Reno took the stairs two at a time, his footsteps pattering like quick rain, and stopped at the third classroom on the second floor, neck craned like a wary heron at a reedbed edge.

He watched the students in silence, eyes caught by the two nobles in the last row, their stillness like statues cooling in dusk.

The pair held the same posture for what felt like an age, time dripping like slow sap, and not a word broke the surface.

That hush pooled in the room like a low, windless tide, heavy and unmoving.

Kito spotted Reno and asked, voice level as a blade laid flat, “When does class start?”

“Three minutes till the bell,” Reno said, tension flickering like a moth under glass.

Kito stared into Reno’s face, gaze drilling like a medical scanner through skin and pride, then swept him once over like a cold beam of light.

“That’s awfully leisurely,” he said, the words dry as old parchment.

“Compared to the Mechanical Academy,” Reno paused, smoothing his tone like cloth over a crease, “we run a touch slower here.”

“Thanks,” Kito said, the syllable neat as a pin.

Reno smiled a quick “you’re welcome,” and turned for the principal’s office, his mind a tight string.

He found Bruns before a full-length mirror, tugging at a navy suit until the fabric lay flat as calm water.

“Take a look for me,” Bruns said, eyes flicking like minnows, “anything off about this? Should I trim the beard? The hair—does it sit right?”

“Why put the audit lecture in the morning?” Reno asked, the question landing like a pebble in a pond.

“I misspoke,” Bruns said, the words like grit on the tongue, “so I’ve got to go with Melinda.”

“You’re the principal, and yet—” Reno began, heat rising like steam.

“What could I do?” Bruns snapped, the voice a whipcrack in a still barn. “He put a gun to my head and spat on Spellcasters, talking dog chains! I got mad and said ‘Fina Fina’...”

“Great,” Reno said, a dry wind through bare branches. “Where are you going to find a Melvina now?”

“I’ll teach this one,” Bruns said, jaw set like a locked gate.

“Are you crazy?” Reno paced at the threshold, nerves beating like trapped wings. “They want Melvina. Hedi Melvina. Melvina with the gray-white hair.”

“She’s in Naghtown,” Bruns said, the name falling like an iron key.

“You knew, and you didn’t call her back?” Reno’s frustration flared like flint. “Is one phone call that hard?”

Bruns pinched the bridge of his nose, irritation rough as sand. “She called me—”

“You didn’t tell Melvina there’s a public lecture today?” Reno’s words snapped like brittle twigs.

“Don’t cut me off!” Bruns barked, anger a spark in dry straw. “She called to ask for leave.”

“You agreed,” Reno said, thumb up in bitter salute, the gesture sharp as a thorn. “Power suits you, Principal—leave the nobles on ice so Melvina can rest.”

“Nothing’s more important than mourning family,” Bruns said, the line heavy as wet earth on a grave.

“Sounds noble,” Reno shot back, breath quick as a saw. “Now what? Tell me what to do! If Melinda hears you’re teaching, what will he think? That Melvina doesn’t give a damn about nobles, arrogant and cold?”

Bruns looked at Reno, helplessness washing in like gray tidewater. “You’re giving me a headache. Can you keep it down a bit...”

Reno’s temper rose first, hot as a kettle, then the words came in a rush. “Iverly’s old nobility like me. He’ll swallow the slight for magic’s sake. But Melinda’s new nobility. If he thinks Melvina’s no-show is contempt, he’ll dig into—”

Reno bit the rest back, the secret burning like a coal on the tongue.

“Dig into what?” Bruns pressed, the question a hook cast into dark water.

“Background... that kind of thing,” Reno said, voice thin as fog.

“The orphan bit? Old nobles know it. No problem,” Bruns said, as if laying a stone.

“That’s not the point,” Reno said, shoulders tight as a bow. “The lecturer is Melvina, not you.”

Bruns stomped, the floor thudding like a drum. “I’m damn well going to teach! Let’s see what tricks the new nobility can spin.”

“I can turn it into a swordsmanship lecture,” Reno said, offering a branch in storm wind. “I’m a noble too. Melinda won’t complain.”

“Two old nobles teaming up to bully a new one?” Bruns shot back, the words like flung gravel.

