Mal swung open the classroom door and was greeted by the sight of desks and chairs. At the front of the room, Headmaster Puck was reading a thick-looking tome half the thickness of Mal's head.

  Puck glanced up from his book and greeted Mal and co-with a nod and a smile.

  "Welcome in. It's a pleasure to see all of you here so early."

  Mal did his best to smile back, though his lips quivered at the edges.

  "Happy to be here, sir."

  The headmaster resumed reading his book. Mal breathed out an unconscious sigh of relief.

  "Oh, by the way—" the headmaster turned one of the pages of his book. "I was quite impressed with all of you. Especially Mal. You made quite the showing during the entrance exam."

  Mal could feel the blood drain from his face.

  "T-thank you again, Professor" He stuttered. "I'll do my best not to disappoint you."

  That was a lie. Mal was going to try to be as mediocre as possible. And this time, he had the knowledge to make that work. He studied the spellcasting textbook back to back and had come up with an algorithm to perfectly estimate how far behind he should be at any given time.

  Frankly, he had no idea how the algorithm worked, as it'd been 3 AM when he came up with the algorithm. Looking at it now, he wasn't entirely sure if he'd been trying to calculate a formula or if he'd been trying to summon the spawn of hell.

  Either way, his gut was telling him that what he'd come up with would work. He'd also compensate by paying attention to what the other students were doing at any given time and making sure he was in the perfect middle of the bell curve.

  The headmaster clicked another page and Mal read the dismissal for what it was. He wandered over to the back and sat next to Philo.

  “Philo assumes you got some rest?" Philo looked over at him.

  "Yeah, the restless infusion helped a lot."

  "That's good." Philo's tongue flicked out. "The headmaster told me a similar thing when I came in, you know."

  "What?"

  "About being impressed. We had a brief conversation. He said that the majority of the professors had actually wanted you at the top. But one professor gave you a more middling ranking. I wonder who it was."

  Mal would have to give that professor a gift basket.

  "I'm honestly not sure why they gave me such a high rating," Mal said. "It really was mostly just luck."

  Philo's tone turned doubtful. "Right, Philo’s sure it is."

  More students streamed in from the outside. Mal checked and double-checked his internal notes on how he was to behave. Mediocrity. Blend in. Become part of the furniture.

  Soon enough, everybody was in and the headmaster shut his book and laid it on the side.

  He stood up.

  "Thank you all for coming, and welcome to spellcasting fundamentals. Let's get started."

  Mal, surprisingly, didn't have to work very hard to appear mediocre.

  He had enough knowledge that he was able to rely on shortcuts and learned abilities in order to make up for his bad core. But despite these advantages, they didn't shoot him to the top of the class.

  In this case, they were practicing channeling mana from the outside and through the core, then out. It was a basic exercise, one that almost everybody had gone through.

  Mal's eyes wandered over to a few boys in front of the class.

  Hypode and the rest of his circle.

  They looked incredibly exhausted, and all of their robes—save for one member—were frayed and worn at the end. Hypode had glanced over at Mal and glared at one point before he turned back around to focus on the headmaster. Even Hypode knew not to start trouble in front of someone with as much power and observational skill as Puck.

  Mal had noted that Puck didn't even bother to give any kind of opening speech. Which made sense. Everybody there was eager to practice spellcasting, there was no need to sell it to them. This was what people thought being a wizard was. This was the image they had in their head. Waving your hand and manipulating the mana in the air around you.

  Yet another sign of Puck's incredible forward thinking, Mal thought. He teaches unlike anybody else in the school.

  Rolam grunted. Mal looked over at him and saw that his face was squinted together, and the smell of mana coming from him seemed… jolted.

  "Young elf, may I ask what the matter is?"

  Mal's eyes widened. When had the headmaster appeared?

  Rolam opened his eyes and nearly fell back in his seat. "P–Professor, did you get here?"

  "I walked," he said.

  Rolam looked at the desk. His next few words came out as a whisper.

  "I'm… not sure what's wrong, Professor. I'm trying to do the steps, but it feels off. When I try to make the mana go, it keeps hitting these dishonorable bumps."

