Ethan woke up in the infirmary, his body still aching from the hellish training session. His vision was a little blurry, but after a moment, his eyes adjusted to the soft light filtering through the windows.

  His head throbbed, and his muscles felt like they had been wrung out and left to dry.

  Did I die…?

  He slowly sat up, groaning as every part of his body protested the movement.

  Then he noticed the figure lying in the bed next to his.

  Oliver.

  The poor guy looked like he had been through several wars and lost every single one of them. His face was pale, his mouth slightly open, and he was mumbling something unintelligible. His bnket was half-draped over his head, giving him the appearance of a pitiful ghost.

  "Hey… Oliver."

  No reaction.

  Ethan frowned.

  "Oliver?"

  Still nothing.

  Ethan narrowed his eyes, leaned forward slightly, and raised his voice.

  "OLIVER!"

  But no answer. Ethan stopped for a second, wondering how to get him to answer, and suddenly had an idea.

  "ONE! TWO!"

  Oliver’s eyes snapped open, pupils diting as his body went rigid.

  "THREE! FOUR! NO MORE!! NO MOOOORE!!!! NOOO!!!!! Gaaaahhhh~~~~"

  Oliver bolted upright, clutching his head and screaming in sheer terror. His hands filed in the air as if he was still running for his life.

  Ethan recoiled. "Whoa! Calm down!"

  Oliver started hyperventiting, his head snapping from side to side. His eyes were wide, gssy with panic. "The ps! The ps! They never ended! I— I was running forever! It was hell! IT WAS HELL!!"

  "Oliver! Snap out of it!" Ethan grabbed his shoulders and gave him a firm shake.

  Oliver’s breathing hitched. Slowly, his wild eyes settled on Ethan’s face.

  "Ethan…?"

  "Yeah, it’s me."

  Oliver blinked rapidly, his mouth opening and closing as he processed the situation. "I… I’m not running?"

  "No, you’re in the infirmary."

  Oliver let out a long, trembling breath and slumped back onto the bed. "Thank the gods…"

  Ethan sighed. "I’m… uh… sorry about the chant thing. I think I won’t do that again."

  Oliver shot him a weak gre. "You think?"

  Before Ethan could respond, the sound of slow, measured footsteps echoed through the room.

  Ethan gnced toward the door.

  An old man in a white cloak shuffled into the room, carrying a box of gss vials. His face was weathered and wrinkled, a long gray beard hanging down to his chest. His piercing blue eyes scanned the room with the intensity of a predator sizing up prey.

  Ah… so this must be him.

  The academy’s infamous healer.

  The old man stopped in the doorway, raising a bushy eyebrow at the two of them.

  "Well?"

  Ethan cleared his throat. "Uh… hello?"

  The old man snorted. "If the gay couple is done, get out of my workpce."

  Ethan’s brain short-circuited.

  "We’re not g—"

  "I don’t care about your sexuality." The old man’s voice was dry and dismissive.

  "But you just said—"

  The old man’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Are you deaf? What I said is GET OUT!"

  Oliver flinched and practically fell out of bed in his haste to stand up. "Y-Yes, sir!"

  Ethan scowled. "But—"

  "Oh, yeah, take this before you leave!"

  Saying so he handled a vial of some strange liquid to the two of them.

  The two gnced at each other confused, and Oliver was the first to react, glupping it down in a single shot.

  "Hmm! It's good!"

  Ethan, trusting his friend's words, did the same, and just as he was finishing savoring the taste, he felt all muscle pain in his body slowly vanishing as if they were a lie.

  Tired of waiting, the grumpy old man opened the door and pointed out.

  "Don’t come back unless you’re bleeding or missing a limb."

  "But what if—"

  "Or if you’re dying."

  "That seems pretty—"

  "GET. OUT."

  Ethan sighed, rubbing the back of his head as Oliver dragged himself toward the door.

  "Okay, okay, we’re going."

  As they stumbled out into the hallway, Ethan gnced over his shoulder.

  "Thanks I guess..."

  The old man was already ignoring them, busy organizing the potions on a shelf with the kind of focus that suggested the rest of the world no longer existed.

  "What the hell was that about?" Ethan muttered as they left the infirmary.

  Oliver shivered. "I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure that man is better than Professor Rhea."

  Ethan chuckled. "At least Rhea doesn’t insult us."

  Oliver’s face twisted. "No, she just works us until we colpse."

  Ethan grinned. "Yeah… maybe he's not that bad."

  Professor Rhea arrived at the infirmary, the sound of her heavy boots echoing softly against the polished stone floor.

  The two students were already gone.

  Her sharp amber eyes scanned the empty beds before settling on the figure at the back of the room.

  The old man was standing at a worn wooden workbench, his back slightly hunched as he focused intently on mixing a swirling green potion in a gss vial. His long gray beard nearly brushed the table, and the air around him reeked of medicinal herbs and bitter alchemical compounds.

  "So," Rhea said, arms crossed over her chest, "how was he?"

  The old man didn’t turn around. He swirled the potion a few more times, watching as the color slowly darkened.

  "Cursed." His voice was dry and gravelly. "Not by one but many curses. There was even an 8th grade among them, though I was unable to identify it's effects..."

  Rhea’s eyes narrowed. "And?"

  The old man finally turned toward her, his piercing blue eyes gleaming beneath his heavy white brows.

