Panto did not consider himself a foolish man. Indeed, he was timid and careful to the point of cowardice. But timid people survived longer than brave ones and careful people noticed things that others ignored. His
father had taught him that much before he ever taught him how to count profit margins or negotiate prices. For him, confidence did not come from courage. It came from being right often enough. And today had shaken that confidence.
He had always believed that the cult for whatever its true name and whatever shape it wore in public had brushed past him by accident. A consequence of his family's business entanglements. A shadow casted by other people's ambitions. He had thought himself a secondary target, a disposable
thread tugged only to see who would react. That belief no longer held. Baston knew something about the cult. That alone had already unsettled him. But regarding
Alicia who was also involved. That had changed everything.
A noble lineage did not waste her attention on petty criminal organizations. She would not soil her hands with rumors or half-formed
threats. If she acknowledged the cult's existence, even indirectly, then it meant the matter had already reached a level where national stability could be questioned. And that meant Panto was no longer standing near danger. He was standing inside its shadow.
As he walked back toward his dormitory, his steps slowed without him noticing. Students passed him in clusters, laughing, arguing, and complaining about lessons and food and instructors they secretly admired. Their
voices blurred into a distant hum. He felt detached from them, like a man watching a market from behind glass.
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend…"
The saying surfaced uninvited and he almost laughed at how neatly it applied. Baston and Alicia, both of them were dangerous in their own way. Both of them were aligned against something larger. He should have been
relieved. Instead, his unease deepened. Because if the cult truly was his enemy,
then why had it chosen him?
Baston's explanation replayed in his mind. Perhaps, it was a grudge. Someone had reached through the cult to hurt him. It sounded plausible on the surface but the longer he examined it, the less sense it made. If someone wanted Panto gone, there were far easier methods. Accidents could be
arranged, deals could be sabotaged, and lives like his were fragile when money was involved. There was no need for rituals, secrecy, or symbols whispered in the dark. This assumption left only one explanation. The source of grudge was indeed his family.
The world of merchants was polite on the surface but merciless underneath. Contracts were signed with smiles and broken with knives. Competition did not end when one side lost. It ended when the loser could no
longer stand back up. If his father had stepped on someone important enough, then Panto was simply a leverage. He was a replaceable piece, able to be used as a
warning. His hand clenched unconsciously.
"Too bad I can't go home right now," he muttered under his breath, "If I could just talk to my father…"
However, returning home might be exactly what his enemies wanted. That thought chilled him. At least for now, he was not alone. Baston's presence was oddly reassuring. The boy hid himself well. Panto had always assumed Baston's passivity came from weakness. Now, he knew better of the fat boy. There was intent behind every lowered gaze and there was reason behind every silent retreat. A blade did not need to be visible to be sharp.
As for Alicia, the matter was complicated. Just thinking of her name made his back straightened. A noble's daughter was not someone he should even be standing beside, let alone relying on. The fact that he could was already unnatural. He didn't dare boast about it, not even to himself. If others knew he had any connection to her beyond a passing greeting, the academy would tear him apart with rumors alone. An acquaintance was enough since anything
more than that would be dangerous. Still, he felt safer knowing she belonged in the same side.
"I'm glad I took the initiative with Baston," he murmured as he reached his door, "Looks like one dish won't be enough anymore."
His thoughts drifted, as they often did, toward numbers. Money had been his anchor since childhood. When emotions threatened to overwhelm him, he returned to what could be counted. Ordering one main dish, one appetizer, and one dessert should be fine for now. The cost might be substantial but it could be called as an investment. He didn't money as the return. He only needed security and safety in the surrounding.
*****
While Panto hid behind calculations, Alicia sat alone in her private dining room. The sunlight was filtering through carefully arranged curtains. She ate slowly, her posture was flawless, and her expression was serene. Any observer would see only a noble girl was enjoying a quiet meal. None would suspect the layers of thought moving beneath her calm face. Once again, Baston's
words echoed in her mind.
"Don't just stand there… People are watching…"
At the time, she had taken it as concern. Perhaps, it was also a suggestion wrapped as a warning. Now she understood it for what it truly was. It was an instruction for her alone. She had followed it without questioning much. That alone bothered her. She was not accustomed to obey people that her intuition labeled as insignificant.
To know everyone better, she started collecting some information. Her investigation into Panto had been enlightening. He was just a merchant's son. His aptitude was average and his temperament was timid. Nothing
remarkable until she reached the addendum. Further information documented instances of minor bullying toward Baston. Alicia had paused there but she then smiled.
It was absurd. On the surface, it was completely illogical. A noble-trained mind rejected it instinctively until she considered it
properly. Such relationship as enemies made the best camouflage. Two boys
positioned on opposite ends of the academy's invisible hierarchy. One was
openly weak and One was quietly opportunistic. No one would ever imagine the cooperation between them. Any observer would assume resentment and not
alliance. If this truly was a fabricated dynamic, then she could already predict the rest.
"Very clever…" Alicia murmured, lifting her teacup.
Too clever for a coincidence. This thing meant that Baston was not merely hiding his strength. He was hiding his motives. Such motive must be related toward the cult. That realization lingered longer than she expected.
Alicia set her teacup down slowly. Her eyes were unfocused for a moment as she replayed their brief interactions. Baston's posture toward her face and his restraint toward her attitude. The way he never pushed for information and never asked questions he had no right to ask. Even his warning earlier had been carefully phrased, vague enough to deny intent yet precise
enough to guide her away from danger. It was not the behavior of a reckless
opportunist nor was it the behavior of a frightened boy.