  The headmaster stroked his chin. He shook his head.

  Mal craned his ear to listen. Even at this basic level, the headmaster would surely have something insightful to say. Even if he ended up not going the spellcaster route, there was a lot Mal could learn from him.

  "I was once told," the headmaster said. “That not all bumps are obstacles. Tell me, young wizards. Are you fighting against your body, or fighting with it?"

  Rolam narrowed his eyes and looked down at his hands. "I… I don't get it."

  "That's fine. Think on it, for a time."

  The headmaster turned around and stopped in front of another student's desk. Rolam still had an expression of frustration. Philo looked over and stopped his own mana circulation.

  "That was a little bit vague," Philo said in a low tone.

  Mal furrowed his eyebrows together.

  "No, it was exactly as specific as he wanted, he said. "He wants us to think about it. He doesn't want to just give us the answers."

  Philo's frown deepened. “Philo’s not sure about that."

  Rolam leaned over toward Mal. "What do you think he was trying to say?"

  "I think…" Mal trailed off. "He's talking about how you're channeling your mana.”

  Mal held out his hand and ran his finger from his knuckles down to his shoulder. "Mana is a weird, pseudo-spiritual and pseudo-physical thing. If it weren't physical, we wouldn't be able to smell it or see it or feel it, in the cases of those who are highly sensitive. That means, depending on how you draw it into yourself, it could be bumping up against parts of your body." Mal looked over at Rolam's arm. "Tell me how it feels when you're drawing mana in."

  Rolam's lips thinned.

  "Typically," he pressed a finger against the top of his wrist, "I feel it start there. Then it moves right up to here—" he ran his finger up, then stopped at his shoulder. "And then it actually kind of hurts."

  Mal thought for a few seconds before the answer came to him.

  "I think it's your shoulder bones," Mal said. "Maybe you have a slightly different bone structure because you're an elf, and it's blocking up your mana flow."

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  "How would I fix that, though?"

  "Think about it. If you have too much flow, to the point where it's getting jammed, what do you do?"

  Rolam's eyebrows shot up and his back stiffened. "Reduce the flow."

  "Over time, as you instinctively learn how to channel mana more effectively, you'll be able to do more. But I think you're pushing your body too hard when it's not ready for the kind of mana you want to use. The pain wasn't a barrier. It was a warning sign. And what's more, the harder you tried to draw in mana, the more jammed it got."

  Rolam looked over at the professor. "And he figured that out with just a glance. He really is quite an honorable man, isn't he?"

  Philo, who'd been watching the whole exchange, quirked the edge of his lip down.

  "It seems to Philo like Mal was the one doing the heavy lifting."

  "No, I would've never thought of it, if not for what the professor was saying." Mal looked over at Rolam's eyes. "All right, give it a go."

  Rolam shut his eyes and spread his fingers out. He let out a breath, and mana came out of his fingers with it.

  He grinned, then looked over at Mal. "It worked."

  After they were done with the basic mana circulation exercises, the professor showed them how to cast Arcane Sphere. Most of the class already knew how to do this, but the way he was presenting it was intriguing. He had this way of speaking in riddles and hints, only providing a glimpse of what the truth was. Mal found himself writing down theory after theory on his notepad. The amount of insight that the headmaster had about such an incredibly simple spell was almost mind-boggling. It was a single rune. A circle! And despite that, Mal felt as if he didn't know even the bare basics after listening to the headmaster.

  A few hours ticked by, and the bell for lunch rang off in the distance.

  The headmaster stopped in the middle of his explanation. "And that's it for today. Thank you all for coming."

  The students stood up in a daze. Even Hypode looked thoughtful after the class. He hadn't so much as looked at Mal before he exited, staring at the ground intently.

  Mal stood up to walk out.

  "Malfrasius, would you mind staying behind for a few minutes?"

  Sweat burst out on Mal's back and forehead.

  "Of course, Professor." He mechanically turned his head toward his circle mates. "Go on without me. I'll catch up."

  Rolam nodded and clapped him on the shoulder before he walked out. Nima waved at him, then quickly dashed out the door. Philo looked back, then shut the classroom entrance behind him.

