The iron marble rolled between Marcus's fingers with liquid smoothness, its surface warming under his touch in ways that had nothing to do with body heat and everything to do with whatever was happening to his relationship with metal.
He could feel it responding—not just conducting heat, but actively wanting to change, to flow, to become something more malleable than physics typically allowed. The theoretical applications were fascinating.
The practical implications were probably going to get him dissected by Academy researchers who specialized in anomalous magical phenomena.
Across from him in the Academy carriage, the girl with flame-red hair was staring with the focused intensity of someone conducting a scientific experiment. She'd introduced herself as Ginger Vermouth—daughter of Count Vermouth, Advanced Placement in Theoretical Enchantment, and apparently someone who viewed twelve-year-old boys as curious specimens worthy of prolonged observation.
Marcus had been enduring her scrutiny for the better part of an hour with the kind of patient indifference he'd perfected during faculty meetings. Let her stare. He had more interesting problems to solve.
Like whether he could convince the marble to achieve liquid state without applying external heat.
The metal grew warmer, more responsive. Not quite molten, but definitely heading in directions that violated several thermodynamic principles. If he could master state transitions using only magical resonance...
"You're doing it wrong," Ginger said suddenly, her voice carrying the authority of someone who'd never been told she might be incorrect about anything.
Marcus glanced up, noting the way she sat—perfect posture, hands folded precisely, everything about her radiating the controlled confidence that came from growing up in political households where presentation mattered more than personality.
"Am I?"
"Elemental manipulation requires conscious intent channeling. You're just... playing with it. Like it's a toy."
Marcus returned his attention to the marble, which was now definitely warmer than ambient temperature despite his complete lack of conscious intent channeling, whatever that meant.
"Maybe I am."
Ginger's frown deepened like someone watching heresy being committed in real time. "Advanced magical theory isn't a game. The Academy's placement system identified exceptional potential, which means you should understand proper methodological approaches to thaumic applications."
The marble pulsed once, synchronizing with Marcus's heartbeat. He could swear it was amused by her lecture.
"Or," he said mildly, "maybe I understand something different than what you learned from whatever textbooks taught you that magic requires conscious intent channeling."
Her green eyes flashed with indignation. "Those textbooks represent centuries of accumulated Academy knowledge. Refined theoretical frameworks developed by the kingdom's most accomplished mages."
Marcus had heard variations of this argument from every academic institution he'd ever encountered. Established knowledge was valuable, but it was also limiting—especially when the people defending it had never questioned whether there might be better approaches.
"I'm sure they do. But theoretical frameworks can't account for variables they've never encountered."
"Such as?"
Marcus held up the marble, which was now definitely operating at temperatures that should have been uncomfortable to hold. "Such as someone who approaches magic like applied physics rather than mystical ritual."
The memory of this morning's chaos flickered through his mind—Ginger's dramatic entrance to his family manor, all righteous fury and aristocratic outrage...
*****
"Your son," she had announced, standing in the Thorne family's main hall like an avenging angel with excellent taste in traveling clothes, "has committed academic fraud."
Lord Thorne had paused in the act of reviewing departure preparations, his expression shifting into the carefully neutral look he used when political complications arrived without warning.
"I beg your pardon, Lady Ginger?"
"The placement examination results are impossible. No twelve-year-old possesses advanced theoretical knowledge sufficient for Academy Accelerated Placement without formal magical education."
She'd gestured toward Marcus, who had been quietly eating breakfast and trying to figure out why his morning porridge kept heating itself whenever he wasn't paying attention.
"Therefore, someone has been providing him with unauthorized access to restricted Academy materials. This represents serious violation of Guild educational protocols."
Marcus had looked up from his self-heating porridge with the mild interest of someone watching street theater.
"Which specific theoretical concepts do you find impossible for someone my age to understand?"
"Advanced Alchemy requires understanding molecular transformation theory. Enchantment applications demand comprehensive knowledge of thaumic field manipulation. No village child develops such sophistication independently."
Marcus had set down his spoon and fixed her with the patient look he'd perfected for dealing with graduate students who confused memorization with comprehension.
"Lady Ginger, molecular transformation is just applied chemistry with magical catalysts. Thaumic field manipulation is electromagnetic theory adapted for supernatural energy. The underlying principles aren't complicated if you approach them systematically."
The silence that followed had been particularly satisfying.
Finally, Ginger had straightened to her full height—impressive for someone who probably wasn't more than fourteen—and delivered her verdict with aristocratic authority.
"Prove it."
"I'm sorry?"
"If your knowledge is legitimate, demonstrate practical application. Show me molecular transformation using thaumic field manipulation."
