I closed my eyes for exactly point-eight seconds.
"I would strongly advise against sleeping, Mr. Astarte."
Instructor Cicero Lawless Ardennes did not raise his voice. He didn't need to. The clinical, slicing tone of it carried perfectly through the heavy silence of the amphitheater.
Down in the staging area, Cicero was meticulously wiping his hands with a sterile white cloth. Behind him, the massive brass structure of the Odic Projector was hissing softly, its heat-sinks struggling to vent the overload from scanning my chest.
He looked up at the middle rows. His predatory eyes locked directly onto me. He was waiting for a reaction. A flinch. A sign of disrespect to justify an immediate disciplinary deduction.
I did not give him one.
Instead, I engaged in a brutal, silent war against my own central nervous system. I sat perfectly straight in my wooden chair. I folded my hands neatly on top of my desk. I kept my chin parallel to the floor, and I locked my eyes directly onto Instructor Cicero with the unblinking, unwavering focus of a fiercely dedicated academic.
To the rest of the amphitheater, I projected the pristine ambition of a first-year student ready to conquer the syllabus.
In reality, my newly evolved E-Rank circuit was currently smoking and vibrating from swallowing a terminal biological weapon less than twenty minutes ago. If I allowed my spine to bend by a single degree, or if I closed my eyes for longer than one second, I was going to drop into a comatose state right here in the middle row.
I spent my early morning infiltrating a quarantine black-site and fighting a ghost doctor just to survive today. I just performed phantom surgery on a Shard Parasite. My only objective right now is to survive until lunch without vomiting toxic mana. I am absolutely not going to give this academic sociopath a reason to target me.
Total, unblinking compliance.
Cicero's eyes lingered on my rigid, unblinking posture. A faint, almost disappointed curiosity flickered behind his wire-rimmed glasses when I failed to collapse.
"Since our practical demonstration was cut short by... provincial incompetence," Cicero announced, folding the cloth with measured precision. "We will pivot to theoretical diagnostics. Before we test your ignorance, let us establish the baseline of your fragility."
He began to pace. The acoustic curvature of the surgical amphitheater carried the sharp, rhythmic tap of his shoes directly to the back rows.
"You sit in this room believing your Odic Circuit is a divine gift," Cicero lectured, his sharp eyes sweeping over the first-year cohort. Down in the third row, several aristocratic students sat a little straighter. "It is not. It is a biological exhaust pipe."
A few students blinked. The romance of magic was being aggressively dismantled right in front of them.
"The human body possesses seven primary nodes, from the Crown to the Grounding Node at your feet," Cicero continued, pacing with the predatory grace of a surgeon. "Blood carries oxygen. The Odic channels carry raw, thermodynamic flux. If that flow is disrupted, mana does not simply fade away gracefully."
He stopped pacing, letting the silence hang over the amphitheater.
"It crystallizes. Lex Solidus. The Law of Solidification," Cicero stated, his voice dropping into a chilling register. "What begins as a metallic taste in your mouth will end with your internal organs turning into jagged, glowing geodes. Remember this when you attempt to cast spells you do not understand."
The lecture hall was completely breathless. Dozens of students instinctively swallowed, their hands unconsciously touching their own chests.
I didn't move. I kept my eyes pinned to the chalkboard behind him. I already knew exactly what the metallic taste felt like, because the heavy, oxidized tang of copper was currently pooling at the back of my throat. I did not need the metaphor. I was living the syllabus.
Just keep staring at the board. Breathe in. Breathe out. Do not cause problems.
Cicero threw the sterile cloth onto a side metal tray.
"Now," Cicero continued, a slow, predatory smile returning to his face. "Let us see who actually read the theoretical materials. And we will do it through the ODICIOS Merit System."
Cicero threw the sterile cloth onto a side metal tray.
Across the room, students immediately straightened their postures.
"For those of you who skimmed your orientation packets, this Academy operates on an absolute economy of Academic Points, or AP. Credits might buy your meals, but AP dictates your clearance, your privileges, and ultimately, your survival in this institution."
He tapped his brass rod against the wooden desk, the sharp sound echoing like a gavel.
"I do not hand out points for mediocrity. A textbook answer, perfectly memorized and politely delivered, is worth a Micro-Merit. One to five points, depending on how generous I am feeling. However, if you waste my time with romanticized idiocy, or present a theory so profoundly naive that it offends me, I will deduct five to ten points from your House simply for the displeasure of having to endure your voice in my classroom."
Ah. The unwritten Ego Tax. He doesn't just punish you for being wrong. He punishes you for boring him.
Cicero adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, his eyes sweeping over the tense, breathless cohort.
"Furthermore. If I open the floor, anyone may attempt a 'Steal' without being called upon. If you can provide me with a Macro-Merit level analysis—a diagnosis so brutally accurate it deconstructs the problem entirely—you may earn ten to twenty points. But if you interrupt my class to attempt a steal and fail? The disciplinary penalty will be catastrophic."