  The headmaster walked over to the window and looked outside.

  "Now then, Malfrasius," he said, looking over at Mal. "I think it's time we had a conversation, don't you?"

  Puck's goals for this conversation were pretty simple.

  Don't freak out the new student.

  Try not to make a fool out of himself.

  And hopefully, don't somehow do something that would result in everybody thinking that he was some kind of mastermind genius.

  The reason he'd invited Mal to talk with him was because Puck made it a point to encourage some of the students who he was worried weren't doing too well. As someone with an F-grade core, he was sure that Mal was struggling. The poor kid was probably getting bullied to hell and back, which was a shame, considering the fact that he seemed to be very good at potions and leadership.

  Puck stepped back over to his chair at the front of the room and sat down.

  "Malfrasius," Puck said. "I've heard a lot about you."

  That was a lie. After Malfrasius had appeared at the entrance exam, Puck had completely forgotten about him.

  Malfrasius shook from side to side like a leaf in the wind. "I– is that so? I'm flattered."

  Puck gave what he thought was a reassuring smile. "Relax, Malfrasius. I'm not here to get you. You're not in trouble."

  At that, Mal seemed to be a little bit taken aback. "I'm not?"

  "You haven't done anything to deserve getting in trouble, right?" Puck asked, a smile playing across his lips.

  Malfrasius remained frozen before he nodded up and down. Some of the tension seemed to drain out of him, and he chuckled.

  "Sorry, it must've been my paranoia. I thought you were—that you knew —" his lips flapped up and down. Finally, he shook his head. "Never mind, it's nothing."

  Puck had no idea what Malfrasius was talking about, but that was fine. Puck had no idea what most people were talking about most of the time.

  "If I'm not in trouble," Mal said, "then why did you want me to stay here?"

  "Well, you caught my attention."

  Mal stiffened. "In what way?"

  Puck opened his mouth to speak when he paused and looked out the window. "You know, this isn't too important. I know that around this time, you would be at lunch."

  Mal's left eye twitched. "Time?"

  "Yes, time. You were fighting with the two of them earlier, yes?"

  Mal's eyeballs shot wide like saucer plates, and his breath came in short gasps. Puck blinked. That seemed like a strong reaction to a rather innocent question.

  "Can you specify what you mean by earlier?" Mal said in a high-pitched tone.

  Puck tilted his head. "I'm referring to the entrance exam, of course."

  Mal's smile had turned as brittle as glass. "Oh. The entrance exam. Right."

  It was an odd reaction.

  "Have you met them before the entrance exam?" Puck asked.

  "Never! Never, I've never seen them before in my entire life." Mal laughed like a strangled coyote. "Anybody who says that I met them before is obviously crazy."

  Wait, that didn't make any sense. Back during the exam, Puck had heard Rolam refer to Mal as if they'd met earlier.

  "Are you sure you weren't confused, Malfrasius?"

  The blood drained from Mal's face almost in slow motion. The red seeped away into a pale white, and large droplets of sweat built up on his forehead.

  "I… I don't… Listen —"

  Puck let out a sigh. This conversation had gone way off the rails. He thought for a bit about what Mal could be referring to. He had enough contextual awareness to realize that Mal probably met Rolam at some point, and the circumstances under which they met were shameful. Perhaps they'd both been to a brothel at the same time?

  "Listen, Malfrasius. We're getting off-topic. I didn't call you here to talk about your past."

  At that, Mal froze completely.

  "What? But… my past —"

  "What I'm concerned about is the present," Puck put on his best headmaster voice.

  Mal slowly opened and shut his mouth like some kind of fish.

  "But the things I've done —"

  Oh, Puck thought. It wasn't just a one-time deal. He must've been deep into the nightlife.

  "You have a rare opportunity," Puck said. "A chance that others in your situation have dreamed of. A chance to change things. Don't waste it."

  Mal had a conflicted look on his face. "I see."

  Puck softened his voice. He hadn't meant to come off as so reprimanding, but it was a bad thing for a student to be associated with the red-light district. There were far more productive uses of his time.

