No one sat back down. The next act of this endless play had begun: some took to the dance floor, while others clustered together to gossip.

  I caught the King's eye. We locked gazes for literally one second. I gave a barely perceptible nod in the direction of the "man with no scent." The King processed the information instantly—his face didn't change, but he immediately whispered something short to a servant. The gears started turning.

  The music started playing. The princesses began twirling in a waltz—or whatever they call this running in circles to the sound of a fiddle. Every few measures, the rhythm shifted, and partners had to rotate.

  Watching them, I involuntarily slipped into my memory. Hundreds of cycles, thousands of balls... I remembered these movements. My feet knew this rhythm better than the alphabet.

  Suddenly, someone's hand firmly grabbed my elbow. Some girl around my age, laughing, dragged me right into the thick of the dancing crowd. I didn't even realize who she was, but resisting was too much effort. I had to dance. And then change partners. And then change again.

  Apparently, I danced a little too well. My body took the lead on its own, my back stayed perfectly straight, my steps were flawless. Reflexes are a dangerous thing; they betray you before you even have time to think.

  Another rhythm change—and I found myself facing Alexia.

  She was glowing. You could tell how much she was enjoying this, how genuinely she was laughing. We twirled, and when the music signaled the partner change, she... didn't let go of my hand. She lingered for an extra second, ignoring the rules. And when we finally had to separate, a shadow of genuine sadness crossed her face.

  Finally, I caught my moment. I slipped out of the human whirlpool and literally fled to the wall. Phew. No more sports, my movement quota for today was officially depleted.

  I barely had time to sit down before Ryan approached me. Strutting beside him was a man in a pretentious robe.

  "Here, Teacher!" the squirt exclaimed joyfully. "This is Greg, the one I told you about!"

  The Teacher measured me with a look that contained enough contempt to freeze water. "Ryan, you mean this young man? You claim that this... dropout is stronger than me?" "Yes!" the prince said firmly. "Oh, apologies, Ryan, but look at him. He hasn't even graduated from the Academy. Just a common vagrant with pretensions." "But you haven't seen him in action!" Ryan started getting worked up. "Teleportation is child's play for him! He's the one who taught me those stances and training methods!"

  The Teacher narrowed his eyes. "Ah, so he is the author of those terribly inefficient methods... Listen here, young man. Before shoving your advice onto royalty, you ought to learn the basics. However..." he turned back to Ryan. "You don't have to listen to him. He is just an ordinary weakling."

  Ryan looked at me. There was so much hope in his eyes that I felt uncomfortable. "Greg," he whispered. "Show him. Do something!"

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  I sighed. Proving something to yet another pumped-up turkey? Way too much effort.

  I held up my index finger. Concentrated. A tiny, pathetic little spark danced on the tip of my nail. I contorted my face into an expression of immense strain, even blushing a little for credibility. I held the spark for about three seconds and then "exhaustedly" dropped my hand.

  The Teacher burst out laughing. "Well there you go, Ryan. Quod erat demonstrandum. Pure mediocrity." He led Ryan away, muttering something instructive about "false idols."

  I watched them go and wiped a nonexistent bead of sweat from my forehead. Proving things to people is a bad habit. And I am a strong advocate for a healthy lifestyle.

  Another four hours passed. First, they ate again. Then the King broadcasted something else from the podium. Then everyone went back to chewing on the exact same gossip. Finally, the royal family left the hall, and the guests began to slowly dissipate, like fog after dawn.

  The servants silently pointed me in the right direction. I followed them through empty, echoing corridors until I was led into a small sitting room. There were no foreign scents here, no powdered snobs—just Alexia, Lianel, and Ryan.

  Alexia turned to me, untying the ribbon at her neck. "Where did you learn to dance like that? Your movements... they are far too polished for someone who supposedly grew up in a forest." I shrugged. "I don't know. Just felt the rhythm."

  I looked at her. In the firelight, her silver hair looked almost translucent. "I didn't know you liked dancing so much, Alexia." She smiled faintly. "It's not that I like the process itself. But when you study for a long time, and then it finally starts working... that synchronization with your partner. When you feel each other's movements without words. That—yes, that is worth it. But I don't like just stomping around to music."

  "Greg!" Ryan abruptly interrupted. "Why didn't you show your power to the Teacher?!" He marched up to me, puffing angrily. "The Teacher spent the whole walk telling me how I need to beware of 'simpletons' like you. If you didn't hide your power, everything would be so much easier! You wouldn't have had to sit at that pathetic table in the far corner. You would have sat with us. You wouldn't be some 'distant relative' out of pity."

  Alexia added quietly, almost in a whisper: "Yes... it would be much easier."

  I smirked. They care so much about these tables and seats. "By the way, Ryan. Where is that highly praised staff of yours?"

  The squirt transformed instantly. All his anger vanished as if wiped away by a hand. He dashed out of the room and returned a minute later, dragging a massive, heavy wooden case that looked more like a sarcophagus. With great effort, he threw open the lid, revealing It to the world.

  A huge, massive staff made of dark wood, crowned with a heavy magical orb.

  "Umm..." I crouched down, examining the artifact. "Isn't it a bit big for you? You can't even be seen behind it." "That's just for now!" Ryan proudly lifted his chin. "I'll grow. But look how powerful it is!"

  He abruptly pointed the staff in my direction. A "tongue of flame" erupted from the orb—a stream of fire that was probably supposed to look intimidating. I lazily dispelled it with a flick of my finger before the heat even touched my clothes.

  "Well, thanks, Ryan. Almost fried my new uniform." "Wow!" Ryan blinked rapidly, staring at my hand. "What a powerful staff!"

  Alexia and Lianel, laughing, walked over to their brother. They started ruffling his hair and tickling his ribs. "And who is such a strong mage over here?" they cooed, while Ryan tried to break free and preserve the remaining shreds of his princely dignity.

  I watched the scene from the side. "Why don't you two have staffs?" I asked the princesses.

  Lianel stopped torturing her brother for a second and looked at me. "Well, we..." she hesitated. "We just aren't as talented as Ryan. We don't have the same aptitude for concentrating pure magic."

  "I see," I said.

  The only thing I actually saw was this: in this kingdom, "talent" was defined as the ability to use crutches instead of learning how to walk on your own.