We flew back.

  "The world is changing," I said, looking down. "The cold is coming."

  "Yeah, it's going to be cold soon," Alexia nodded, shivering slightly. "Get used to it, Greg. That's the price you pay for not living in the Sultanate."

  We landed on the roof. No orchestra, no grand welcomes. Just Professor Elandr.

  "Cadets," he said, giving us a nod. "You surprised me. You performed well. Even if you returned without the cup."

  "Where's the Old Elf?" I asked immediately.

  Elandr sighed, looking as if he had already grown tired of me last week. "How many times do I have to repeat myself? Professor Elvindor left two days ago. On business."

  "What?!" I was furious. "The old geezer didn't even plan to wait for me?! I almost killed the Sultan's son because of him!"

  Elandr just spread his hands. "He has his own affairs, Greg."

  I trudged back to my room. As I approached door 404, I was hit by a horrendous stench: alcohol, tobacco, and cheap perfume. And... something else, something much viler. A loud commotion echoed from inside. At least fifteen people, maybe more.

  Hmm. A party.

  I listened closely.

  "How can you even stand being in the same room with that Dirtblood, Alphus?" a voice asked.

  "Oh, him?" Alphus replied, and his tone held not a single trace of yesterday's gratitude. "He's my little lapdog. Sits quietly in the corner. I ordered him to. If I need something, he fetches the food."

  Yeah, I thought. Alphus is back to his old self. Drunken flattery washes away gratitude pretty fast.

  I stood there for about five minutes, listening to them drink and laugh. Anger boiled up inside me.

  Suddenly, I felt eyes on me. I turned around. A girl stood on the staircase landing. She was staring at me, her eyes wide. She was analyzing my face without blinking. It made me uncomfortable.

  I decided I'd had enough. I threw the door open.

  Dead silence fell over the room. Everyone stared at me. My hood was down.

  "Oh!" someone in the crowd squealed. "Look at his eyes!"

  Today, they were black and a vibrant, toxic green (like a poisonous elixir).

  "Freak! What a freak, hahaha!" some girl laughed. "How does the earth even tolerate something like that?"

  I didn't care about their opinions. I just wanted to brush it off with a joke and leave, but then Alphus, clearly emboldened by the liquid courage, spoke up:

  "You savage animal! Get out of the room! Can't you see high society is currently occupying this space?!"

  "That's enough, Alphus," someone said, but their voice was way too quiet.

  I looked at Alphus. All the fury I had accumulated over this cycle, all the wrath I hadn't been able to unleash on Karim, the anger that Alexia had suppressed—all of it found an outlet.

  "High society, huh?"

  I didn't waste mana on staffs or fire. I walked into the bathroom. I found the toilet tank. I raised my hand. Magic. I didn't rupture the pipes. I simply drew all the sewage, all the raw filth from the tank and the main riser lines, straight up into our room.

  A sharp, repulsive, squelching sound. All the grime, all the fecal sludge I had pulled up began to flood the room, geysering out of the toilet. The stench was unbearable.

  Squeals. Screams of absolute terror.

  "WHAT IS THAT?! AAAAA!" "EWWWW!"

  I quickly stepped out of the room and, with a massive heave, snapped the door handle off completely, sealing them inside. I stood in the hallway, staring at the door, gripped by a fit of hysterics. I was laughing. And inside were the horrific screams of aristocrats drowning in shit.

  Suddenly, I heard a quiet chuckle. I spun around. It was the girl from the stairs. She hadn't run away; she stood there, laughing. Suspicious.

  Alright, I thought, quickly pulling my hood up. Goal ruined, fury unleashed, and now I need to scram before Elandr shows up. Plus, this girl is way too weird.

  I bolted down the stairs, leaving behind the smell of open sewers and the cries of aristocrats drowning in filth.

  SCENE: The Daughter of Light, the Dirty Lake, and Culinary Secrets

  I sprinted down the stairs, but instantly realized: she wasn't falling behind. I sped up. So did she. I have to admit, she was a damn good runner.

