"That was amazing!" Ansel shouted, meeting Eyra's gaze. His voice cut through the cheers of the other students as Eyra nonchalantly brushed the dust off her shoulders.
"Wow…" Sven murmured, his eyes locking onto Eyra as if analyzing some unknown variable. "I didn't know she could do something like that. It's not that she's just skilled with her ability—her physical endurance is astonishing as well."
"Huh?" Ansel raised an eyebrow. "But I thought you could watch each other during the entrance examination? Did Eyra also block off her audience like Dominic?"
"She was the second-to-last examinee, so only one other person got to watch her."
Edward walked to the center of the arena, his face having returned to its usual indifferent expression. Sal was slung over his shoulder, letting out soft snores as a bubble of snot protruded from his nose. "You're all dismissed! Go on, get some rest!" Edward gestured for the students to exit as he began to walk toward the medical wing. 'She's going to give me an earful…'
Students began to disperse from the rafters, already murmuring about the day's events: Eyra's fight with Sal, and Ansel's disappointing defeat. Ansel walked up to Eyra, his feet awkwardly shuffling on the sand. "That was really impressive…"
"I know, right?" Eyra chuckled, stretching out her arms. "It feels like I've tenderized myself with a giant mallet. I want to go back to my dorm and have a nice, cold shower."
Ansel opened his mouth to speak, pondering his choice of words. "Hey," he asked, "…were you mad at me—before your match? Or were you disappointed with me since I lost? B-because, there's something I need to—"
"Hah?" Eyra made a confused expression. "Where'd you get that idea? I wasn't mad at you, per se…" She began to walk off, calling for Ansel to follow. "I mean, yeah, your abysmal defeat was pretty shocking since, y'know, you were exempt from the exams, but I was more mad at Instructor Sourpuss. I didn't like that smug look on his face after you lost." Eyra tilted her head to look at Ansel. "…did you do anything to upset him, perchance?"
"Upset the instructor?" Ansel asked, turning his gaze skyward to ponder for a moment. "…I don't think I've even properly talked to him yet. I don't see why he would… oh." Ansel shook his head. "Maybe he's just feeling the same way everyone else is feeling. It's fine, so—"
"No, it isn't fine," Eyra interjected. "It doesn't matter if you were exempt from the exams or not. You're still a student at the academy, so teachers shouldn't be able to pick on you." Eyra suddenly stopped in her tracks, swiveling around in front of Ansel and jabbing a finger at his chest. "…but first, explain. Why didn't you fight back against Sven?"
"Well, the thing is…" Ansel sheepishly laughed. "I can't. I mean, I can't activate my ability."
Eyra's face went blank for a few seconds, processing Ansel's words. Then she squeaked, "…what?" She stepped back, her eyes betraying no emotion at all. "Are you serious?"
"Yep." Ansel looked to the side, rubbing the nape of his neck. "…the last time I used my ability was seven years ago, and I'm pretty sure that time could've been a fluke as well."
"So… you might not even be an accessor?"
"Yeah."
"And I heard you're planning to spar with Dominic?"
"Uh-huh."
"…"
"Eyra?"
"Oh, you poor, poor child." Eyra turned around, shaking her head as she skipped across campus toward the main building. "I'll come visit your grave, okay? Try not to get your corpse mutilated!"
"I—" Ansel couldn't think of anything to say, watching Eyra disappear through the gates of the main building as a cold blanket of night was draped across the sky. A chilly wind blew at that very moment, tussling the jagged strands of Ansel's hair. Then his eyes snapped back to life, remembering Cerua's instructions from earlier. "Oh, right… training ground Delta…"
* * *
Ansel walked through the main building's lobby, eventually reaching the administrative department. A semicircular desk stood in the middle of the room, with three staff members evenly distributed around it.
Compared to during the day, the main building resembled a ghost town at night. Students had either retreated into their dorms or gone off somewhere else—leaving the academy's main campus eerily empty.
The staff member to Ansel's left—a stocky, balding man—was puffing on a cigar while resting his feet on the desk. The woman to Ansel's right was playing paddle pong with a dead look in her eyes. At the center of the trio sat a familiar face.
"Mrs. Linda," Ansel spoke up, approaching the desk.
"Ooooh, no way!" Linda exclaimed, slamming her palms down onto the table and leaning forward at a precarious angle. Her colleagues seemed to pay no mind to her behavior. "…it's you!"
