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"Now, let’s talk about what you did wrong."

The class stared at him with the particular intensity of people who had just realized they might be in trouble and were still calculating how much.

Zeke tilted his head. "First off. Who can tell me about deviant magic?"

He addressed the class, but his gaze settled on Kenshin and held there, waiting.

Kenshin saw the stare and swallowed.

Zeke let the silence stretch a beat longer, then turned to the full room. "Nobody?"

Nyssara’s hand shot up. "I have an idea of deviant magic, sir."

She stood as she spoke, spine straight, eyes fixed forward.

Zeke extended a hand. "Continue."

"Pardon me, sir, but to understand deviant magic, one would have to have knowledge of the other variations of magic and how the term ’deviant’ comes into play." She paused, glancing at Zeke for permission. He nodded. "In the general classification of magic, there is elemental magic—magic involving the elements. On the other side of that division is deviant magic: magic that does not involve the elements."

She folded her hands behind her back.

"That is a basic rundown. Chapter seven, page thirty-one of Basic Theory of Magic in the library."

She finished with a small, smug smile.

"You gave a basic rundown." Dean’s voice drifted from his seat, light and mocking. "I thought you were aiming for the professor’s job, the way you said ’one would have to understand the other variations.’"

Nyssara shot him a glare. Dean stuck out his tongue.

A hand appeared at the top of Dean’s head.

Bonk.

"Ow!" Dean yelped, both hands flying to his skull. He twisted toward Sam. Sam shrugged—not his hand, not his doing—then tilted his head toward Zeke.

Dean turned.

Zeke was already looking at him. Side-eyed. Unimpressed.

"Kenshin." Zeke’s attention shifted without hurry. "What magic was used just now?"

"Wind magic." Kenshin’s answer came fast and confident.

"Did you learn about it from a book? Or did your opponent have to explain it to you during a sparring session?"

Zeke held his stance, gaze steady on Kenshin.

Kenshin’s grin flickered. "I think I learned of it in a fight. I read about it in a book as well. But elemental magic is basic. It doesn’t take deep knowledge to know about it."

He grinned wider.

Smack.

The sound of ten palms meeting ten faces echoed through the classroom.

"That was sarcasm, you fool." Aelric pinched the bridge of his nose.

"This one’s not so bright, eh?" Virelle’s voice was light and teasing.

"Virelle." Zeke’s voice cut through the ripple of laughter.

"Sir."

"An application of deviant magic."

"The freeze spell used on Kenshin?"

Zeke pinched his nose and exhaled. "You don’t read."

He moved from the podium, slow and deliberate, raising a finger with each step.

"You don’t win fights." One finger.

He turned his head toward Dean. "You don’t have friends outside this room. Are you even friends, or just classmates?" Two fingers.

He looked back at the class. "You don’t have answers to my questions." Three fingers.

He raised a fourth finger, looked at it, and tilted his head.

"Okay. I don’t have another complaint to round this up to five."

He raised his head and met their eyes.

"What do you have to say for yourselves?"

The tonal whiplash landed like a physical thing. The students sat frozen, caught between the weight of his critique and the absurdity of his delivery.

Their professor was always like this—serious one moment, goofy the next, shifting registers so fast the brain couldn’t keep up. Kenshin had become their unit of measurement for goofy. They might need to recalibrate.

But first, they had to deal with the smiling-not-smiling professor standing before them.

They exchanged looks. Silent consultations. Then Sam stood.

Nyssara had spoken first. Now it was the vice representative’s turn.

"Professor Zeke." Sam’s voice was steady.

Zeke turned and held his gaze. A signal: you have my attention.

"As a class, we’ve established a routine." Sam spoke clearly and deliberately. "Reading at the library is part of that routine." He paused, glancing at Dean and Kenshin. "And as some of us make the mistake of doing, fighting is also part of the routine."

Dean looked away. Kenshin examined his fingernails.

"But some of us have short attention spans." Sam’s voice sharpened slightly. "They’ve painted a picture of dedication to our cause, but in reality, they haven’t actually learned anything. Which has created the perception you have of us as less studious persons." He paused. "Alongside the fact that you asked the dumb ones."

"Hey—who are you calling dumb?" Virelle shot up.

"Yeah!" Kenshin joined her, indignant.

"So." Zeke’s voice cut through the rising noise, flat and final. "I’m the one at fault? I asked the dumb ones. I should have asked you. Or the others who exude knowledge."

The comedic moment died in the air. A pressure settled over the room—not a release of aura from Zeke, but a mental projection the students supplied themselves. They swallowed.

"Ease up." Zeke’s smile returned. "It’s a joke."

He let the silence sit for a heartbeat. Two.