  "What do you expect? It’s an 8th-grade curse, not some weak 2nd or 3rd-grade hex. That’s beyond any normal person’s reach."

  "But you are not a normal person."

  The old man’s lip curled into a sneer. "Ugh! Youngsters these days!" He gestured with his wrinkled hand. "Instead of working hard, you expect old folk like me to fix everything! Where’s your grit? Your fighting spirit? Go solve it yourself!"

  Rhea’s eyes fshed dangerously. "Professor Alric, I’m a warrior. You are the healer here."

  Alric scoffed. "And?"

  "And that boy will also be your student next year."

  Alric’s hand froze mid-stir. Slowly, he turned to face her fully.

  "That trash is a Healer?"

  "That’s right."

  An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

  Alric’s gaze darkened. "…There are two possibilities."

  Rhea’s arms tensed beneath her crossed arms. "I’m listening."

  Alric raised a single bony finger.

  "One—" His tone was disturbingly casual. "—we can kill him and revive him. That should get rid of the curse."

  Rhea’s eyes widened in horror. "PROFESSOR!!!"

  Alric’s expression remained as calm as if he were suggesting the weather might change.

  "Of course," he continued, "there will be… side effects. But nothing too bad, just temporary loss of memory among other things..."

  "That's nothing to you!?"

  "Compared to getting blind or losing a limb, it's way better in my books!"

  "And the other option?"

  Alric sighed, setting down the vial on the table. His gaze sharpened.

  "The other is for him to solve it himself."

  Rhea’s brow furrowed. "Solve it himself? That’s a 8th grade curse! How could a student possibly—"

  "Sooner or ter," Alric interrupted, "he will notice the seal on his body. It’s not something we can touch—but he’ll be able to."

  Rhea’s jaw tightened.

  "And what happens when he notices it?"

  Alric’s gaze narrowed. "If he understands it—truly understands it—he’ll be able to reverse the seal’s nature and convert it into a blessing."

  Rhea’s eyes widened. "A blessing?"

  Alric’s smirk was razor-sharp. "Yes! Curses and Blessings are two sides of the same coin after all! And considering it's an 8th-grade curse, you can expect extraordinary effects."

  Rhea’s mouth twisted in frustration. "And what’s the catch?"

  Alric’s smile vanished. His gaze turned colder.

  "For that…" He leaned slightly toward her. "…he’ll need dark magic."

  Rhea’s expression hardened. "ISN’T THAT EVEN WORSE?!"

  Alric rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop with that nonsense. How else will he understand a curse if he doesn't study Dark magic!? Dark magic isn’t evil. It’s just a tool. What matters is how you use it. Keep the live sacrifices aside and it's just like any other magic..."

  "DARK MAGIC HAS BEEN COMPLETELY OUTLAWED!"

  "Such rules are made by fools who are afraid of what they don't understand. As long as you understand there's nothing to fear."

  Rhea’s fist clenched at her side. "You can’t seriously be suggesting we encourage a student to learn dark magic!"

  Alric’s mouth curled upward in a mocking smile.

  "Then kill him."

  Rhea’s amber eyes fred with anger. "NO! Find another method!"

  Alric sighed dramatically, running a hand through his beard.

  "Silly girl. There really isn’t another way. Maybe some legendary artifact or item could work—an Elixir, a Phoenix Tear, or maybe a Unicorn Horn—but where are you going to find those?"

  He spread his hands mockingly.

  "Those things disappeared from our world centuries ago."

  Rhea’s expression darkened. "There has to be another way."

  Alric’s gaze sharpened slightly. "Be realistic. There isn't. And even if there was, who would pay the price?"

  His voice dropped lower.

  "As long as nobody else knows he's learning dark magic, the boy will be safe."

  Rhea’s gaze sharpened. "And what happens when someone does find out?"

  Alric’s smile faded. "Then he’ll either become a weapon…" His voice darkened. "…or a target."

  A chill ran down Rhea’s spine.

  "I… I have to talk to the director about this."

  Alric shrugged. "Sure. Be my guest. It has nothing to do with me any way."

  Rhea prepared to leave but turned around in the st second.

  "What about the other?"

  Alric raised an eyebrow. "The other?"

  "Yes, the other!"

  Alric’s lips curled into a faint smirk.

  "Ah, him." He waved a hand dismissively. "Perfectly normal."

  Rhea’s eyes narrowed. "Normal?"

  Alric’s eyes gleamed with amusement. "He’s nothing special. Not cursed, not gifted. Just an ordinary student who happened to have enough natural mana to scrape through."

  Rhea crossed her arms, her sharp amber eyes narrowing. "Are you sure?"

  Alric’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. "Oh, I’m sure."

  Rhea’s lips curled upward into a sadistic smile. Slowly, she ran her tongue across her bottom lip, her gaze turning predatory.

  "Then I'll work him to the bone for making me waste my time."

  Alric chuckled darkly. "Ah, poor boy… May the gods have mercy on him."

  "Even if they do," Rhea replied, her smile sharpening as a dark gleam lit her eyes. "I certainly won’t."

  Alric shook his head, amused. "And you call me the cruel one."

  Rhea’s smile widened, and her tone turned syrupy sweet.

  "Oh, please! He’ll even thank me for it!… eventually."

  She turned on her heel, her long red braid swinging behind her as she strode toward the door with the smooth, deadly grace of a hunting cat.

  Alric watched her go, a thin smile lingering on his face.