In Alicia's experience, the truly dangerous individuals rarely advertised themselves. They observed and they waited. They allowed others to underestimate them while quietly arranging the board. Baston fit that
image disturbingly well. Perhaps, it was too well which made everything became
too creepy.
She began to assemble a narrative without realizing it. Baston was not hiding because he was weak. He was hiding because he could not afford to be seen. Someone like him, burdened with knowledge he should not
possess, would naturally choose obscurity over recognition. The academy with its rigid hierarchy and shallow judgments was the perfect place to disappear in plain sight. As the cult took caution over him, he also was aware of their existence.
If Baston truly knew as much as he implied, then he had either survived an encounter with them or slipped through their fingers
unnoticed. Both possibilities were alarming. Both suggested a level of capability she had not initially considered.
"No wonder he keeps his distance…" she thought.
That restraint now appeared deliberate rather than passive. Even his cooperation with Panto, an arrangement that looked absurd on the surface, felt intentional. The merchant boy was a shield. He was just a
misdirection. Alicia felt a faint, unfamiliar sense of reassurance.
If someone like Baston was already moving against the cult in his own quiet way, then perhaps she was not alone in this web after all. Perhaps she had found an ally who understood the cost of visibility far better
than most nobles ever did. Her trust in him deepened, not because she knew him well, but because she believed she understood him. And that belief, unseen and unquestioned, settled firmly into place. That made him quite risky.
The reports continued. The fat boy was dull and predictable. Baston remained invisible and Panto remained mildly unpleasant. Their patterns were consistent, boring, and exactly as they should be. It was such perfect
camouflage. Still, Alicia knew better than to trust perfection.
She lacked information about the cult. Worse, she lacked any knowledge what kind of entity named as the cult. All she knew at the moment was Baston aligned with her goals. But when goals changed, people also changed. She could not see the endgame yet.
"Well…" she thought lightly, "That just makes things interesting…"
For now, she would play her role. She could act as an informant, an ally, or a concerned noble. She had already prepared a handful of
organizations to feed him, whispering some names that were suspicious. Enough truth to sustain trust and enough distance to protect herself.
"He won't suspect me…" she decided.
As for the boys who had struck Baston's table earlier. Her gaze hardened briefly. They had been careless and they had been disrespectful. Loose ends were dangerous in situations like this. A quiet lesson would be
arranged. Nothing dramatic but just enough pressure to remind them where they stood. Power, after all, was most effective when applied subtly.
*****
Baston lay sprawled across his bed, hands resting on his stomach with eyes half-closed. He had eaten too much. The meals were two full plates. Real food and quite rich in variation. The kind he usually avoided because his thin wallet couldn't afford it. Today, though, satisfaction outweighed restraint. He let out a small and contented sigh. Who would have thought yesterday's wasted meal would come back to him twice over? When drowsiness threatened to pull him under, he reached for the old book.
Its surface was still cool and familiar. Like an artifact pretending to be mundane. He flipped through its limited interface, scanning
academy notices and censored news. It was nothing of interest for him. Out of habit, his thumb drifted to the last page. He stopped and his breath was caught by his surprise. The page glowed faintly. Inside, the second quest he deemed to be impossible had already been completed. It was perfect. Such evaluation on his performance made him baffled.
"What?"
He blinked, rubbing his eyes before he read it again. The result was still there. His performance was indeed perfect.
"I didn't even do anything," he whispered.
The book did not respond. His confusion deepened. The quest's requirement had been vague to make one girl interested in himself. He had assumed it would take time. He needed much effort and he needed to
calculate the risk. He had barely interacted with Alicia today. His thoughts began stalled toward the complication he made. Interest did not require affection. Curiosity was already enough. When he found out about this, he groaned softly.
"Of course…"
He had underestimated her mind. Talking about the cult, even briefly, had been enough to hook her attention. Not romantically but
intellectually. The old book did not care about intent but only result. That realization made his skin crawl. The reward manifested before he could dwell further. It was a small object settled into his palm.
"A puppet?"
Information surged into his mind, sharp, and complete. Its abilities unfolded instantly including transformation, limitation, and duration. A tool rather than a weapon. And yet, Baston's lips curved faintly. This puppet was kind of mysterious. It was quite subtle
and perfect. He then tested it cautiously.
The puppet reshaped itself, flesh and form was flowing unnaturally until a familiar figure stood before him. It was Alicia. The puppet
really looked like the noble girl. He swallowed and lifted its arm. The stiffness was obvious. When he ordered it to speak, the voice came out wrong. It was quite mechanical and fragmented. He winced since it didn't look good.
"No... Absolutely not..."
He dispelled his thought on the puppet at once. Using this as a substitute for human connection was repulsive. If the real Alicia ever discovered this, the consequences would be catastrophic. Still, it was quite
useful as a tool. He continued to experiment further.
The puppet transformed into a bird, a rat, and something else. It could be bigger and it could also be smaller. When it flew beyond the academy's perimeter, the connection weakened immediately. He summoned it back in a panic with heart racing.
"Okay…" he muttered. "Lesson learned…"
Control required practice. He must train his precision and mastery. Since he had already acquired the tool, he must study by himself. Toward this kind of reward, even though it was kind of bizarre and creepy, he still had to
learn about it.
*****
Elsewhere, in a quiet maintenance chamber, the academy staff examined a cracked instrument. They found nothing wrong. The records showed fine consistency. The tool should display the exact and measured number. However, Miss Pashan said herself that something was wrong with it.
"A defect?" the man concluded, convincing himself with other's opinion, "Just replace it then…"
No deeper investigation followed. The old device was removed. Its data was erased. And with it, the last visible trace of Baston's
abnormality vanished from the academy's awareness. The board remained clean. At
least, for now.