Marcus had glanced at his father, who had responded with the kind of resigned nod that meant 'handle this diplomatically but don't let her humiliate our family.'
Then Marcus had picked up his iron marble from the breakfast table, held it between his palms, and watched Ginger's expression change as the metal began glowing with steady, warm light.
"Molecular excitation using magical resonance," he'd said conversationally. "Basic principles of applied thaumaturgy."
Ginger had stared at the glowing metal, then at Marcus, then back at the metal.
"That's... not possible."
"No, it's just not conventional. There's a significant difference."
She'd spent the rest of the morning conducting increasingly complex challenges—theoretical questions, practical demonstrations, attempts to catch him in inconsistencies or knowledge gaps.
Marcus had answered them all with the weary competence of someone who'd been dealing with academic skeptics for longer than most people had been alive.
By the time the Academy carriage arrived, Ginger had progressed from accusation through curiosity to something approaching obsessed fascination.
She'd promptly declared her intention to accompany him to the Academy for "continued investigation of anomalous educational development."
Lord Thorne had looked like someone who'd just watched his quiet morning explode into complicated political theater involving aristocratic daughters and unauthorized magical demonstrations.
But he'd agreed, because refusing a Count's daughter was diplomatically inadvisable, and because Ginger had made it clear she was going to pursue this investigation with or without official permission.
*****
"You're thinking about this morning," Ginger observed, interrupting Marcus's flashback with uncomfortable accuracy.
"Among other things."
She shifted in her seat, somehow managing to move closer while maintaining proper aristocratic posture. "I'm sorry if I was... dramatic about the Academy situation."
Marcus finally looked up from the marble, which had achieved a state somewhere between solid and liquid that probably violated several conservation laws. Her cheeks were still flushed, and there was something vulnerable in her expression that made him feel considerably older than twelve.
"You were concerned about being left behind," he said diplomatically.
"Yes. Exactly." She latched onto the explanation with obvious relief. "We're friends, and friends shouldn't abandon each other for important opportunities."
Marcus considered pointing out that friendship typically involved mutual agreement about its existence, but decided that would be needlessly cruel. Instead, he returned his attention to the marble, which was now pulsing with warm light in rhythm with his heartbeat.
"The magic responds differently for you," Ginger said softly, leaning forward to study his hands. "Most of us have to fight for every small effect. But it seems eager to work with you."
"Maybe."
"It's fascinating to watch." Her voice had dropped to nearly a whisper. "The way your magic flows so naturally. Like you were born to it."
Marcus could feel her watching his every movement with the kind of focused attention that had nothing to do with magical theory and everything to do with twelve-year-old infatuation. It was both flattering and deeply uncomfortable.
"The Academy will have proper instructors," he said, attempting to redirect her focus toward something more educational and less personal. "You'll learn techniques that make elemental manipulation much more reliable than whatever I'm doing."
"But I want to understand what you're doing." The words came out more intense than she'd probably intended. "The way magic works for you is different. Special."
The carriage began slowing, and through the window Marcus could see the Academy's towers rising against the afternoon sky—impressive architecture designed to project authority and academic gravitas.
Somewhere in those buildings were the theoretical frameworks and practical resources he needed to revolutionize metallurgy. But also the institutional oversight that would try to contain his research within approved parameters.
And apparently, he'd be navigating all of it while trying to manage the romantic attention of an aristocratic girl who'd decided his unconventional approach to magic made him irresistibly fascinating.
"Ginger," he said carefully as the carriage pulled through the Academy gates, "the Academy is going to be intense. Competitive. We should both focus on our studies rather than... other distractions."
Her smile was bright and determined. "Of course! I'm here for purely academic reasons."
The way she said it suggested she believed this was true, even though her behavior indicated significantly more complicated motivations.
Marcus pocketed the marble, which gave one final pulse of warmth before settling into ordinary iron. The Academy was about to become infinitely more complicated than he'd anticipated.
Not only would he need to learn advanced magical theory while avoiding institutional control, he'd apparently be doing it while trying not to hurt the feelings of a twelve-year-old Count's daughter who'd developed her first serious crush.
"This is going to be interesting," he murmured as their carriage stopped before the Academy's imposing main entrance.
Ginger heard him and smiled with radiant enthusiasm. "Yes! We're going to have such wonderful adventures together!"
Marcus looked at her bright, expectant face and realized that his biggest challenge at the Academy might not be revolutionary metallurgy or avoiding Guild oversight.
It might be surviving adolescent romance without traumatizing anyone involved.
The Academy doors opened, and Marcus stepped out to face whatever educational catastrophe awaited him.
With a twelve-year-old aristocrat who was determined to be his devoted study partner trailing behind him like an enthusiastic, well-dressed shadow.