POV: HELENA IVYRA
I always thought the time was something poetic. It possessed a… confusing speed. Sometimes, it seemed to walk slowly, as if it wanted us to feel the moment more vividly.
Other times, it accelerated as if fleeing from us, leaving behind nothing but an empty void of longing. It was as if it alternated between turtle steps and hare leaps.
And, for the past two months, time had moved at Flash's speed.
"But since when is it already February?" I frowned, looking at the calendar. It was the 1st. I blinked, and January was gone.
"Einstein, you bastard..." I muttered in anger, cursing that messy-haired genius in a whisper of pure hatred.
Time was relative, of course, everyone knew that. Thanks, Einstein. But no one told me it sped up precisely when we most wanted it to slow down.
My beloved vacation was slipping through my fingers like the sand in an inverted hourglass, constant, merciless, and ever faster. Whenever I had vacation, they always seemed hurried, wanting to end as quickly as possible.
It wasn't the best way to start the day. And definitely not the best motivation.
The last two months had passed as quickly as the last day of school. After that fateful incident with the frying pan… time flew. Perhaps that had something to do with the pan incident. Just a guess, of course.
After all, I barely remembered how I got to school that day. I only remembered flashes:
We had the classic year-end party, the basically useless classes on the last day, I met some friends, exchanged quick words about whether we'd be together in third year, if we'd see each other during the holidays... Which hadn't happened yet; my introverted self was living happily!
"Ugh... it's already February, and I barely leave the house. I think I'm becoming too antisocial. I hope I don't turn into one of those edgy anime protagonists..." I grumbled, organizing my thoughts and finishing my morning routine: coffee, tidying the room, reading notes on Euclid's Axioms.
Yes, that was me.
Since the end of the school year, I had basically divided my time between studying Euclidean geometry and researching the university entrance exams I could take.
The most interesting of all, by far, was the NLEE, National Literary Education Exam.
I remembered that passage from the pamphlet the teachers handed out on the last day of class. It was a classic university entrance exam promotional pamphlet, explaining the timeline from registration to the final exam date.
The NLEE is the country's main university admission tournament. Organized annually at the end of November, it has three stages: school, state, and national selective rounds.
This was the first paragraph of that pamphlet, which also provided some extra information, tips on what to study, and how to prepare. And, of course, it promoted the great opportunity that studying at one of the national institutions represented.
When talking about college, no matter the topic of conversation, we always ended up discussing federal universities – criticized by many, loved by others.
Regardless, they had always been the most respected institutions for training mages and academics. Many of these institutions have several authorial dominators, many high-standard mages, and some rare cases of Primary Dominators.
Studying at any of these institutions was a golden opportunity for middle-class youths.
The problem itself was that to get there, you'd have to move to the big cities, the capitals. Which, often, was not only an intellectual challenge but also a financial one. If you managed to get a spot... you'd need the money to go.
Unfair? Partly. However, those worries could wait. I needed to stay focused on my NLEE studies. And, with luck, maybe I could get a spot in the final phase, which took place at the National History Museum in Rio de Janeiro.
"Tsk... it's a huge amount of work..."
I sighed, reflecting on what awaited me. There were more than twenty battles until then. From the school qualifiers to the final. If I manage to get a good placement in the state rounds, it should be enough to secure a spot at the National University of Florianópolis.
It was a long-term gamble. The tournament wasn't based solely on knowledge. There was a luck factor involved: who your opponents were, the type of test drawn, the required reading style... so maybe I should stop trying to control everything.
"But then... who said stopping control is simple?" I mused after finishing my coffee. "I'll make another cup," I decided quickly.
As I headed to the kitchen, I saw the living room television, which sat on the stand in front of the dark brown, three-seater sofa Mom bought last year, if I'm not mistaken.
Speaking of her, I didn't see her anywhere, which made sense; she usually loved going to her neighbors' houses to chat, drink chimarrão, or bake cakes and things like that.
The detail was that this time, she'd left the TV on, so I glanced at it, realizing the regional news was on, with the anchor presenting something with a certain urgency, displaying a headline with a red banner highlighting:
"IT'S OFFICIAL: Government Sanctions Fixed Price Law. Books May See Up to 60% Increase in Coming Months."
"What...?" I said, dropping my cup on the table, incredulous.
I quickly walked past the kitchen and sat on the sofa to understand what was happening. I grabbed the remote to turn up the volume, and once done, I began to listen to the reporter, in a neutral tone, reading directly from the teleprompter:
"The law, approved in the early hours of this Wednesday and drafted by federal deputy Matheus Eduardo da Silva, proposes the readjustment of prices for physical and digital books under the justification of 'preservation of textual heritage and incentive to quality national editorial production'. The new policy takes effect immediately."
'Preservation of textual heritage and incentive to quality national editorial production?'
The words repeated in my mind for a few seconds.
How was it possible to preserve textual heritage if it made access to reading more difficult?
Didn't this achieve precisely the opposite of what was intended?
Incentive for national production? How were authors incentivized if, with prices soaring, no one could afford to buy books anymore?
As I imagined what possible impacts this law could have, I saw the image on the television change. The reporter now turned to a live guest:
"Sought out by our team, we have with us Professor and Historian Dr. Evangeline Bittencourt, from NUF," the reporter announced, in a formal tone. "Dr. Evangeline, good morning! What are the precedents and what impacts do you believe motivate this measure?"
The woman on the other side of the screen was thin. Her hair was completely gray, tied in a bun; she wore glasses and spoke with calculated calm. She had one of those voices that could narrate a history documentary, yet still sound intimate.
Her posture was rigid, but exuded a certain academic glamour and chicness. Around her, it looked like an office or even a library, full of old books and documents. It seemed they were at NUF, the federal university in Florianópolis.
Before I could notice more details or better guess where they were, Ms. Evangeline replied to the reporter:
"Good morning, miss. In all my academic career, I remember few decisions with such a direct impact on access to culture. As for the motivations? It's hard to say for sure," she affirmed, changing from a relaxed posture to one of concentration with her arms crossed, as if pondering what to say next.
"The text of the law claims its purpose is to protect the national market, fixing prices to guarantee stability and value quality editorial production. The idea is to create a plan that, theoretically, avoids predatory competition and ensures the survival of local publishers."
She paused briefly, adjusted her glasses, and then continued:
"However, this reasoning disregards the reality of the Brazilian market. We have extremely high tax rates, low literacy rates, and, most importantly, writers who can barely make a living from what they produce. Access is already unequal, and raising book prices will only further alienate readers, especially the younger ones and those from popular classes."
The reporter nodded quickly, and glancing briefly at the camera, asked another quick question: "And regarding the historical precedents, what could you tell us about that?" the reporter said.
"That's another important point, the historical precedents. Laws like this, despite seeming unprecedented, are not. The first time I saw something similar was in my studies of the 1940s, with the so-called 'Anti-Book Law,' implemented in the Alamannic Empire, if I remember correctly,"
Dr. Bittencourt pondered. "Honestly, it seems like a disguised attempt at ideological control, masquerading as cultural protection. And, to be clear... sometimes time seems too fast. Seeing these things repeat themselves is strange…"