting him pardoned using the European Vanguard Association's influence in return, having Francois fabricate an entire Moon Mahoka murder that establishes Isaac Mahoka a tragic origin which justifies himself to get into an orphanage that is under Francois's name, which would explain how he would be able to fabricate origin documents for himself, Lucico, and Isidora."
It was an absurd premise, but it was within the realms of logic with the date they had on Isaac Mahoka mainly.
An amusing and logical premise, Mireyo thought to herself.
To Mireyo who is a master in the domain of fabrications and curating information, her mind detected Isaac Mahoka's deception in the fabricated documents. I know a man who is able to fabricate enough once you integrate into certain circles so perfectly, and for once I am seeing someone who has intimately mastered it, even on par with me in that field...
An internal widened smile appeared on her face. Though... to even conceal your past prior to the age of ten to the point that not even the International Requiem Academy do not have access to that despite us having access to every human being on earth even the off the grid ones, would mean you would have to come from... somewhere that was considered non-existent... something like...
She didn't have to think of the particular civilization in question, she already knew it was the Moonlight Society.
Only she, Otto, Stanley, to the extent Lewis and the 49 top referees know of them.
And despite the academy's technological resources and advancements they have exceeded the public worlds technological advancements. Compared to the Moonlight societies makes the academy look primitive and would make extraterrestrials weep. Which means the Moonlight Society has likely already hacked their technology or will begin to.
The reason they won't say the name of the Moonlight Society is that even saying the name would put you on their watchlist.
or having a picture, drawing, or even an icon of the heads or even possessing their names would be a death sentence instantly.
"Then it's settled," Stanley said, tapping his cane. "We will settle an appointment with the warden in a month, and we'll send Referee 040, Pavlina Casimiro, and Referee 025, Shoji Kurotori; to be the ones to retrieve Francois Osiris."
_________
"It appears we have made it to the library of doom!" Lucico dramatically said, had his arms spread out while looking theatrically in despair.
We made it to the entrance of the library where we would have to say our goodbyes to Isidora and Lucico.
"Is he always like that, Isaac?" Zisel murmured to me.
"Yes, though he might look like a professional jester, I can vouch that his jokes are as good as a comedian from the Bronx," I said loudly enough for all of us to hear.
There were a lot of laughs at my playful jab towards Lucico.
"I must say my dear Isaac~" Lucico sang my name. "That you are my greatest critique and my greatest enemy in the realms of theatricology!"
"Did you... just make up a new word?" Arabella asked, looking bewildered.
Isidora sighed, rubbing her temple. "Unfortunately, he is."
She then grabbed Lucico's ear. "Ow ow ow ow!" Lucico yelped as Isidora pulled him away.
"We will leave you all at peace," Isidora announced, she then turned to look at me. "Lucico and I will see you later."
I nodded as we waved them goodbye.
They're always good company, no matter what one expects, since they'll always cheer someone up.
"You have a weird friend group, Isaac," Marie commented flatly. "A jester, a nun, and a magician. It's the trinity of chaos that appears to be a setup for a bad joke."
"A trinity of authentic theatrics," I correct. "Besides, they are good people once you get past Lucico's wrath of terrible jokes."
"You seem comfortable with them enough to talk trash about them," Camila purred.
"I would say being honest rather than talking trash, since we all criticize each other here and there."
It was true, true friends tend to be honest with each other, even if it deflates their ego, since a true friend never lies.
Jun clapped her hands to get our attention. "Let's head in to the library since according to the group chat about everyone but Aurelian and Milicia—"
"Actually Mr. Falk has been right behind me this whole time," I moved out the way to show that Mr. Falk has been right behind me as he did a lazy wave.
"What the— since when?!" Areli jumped, startled by Mr. Falk's sudden presence.
"I've been following this whole time since we began walking to the library." Mr. Falk yawned.
"That's... very disturbing," Camila commented to which Mr. Falk ignored her.
Jun walked to Aurelian and had an expression that expressed multiple emotions at once which were anticipation, hopefulness, concern, caution, fear, determination, joy, analytical, and nervous.
Going by the reason why she is expressing those emotions simultaneously, it could be to wonder if the person who traumatized her during gym period, Milicia, is coming.
"Aurelian..." Jun started, speaking warmly. "Did you see Milicia coming as well? Since you must have noticed her behind us all as well right?"
"I did, though she will catch up soon, considering that the only thing slowing her down was her mumbling about sexual fantasies about Isaac."
The possibility of sexual assault from Milicia is now a guaranteed inevitability, though I did see a flicker of amusement in Mr. Falk's bored expression.
"Oh— oh my!" Jun's face was slightly red from hearing this."
"Look what you did Isaac, you made Jun indirectly flustered after breaking Milicia." Zisel playfully accused me of.
"I would say I merely redirected her malice condescending behavior to me if anything," I corrected.
Camila laughed. "I can't WAIT to see how Milicia would react to you being betrothed. It will be hilarious."
I fear that Milicia would get the beating of her life from Priscilla if Milicia were to attack her, which will happen eventually.
And then Milicia will find a way to nuke the world when facing the despair that I am in an arranged marriage, or just buy me to be her husband...
... and that is a rather scary thought.
