The next day I woke up to strange sounds.

  Someone was howling.

  I listened closer and realized: Alfus was singing in the shower. Off-key, but with feeling. Probably celebrating the fact I hadn’t killed him in his sleep.

  I took a gulp of water from the carafe and checked the mirror.

  “Alright, what’s today?” I muttered.

  Right eye — steadily black.

  Left eye — emerald green.

  “Fine. At least it’s not speckled.”

  Alfus came out of the bathroom smelling like a flowerbed.

  I went in after him, washed my face quickly, and stepped back out.

  Alfus stared at me.

  “That’s it? You’re done already? You’re not even going to properly wash?”

  “What do you mean?” I blinked. “I’m clean. I washed my hands, washed my face. AND STOP CALLING ME ‘DIRTY-BLOOD’! I’m clean, got it?”

  Alfus rolled his eyes so hard I was afraid they’d get stuck.

  “Idiot…” he whispered. “Do you even know what that means?”

  “Mm… a dirty person? Someone covered in dirt?”

  He looked at me with an indescribable mix of pity and disgust, waved a hand, and silently went back to polishing his boots.

  “I don’t get it,” I grumbled. “My head’s clean, my clothes—”

  I glanced at my jacket.

  “Hm. The uniform?”

  I looked at the white set, pictured myself in it.

  “Nope. I’m a black crow among white swans. If they don’t like it, they can stop looking. Nobody murdered me for it yesterday.”

  I arrived on time.

  Sat in my usual seat next to Alexia.

  She looked exhausted—dark shadows under her eyes.

  “I studied all night,” she whispered. “Barrier formulas. I hope I can repeat them.”

  I looked at her like she was stupid.

  “Why cram something you’re supposed to feel?”

  She just waved me off.

  Elandr walked into the classroom.

  “Homework check. Lianelle, to the center. Create an A-rank barrier.”

  Lianelle stood.

  She strained so hard the veins on her forehead bulged.

  A dense, shining shield of pure mana formed around her.

  I grimaced.

  “So wasteful…” I muttered. “Wrong technique. She’s just drowning the problem in force. Efficiency’s like thirty percent.”

  Elandr fired a plasma orb.

  The barrier held, but Lianelle swayed, breathing hard.

  “Not bad,” the elf nodded. “Now Alexia.”

  Alexia did slightly better—more elegant, but still heavy.

  Then the rest went.

  Some people’s shields popped instantly. Some fainted from exhaustion.

  “Alfus Shedor!”

  My roommate went to the front.

  He was shaking like a leaf.

  “The main task is to withstand the plasma?” he уточнил in a trembling voice.

  “Yes,” Elandr nodded. “Any method.”

  Alfus started building a standard light shield, but the mana kept slipping.

  He panicked.

  Looked at me with terror in his eyes.

  I only gave a lazy nod.

  Come on, Cloud. Physics.

  He exhaled, canceled the light magic and… formed a Water Dome.

  The class murmured. Water against plasma?

  “Young man, I can easi—” Elandr began.

  But Alfus started spinning the water.

  Centrifugal force stretched the dome, turning it into a mad whirlpool.

  Elandr’s mouth twitched into a half-smile.

  “Unusual. Solved the problem… interesting.”

  BAM.

  The plasma struck the water—yet instead of exploding, it slid along the rotating surface, bleeding into steam and spray, then ricocheted into the wall, leaving a black scorch mark.

  Alfus stood there unharmed.

  Elandr started clapping.

  “Impressive, Alfus. You got out of a difficult situation with unconventional thinking. But still—by the end of the week I expect everyone to have the book-standard barrier. Perfect technique.”

  Everyone applauded.

  Alfus beamed like a freshly scrubbed metal basin and practically sprinted back to his desk.

  Elandr looked at me.

  His eyes clearly said: I know whose idea this was, savage.

  “Greg,” Alexia whispered, “is that even allowed? How did he figure that out?”