“You think—” Reno started, breath catching.

“It’s not what you think,” Bruns cut in, anger flaring like a match. “It’s what Melinda will think. What the media will think.” He yanked his tie loose, the silk hissing like a snake. “If you dare take that class, it’ll look like old nobles stomping a new one.”

“Switch the teacher?” Reno asked, hope thin as a thread.

“No one else,” Bruns said. “Only the top seat—me.”

Reno sagged against the doorframe, the wood cold as river stone. “You didn’t think when you approved the leave. You embarrassed Iverly and handed the new nobles a handle on Melvina.”

“The more you talk, the more I regret it,” Bruns muttered, regret pooling like backwater.

“You should regret it,” Reno said, flat as slate.

“It’s done,” Bruns said, a jaw of iron. “We bite the bullet.”

“Any magic to conjure a Melvina? Puppetry?” Reno asked, grasping at reeds.

“That’s Necromancy, a branch under Dark Magic,” Bruns said, voice clipped like a shut book. “A proper academy doesn’t touch it.”

The bell chimed, bright as a struck glass.

Reno stepped in and tightened Bruns’s tie, smoothing the shoulder seam like pressing snow. “Sorry,” he said, warmth soft as a hand on a brow. “I’m scared the new nobility will smear Melvina. I got heated and gave you nothing useful. When you teach, keep it natural. Don’t over-tighten.”

“Dying at the lectern would be perfect,” Bruns joked, gallows-light as a thin moon. “Shocking! The principal of So-and-so Academy dies on the podium from overwork!”

“Not much comfort to me,” Reno said, a crooked smile like a bent reed. “If it helps you breathe easier—”

Bruns gripped Reno’s shoulders, firm as a clamp, and took the corridor step by step.

Dim gray daylight smeared like ash across his deep-blue suit, the colors braiding like smoke and sea.

The corridor ran narrow and solitary, a throat that swallowed sound, and their footfalls circled him like a broken orchestra.

“Sigh,” he breathed, the word a small cloud.

At the classroom door, he took in the neat rows, eyes sweeping like a winter wind, and held silence for fifteen long seconds.

“Please put your textbooks on the desk,” he said, voice level as a ledge.

Books landed on wood like soft stones, but faces stayed tight, nerves strung like bowstrings.

As nobles’ heirs, they all knew what a principal teaching meant, the omen heavy as storm fronts.

In the back row, Enns understood too; his face darkened like iron in rain, and he stared at the lectern as if it were a gallows.

Kito, seated beside him, looked no better, his expression drawn like a sword.

“Principal, you’ve misunderstood,” Enns said, breath reined in like a bridled horse. “I invited Melinda to hear Melvina’s class, not yours.”

“Melvina’s class is set for the afternoon,” Bruns said, calm like a stone set in a stream.

Kito arched a brow, finger pointing to the posted schedule like a spear. “There’s a Melvina class this morning. Why isn’t she here?”

Bruns walked to the lectern and wrote a magic formula on the board, chalk whispering like frost on glass.

“Answer me, Principal of Hervor Academy of Magic?” Kito stood, gaze sweeping the room like a searchlight. “I came because Iverly praised Melvina to the skies. Are you wasting my time?”

Enns stood too and rapped his cane, the knock sharp as a gavel. “It’s a workday! Where is Melvina?!”

“The formula on the board—” Bruns began, the words thin as thread.

“Did you hear me?” Kito cut in, his lips clenched so tight a deep wrinkle ran from mouth to jutting chin like a fault line, and his eyes burned like coals.

Bruns set the chalk down, hand twitching in a feeble motion like a moth in a jar.

He meant to wipe sweat, but his face skewed right, baring thin lips and a stringy neck, every bone showing like twigs under snow.

Silence.

The room sank into it like a bell jar, the air tight and breathless.

Reno’s stomach clenched first, a fist in cold water, then he bit his thumbnail and stepped in to soften things. “Melvina—”

Before he finished, Hedi rushed in, breath ragged like wind through reeds.

She flicked a glance at the formula, steadied her voice like a hand on a teacup, and said, “Open to page one twenty-four. We’ll talk about magic’s plasticity off the formula on the board...”