"I think it makes sense that Milicia will come," Arabella voiced out, having an innocent puppy expression. "Since wherever Isaac goes, Milicia follows. It's like Milicia developed a sixth sense that is solely for Isaac."
"Now that is just disturbing, and how accurate it is," Areli said.
"It's Milicia." Marie said as if that explained everything. "Ever since she got obsessed with Isaac, her senses increased to be able to find Isaac no matter what. Though, Isaac is her Achilles heel basically..."
It made sense and we entered the library, and the library was as huge as the cafeteria, and many would be bewildered by the sheer size of the library, but since it had been four days.
We all already came to the conclusion that the main International Requiem Academy building is objectively the biggest facility given it is five stories high, though it may look bigger on the outside, but this school is built like an octagon with a mixture of Victorian and postmodern architecture aesthetics.
It did not come to surprise me that the main building alone was ten billion US dollars.
I imagine that the whole main campus itself costs around a hundred trillion.
"Once again, this school never surprises me." Zisel commented as Adrien at a table in the financial book section waved at us with a bunch of chairs there waiting for us to be seated.
They went, but I didn't move.
"Are you coming, Isaac?" She asked, with a soft smile.
I returned the favor. "I am just gonna talk to these two librarians, really quick."
I made my way to the two librarians who were currently sorting out a few books at their desk.
One was a woman with white hair, red eyes, and grey freckles on her white skin.
The other was a man who also had the same features but without the freckles and his hair was a long combed-over style while the woman had a short side-swept style.
And both were wearing black formal outfits that had white outlines and black gloves.
Though, I did recognize them in the world of escapology, which is of course, a magicians greatest field when escaping or pulling off the impossible in inescapable situations.
The Phoselle twins; Ettiene Phoselle and Lumiere Phoselle.
They were famous in France, specifically northern France for all of their escape performances and they were also known as the White Panther Twins, since they were also famous for all of their successful heists that they have done all over Europe, and they were never caught at all.
I also read their fifteen books about escapology and mastery of illusion and social cognition.
They were quite helpful, and their books were like economics treatises like Marx and Proudhon, except it was on illusions, escapism, escapology, and social intelligence.
Seeing them here was surprising but at the same time, expected given the uniqueness of the workers of International Requiem Academy.
Although I am a bit curious on the two invisible gazes I feel from the different sides of the library, one of them has a gaze of curiosity and patience violence, and the other was a malevolent gaze with a predator's patience that I almost thought could be Mr. Kwon despite not meeting him directly, but I don't think someone like him would want to meet me directly, so it is clearly someone else.
Though I shouldn't worry about it for now, the curious one is one I am curious to meet.
"Excuse me," I said gently, getting their attention.
The Phoselle twins turned to look at me with their gentle calm smiles.
"Yes?" Lumiere Phoselle said, in her gentle tone.
I didn't want them to be overwhelmed by my knowledge of them, so I just went with the approach of a curious student who's exploring this library for the first time.
"I was wondering, since it is my first time being here in the academy's library, how are the books shorted if a library's own book is misplaced?"
A question like that was elementary level of course, even a toddler could answer it, but my reasoning wasn't about that, as I framed it as a library owned book not a book personally owned by someone else, or a bookstore-bought book.
I began to think this after seeing Adrien's pinky twitch for the first time back in the locker room when I first noticed.
It was a tell he never had before, since his consistent tell was always playing with his green diamond earrings when he is bored, impatient, and annoyed.
And his other tell when he is nervous, lying, angry, and sad is that he smiles faintly and his eyes drift towards the left when he expresses his silent dissonance.
I noted these ever since orientation.
So a pinky twitch was rather new, and that was not to express arousal or joy.
But one that I distinctly recognize is a rare tell of his conscience and subconscious fighting back against an external influence.
Miss. Phoselle, not seeming confused about the question, answered with grace and patience. "If a library book is displaced we would simply put it back where it belongs."
Mr. Phoselle also spoke that was equally calm. "And if a book that doesn't belong in the library was placed in here, we do not take it until either the owner of that book comes back to get it, or someone brings it here at our desk and we check it and see that it is invalid for us to give it to them and we keep it on our desk till the owner comes back for it."
"I see, and thank you two for this lovely information, and I do apologize for being an inconvenience if I was," I said, bowing slightly.
"It's no problem at all, sir," Miss. Phoselle said, tilting her head. "We always want to help a curious student."
I nodded, but before I left to get to where my class is sitting, I looked at the Phoselle twins. "Oh by the way, love your work." I winked at them with a magician's amusement and admiration.
They blinked and showed genuine surprise not expecting a student knowing them and their escapology works.
I didn't need to go further as I headed to the large table in the economics book area.
And I saw them; Marie, Jun, Areli, Arabella, Camila, Leonid, Adrien, Zisel, Miss. Bosque, Miss. Winchester, Miss. Dolfuss, Mr. Beckham, Mr. Mercado, Mr. Alexandrescu, Mr. Falk, Mr. Fajr, Mr. Shoi, Mr. Moon, Mr. Miroslav, Mr. Faust, Mr. Maximiliano, Mr. Montreal, and Mr. Bombacci.
I decided to sit in between Arabella and Marie.
I looked at the shelf behind me and saw a book on hypnosis called:
Trance-formations: Neurolinguistic Programming and the Structure of Hypnosis
A rather intriguing book in the realms of economics, though money is a form of hypnosis on the primal emotion of greed, though this book doesn't cover it.