  “It’s simple,” I yawned. “You spin it—impact disperses. It doesn’t hit one point, it glides. Water absorbs energy (heat capacity and all that), and the speed carries the hit away. Elementary.”

  Alexia looked at me with respect.

  And just a little fear.

  All day they kept cramming the same thing.

  I was bored.

  During fencing, I paired with Alexia.

  She attacked fast, technical.

  I just lazily shifted my sword, blocking everything.

  “ALEXIA!” the male trainer roared. “Land at least one hit! You have so many openings! He’s standing wide open!”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I looked at myself.

  Arms down, posture relaxed. I really did look like a target.

  But the second trainer—an old swordsman—narrowed his eyes.

  He saw what the others didn’t: that “openness” was a trap.

  I killed every move Alexia made before she even began it.

  “She has no opening,” the old man said quietly. “Not a single one.”

  “CAFETERIA!” I yelled the second the bell rang. “You brought your card this time, right?”

  “Yeah,” Alexia smiled.

  I grinned like a kid promised ice cream.

  We got to the serving line.

  They slapped some gray porridge and a chunk of boiled meat onto my plate.

  Alexia and Lianelle got refined stew, salads, dessert.

  “Uh…” I looked at my tray, then theirs. “Why is our food different?”

  “Because the layers of society are different, Greg,” Lianelle explained calmly. “Food like ours is only for Class S and top-tier aristocrats. Everyone else gets what you have. Nutritious, just not fancy.”

  “Alright,” I shrugged and started eating. “Porridge is porridge. Normal food. Main thing is I’m not hungry.”

  Alexia sat beside me.

  She barely ate—mostly read her book.

  And again, absent-mindedly, her hand reached for my head.

  Fingers sank into my hair, gently massaging.

  It was… something.

  The warmth of her hands seeped under my skin, soothing that constant anxiety inside me.

  I froze with a spoon in my mouth, afraid to move.

  “You’re really like a child, Greg,” she chuckled, not looking up.

  Suddenly a group of students approached our table.

  Rich, beautiful, perfumed.

  “Your Highness!” they bowed. “May we join you?”

  They sat down, openly staring at me like some exotic animal.

  “Why is he so weird?” asked a powdered-faced girl. “Why are his eyes different every time? Is it a disease?”

  Alexia immediately pulled her hand off my head.

  The warmth vanished.

  It got cold.

  “No,” she said quickly, putting on an indifferent look. “He’s just odd. Likes to dye his eyes with magic. Village fashion, you know.”

  They giggled.

  “Dye his eyes? Ha-ha! What a funny jester.”

  I sat there, staring into my porridge.

  Something nasty rose inside me.

  Sticky.

  Humiliation.

  Is she ashamed of me?

  She stopped petting me because they showed up?

  “Dyes his eyes”…

  I felt like a clown kept in a palace for entertainment.

  My appetite died.

  I pushed the bowl away.

  I looked at those powdered aristocrats with their important faces—like they’d saved the world, but in reality…

  “They’re weaker than you,” I said out loud to the princesses. “Weaker than kittens.”

  Then I turned to the “elite.”

  “Hey. Can you even change your eye color with magic? Right now?”

  Silence slammed down over the table.

  They blinked at me, exchanging looks.

  “Um… why?” one finally forced out. “That’s complex transfiguration…”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I nodded. “So easy. Weaklings.”

  Offended to the core, they stood up and left without a word, carrying their trays away.

  “Greg!” Alexia threw her hands up. “What are you doing?! You’re scaring off potential friends!”

  “Friends?” I snorted, chewing. “I don’t get what kind of ‘friends’ those are. They talk to you because of who your father is. Take away the crown and they won’t even remember your name.”

  “That’s not true!” Lianelle protested hotly. “They’re interested in us as people!”

  Alexia flinched.

  Doubt flickered in her eyes—but she quickly nodded along with her sister.

  Easier to believe the fairy tale.

  I didn’t answer.

  Just dragged Alexia’s tray closer.