  In the courtyard, I hid behind an old oak tree. Seemed like I'd lost her. But then I felt it: she found me. She didn't sneak up—she moved lightning fast, weaving between the trees to pop up right behind my back and surprise me.

  She materialized, leaned against the trunk, and barely out of breath, asked: "Why are you running?"

  "Why are you chasing me?"

  She laughed. "So that's what you're like, Greg?"

  "And who the hell are you?" I asked.

  "Maybe I'll tell you," she squinted slyly. "If you walk me to that bench by the lake."

  I weighed my options. "Why?"

  "Just because," she shrugged. "One unanswered question."

  She abruptly grabbed my hand and started dragging me.

  "Hey, wait, what's the rush?!"

  "I'm faster anyway," she replied.

  We started racing. It was strange. I wasn't running at full capacity, sure, but she kept pace perfectly, without even panting.

  "Ha! I'm first!" I shouted triumphantly, reaching the bench. "And you're second, hahaha!"

  She looked at me and, without a single word, hit me with a gust of wind. It didn't hurt, but it carried force. The blast shoved me right into the lake.

  "Wash up!" she shouted. "You stink!"

  I plunged into the water. Mud, algae, freezing cold. I didn't even bother trying to get out. I probably lay there for five minutes, just enjoying the chill and the silence.

  Suddenly, the lake... threw me out itself. A jet of water propelled me onto the shore. I flopped onto the sand.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "Excuse me?!" I yelled at the lake. "What did you throw me out for?!"

  The girl walked over. "Looks like you're way too dirty," she said. "The lake didn't like you." She offered me her hand. "So, your name is Greg. Don't you want to know my name?"

  I thought about it for a long time, analyzing the situation. "Noooo?" I looked at her thoughtfully. What do you want from me? I wondered.

  "Alright, Greg," she smiled. "You're interesting, even if you are rude. Let's go to my room."

  I immediately raised my hands and conjured a powerful gust of warm air to dry myself off faster.

  We headed inside. She lived on the third floor, room 378. She opened the door and waved me in. "Come on in."

  It was clean inside. She started talking about something, but I wasn't listening. I was scanning the room.

  On the table sat a very strange dish. A round piece of dough. Covered in cheese, sauces, meat, and various herbs. Like a starving wolf, I immediately lunged for it. I grabbed a piece of the dough and brought it to my mouth.

  She smacked my hand away. "Hey!" she said. "You have to bake it first. Can't you see? The dough is raw."

  I looked at her, then at the dough. "Bake it?" I asked. "Cook it? What is this?"

  She laughed. Loudly. From the bottom of her heart. "Are you an idiot or something?" she asked.

  "Alright, Greg, look," she began, ignoring my confusion. "Right now, the dough is raw, and so is the cheese. We need to fire up the oven, then throw it in..."

  I looked around, amazed. "You seriously have an oven? Are you even allowed to have that? Doesn't your roommate complain?"

  She giggled. "I don't have a roommate."

  "What? How?"

  "Only I'm allowed," she smiled cryptically.

  "What about me?" I asked, feeling the sheer injustice of it all.

  "Focus, Greg, don't get distracted! We need to light the oven."

  I looked at the oven, then back at her. "Fine. But we split the pizza fifty-fifty," I said, crossing my arms.

  She smirked. "Deal."

  I didn't bother messing with matches. With a snap of my fingers, I ignited the charcoal. Nothing complicated.

  "Wow, Greg, you're pretty handy," she noted.

  The word "handy" made my skin crawl. I instantly remembered Alphus calling me a "lapdog."

  "Alright, now we just have to wait ten minutes, and it'll be ready."

  "Ten minutes?!" I protested. "What if I crank up the fire, will it cook faster?"

  "No," she cut me off. "You'll just burn the dough."

  I didn't believe her. My magic could always accelerate any process.