I looked forward to the other bookcase containing the other books, which was coincidentally where Adrien sat in front of.
And just within the small space of the bookcases lies a small audio recorder along with a cube-like camera.
Intriguing, and it appears that Class H will be facing more struggles than we anticipated.
"Lord Apollo!" Adrien shouted dramatically, putting his hand out to reach towards me. "Why don't you sit with me!"
"I can think of a few reasons why..." Mr. Montreal shuddered, remembering the incident of what Adrien released on me in the locker room.
"Adrien, I just picked the seat that was nearest to me," I told Adrien. "I do apologize for not sitting with you."
"Isaac, my man, my brother in arms," Mr. Fajr said to me, moving his sunglasses. "You are too nice, you're like a Saint-God, or a Philosopher-King."
Once more my stomach churned, I am not a fan of being viewed like a God or a King, it establishes that I am above people, to which I am not above them, I am just as equal to the audience as they are to the performer.
And I am no saint, my intentions may be kind, but being kind does not always equate to being a saint as most people think.
And I am certainly not nice, being nice implies conditions and transactions, my kindness offers no conditions as my love and kindness cost nothing and is utterly unconditional.
"I believe it's just Isaac showing human decency." Miss. Winchester voiced her opinion, she was sitting next to Leonid, who was slightly blushing and as Miss. Winchester was as well.
Miss. Winchester did a quick glance at me and mouthed very quickly and discreetly: Thank you.
I nodded, knowing it was referring to me getting her with Leonid.
After all, I believe they make a good couple if they take it slow.
The best romantic love is when it is slow.
"Also before we begin this lovely discussion," I said, going into my pocket taking out a pair of earrings that had black chains and had dangling four poker suits with the top through the bottom being hearts, clubs, diamonds, and spades.
I then casually put them on, not feeling the pierce in my earlobe at all as they dangled lovely. "How does it look?" I asked.
It was silent.
"Did you just... casually pierce your ears and put on earrings like it was nothing?" Mr. Bombacci asked.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Quite simply, I forgot to do it all day. So I thought it was the perfect time to do so. Also, I wanted to know everyone's thoughts?"
"They actually look pretty good on you." Miss. Bosque said to me with a thumbs-up.
"Aesthetically speaking~" Adrien chirped. "The black chain helps it stand out~ plus it matches Lord Apollo, so I approve~"
More agreed, while Arabella subtly played with one of the earrings in my ears like a cat playing with a sewing ball.
"Why thank you all."
In a blink, we all saw Milicia sitting next to Adrien. "Sup losers." She said casually as she clocked in my earrings immediately. "Nice earrings, can't wait to pull on them to rip your earlobes in half and eat them."
The table went quiet.
Even Adrien, who had been dramatically reaching toward me, froze mid-gesture.
I simply smiled. "Thank you, Milicia. You have an interesting imagination."
"I do try," she replied, settling into her seat as if she hadn't just threatened to consume parts of my anatomy.
It was Mr. Beckham who broke the silence first. He leaned forward, his expression caught between horror and genuine confusion. "Milicia... why would you say something like that? That's... that's not normal. Even for you."
Milicia shrugged, completely unbothered. "I like his earlobes. They look soft. I want them."
"That's not an explanation," Mr. Faust muttered, adjusting his sunglasses.
"It is for me."
I watched the exchange with quiet amusement. Milicia's logic operated on a frequency that most people couldn't tune into.
There was no malice in her threat, merely a possessive curiosity.
She saw something she wanted to understand through the most direct method available.
But before the conversation could spiral further into Milicia's peculiar brand of affection, Jun cleared her throat.
She stood at the head of the table, her hands clasped in front of her, that idol smile firmly in place.
"Everyone," she began, her voice carrying that warm, practiced resonance. "I know we've all had... quite a day. The dodgeball game, the revelations about the school, the..." she glanced briefly at Milicia, "various displays of athletic prowess. But I asked everyone here for a reason."
She looked around the table, meeting each pair of eyes with genuine sincerity. "We're Class H. The bottom. The ones the administration expects to fail and adapt through brutal hardship individually. But I don't believe we have to."
I felt Marie shift beside me, her analytical mind already engaging with Jun's words.
"I have a plan," Jun continued. "A collective contract. Like the one I mentioned earlier, before..." she trailed off, and I knew she was remembering Milicia's attack. "If we pool our resources, coordinate our Ruby Points, and manage our Requiem spending as a group, we can ensure no one falls behind. We can rise together."
There was a pause, and people exchanged glances.
Mr. Montreal spoke first, his voice lacking its usual playful edge. "Jun, that's... admirable, really. But we've seen what happens when someone tries to organize against the school's system. You almost died two hours ago."
"I know," Jun said softly. "But that doesn't mean the idea is wrong. Just that my approach needs... refinement."
This was the moment I had been waiting for.
"Actually," I said, drawing the attention of the group, "Jun's instinct toward collectivism isn't unique to our class. Class D, under Vittoria Mussolini, has already established a collective contract of their own."
Jun's eyes widened. "They have?"