  “You weren’t going to finish that, right?”

  “N-no…”

  “Great. Food is sacred.”

  And I started demolishing her portion, ignoring their stunned looks.

  Next class was World History.

  A man around fifty entered, wearing a robe that smelled like dust.

  “Nothing but old fossils here,” I whispered.

  “Quiet!” Alexia hissed. “They’re just very experienced.”

  The teacher droned about dynasties, borders, great alliances.

  I listened and realized one terrifying thing:

  There was a hole in my head.

  I didn’t know any of this.

  Where had I been all these years?

  Asleep?

  Or did history get rewritten while I kept losing my memory?

  It was a rotten feeling—being a stranger in your own world.

  After History came Herbology.

  A female instructor cheerfully lectured about flora.

  “…And in our greenhouse wing we have a unique exhibit—The Living Tree!”

  I raised my hand immediately.

  “Does it talk? An ent?”

  She stared at me over her glasses.

  “Young man, are you serious? The ents left this world 250 years ago. No one has seen them since. Our tree just moves its branches.”

  “Oh…” I lowered my hand. “Shame.”

  Two hundred fifty years.

  Something clicked in my head.

  I remembered trees could talk.

  So I was older than I thought.

  We climbed up to the fourth floor.

  The princesses, like loyal escorts, walked me all the way to my door.

  Before leaving, Alexia reached toward me again.

  She patted my head.

  Quick, but soft.

  Like she was checking whether I bite.

  Or calming me down.

  “Behave,” she tossed over her shoulder and left.

  I stood there watching her go.

  The spot she touched burned.

  “Damn these… tender moments,” I muttered.

  I entered the room.

  Alfus was in front of the mirror (my mirror), rehearsing victorious poses.

  “See, village boy?” he declared smugly. “My technique was elegant! Everyone clapped! And you doubted me.”

  I stared at him.

  “I literally told you what to do. You whined all night.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know,” he waved me off dramatically. “I was in a flow state. Your words were just background noise.”

  “Strange guy,” I told the mirror. “Emotional swings. One minute whining, next minute king of the world.”

  I flopped onto the bed and pulled the blanket over my head.

  “Hey!” Alfus called. “You’re not even going to do homework? There’s a History test tomorrow!”

  “What’s there to do?” I yawned under the blanket. “Easy stuff.”

  “Oh really…” he chuckled nastily. “We’ll see how you embarrass yourself tomorrow.”

  I closed my eyes.

  A History test? I didn’t know a single date.

  Not one king’s name.

  But for some reason I was calm.

  History is written by the victors, I thought as sleep took me. And I… seem to always survive. So I’ll figure something out.

  If combat magic and fencing were a child’s walk for me, History was a wall I ran into at full speed.

  They handed out huge sheets with questions.

  I scanned them.

  “In what year was the Non-Aggression Pact signed between dwarves and humans?”

  “Name three causes of the fall of the Scarlet Roses dynasty.”

  “Who was the Great Unifier?”

  I realized one thing:

  I knew nothing.

  My head was empty wind.

  I tried to peek at Alexia’s paper.

  She caught the move, smirked, and deliberately covered her answers with her palm.

  Her eyes said: Suffer, savage.

  I was stunned.

  “This many questions just from yesterday’s lecture?!” I whispered. “How am I supposed to know all that? Am I a chronicler?”

  In the end I turned in a completely blank sheet.

  The history teacher—a gray-haired lady with her hair in a bun—looked at my work, then at me.

  “Bad, Greg. Very bad. I’ll forgive you once—call it adaptation. But I advise you to borrow ‘General History of the World’ from the library. Maybe it’ll clear your head. It’s shameful not to know the roots of the world you live in.”

  I left the classroom sad as a beaten dog.

  But in Herbology everything flipped.

  “Intuition assignment!” the instructor announced. “Here is a set of herbs. Mix them to get a useful brew. One condition: don’t kill anyone.”

  I looked at the bundles of dried plants.