  "If you need help, remember, you can rely on me."

  Mal looked away. "I'll keep that in mind."

  The poor boy was probably embarrassed about being confronted over such an embarrassing thing, but Puck couldn't blame him.

  "Now then, off you go. And keep in mind what I said."

  Mal gave a shuddered nod and stepped back, then almost dashed out the door.

  Puck leaned back in his chair. Another day, another student with problems, another chance for Puck to finally do something halfway decent with his life.

  You know, I feel like I'm getting better at this whole Professor thing.

  Puck knew.

  Puck knew that Mal had fought against Rolam and Philo.

  Puck knew that Mal was a time traveler.

  Puck knew that Mal was a former Endbringer.

  Mal brought his thumb’s knuckle up to his lips and chewed into it, his eyes locked forward on the stone steps in front of him. He was outside, the wind chilling him to the bone.

  Really, Mal should've seen this coming. Was it really beyond the scope of possibility that the most powerful magician in the world wouldn’t see a time traveler right in his own school? Mal should've never come here. Of course the headmaster was going to find out.

  But how? Mal thought to himself. Time travel is impossible. He knows that. Whatever discrepancies there were in my behavior and my magic, that should've been the last thing he thought of. No, he shouldntt have thought of it at all. It would be like assuming that your best friend is secretly a lizard man. It just wouldn't occur to the mind of any normal individual!

  Then again, the headmaster wasn't normal. That conversation had proven it.

  And that warning at the end—the headmaster couldn't have been more clear. Mal could practically imagine him saying the hidden implications aloud.

  You're only here by my mercy. I'm letting you stay here, but one step out of line and I'll crush you.

  Mal looked from left to right. There was a group of girls talking and giggling at something. To the right, a couple were walking on the grass, hands clasped.

  Any one of them could have been agents for Puck. Any one of them could've been spies, monitoring his reaction at this very moment.

  Mal bit harder, drawing blood from his thumb.

  What could he do? Escape the Academy? No, Puck would never allow that. A time traveler being allowed to go rogue? That's never happening.

  Maybe he could persuade the professor? Convince him that he's delusional—no, Puck was going to win any battle of wits. Mal was smart, but clearly his intelligence paled in comparison to someone like Puck. Kill him? Yeah, sure, and Mal would go ahead and sling around a few asteroids to do the job. Not happening.

  He would have to slow down his plans. He still wanted the Cup of Tears, but its theft would have to be done in a way that would be untraceable to Mal. Either that, or he had to somehow convince the headmaster that it would be better suited in Mal's hands as opposed to anyone else's. Fat chance.

  Mal was completely checked. His greatest asset—namely, his relative anonymity—had been taken from him in one fell swoop.

  The only advantage that Mal could find was that, at the very least, the headmaster hadn't gone and told all the professors. Small mercies. That, and at the very least, Mal was still alive. In an alternate universe, Puck might've decided that Mal should just get put down before he became a potential threat.

  But then that begs the question: why was Mal being kept alive?

  Mal stopped and removed his thumb from his teeth.

  There was a small chance that Puck thought he could be redeemed—Mal sincerely doubted that, as even Mal thought he couldn't be redeemed at this point. No, it wasn't that Puck wanted to save him. Puck wanted to use him. Mal was an enormous resource. Puck knew that. In fact, Mal suspected that Puck had at least some idea of the true danger of the Bird Eaters, the incursions, and the invasions. Last time, whatever Puck had planned hadn't been enough. But with Mal on his side, maybe that was the edge that Puck needed.

  Mal licked his lips. The taste of iron flooded his senses.

  Mal just had to stay useful. Gain strength. Prove his worth. If Mal did that, he might be able to stay alive and maybe, just maybe, get out from under Puck's thumb.

  But for now, he had to toe the line.

  Mal wasn't sure for how long he stood there. It had to have been a while, because the thing that finally broke him out of his stupor was the sound of the hourly bell ringing.

  He grimaced. He was going to be late to potions. He quickly ran off toward the greenhouse, the whole time a pit forming at the bottom of his stomach.

  This wasn't what he'd been hoping for.