I nodded, folding my hands in front of me. "I learned of it through Miss. Mussolini herself. Vittoria implemented what she calls a 'corporate collective', a structure built on the principles of classical fascism and corporatism, adapted for the school environment."
"That sounds..." Mr. Alexandrescu adjusted his glasses, "problematic."
"In the lens of Miss. Mussolini, It's efficient," I acknowledged. "Under her system, the class is divided into four divisions: physical training, logistics and resources, strategic planning, and intelligence gathering. Each division has a leader who reports directly to her. Every class member contributes 35,000 Requiems bi-weekly to a central fund. The contract includes a penalty clause: any betrayal that harms Class D results in automatic expulsion, enforced by a designated referee who monitors all matchups and events."
I learnt this from Lucico himself yesterday, especially what Miss. Mussolini did to one of her classmates.
Leonid, who had been silent since arriving, finally spoke. "She's turning her class into a military unit."
"Yes," I agreed. "And it's effective. Miss. Mussolini's structure ensures complete loyalty through a combination of mutual benefit and fear of consequences. She demonstrated this yesterday by publicly breaking the fingers of a dissenter a hunter named Augusto Ceu who challenged her appointed combat leader. The class now understands exactly what insubordination costs."
The table absorbed this information in various ways. Mr. Bombacci looked impressed despite himself.
Zisel's expression had darkened considerably. Marie was already taking mental notes.
"But here's the important part," I continued. "Miss. Mussolini's system works within the school's framework because it doesn't technically violate any rules. It's a private contract between students. The school merely enforces the consequences."
"So we're supposed to copy fascist Italy?" Mr. Montreal asked, one eyebrow raised. "No offense, but I didn't sign up to be a squadrista."
"No," Jun said firmly. She looked at me, gratitude in her eyes. "Isaac is showing us what we're competing against. Not what we have to become."
She took a breath, straightening her posture. "I've been thinking about this since orientation. About what kind of structure would actually work for us. For Class H."
She pulled out a small notebook from her bag, the same one I'd seen her using during the first days, collecting contacts and observations.
"My proposal is based on what I call Austrolibertarian Socialism," Jun said.
There was a beat of silence.
Mr. Montreal blinked. "Did you just... combine Austrian economics with socialism?"
Mr. Beckham leaned forward, his interest clearly piqued. "Wait, you know the Austrian school?"
Jun smiled, and for a moment, I saw past the idol persona to the sharp intelligence beneath. "I've had to manage my own finances since I was twelve. Record labels aren't exactly generous to young idols. I read extensively to understand why."
She flipped open her notebook. "The Austrian school emphasizes individual sovereignty, sound money, and the impossibility of rational economic calculation under central planning. Traditional socialism, on the other hand, focuses on collective ownership and worker control. Most people think they're incompatible."
"They are incompatible," Mr. Mercado said, though his tone was curious rather than dismissive.
"On a macro scale, yes," Jun agreed. "But we're not a nation. We're twenty-five people. At this scale, we can implement a system that respects individual autonomy while ensuring collective security."
She began laying out her framework. "Each person maintains full control over their own Requiem balance. No mandatory taxation. Instead, we create a voluntary mutual insurance pool. Everyone contributes what they can, when they can, and anyone in need can draw from it, but only after a transparent vote by the group."
"That's just charity with extra steps," Mr. Beckham observed.
"No, because charity is one-way. This is reciprocal. If you draw from the pool, you're expected to contribute more later when you're able. It's based on the mutualist principle of reciprocity rather than redistribution."
Marie tilted her head. "And how do you enforce reciprocity without coercion?"
"You don't," Jun admitted. "That's the point. Coercion destroys the moral foundation of mutual aid. If someone takes without giving back, the group can choose to exclude them from future benefits. But that's a social consequence, not a structural one."
She continued, outlining a system where decisions were made by consensus when possible, majority vote when necessary.
Where leadership rotated based on competence rather than popularity.
Where information was shared transparently so everyone could make informed choices.
"The goal isn't to control anyone," Jun finished. "It's to create conditions where cooperation is more beneficial than betrayal. Where helping each other is the rational choice."
The table was quiet for a long moment.
"That's..." Mr. Shoi began, then stopped. "That's actually well-considered."
"You're smarter than you let on, Jun," Zisel admitted, a grudging respect in her voice.
Jun blushed slightly. "I've had time to think."
Marie raised her hand, a gesture so formal it was almost amusing. "If I may offer an alternative?"
Jun nodded eagerly. "Please. We need all perspectives."
Marie stood, her small frame somehow commanding attention. "Jun's model is elegant, but it relies heavily on social cohesion and voluntary compliance. In a school designed to incentivize betrayal, that's a structural weakness."
She pulled out her tablet. "I propose a Market Technocratic system."
"Of course you do," Mr. Montreal muttered.
Marie ignored him. "The core principle is simple: we treat our class as a corporation, and each member as a shareholder. Everyone receives one share upon joining, with equal voting rights. Additional shares can be earned through contributions to the class like winning matchups, providing valuable intelligence, developing useful skills."
She projected a diagram onto the table with her tablet. "Leadership positions are filled through merit-based examinations and practical demonstrations. A technology committee maintains a shared database of information about other classes, matchup strategies, and school mechanics. A finance committee manages our pooled resources, but with full transparency as every transaction logged and accessible."
"And if someone betrays us?" Mr. Bombacci asked.