  My hands moved on their own.

  “Alright, this with this… and this goes here… a little juice from this root…”

  I didn’t know the names.

  I just felt what fit.

  Five minutes later, a greenish liquid swirled in my flask.

  The instructor approached, sniffed, and raised an eyebrow.

  “Hm! Blood-clotting elixir. Stops bleeding twenty percent faster than standard. And you made that out of the junk on your table? Not bad, young man. Very not bad. You have talent.”

  After classes I headed straight for my room.

  Sleep, I thought. Just sleep.

  Suddenly someone grabbed me by the collar.

  “And where do you think you’re going?” Alexia’s voice.

  “Uh… to sleep.”

  “You forgot how spectacularly you failed History?” she said.

  “Oh. Right… yeah. Sad, sure. But I’ll go sleep to forget the shame.”

  She didn’t let go.

  “No, dear distant relative. You’re going to the library. And you will read ‘General History of the World’ cover to cover.”

  “I don’t even know where the library is!” I howled.

  Alexia smirked.

  “Of course you don’t. Want me to draw you a map, or will you find it by the smell of dust? Fine, don’t strain your brain—I’ll take you.”

  She dragged me into a massive building packed with books to the ceiling.

  “Hello, we need ‘General History,’” she ordered the librarian.

  He nodded and brought out…

  No—he didn’t bring out a book.

  He brought out a paper tombstone.

  A giant, thick, dusty tome.

  “There,” Alexia slapped the cover. “Read.”

  “Yeah…” was all I managed.

  With a groan, I lifted the monster, hauled it to a table and—misjudging the weight—dropped it.

  BAM.

  It slammed down, kicking up a cloud of dust.

  In the same second something smacked the back of my head.

  “Ow!” I rubbed my skull.

  The librarian—a tiny angry old man—glared at me with berserker fury.

  “How dare you treat a book like that, you ignorant brute?!”

  “What’s the big deal?” I snapped. “It’s just a book. Paper and ink.”

  The old man turned purple.

  “Just a book?! People spent their lives writing knowledge so ignoramuses like you could become humans, not monkeys! Drop it again and you’re out!”

  “Read,” Alexia said, opening her own textbook. “And don’t whine.”

  I opened the tome.

  Thousands of pages of tiny print.

  “Alright then.”

  I put my hand on the page.

  My eyes flared.

  Magic is convenient.

  I started flipping.

  Whff. Whff. Whff.

  Pages fanned past.

  I wasn’t reading words—I was absorbing information directly.

  One minute.

  I shut the book.

  “Done. Read it.”

  “What?” Alexia looked up. “Don’t lie.”

  “I swear. Nothing hard.”

  She stared at me, distrustful.

  “Fine… If you’re lying, I’ll hit you.”

  She opened the book at random.

  “What year did the Great War begin?”

  “Year 200, around there,” I yawned.

  “Who started it?”

  “A demon named ‘Dread Fang.’ What a name… His mom had zero imagination.”

  Alexia blinked, checked the text.

  Correct.

  “Who was king then?” she asked, flipping.

  “‘Windswept Might.’ Seriously?” I snorted. “Who makes these epithets—some random-word generator?”

  “Greg! Just answer!”

  She drilled me for five minutes.

  Dates. Names. Events.

  I answered everything, while roasting the stupid titles.

  Alexia closed the book.

  She looked genuinely shaken.

  “Incredible… How so fast? Your memory is like an archmage’s.”

  “I’m full of surprises,” I grinned.

  And then she smiled.

  Warm. Satisfied.

  She reached out and started combing her fingers through my hair again.

  “Good boy,” she purred, idly sorting strands. “Smart boy.”

  It was… unreal.

  Her fingertips touched my scalp and a wave of calm rolled over me.

  All my cynical thoughts dissolved.

  I just sat there melting like a cat on a warm stove.

  Alexia noticed my reaction and quietly giggled.

  “So simple, huh… All it takes is a little petting.”