It was Sunday.
The half-yearly exams were only six weeks away.
Some Cadets were panicking about the practicals, while many were quietly dreading the theory papers.
After all, most of them could fight. Give them a sword, and they would happily battle harrowing monstrosities.
But make them sit through a three-hour written exam? Now that was actual hell.
To make matters worse, the study syllabus for the Awakened wasn’t just different from what mundane students had — it was leagues harder.
While normal children their age were still wrangling Newton’s Laws, these poor souls were racking their brains over quantum field theory and portal science.
And that was just for the physics unit!
Truly, academy life was a struggle.
Whoever said that the Awakened had it easy clearly never met one.
People thought that all Cadets ever did was train, fight Spirit Beasts, and go on flashy adventures.
That was the fantasy. The reality was homework. Endless, soul-crushing homework.
Because the Awakened had sharper minds, they were expected to excel academically as well. They had to learn complex subjects and solve difficult problems.
And if your powers were related to things like space, time, gravity, or matter? You had it even rougher.
You weren’t just expected to understand how your powers worked, you also needed to understand the physics behind them — down to the equations.
Then there were the unfortunate bastards whose powers were tied to more abstract or metaphysical concepts, such as shadow, soul, or dreams.
Their lives were really an academic nightmare. Just try writing a research paper on how dreams affect entropy. Go ahead. Try.
Moreover, every Awakened had to comprehend how Essence interacted with the world, and how, at high enough ranks, their very Will could affect reality itself.
So yes, these kids had it tough — much tougher than mundane kids, no matter what the world believed.
And in these miserable times, the Archives was one of the most crowded places. People borrowed books and holed themselves up in Reading Rooms to cram for the upcoming exams.
Well, most people.
Sane people.
People like Ivan — who had already revised the syllabus three times — were there for a different reason.
He was leaning against a shelf, a charming smile playing on his lips, amusement flickering in his eyes as he talked to a girl.
The girl — a pretty blonde about his height — laughed elegantly at something he said and twirled the ends of her curls.
Ivan had been practicing this for the past three weeks.
Flirting. Talking. Laughing. Sighing.
Juliana had drilled into him how to fake any emotion on command.
She also taught him to read people — to notice habits, observe their ticks, catch their tells, dismantle their personalities, and see through their façade.
And Ivan had absorbed it all like a sponge.
Of course, knowing it all didn’t mean he’d be any good at it.
But, to his surprise… he was good at it.
Juliana said he was a natural. He’d always been an observer. He’d always been the quiet kid looking at people — now, he was just simply acting on what he saw.
He hadn’t changed much. But now he had started to think more.
He noticed patterns. He spoke a little softer. He watched body language. He talked strategically.
He mirrored the people in front of him. After all, people like themselves. And if you’re like them, they’d like you too.
He used their names in conversation. Not too much. Just enough to build familiarity.
He nodded while they spoke. Asked open-ended questions. Echoed their last few words in a curious tone to keep them talking.
When someone smiled, he smiled back — not just with his mouth, but with the tiny muscles near his eyes. The real kind. Or at least, it looked real enough. Juliana had made him practice in the mirror for days.
He touched his face occasionally. Scratched his cheek. Rubbed his temple. Little cues that signaled honesty. Vulnerability. People trusted people who fidgeted just the right amount — not nervously, but naturally.
He gave compliments that weren’t obvious. Not “you look pretty” — that’d be too blunt.
He went for specifics. “That’s a great color on you,” or “You have a really precise way of speaking.” Things they hadn’t been complimented on a hundred times before. Unique observations carried weight.
Most importantly, he listened. Not just to the words, but to what they meant. He paid attention to what people didn’t say. The pauses. The stutters. The flicker in their gaze when they avoided something. The shift in tone when they touched on a sore spot.
And honestly, it was all so much easier than he expected.
So easy that it was laughable.
And he did laugh — though, at something the girl before him had said.
But before he could continue, Juliana appeared from somewhere behind him.
“Wha—” he was only able to let out a startled squeak before she grabbed his collar and dragged him away.
•••
“What’s your problem!” Ivan shouted, trailing behind the white-haired girl as they stepped out of the Archives. “That was going so well! She was about to give me her number!”
“The goal was to practice. Not to bed her. But if that’s what you are aiming for now instead of Irina, be my guest. Go ahead,” she shrugged like it made no difference.
Her heels clicked crisply against the ground, hands folded behind her back. Ivan jogged after her, expression twisted with disbelief.
“That’s not fair,” he grumbled. “You told me to get comfortable. I was getting comfortable.”
“No,” Juliana replied coolly. “You were getting cocky. Big difference.”
“I wasn’t being cocky,” he protested.
She came to a sudden stop, and he nearly collided with her back.
“You smiled with your eyes before she laughed,” she said, turning her head just enough to meet his gaze. “You anticipated her reaction. That’s not comfort. That’s cockiness.”
“I—,” he paused, surprised. “T-That’s a reach.”
Juliana stepped closer, tilting her head just slightly.
Ivan shuddered. Her presence always felt like a scalpel — cold, sharp, and designed to cut.
“No, you little mutt. That’s control. You knew you had her. And instead of holding the tension, you let it slip. That might work on some girls. But not the kind you’re aiming for.”
Ivan winced. “Okay, no need to call me names! And yes, I do want Irina. But you’re the one not letting me go after her!”
Juliana smirked, already turning on her heel. “Relax. It’s time. You’re ready now. You can go for her.”
Ivan blinked and stumbled after her. “W-Wait, really? You think I actually have a shot now?”
Juliana laughed. It was not a kind laugh. “Oh, no. Not at all. She still likes your other friend, remember?”
Irina had confessed to Viktor over a month ago. Viktor hadn’t returned the feelings, but they’d been spending more time together lately. Juliana had seen it. The awkward glances they gave each other. The way they comfortably sat together in silence.
The tension between them was so stupidly obvious.
It was only a matter of time before they ended up together.
So she’d decided to sabotage their relationship.
Ivan scowled. “Then how the hell am I supposed to—?”
“I’ll create a situation,” Juliana interrupted smoothly. “I’ll create a scenario where Viktor picks someone else right in front of her. And Irina, being the validation-addicted mess she is, will get hurt.”
She glanced over her shoulder. Her azure eyes were gleaming with dark amusement. “You’ll swoop in. Comfort her. Give her some warmth, then pull away. Repeat. Sooner or later, she’ll be hooked and you’ll have yourself a girlfriend.”
Ivan’s scowl deepened. “Okay. That sounds… very manipulative.”
Juliana gave him a flat look. “Obviously. What did you expect, Ivan? A love potion? That doesn’t exist. You’re an alchemist. You should know better.”