"Then their shares are forfeited and distributed to the remaining members. The economic incentive to remain loyal outweighs any short-term gain from betrayal. Additionally, all major decisions require a supermajority vote, seventy percent, preventing any single faction from seizing control."
She sat down, her yellow eyes scanning the group for reactions. "It's not perfect, but it scales better than pure voluntarism and resists corruption better than centralized authority."
Miss. Winchester spoke up next, her voice soft but clear. "I have a different perspective. If I may?"
She waited for Jun's nod before continuing. "My family has... certain traditions. My father was a surgeon, his father before him, and his father before that. Five generations of Winchesters in medicine. What I've observed is that the most functional hierarchies aren't based on fear or even economics. They're based on duty."
She clasped her hands on the table. "A paternalistic conservative structure. Not in the political sense, but in the familial sense. A hierarchy where those with more experience, more knowledge, more capability, have a responsibility to protect and guide those with less. And those with less have a responsibility to respect and learn from those with more."
Leonid, sitting beside her, was very still.
I noticed his jaw tighten slightly.
"In this model," Viviana continued, "leadership isn't a privilege; it's a burden. The leaders work harder than anyone else. They take the greatest risks. They absorb the worst consequences when things go wrong. In return, the group follows their direction without constant debate, because they've earned that trust through demonstrated sacrifice."
She glanced at Leonid, then away. "It's not democratic. It's not egalitarian. But it's stable. And in an environment designed to destabilize us, stability has value."
The table absorbed her words in contemplative silence.
Mr. Beckham spoke first. "So we'd have, what, a class parent? Someone who makes the hard calls and takes the heat?"
"Essentially, yes. But with the understanding that position is earned through demonstrated competence and sacrifice, not claimed through ambition."
Miss. Winchester's proposal hung in the air, weighty and old- fashioned in a way that felt almost radical.
I waited.
Let them sit with it.
Finally, Jun turned to me. "Isaac? You've been quiet. What do you think?"
I smiled softly. "I think you've all offered thoughtful, internally consistent frameworks. Each addresses real problems. Each has genuine merit."
I stood slowly, walking toward the bookshelf behind me. My fingers traced the spines until they found what I was looking for a large white book with pointy blue neon sunglasses on the cover and a pink-purple gradient dollar sign beneath the title.
Supercapitalism: A magicians economy
989 pages.
I pulled it from the shelf and carried it back to the table, setting it down with a heavy thump that echoed in the quiet library corner.
"What's that?" Arabella asked, leaning forward.
"An economic treatise," I said simply. "Published six years ago. It outlines a system that has since been implemented, successfully in forty-seven countries across six continents: Russia, Brazil, Portugal, Cuba, Ecuador, Peru, Colombia, Paraguay, Canada, Luxembourg, Denmark, Argentina, Bolivia, Chile, Uganda, Kenya, South Africa, Morocco, Egypt, Ethiopia, Zimbabwe, Libya, South Sudan, Sudan, Nigeria, Angola, Algeria, Syria, Palestine, Lebanon, Yemen, Turkey, Austria, Switzerland, Finland, Norway, Sweden, Belarus, Latvia, Lithuania, Mexico, Armenia, India, Indonesia, Pakistan, Philippines, Mongolia, Afghanistan, Vietnam, Cambodia, and Thailand."
I recited the list calmly, watching their expressions shift from confusion to disbelief to dawning recognition.
Mr. Mercado's eyes widened. "Wait. I've read about this. The economic miracle in South America, the transition in the last four years. They attributed it to an anonymous theorist. Someone called..."
He trailed off, staring at the book's cover.
"The author's pseudonym," I said gently, "is Mr. Magician."
Silence.
Absolute, profound silence.
Mr. Montreal reached for the book with trembling hands, flipping to the copyright page. He read silently, his lips moving.
Then he looked up at me, his face pale.
"Isaac... this book was published four years ago. You would have been..."
"Eleven," I finished. "I started writing it at nine and finished writing it at eleven. It took two years to compile the research and case studies."
Marie snatched the book from Mr. Montreal, her yellow eyes scanning pages at a speed that would make most people dizzy. "The mathematical models... the predictive algorithms... these aren't just theories. These are proofs. Actual, empirical proofs applied to real economies."
"How?" Mr. Shoi demanded. "How could a child write this?"
I smiled serenely. "The same way a child could master Paleo-Latin in four minutes, or reconstruct the emotional architecture of a stranger from a single glance. Some minds simply work differently."
Mr. Maximiliano, who had been observing silently throughout, spoke for the first time. His voice was soft, but it carried. "I bought this book three years ago. I've read it seventeen times. The section on decentralized resource allocation changed how I approach strategic planning." He looked at me with those ancient, knowing eyes. "I never imagined..."
"Let me explain the system," I said, gently redirecting. "Supercapitalism is simple in principle, though its applications are complex."
I opened the book to a marked page, revealing a diagram of interlocking circles.
"Every enterprise, every organization, every economic unit is owned equally by everyone who works within it. Not by shareholders. Not by a founder. Not by the state. By the workers themselves. Equal shares, one person one vote."
"That's just worker cooperation," Mr. Beckham said. "We have those."