  "If you don't believe me, go ahead and try," she challenged. "But keep in mind: you'll owe me this exact same portion of food."

  I confidently marched over to the oven. Charcoal, pfft, burns poorly, barely any heat. I began flooding the fire with mana and feeding it gusts of air. Now that's heat! I could see the toppings starting to bubble.

  "Now that looks delicious!" I said. I abruptly cut the fire.

  I reached for the dish, but she stopped me. "No, you'll burn yourself," she said, looking at me like I was crazy.

  I grabbed the iron pan holding the pizza. Whoa, hot! The bottom of the crust, where it touched the metal, had turned dark, almost black. And the meat on top wasn't fully cooked. But I started eating anyway. It was incredibly delicious. Even like this.

  She watched me. "Your food is so good! What is this called?"

  "Pizza," she replied, picking up a slice. She took a bite and winced. "It could have been better. But you ruined it, Greg."

  "It could have been better?" My curiosity flared. "Then let's make it again!"

  "Oh, you're awfully agreeable, Greg. Next time. Not today."

  She walked over to a shelf and pulled out a slice of pie. "Here, try this."

  I started eating. It was so delicious I completely forgot about the pizza.

  "You're a fast runner," I said, chewing. "Great physical conditioning."

  She giggled. "Oh please, Greg. I'm only ranked tenth in the Academy."

  I narrowed my eyes. "There are swordsmen here stronger than you? I'm surprised. I figured you were at least on par with Lianel."

  She spoke as if dripping with sarcasm: "Oh, surely not! I could never compare to her..." She trailed off thoughtfully.

  "Listen," she changed the subject. "Do you want to spar with swords? I'm just getting anxious, the festival is coming up soon. I'm worried I'll perform poorly."

  "I'm a terrible swordsman," I replied. "I'm too lazy."

  "Greg, please, spar with me! I'm curious to see your strength."

  I thought about it. A workout. New food. "Fine," I said. "If I win, you'll make me another one of those... pizzas?"

  She laughed. "Yes! If you beat me, I'll make you a pizza!"

  We headed to the training hall. It was completely empty. She tossed me a practice sword.

  "To first blood," she said.

  "What do you mean, first blood—?" was all I managed to ask.

  She lunged with unbelievable speed. I instinctively blocked the strike. CLANG! My block was too rigid; her sword cracked and shattered in half.

  "Splinters," I muttered. "Too much force. And this is tenth place? What a joke. Do people just buy their ranks here?"

  She jumped back, tossing aside her broken hilt. I dropped my sword too, signaling the fight was over.

  "Am I the winner?" I shouted, wiping my brow.

  "No," she smiled, but the smile was predatory.

  "What do you mean, no? We're fencing, and you don't have a sword!"

  Before I could even blink, she shot toward my discarded weapon like a bolt of lightning. Smack! She was already standing beside me, my blade in her hand.

  "Don't worry, Greg," she said, absolute mischief dancing in her eyes.

  I was outraged. "What the hell?! I threw that away on purpose!"

  She charged at me, using my own tactics against me. For about ten minutes, I sprinted around the gym, dodging her impossibly fast lunges. She wasn't just fast; she was dangerous.

  And then I made the exact same mistake I made against Lianel: a slightly miscalculated, risky lunge. I went all-in, leaving myself wide open just to end it with one strike. I exposed my ribs to deliver a punch to her torso.

  I was just about to slam my fist into her ribs when someone roared:

  "FREEZE!!!"

  I hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second. That was all she needed. Without missing a beat, she drove her knee right into my solar plexus. It hurt a bit, but the blow was weak, clearly pulled. I staggered and fell to the floor.

  A Coach came running up to us—a burly woman with a fierce scowl. She immediately laid into the girl: "What do you think you're doing?! Are you trying to kill the boy?!"

  "He agreed to it," the girl replied smoothly, hiding my sword behind her back.

