Dialogue on the Nature of Thought, Being, and Society. The title embossed on the cover of the 500-page tome was heavy, promising.
Arthur sat on a stool facing the open window, the book resting on his lap. He had been reading for ten hours. To an observer, he looked as if he were deep in ponderous reflection. In truth, he was looking out at the sky, watching the students scuttling toward their classes, watching the world beneath him.
He believed himself to be the sun, hanging high above it all. He grinned. He knew the truth, and they did not.
Time passed; setting changed. Somewhere in the background, a lecture was droning on:
"To be marked present, you must wear your shoes, your socks, your pants, and your underpants. Your shirt must be buttoned under your vest, held together by your coat and tie. And they must all be clean. Some of you failed to meet these requirements. Remember to wear something else when in your Magic Combat class if you do not want to wash your clothes."
Arthur heard none of it. By the third word, he had deemed it unworthy of his attention.
I'm special. Of course I am, he thought, his internal voice smooth and cold. I developed my consciousness long before anyone else.My eyes can see beyond external appearances. Look at them… not even able to put on their clothes properly.These are my peers? What a joke.
He turned a page without looking at it.
My intellect is unmatched. I am simply limited by my physical body, he mused. When I decide to stop holding back, I will be unmatched as a mage as well.The instructors see it. The Headmaster sees it! Cedric is talented, I might consider him my equal in that regard, but he is still an immature, ignorant child like the rest of them.
"Hey, do you want to join our group to write the essay together?"
A student standing next to him broke his reverie. Arthur glanced over. The rest of the row behind the boy was looking at him, hopeful.
They are so adorable, Arthur thought, a sneer curling his lip. Like a herd of lambs. They need me to survive, but this world has no shortage of them.
"No," Arthur said flatly.
He turned back to the window.
I'm sure I came across as arrogant, he reasoned. But if I try to explain myself, I'm sure they'll see me as weak.I doubt they'll change their minds regardless of what I say, not that I'd care for their lesser opinions. They are probably hoping for me to fail. They are so simple-minded.
Speaking to them—any of them—is pointless.
A simple man would not notice it. An intelligent man would not make enemies. But those who are untouchable would not care about any of that.
Arthur smiled at his reflection in the glass.
Of which, I am the latter.
"Alright, who can tell me the answer to this equation?"
The mathematics instructor tapped the blackboard with a thin wooden pointer, the rhythmic clack-clack echoing against the silence.
X - 8 = 15
Arthur stared at the chalk dust floating in the sunbeam hitting the board.
How elementary, he thought, stifling a yawn behind his hand. The answer is 23. But there is no point in me wasting energy to raise my hand.
He leaned back, watching the other students scramble to scribble on their parchment.
I'll prove myself to instructors who still doubt me in assessments, but there is no need for me to demonstrate my abilities to children.