"No," I corrected gently. "In worker cooperatives, ownership is collective but management is often separate. In supercapitalism, managers are elected directly by the workers, for fixed terms, with strict recall provisions. And here's the key difference."
I tapped the diagram. "The enterprises compete. Fiercely. No protective regulations, no state subsidies, no barriers to entry. If Company A produces better goods at lower prices than Company B, Company B fails. Its workers then must find employment elsewhere, or start their own competing enterprise."
"That sounds brutal," Areli murmured.
"It is," I agreed. "But here's what makes it work. Because workers own their enterprises directly, they have every incentive to elect competent managers who pay them well and treat them fairly. Labor legislation becomes obsolete, why would workers vote for a manager who exploits them, when they can vote for one who doesn't?"
I continued, my voice taking on the cadence of explanation I'd used so many times in my mind. "All property is private. All contracts are voluntary. All competition is open. No monopolies, because monopolies require state enforcement to maintain. No exploitation, because exploitation requires information asymmetry and power imbalance, both eliminated when workers have full transparency and direct control."
"So it's anarcho-capitalism with extra steps," Mr. Faust said.
"Anarcho-capitalism assumes a stateless society where private defense agencies protect property rights. Supercapitalism assumes a minimal state that enforces contracts and prevents fraud, nothing more. But the economic structure is fundamentally different. In anarcho-capitalism, capital concentrates. In supercapitalism, it circulates."
I closed the book. "The reason it worked in forty-seven countries is simple: it aligns incentives perfectly. Workers want fair wages and good conditions. Managers want to keep their jobs. Customers want quality products at fair prices. There's no contradiction between these desires when the system is designed correctly."
Jun was staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "Isaac... you wrote this when you were nine?"
"Nine to eleven," I corrected. "The final draft at eleven."
"And you published it anonymously? Why?"
"Because the ideas mattered more than the author. And because..." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "Because I had reasons for remaining unknown. Reasons that are only now becoming clear."
I looked around the table at my classmates.
At Leonid, whose guarded expression had cracked into something like wonder.
At Miss. Winchester, who was holding the book now, her fingers tracing the spine as if it were sacred.
At Marie, whose analytical mind was clearly recalibrating everything she thought she knew about me.
At Jun, whose eyes held tears she was trying to hide.
"The principles of supercapitalism can scale down as easily as they scale up," I said softly. "For our class, it would mean this: every member owns an equal share of our collective resources. Every major decision is put to a vote, with each person having one vote. Leadership positions are elected, for fixed terms, with immediate recall if the leader fails to serve the group's interests."
"And the contract?" Mr. Alexandrescu asked. "How would betrayal be handled?"
"Betrayal is handled the same way it's handled in any voluntary association, exclusion. If someone violates the trust of the group, the group can vote to expel them from the collective. They retain their personal Requiem balance, but they lose access to pooled resources and shared intelligence. They become, effectively, independent contractors rather than members of the collective."
"It's elegant," Marie admitted. "No punitive enforcement needed. Just consequences."
"And it addresses the weakness in my proposal," Jun added quietly. "Voluntarism without structure leads to chaos. But structure without accountability leads to tyranny. This balances both."
Miss. Winchester nodded slowly. "The paternalistic model I suggested... it works when the leader is genuinely benevolent. But it fails if the leader isn't. This insures against that failure."
I watched them process. Twenty-three minds, each approaching the idea from their own angle. Miss. Lehi, who I expected to resist any system, was frowning in concentration rather than rejection.
"You'd really let us vote on everything?" Mr. Montreal asked. "Even stupid things?"
"Especially stupid things," I smiled. "Because stupid decisions teach better lessons than wise ones imposed from above."
"And if we vote to do something that hurts us collectively?" Mr. Bombacci asked.
"Then we learn. And we vote differently next time. Freedom includes the freedom to fail."
Mr. Beckham leaned back in his chair. "So we're all equal owners of Class H Incorporated. We elect managers. We vote on major decisions. We share information and resources voluntarily. Anyone can leave anytime. And if someone betrays us, we kick them out."
"That's the essence, yes."
"And you're okay with this? You're clearly the smartest person in this room. Probably the smartest person in this school. You're willing to have equal voting power with, say, me?"
I met his eyes steadily. "Mr. Beckham, intelligence isn't wisdom. I may see patterns others miss, but I don't have a monopoly on good ideas. And more importantly, I don't want followers. I want partners. Collaborators. Friends."
The word hung in the air, warm and vulnerable.
Jun wiped her eyes quickly. "I think... I think we should vote on this. Right now. On whether to adopt Isaac's framework as the basis for our class contract."
"Seconded," Marie said immediately.
"Wait," Mr. Faust interjected. "We haven't even discussed details. Implementation timelines. Contribution amounts. How we handle disputes."
"All of that can be decided later, by vote," Jun said. "Right now, we need to decide whether we're building something together at all."
She looked around the table. "All in favor of adopting supercapitalism as our guiding framework?"
Hands rose.
Jun's hand. Marie's. Leonid's, after a brief hesitation. Miss. Winchester's. Mr. Beckham's. Mr. Mercado's. Mr. Alexandrescu's. Mr. Falk's, with a yawn. Mr. Fajr's. Mr. Shoi's. Mr. Moon's. Mr. Miroslav's. Mr. Faust's. Mr. Maximiliano's. Mr. Montreal's. Mr. Bombacci's. Miss. Bosque's. Zisel's. Areli's. Camila's. Arabella's. Miss. Dolfuss's, with that lazy, knowing smile. Adrien's, with dramatic flourish.
