I woke up in the morning, got out of bed, and took a shower. Returning to my room, I opened the wardrobe. There it hung. The dress uniform of the S-class. Pure white with intricate gold embroidery, a high collar, and the proud crest of the Academy. I had never worn it once, vastly preferring my comfortable "rags."

  I pulled it out and tossed it onto the bed. Right next to my old, worn-out pants.

  I stood there, thinking. Should I put it on or not? "You reflect poorly on them," Alphus's voice echoed in my head. "Their reputation suffers." I remembered the look on Alexia's face when she tied back her silver hair. I remembered Anna feeding me rice. "Yeah," I sighed. "I don't want to be a stain on their pretty picture."

  I kicked the old pants into the corner. I started getting dressed. The shirt was a bit tight across the shoulders, but the fabric felt incredibly pleasant against my skin. The trousers fit perfectly. The vest, the jacket with its heavy gold buttons.

  I walked over to the mirror. Staring back at me wasn't the "village idiot," but a young, imposing aristocrat. My black hair gleamed with cleanliness, framing pale skin. Only the eyes—two absolute black voids—betrayed the monster hiding underneath.

  "Well," I said to my reflection. "The circus left town, and the clown decided to dress up as the ringmaster."

  I stepped out of my room. Alphus was already waiting in the hallway. When he saw me, his jaw literally dropped.

  "Greg?" he rubbed his eyes in disbelief. "You... you look... like a human!"

  "Shut up," I grumbled, tugging uncomfortably at the high collar. "Let's go. And if you say a single word about 'how good it looks on me,' I'm putting the potato sack back on."

  We headed to class. I walked up to the door. Out of pure habit, I raised my foot to kick it open, but then Alphus's lecture flashed in my mind. I sighed heavily, grabbed the handle, and opened the door with my hand.

  And then...

  The entire class gasped. A collective, unified intake of breath. All conversations snapped shut. The snickering died instantly. Every single head swiveled toward me.

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  I walked to my seat in absolute, dead silence. My white uniform was practically glowing; my black hair (now clean and falling into chaotic, natural waves instead of hanging in greasy icicles) created a stark, striking contrast. Even my eyes didn't look terrifying today—they just looked profoundly mysterious.

  I approached Alexia's desk. She was sitting there, buried in a book. Sensing the unnatural silence, she lifted her head. And froze.

  Her eyes went wide. She stared at me, her mouth slightly open, completely unable to utter a single word.

  "Is this seat taken?" I asked, trying to sound as casual as usual, and sat down (pulling the chair out slightly, just like Alphus taught me—though, admittedly, I pulled it out for myself).

  "Greg?" she finally exhaled. "You... you look like a completely different person."

  She reached out toward me. Her hand, out of deeply ingrained habit, landed on the crown of my head. She ran her fingers through my hair and looked even more shocked.

  "Wow..." she whispered. "It's so soft. And it smells like... herbs? Did you wash it?"

  Her fingers began to gently massage my scalp. And instantly, my new "aristocratic" mask shattered into a million pieces.

  My eyes rolled back on their own. My shoulders slumped. That intense, overwhelming warmth flooded through my body.

  "Mmm..." I practically purred in front of the entire class, completely forgetting about my imposing new look.

  Alexia laughed softly at my reaction. "Ah, never mind," she said, sounding relieved. "You're exactly the same. The wrapper is new, but the filling hasn't changed."

  She leaned in a little closer, never stopping the soothing motion of her fingers through my clean hair. "Did something happen? Why the sudden change?"

  I shook my head without opening my eyes. No, I thought. Alphus just annoyed the hell out of me.

  She smiled and kept scratching my head. "Well, whatever the reason, it's better this way. Now it's actually pleasant to touch you without my hand sticking."

  "Hey," I protested weakly, but made zero effort to move my head away.

  "You're exactly the same, Greg," she whispered. "My very own pet... aristocrat."

  The door opened, and Elandr walked into the classroom. He strode toward the podium but suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. His gaze, which usually slid right over our heads, snagged squarely on me.

  He stared at my pristine white uniform, at my clean hair, at my perfectly straight posture. He stood in absolute silence for a solid five seconds.

  "It's going to snow soon," he stated dryly, looking me dead in the eye. "Or the sky is going to fall."

  The class snickered. I kept a face carved from stone, even though I was boiling inside.

  "Is this seat taken?" I mocked myself viciously in my head. Idiot. What kind of stupid question was that? You sit here every single day. Why did you even ask that? To sound polite? Ugh. Pathetic.