Thanks to the betting pool yesterday, I had over five thousand Credits in my account. I could afford all the high-density calories I needed. But Credits could not buy me access to the some places in this academy. Credits could not buy me institutional leverage against an expulsion hearing.I had zero AP. And the man at the front of the room was currently offering it for free.
My exhaustion momentarily took a back seat to sheer, unadulterated pragmatism.
"Let us begin with foundational diagnostics," Instructor Cicero Lawless Ardennes announced, his voice slicing through the silence of the amphitheater. "How does the Crown Node filter incoming ambient mana? Five points."
Down in the third row, a hand shot up instantly.
Even in a room packed with aristocratic heirs, she stood out effortlessly. Her cascading silver-blonde hair and bright sapphire eyes caught the ambient light of the hall perfectly. She sat with her back perfectly straight, projecting the absolute, unwavering confidence of someone who felt she knew exactly how this story was supposed to unfold.
Ah. Nova Celestine Melody.
Above her head, my Native System projected her status:
─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
[ ANNOTATION — Nova Celestine Melody ]
◈ [GREEN] [MASK]
◈ [GREY] [EYE] ─────────────────────────────────────────────────────
A green mask. She is hiding something, but it is currently stable. And a grey eye: she does not consider me, or anyone else around her, a threat at all.
"Speak, Miss Melody of House Glyphron," Cicero said.
"The Crown Node welcomes ambient ether like a prism catching sunlight, Instructor," Nova answered, her voice melodious and carrying the exact cadence of someone reciting a pristine, romanticized text. "It purifies the breath of the world, separating chaos into harmony before allowing it to flow into our living circuits."
Several aristocratic students murmured in awe. It sounded beautiful.
Down on the stage, the corner of Instructor Cicero's eye twitched slightly.
"...Technically, it acts as a porous membrane that blocks lethal frequencies," Cicero sighed, actively suppressing his academic revulsion. "But the essence of your answer is in the textbook. Five points to House Glyphron."
Nova smiled brightly.
"Second question," Cicero continued, tapping his brass rod against his desk. "What occurs within the circuit during a minor nodal congestion? Five points."
Nova's hand darted into the air again, beating everyone else in the room.
"Miss Melody. Again."
"The spirit's resilience balances the flow, Instructor," Nova answered with a soft, confident smile. "The circuit naturally seeks a new harmony, letting the mana gracefully find new rivers within the body to bypass the blockage without damaging the vessel."
I am currently sitting next to a walking biological weapon, my internal engine is cannibalizing my own body fat so I don't choke to death on anomaly poison, and this girl is talking about the harmony of the spirit and graceful rivers.
"It is called hydrostatic pressure forcing a reroute, Miss Melody," Cicero snapped, his tone growing as sharp as a razor. "The circuit does not have 'grace.' It simply follows the path of least resistance. Another five points. Please cease using poetry in my anatomy class."
Nova kept smiling, entirely unfazed by the reprimand. For her, this was simply her stage to shine.
"Then let us use Miss Sinclair's unfortunate morning as our primary case study," Cicero announced, his predatory eyes shifting to look directly at Syevira and me. "She suffered an Acute Nodal Cramp. Mr. Astarte applied a raw, uncalibrated kinetic flush directly to her Solar Plexus."
Cicero looked up at the tiered seating. "Under standard biological laws, striking a congested primary node with raw mana should have triggered an Arcane Redline and shattered her chest cavity. Why didn't it? Open floor. Ten points."
Down in the third row, Nova Celestine Melody's hand shot up for the third time.
"Proceed, Miss Melody," Cicero said, his voice sounding like a man bracing himself for a bedtime story.
"Because the human Odic Circuit has a sacred fail-safe," Nova recited perfectly, quoting the idealized theology of the Genesis Doctrine. "When the Master Node is subjected to severe external pressure, the excess mana doesn't stay in the center. It disperses elegantly. The secondary channels instantly absorb the kinetic shock and spread it safely, like a gentle breeze throughout the body."
Enough.
I cannot listen to this structural lie anymore. This is not a fairy tale where magic sparkles and fades away. This is a biological reality governed by thermodynamic violence. And Ten Academic Points is far too large a number to let fall into the hands of someone who thinks lethal radiation is a gentle breeze.
But If I cut her off now, Instructor Cicero will instantly know that the 'panicking provincial' excuse I used at the door was an absolute lie. My reputation as a harmless idiot will be completely destroyed.
Also, my ODICIOS interface needs points so I can survive the Headmaster's schemes, and these Academic Points are an amount I cannot afford to ignore. I will spin that 'panic' into a brutal mathematical gamble. Let him be suspicious. Suspicion cannot get me expelled. A zero can.
"It doesn't disperse," I said.
I didn't stand up. I didn't raise my voice. I just spoke at a normal volume into the acoustic sweet spot of the curved wooden desk in front of me, letting the amphitheater's architecture carry my flat, unfeeling correction directly to the stage.
Nova froze mid-smile. She turned around to look at me.