Twenty-three hands.
Milicia hadn't raised hers.
She was watching me with an expression I read that was something between hunger and calculation.
"Milicia?" Jun asked carefully.
Milicia's grin spread slowly. "Oh, I'm in. I just wanted to see how long it would take the rest of you to realize you're following a god."
She raised her hand.
Twenty-four.
Everyone looked at me.
I raised mine.
Twenty-five.
Jun let out a breath she'd been holding. "Then it's unanimous. Class H will operate under supercapitalism."
There was a moment of quiet, not awkward, but profound. Twenty-five people who had been strangers four days ago, who had witnessed violence and revelation and impossible feats, sitting together in a library, having just agreed to build something unprecedented.
They don't know, I thought, watching their faces. They don't know that this framework was designed specifically for moments like this. For groups that need to trust without certainty, to cooperate without coercion, to build without blueprints.
They don't know that I wrote that book for them, for people I hadn't met yet, in a future I couldn't predict, facing challenges I could only imagine.
They don't know that supercapitalism isn't just an economic theory. It's a survival mechanism. A way for free individuals to coordinate without sacrificing freedom. A way for people like us to become something more than the sum of our parts.
Jun was speaking again, outlining next steps, her voice steady despite the emotion in her eyes. Marie was taking notes, her tablet filling with text. Leonid was actually participating in the discussion, suggesting mechanisms for dispute resolution. Miss. Winchester was adding amendments about emergency protocols.
They were building. Together. Not because I commanded it, but because they chose to.
This is what I wanted, I realized. Not followers. Not an army. Just... this. People choosing to work together because they see value in it.
Mother would understand. She always said magic was about creating moments of genuine connection.
And Francois... Francois would call me a fool. He'd say I'm wasting my potential on sentiment.
But Francois is in a glass cage in Paris, and I'm here, watching twenty-four people build a future.
I let myself feel it, the warmth spreading through my chest, the quiet satisfaction of watching something beautiful take root. Not a performance. Not a manipulation.
Just... genuine human connection, doing what it does best.
Jun caught my eye across the table and smiled. Not the idol smile, polished and professional. A real one, tired and hopeful and real.
I smiled back.
This is worth it, I thought. All of it. The island. The escape. The years of planning. Every sacrifice.
This moment, right here, is why.
And I finally gotten everyone in Class H added to my contacts as friends as they wanted me to call them by their given names now!
"We should probably establish initial leadership before we leave," Avram suggested. "Temporary, at least, until we can hold proper elections."
"Agreed," Jun nodded. "Nominations?"
"I nominate Isaac," Marie said immediately.
"Second," Giovanni rumbled.
"I nominate Jun," Areli offered.
"Second," Zisel added.
I raised a gentle hand. "If I may suggest, perhaps we need more than one leader. Different domains require different expertise. Jun has unparalleled skill in building consensus and managing public perception. Marie's analytical capabilities are extraordinary. Viviana's medical knowledge and calm under pressure are invaluable. Leonid's physical discipline and strategic mind. Leonidas's geometric cognition. Sinclair's combat experience."
I looked around the table. "What if we established a council? Eight members, elected by the class, each responsible for a different domain. They'd coordinate together, report back to the class regularly, and could be recalled at any time by majority vote."
Jun's eyes lit up. "That's perfect. Distributed leadership prevents any single point of failure."
"And it gives people multiple paths to contribute," Viviana added. "Not everyone wants to be a leader, but everyone should have leaders they trust."
The discussion that followed was animated but focused. Seven domains were proposed and debated: Strategy (Marie), Operations (Leonid), Resources (Enoch), Intelligence (Avram), Morale (Jun), Health (Viviana), Arbitration (Leonidas), and Consultant(Me).
Each domain's responsibilities were outlined, with checks and balances built in.
We had a framework.
Crude, unfinished, but real.
Though the elephant in the room is that over half of us have Ruby Points but the others don't but I explained it to them quickly and said I would deal with that problem and they all agreed.
As we gathered our things to leave, Adrien approached me, his usual dramatic energy subdued. "Lord Apollo... can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"That book. Supercapitalism. You really wrote it? All of it?"
"Yes."
He was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: "I've read it. Three times. It's the only thing that made sense to me after..." he trailed off, touching his pinky briefly. "After some things. It helped."
I looked at him really looked. At the pain behind his flamboyance, the survival instinct beneath his flirtation.
"I'm glad, Adrien."
He nodded quickly and walked away before I could see his face.
One by one, they filtered out of the library. Jun paused at the door, looking back at me. "Isaac. Thank you. For believing in us."
"I always have, Jun. I just waited for you to believe in yourselves."
She smiled and disappeared into the hallway.
Soon, only Milicia remained.
She stood by the door, arms crossed, watching me with those calculating eyes.
"You're not what I expected, Isaac."
"I rarely am."
She laughed, that sharp, predatory sound. "No. You're not." She stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her body. "But I'm glad. Boring people are so... boring."
She reached up, her fingers brushing against one of my earrings.
For a moment, I thought she might actually pull.