"Tell me. Do you think I have no idea of your strengths and weaknesses?" His voice was calm, almost conversational. "Do you think I had no idea who to ask and who not to ask?"

He began to pace, slow and measured.

"The ideal situation is not to have a selection of students who have the answers to all my questions. The ideal situation is to have all my students have answers to my questions."

He stopped and turned.

"And if I only asked the smart ones, how would I show off my knowledge?" A smirk pulled at his mouth. "I spent a lot of time amassing it."

This man is unreal.

Daemion’s thought surfaced before he could catch it. Who admitted they wanted to show off their knowledge? Who pressured students, then exuded a calm aura that made a person let down their guard—especially with those random follow-ups?

"Before the next phase of your time as students—" Zeke’s voice broke through Daemion’s reverie. "—let me have it."

The students stared back, blank and uncertain.

"Your growth. How have you grown? I gave you an objective: grow." He spread his hands. "Did you think I would brush it off?"

He glanced at the ceiling, considering.

"Or do you need an example? I heard students tend to do things more easily with examples."

He said it more to himself than to them.

"Well. If I go first, yours will pale in comparison. I wouldn’t want to dampen your spirit. So go first. I’ll add the icing to the cake."

He burst into a wide, disarming smile and turned to face Daemion.

"It doesn’t have to be a deep dive. As the saying goes: a small drop of water makes a mighty ocean. A little growth facilitates bigger growth." He tilted his head. "So. In what aspects have you grown this past month?"

Daemion ran a hand through his free-flowing hair.

"I’m not seated at the edge of the classroom anymore."

He sat in a small circle formed by his classmates. Three rows, five columns—ten students occupying the center row. Nyssara and Rhaegar at the first column. Daemion at the second. Zephyr, Virelle, Aelric, and Seraphin at the middle column. Kenshin at the fourth. The twins at the last.

The arrangement did not stop their free-flowing discourse, nor the smooth exchange of glances when someone slipped up. Nor the new teamwork they had developed: sending Sam to the mouth of the tiger.

So yes. Daemion had moved from the days of resting his back against a wall and scanning the room.

"Boo. So bland." Rhaegar’s voice was dry.

Zephyr snickered.

Zeke observed the newly formed dynamic. A small smile played at his lips.

"A simple growth that has opened doors for grander growth." His voice was quieter now, almost reflective. "I’m not a therapist. But seeing as you’ve moved from the secluded corner of the room, you’ve joined the class dynamic. And seeing the reactions from Rhaegar and Zephyr, they might have been key instruments in that growth."

He smiled.

"Now, Rhaegar."

Rhaegar stood, hands in his coat pockets. "I made someone more extroverted. And in turn, became more extroverted myself."

"Fantastic." Zeke’s internal eye roll did not reach his face.

"Seraphin."

Seraphin rose. "I made new friends and learned new things."

"Amazing growth."

He turned. "From this moment on, we’ll have a quick-fire session. Class representative."

"Sir." Nyssara stood quickly.

"I made new friends and learned new things."

I knew it. Zeke’s internal groan was a familiar companion.

He turned to Virelle. "If you’re about to say ’I made new friends,’ I might just kill you."

Virelle, who had sprung up from her seat, scratched her chin. Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again.

Zeke raised a hand to stop her. "The rest of you. You made new friends and learned new things as well?"

"Mm." The class nodded in unison.

Zeke bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Who put you up to this?"

The class pointed at Rhaegar. Lightspeed. No hesitation.

Rhaegar froze.

He looked to his friends. His friends found sudden, intense interest in the ceiling, the walls, and the floor.

"Class representative." Zeke’s voice was calm. Too calm.

"It was not my fault!" Nyssara’s words tumbled out in a rush. "He used his abilities to transmit the information. He wanted us to quickly say boring things—just like Daemion—to tease him. And to get us to hurry up with our confessions so you would tell us something about yourself." She drew a breath. "After all, you had teased the spoiler by saying yours would surpass ours. He looked forward to yours."

The class facepalmed.

"I didn’t want to join in." Dean covered his face with one hand.

"Me too." Kenshin nodded vigorously. "I had a very nice epiphany I was hoping to share."

"Me too." The rest of the class echoed it, voices overlapping.

"It was all Rhaegar’s plan." Nyssara pointed at him, taking a step away for emphasis.

"Hahahaha."

Zeke’s laughter burst out—wide, unguarded, genuine. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to compose himself.

"Sorry. This was funny as fuck."

His smile remained.

The room changed.

An unseen pressure settled over the class—quiet, suffocating, crushing whatever humor lingered a moment ago.

Then it snapped back to normal.

"Why would you snitch on your friend?"

The students stared. The question hung in the air, unanswered and somehow unanswerable.

This man is a psycho.

No one said it aloud. No one needed to.

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