"Oh?"
Yes, that was the only expression coming from my mouth.
I couldn't help but wonder whether it was related to what she said earlier—some offhand remark about potentials or transfers that hung in the air like stale mana residue.
I should have asked her.
Well... never mind.
Not that I should have cared at all.
This place was just another institution grinding through protocols; my mind was already half elsewhere, plotting how to outpace whatever drudgery awaited.
"You are new to this institution, right?"
I only nodded, unable to grasp the correlation between this vague chit-chat and whatever bureaucratic hurdle we were supposedly clearing.
But he... never mind. His eyes had that flicker—curiosity laced with something sharper, like a probe scanning for weaknesses in a mana shield.
"May I take a look at your card first?"
I showed him the card without protest. My date of birth etched crisp, my provisional status as a transfer flagged in amber glow, and my potential tiered right there in cold blue script: Ice element, mid-grade affinity.
All of them listed, exposed like an open grimoire for his perusal.
"So, the expectation should be the Ice element. Correct?"
Once again, I replied with an affirmative nod, keeping my expression neutral as glacial frost.
"Yes, but my parents were disappointed, thinking I should be able for at least Abyss if not Wind element. Turns out my cognitive transcription wasn't that good at those back then—my neural links fizzled on the higher simulations."
For your information, I was sent from Nouvelle High School Magitech Academy, that glittering fortress of arcane engineering where half the faculty moonlighted as corporate enchanters. Not that pedigree mattered here; they all blurred into the same hierarchy eventually.
And no, I'm not gonna elaborate the details as he scanned my profile thoroughly, his fingers tracing the holographic edges with almost reverent slowness, pulling up archived metrics from my academy days—every incantation log, every duel sim score flickering to life.
"Ah, right. One of the most famous private schools with a well-known top-class reputation."
Gruellingly or perhaps begrudgingly—he muttered it like admitting a rival's edge, his posture shifting closer, invading my bubble until the faint ozone whiff of his augmentation rig made my skin prickle uncomfortably.
"That's fascinating. Your track records were more than impressive back in high school, suggesting the ability to distinguish mana energy with soul's transpiration perfectly—ranked first at magical barrier's incantation trials, alchemy-physics science knowledge mastery, ranged attack using raw elements, accidental summoning during that overload incident..."
Is he just gonna compliment all of my feats now? The list dragged on, each praise a velvet barb hooking into my patience.
I get it, I am that superior—top of the sims, zero failures. But please, don't make me wait like this; the lab's hum was already grating, sterile air chilling my exposed neck.
"Yes, but we aren't here for that, right, Professor?"
I smiled. Politely so.
He stopped his observation towards my ID card, which almost felt like he was looking at my chest but whatever. Maybe he is not gay like what they said, after all—just another academic with wandering augmented scans.
"O-oh, right! Pardon my curiosity. It's just rare to have a student of your calibre."
He really said that while ignoring my roommate slouched in the corner, her own stars dimmed and unremarkable by comparison.
"I see. I thought Elisa was extremely good at those?"
"Oh, her? Yes, but she is also extremely fragile and susceptible—mana feedback loops hit her like a storm surge."
Now this institution treated her like a pickled glass artifact, swaddled in buffers and exemptions. Unbelievable how they coddled fragility while dissecting the strong.
At this point, let's just finish this endless out-of-nowhere talk.
The air felt thicker, anticipatory, like the prelude to a ritual binding.
I then cleared my throat to get his attention, sharp as cracking ice.
"So?"
"Oh, right. I almost forgot."
"We will do a bodily inspection. We will place sensory devices in your body—neural taps, dermal arrays, full-spectrum ether scans."
So… wait a second. Did I just get dressed, taking a shower, for this? Fuck!
The fresh sanitizing gels still clung faintly to my skin, now to be stripped away for probes and prods.
I hated to admit it, but it's annoying to get my body exposed again after it just happened—vulnerability layered on vulnerability, like shedding wards in a duel.
"So, are you the one who will do it?"
"Me? No. There are many others—technicians, etherists. And don't worry, this is purely done for research inspection, baseline calibration for your transfer. So, I will let you go to the dressing room before we begin the session."
In the name of science.
How typical— the oldest incantation in the book, chanted whenever ethics boards looked the other way.
Right, of course.
Everyone is gonna say that when it comes to undressing a female student on purpose.
I have seen this ethical issue phenomenon every single time across three academies now. No need to remind me; the hypocrisy pulsed like a major error in the system.
"Alright. Thank you for your information, Mister Aristarchus."
"It's my pleasure to help. So, shall we?"
He said while holding his own card aloft, thumb hovering over the activation rune.
I only nodded. This time lazily, masking the coil of irritation in my gut.
He smiled then tapped the said card until its vibrating light stopped pulsing, the device chiming acceptance.
All I did then was to walk casually, putting my hands on the lab coat, fabric whispering against my skin as we proceeded down the sterile corridor.
✦ ✧ ✦
Long story short, I undressed myself in the dim antechamber, mirrors reflecting clinical indifference.
And no, I'm not that bold enough to show this vulnerable state to others—stripped to essentials, every curve and scar laid bare under the harsh lumens.
So I creeped in, slowly but sure, while covering myself with a cloth—the flimsy barrier provided by the staff here, barely more than a whisper of ether-weave.
For the said 'inspection', yes. Probes awaited, humming with cold promise.
"Oh, there you are."
Kill yourself.
Richard Agreste Mille.
From far-off, there was nothing wrong about him—polished uniform, augmented poise.
Yet if you looked closely, especially from his haughtiness radiating like overcharged plasma.
You could tell he's a total asshole whose butt is stuck up ahead like a stick—arrogance incarnate.
"What is it, Professor? Want to feel the taste of this again?"
I said while lifting my fist shakenly, clenching so firmly that it could crush his skull—echo of the punch that floored him a week prior.
"Hey, calm down! Relax. I never meant to make the transfer process any difficult—mutation procedure was volatile."
He said while smirking as if he was the innocent one here, eyes dipping to my clutched cloth.
Meh, he just wants to hit on me, doesn't he?
The thought curdled like spoiled elixir.
"I hope it really was the case, Professor."
I swear to God, every single time he entered my life, it's getting ten times harder—disruptions rippling through my carefully calibrated plans.
The mutation process was supposed to be easy. Simple—like core stabilization.
Yet this dude below me—as I perceived him so instead of facing me—ruined everything.
No, I have got no need to explain why—his bungled calibration nearly shattered my links.
Figure it out by yourself, would ya?
Anyway, if I ended up getting him as my homeroom teacher, I would make him regret sharing the same breath as mine.
No, could be worse.
I could simply mock him in front of other students, dismantle his cred step by calculated step.
Every single time. Just mark my words.
"I really would like to apologize for such an inconvenience. Anyway, are you ready for 'that'?"
I only nodded. Unwillingly so.
Extremely reluctant, in fact—body tensed against the inevitable exposure.
"You too need to calm down. And Mirielle, it's just a simple clumsiness."
I shrugged, while my hands were still clutching on the cloth like a lifeline.
"Sure, a simple clumsiness that could prove how incompetent he was. Of course."
That sarcasm hits hard, doesn't it?
Dripping like venom from a frost viper.
I really disliked putting up a feud about this, yet I could have reported him to my parents—pulled strings that would unravel his career in days.
And thank God, I didn't. He should've been really grateful for how lucky he was.
I pierced my glare at him.
It was sharp and unbreakable, the one that could make anyone shudder, as if telling him "You know what happens if I actually do something."
Of course, he gave in then fixed his attitude.
Kinda.
The smirk faltered, just enough to make me puke.