Instead, she traced the chain gently, her expression softening into something almost tender.
"I'll let you keep these. For now."
Then she was gone, swallowed by the shadows of the library.
I stood alone in the dim light, surrounded by empty chairs and the lingering warmth of twenty-four people who had just chosen to build something together.
The first step, I thought. The smallest, most fragile step.
But a step nonetheless.
I picked up my copy of Supercapitalism, running my fingers over the familiar cover, the neon sunglasses, the gradient dollar sign, the title that had launched a thousand economic reforms across forty-seven countries.
Mr. Magician.
The name felt like a ghost now.
A persona I'd outgrown, even as its work continued reshaping the world.
I'd written it to dismantle secret organizations through economics and social trends.
To create systems so effective, so self-sustaining, that no cabal of elites could maintain control. Every country that adopted supercapitalism became a graveyard for hidden power structures.
The Moonlight Society's influence, already weakened by Scarlett's American fortress and my European purge, withered further with each successful implementation.
If you only destroy one organization, another takes its place. But if you destroy the conditions that allow secret organizations to exist...
I closed the book and tucked it under my arm.
And then went to the Phoselle twins to check out the book, which I did.
And as I walked out, I heard two voices that I was intimately familiar with as they were the voices of the ones who interviewed me, and from the looks of it, they sound like they were on the third floor.
So I went to travel to the second floor and waited on the stairs as I heard their voices coming closer.
And then I saw them, Mr. Wellington and Miss. Suzume.
"I can't believe they sent those two–"
"Hello," I said gently.
The moment they registered my presence, they were surprised, expected, and had a look of anticipation as they jumped.
"What the— were you standing there the whole time?" Miss. Suzume demanded, her one eye looking at me with intense scrutiny that reminded me of Marie.
"Actually I just got here," I said.
It was a vague truth, I had just gotten here; however, the time can be very ambiguous on what 'just got here' means.
Though I am curious about the two individuals who are following me discreetly, I don't believe they know each other but the one with the malevolent intent seems to be at a greater distance and keeps going further away than the curious one since the curious one is maintaining a small distance but keeps tailing me.
And conveniently, I looked out the window, well not directly, but given my vision, I was able to spot three girls at a distance outside that were carrying sports bags.
If I am not mistaken those girls are in Class B, and despite their school uniforms on, my eyes caught glimpses of their necklines of bruises and bite marks...
Ah... it appears Mr. Kwon wasn't just targeting Aurelie, given the hidden places he would physically inflict upon.
And that method he used on those three girls is even more telling of Mr. Kwon's character.
Though... I wonder if the one with the malevolent gaze and these three girls are related, or just a frightening coincidence given the appearance of seeing the three girls now and the malevolent gaze drifting away.
"Yeah just got here, alright we can work with that," Miss. Suzume said, clearly not believing a word. "What do you want to talk about?"
"That's strange to think that I have something to talk about."
Mr. Wellington interjected. "It's entirely possible given the coincidence of—"
Miss. Suzume elbowed Mr. Wellington hard to keep his mouth shut, most likely to what I believe to be the meeting the administration had.
Which is logical for the two in front of me to believe I may have engineered this to happen for us to meet again, and possibly assuming that I may have wanted to indirectly use the school's influence.
"But," I said. "Now that you mentioned it, I do have a question."
I let my statement hang in the air, as their gaze was now a predatory hungry gaze of anticipation.
"Go on?" Miss. Suzume pushed verbally.
"Well I've been thinking about it since the afternoon of Orientation day and how this school is a model of our modern society, and I know the school clearly has guidelines of breaking the school rules and the mechanism of the strike system and such," I trailed off, and then spoke again. "This school has its own prison right? I assume underground given my travels on the entire main campus of this school and haven't seen an actual prison? And the prison is used for students and perhaps anyone for cases like murder, unauthorized physical torture, sexual assault, and kidnapping right?"
They blinked, utterly caught off guard, expecting that I was gonna ask about the meeting or perhaps why they were on the upper floor.
But they didn't expect me to ask such a question, and it maintains plausible deniability that I engineered the administration to hold a meeting.
"..."
Miss. Suzume, on her part, was laughing. "Oh! Oh! You're too good! Yes we do have a prison, and it's on the bottom level of this school underground with fifty glass prison cells, and above the prison level are of course six levels of the match up chambers to which you go in, though you can change locations to somewhere else, depending on the person in question really."
Mr. Wellington blinking back into reality, looked at me with confusion and suspicion. "Why do you ask and how did you know?"
I shrugged. "It just made sense that if any students or staff broke certain rules beyond the school conduct, they were to face something even more severe, and given the intricacy of the school. A prison is not far off to assume its existence. As for why I ask, I want to have one of the glass cells reserved, is it possible?"
"Yes!" Miss. Suzume chirped, now directly in front of me as I can feel her warmth. "When do you want to schedule it?!"
"December 24th if you can."
Which was of course my birthday, and I have been thinking about this particular... event, ever since Milicia and I played the War of Kings card game.
"I suppose... we can do that... but why?" Mr. Wellington questioned, which on his part, was deeply understandable.
"You will see, once that time comes," I said, winking and allowing a mischievous magician smile appear on my face as I walked away from them.
Now then, time to visit three girls...