  I lay there on the floor and thought. Here it is. My sinister master plan.

  HEE-HEE-HEE! BWA-HA-HA-HA!

  I went to work. I started coughing violently, clutching my solar plexus, and wheezed out between gasps: "Oh, no... she... she forced me to fight her... I... I begged for mercy... She... she wanted to kill me!"

  I looked at the Coach with eyes full of sheer terror and betrayal, utilizing every ounce of my newly discovered frailty.

  The girl looked at me with genuine astonishment. The Coach looked at her, but then spotted the shattered practice sword across the room. That was the ultimate piece of evidence.

  "Alright, both of you, get out of here," the Coach said, waving dismissively. "And don't let me catch you in here again!"

  I instantly stopped coughing and sat up. "Whaaat?" I whispered. "My plan... it's ruined!"

  I wanted her to get a massive reprimand so I could cynically exploit my status as the "victim"! And all I got was a measly: "Get out of here"?

  I jumped up, dusting myself off. My fake terror was instantly replaced by pure disappointment. "You!" I pointed at the girl. "Pizza! You owe me!"

  She smiled. "Of course, Greg. I owe you."

  SCENE: Pizza Blackmail, Imitating Alexia, and Cleansing the Room

  Leaving the gym, I brushed the sand off my sleeves.

  "So, Greg," she caught up to me. "You really thought you could frame me in front of the Coach?"

  "Well, yeah," I admitted. "What, it didn't work?"

  "It didn't work. But I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself: you owe me another spar."

  "And you owe me pizza."

  She laughed.

  We walked out into the courtyard and sat on a bench by the fountain. I sat in silence, staring up at the clouds. I felt drained, and my back ached from the knee strike. Suddenly, her hand hovered over my head.

  "I saw Alexia doing this," she said. "It seems like you enjoy it."

  Her fingers softly touched my hair.

  I instantly stopped thinking. My cynicism vanished. Only pure, animalistic pleasure remained. I started leaning into it, squeezing my eyes shut, and involuntarily rested my head on her lap. She was surprised, but kept scratching my head, her smile turning soft.

  "Greg," she whispered. "You're just like a kid."

  About twenty minutes later, she said, "Alright, that's enough. It's getting late. I have to go."

  I felt intensely sad. It had felt so good. I didn't want to get up.

  I trudged back to my room. Standing by the door was the Floor Warden—a massive, furious-looking guy. Beside him stood Alphus. He was soaked, covered in unspeakable grime, and looked absolutely horrific.

  

  "You better scrub this filth spotless!" the Warden screamed. "It reeks up the entire floor! If this isn't clean in one hour, you are expelled from the Academy!"

  The room was a nightmare. Water, sludge, garbage, massive puddles.

  I walked in. The Warden glared at me: "Hey, you, Dirtblood! Get to work!"

  I ignored him. I looked at Alphus. He was standing there, rigid, teetering on the edge of a total breakdown. He couldn't possibly handle this alone.

  I sighed. This cursed altruism again. I didn't argue. I didn't curse. I simply raised my hand. I conjured a massive Water Wave (pure water, pulled straight from the moisture in the air), which began scrubbing the room with incredible velocity. The jets of water acted like power-washers, instantly gathering all the filth and blasting it straight back down the drain. Within a minute, the room was spotless, bone-dry, and completely livable again.

  The Warden stood there, his jaw on the floor. Alphus remained frozen, still tense. He looked at the clean floor, then at me, and didn't say a single word.

  "It's clean," I said, shrugging.

  The Warden quickly hurried away, likely terrified of suffering the same fate as the room. Alphus finally snapped out of his stupor and, without making eye contact, walked into the bathroom. I heard him sit in there for what must have been three hours, scrubbing himself clean.

  I went to bed. Tomorrow meant a new fight and, possibly, pizza. I lay there thinking about the girl, about the words "you're handy." I felt disgusted. Not with her, but with myself. Why do I let this weakness control me?