The plan was simple, elegant even. It required a performance worthy of an Oscar, a complete suppression of my god-like powers, and the patience to endure what was about to be the most humiliating conversation of my life—both this one and the last.
I found Magus Theron at the village elder's house, sipping a cup of herbal tea that probably tasted like boiled dirt to his refined palate. He looked up as I entered, his expression one of mild annoyance at the interruption.
"You," he said, his voice flat. "The null. What is it?"
I let my shoulders hunch, my gaze drop to the floor, and summoned every ounce of awkward, stumbling energy I had cultivated over sixteen years. "M-Magus Theron, sir... I... I know the orb didn't show anything. But after... after you left..."
I let my voice trail off, injecting a believable tremor into it.
He sighed, a long-suffering sound. "Spit it out, boy. I have little time."
"I was helping my mother wash the dishes," I began, weaving my tale with meticulous care. "A ceramic plate slipped from my hand. It was falling, sure to shatter. And... and I don't know how... I just... I wanted it not to break. And for a second, the tiniest fraction of a moment... it glowed. A little, faint, blue shimmer. Then it hit the floor and broke anyway."
I looked up, meeting his eyes with a wide, hopeful, and utterly desperate gaze. "Could it be? Could I have a spark? Maybe the orb was... dusty? Or I was too nervous? Everyone deserves a second chance, right?"
It was a masterclass in pathetic pleading. I was laying it on thick, appealing to the minuscule chance that a prestigious academy would care about "fairness" for a rural nobody. The story was perfectly crafted: an uncontrolled, useless, tiny manifestation of magic under stress, resulting in failure anyway. It reeked of desperation and the faintest whiff of possibility, just enough to be annoying but not enough to be impressive.
Magus Theron stared at me, his sharp eyes boring into my soul. Or at least, into the soul I was pretending to have. I could feel the seconds stretch out. I could have frozen time and rearranged the molecules in his tea to spell "ADMIT HIM," but that would have defeated the purpose.
He finally let out another, even wearier sigh. "A flicker. A faint, blue shimmer. Likely a trick of the light, or latent energy so insignificant it's functionally useless." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "The Academy's charter does state that any reported manifestation, however minor, must be re-evaluated in a controlled environment. A bureaucratic nuisance."
My heart didn't soar with triumph. Instead, I gave a little jump, a perfectly timed display of over-eager, naive excitement. "Really? Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you!"
"Don't thank me," he said dryly. "You will travel with us to the capital. You will be given a second test at the Academy's preliminary screening. If you fail again—which you will—you will be assigned to the custodial corps to work off the cost of your transportation. Scrubbing floors and cleaning latrines will be your 'second chance.' Do you understand?"
Scrubbing floors? Perfect. The ultimate cover. A position of zero expectations.
"I understand! I won't let you down!" I said, bowing repeatedly before stumbling back out of the room.
And so, a week later, I found myself in the same shadow-drawn carriage, sitting opposite a preening Kael and a quietly anxious Elara. The journey to the capital of the Astral Kingdoms was a blur of landscapes that shifted from rolling green hills to jagged, magical mountains. Kael spent the trip regaling a captive audience—mostly a long-suffering Elara—with his "heroic" defeat of the bandits, the story growing more elaborate with each retelling.
I said nothing. I played my part. I stared out the window with what I hoped was a look of simple-minded wonder, occasionally "accidentally" dropping my bread or tripping over my own feet when we stopped to rest.
We arrived at the capital, Aethelgard, and it was... loud. The spires of the Academy pierced the clouds, glowing with soft, ambient magic. The streets teemed with people, creatures, and more colors than I thought existed. It was sensory overload. I made sure to look completely overwhelmed, my mouth slightly agape.
The preliminary screening was a cattle call. Hundreds of hopefuls from across the kingdoms were herded into a massive hall. The test was the same orb, but larger, administered by junior instructors.
Kael went, and the orb glowed with the same dull brown. The instructor nodded. "Earth affinity. Proceed to the next stage."
Elara touched it, and the green light was brighter here, more vibrant. "Strong Life affinity. Excellent. Proceed."
Then it was my turn. A hush fell over the section of the line near me. Whispers of "That's the null from Oakhaven" and "Why is he even here?" reached my ears. Perfect.
I stepped forward, my hands visibly shaking. I touched the orb. I focused all my will on being a void, a magical black hole. The orb remained as dark and empty as the void between stars.
The instructor, a young man with a tired expression, didn't even look up from his clipboard. "Null. No affinity. Next."
I didn't move. I let my face crumple. A single, perfectly timed tear traced a path down my cheek. "But... but there was a flicker! At home! I swear!" My voice was a broken whisper, carrying just far enough.
The instructor looked up, annoyance warring with a flicker of pity. "Boy, the Grand Lumina Orb does not lie. You have no spark. Now, move along. The custodial chief is waiting for you at the end of the hall."
I let my shoulders slump in absolute defeat and shuffled away, the picture of shattered dreams. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kael smirking. Elara gave me a sad, sympathetic smile.
I had done it. I had successfully failed. I was now Leo, the custodial apprentice. The boy who would mop the halls of the great Academy, invisible to the mighty mages who strode its corridors. It was the perfect hiding spot.
My assigned quarters were a small, sparse room in the basement, next to the storage closets for cleaning supplies. It smelled of soap and damp stone. It was glorious.
The next morning, I began my new life. Broom in hand, I was assigned to clean the East Wing hallways, where the first-year dormitories were located. As I pushed my mop, I observed the students. They were all so... intense. Practicing minor spells, arguing about mana theory, forming cliques based on elemental affinity.
I was a ghost. They looked right through me. A few sneered. Most didn't even register my existence.
It was during my third day of blissful obscurity that I saw him. A tall, handsome student with an air of natural arrogance, surrounded by a group of sycophants. His name was Derek, from a noble house, and he had a high-tier Wind affinity. He was also, I quickly gathered, a bully.
His current target was a small, mousy-haired boy with thick glasses who was struggling to levitate a book. Derek "accidentally" bumped into him, sending the boy and his book sprawling.
"Watch where you're practicing your incompetence, worm," Derek sneered.
The boy scrambled to pick up his book, his face red with humiliation. The other students laughed. None moved to help.
I leaned on my mop, watching. This was the culture of this place. The strong preyed on the weak. It was the natural order. And I had successfully positioned myself at the very bottom of it.
But as Derek walked away, laughing, he passed my bucket. With a casual flick of his wrist, he sent a gust of wind that tipped it over, sending soapy water flooding across the floor I had just cleaned.
He didn't even look at me. "Clean that up, null," he said over his shoulder, as if speaking to a piece of furniture.
I stood there, mop in hand, the soapy water soaking into my worn boots. The mousy-haired boy looked at me, our eyes meeting for a second in shared, powerless humiliation.
A slow smile spread across my face. It wasn't a happy smile. It was the smile of a player who has just been handed a new and interesting piece on the game board.
I had my cover. I had my anonymity. But perhaps... just perhaps... maintaining this peaceful, invisible life didn't mean I had to tolerate every little nuisance. Perhaps I could do a little housekeeping of my own.
I looked at the retreating back of Derek, the noble wind mage.
I wonder, I thought, what would happen if a gust of wind, from a completely impossible angle, were to suddenly rip the expensive, family-signet ring right off his finger and send it sailing out a window, into the moat surrounding the Academy? A complete accident, of course. A freak weather phenomenon.
I snapped my fingers, and the spilled water reversed its flow, leaping back into the bucket, leaving the floor spotless.
First, I had to finish my chores. Then, I could have some fun.