"Y-yes, it's me, Mrs. Linda." Ansel gulped, noticing the prominent flush bursting across Linda's cheeks. "Are you feeling… alright?" He tried to avoid looking at the empty liquor bottles strewn across the floor.
"Yeaahhh…" Linda pouted. "…we just had a pretty rough day today. The lieutenant came over and yelled at us…" She plopped her cheek against her palm, blowing out a huff of air. "He's such a hardass."
"Lieutenant?" Ansel's eyes lit up. "You mean Uncle Pengal? He was here today? Why did he yell at you guys?" Ansel took another step toward the desk, eager to hear about what Pengal was up to.
"I can't tell you that…" Linda brought a finger to her lips. "It's a scheeecret!" She straightened up with an exasperated sigh, bringing her fingers to rest on the keyboard in front of her. The computer was a large, complex contraption, with wires poking wildly from every corner and tubes releasing puffs of steam with every button press. "Okay," she said, looking at Ansel, "why're you here?"
"I want to book training ground Delta after school tomorrow. Is it free?"
"Hm… let's see." Linda began to type as smoke hissed out of her computer. She stifled a cough, squinting at the screen. "Ooh, looks like somebody's already booked the slot."
"Oh." Ansel looked away dejectedly. 'I should've come here earlier…'
"But eh, whatever, you can have it." Linda's fingers sped around the keyboard, rearranging training ground Delta's booking slots. "I'm sure you have some important reason for booking the site."
"Wait, what?" Ansel turned to Linda. "Isn't switching the booking arrangements just for me kind of unfair? Who booked the original spot?"
"The LARPing club," Linda scoffed. "…just take the spot, okay? Don't worry, I'll come up with a good excuse for them. So go put some more muscle on those bones of yours."
"…are you sure that's okay?" Ansel asked, unable to hide his guilt.
"Of course," Linda smirked. "I said I expected some great things from you. I might as well do my part to help out with your story."
* * *
Time went by, and Ansel finished his final class of the day. It was his third proper day at the academy—and the first day of his training in martial arts. He began packing up his stationery as Professor Armistice finished erasing the chalk from her blackboard.
"Ansel," Rotteger spoke up. "You're heading to training ground Delta now, right?" Rotteger slung his bag over his shoulder, watching Ansel with an expectant expression. "…do you mind if I tag along?"
"Not at all," Ansel smiled, zipping up his bag. "…but if you don't mind me asking, why do you want to come?"
"I just thought it'd be beneficial for me to observe your training since…" Rotteger flexed his meager biceps. "…physical strength isn't exactly a quality I have. I need to get through this year without any significant injuries, and when I become a second-year and pick a specialization, I can avoid getting punched in the face until the day I die…" He spoke in an almost reverent tone.
"Specialization?" Ansel asked, waving goodbye to his professor as he exited the classroom.
"Uh… yeah," Rotteger chucked a crumpled piece of paper into the bin. "…didn't you read the handbook they gave us? Being a Unity Officer doesn't mean being skilled in just combat—there are utility and analytical roles as well."
"Oh, right… like Mrs. Linda from Admin." Ansel nodded, stepping out of the academic building. "Alright," he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun, "…let's get going to training ground Delta."
* * *
As Ansel and Rotteger approached the training ground, two arguing voices grew louder and louder. The two boys stopped in their tracks, backs pressed against the arena's exterior as they listened in.
"Are you serious? You can't just spring a favor like this out of nowhere! Do you realize how tired I am?" an angry—yet familiar—voice yelled.
"Yeah, I know it's last minute, but you're going to have to deal with it. You owe me for not spilling the details about your ability after watching your examination."
Ansel instantly recognized the second voice. 'Cerua?'
"Ugh, I don't get it. You could've asked me for anything reasonable, but instead, you decide to get me to train some loser? Who is this guy, anyway? What makes him worth wasting a perfectly good favor on?"
"Well… I kind of owe him."
"Oh, I see…" the angry voice developed a deadly chill. "So my favor is nothing more than a means to repay your own petty little debt. Is that how low you think of me?"
"Can you calm down? Your mood swings are totally disorienting! How do you expect to keep a student around if you keep playing Jekyll and Hyde?" Cerua groaned, shaking her head. "…don't tell me. Is it that time of the month?"
"What was that?" the angry voice hissed.
Just then, to save the two girls any further embarrassment, Ansel stepped into the fray. Rotteger watched helplessly as his friend moved into the darkness—a hand shooting out to grab Ansel's wrist, but falling just seconds short.
"Nooo!" Rotteger cried, eyes widening in sheer terror. 'He's… he's a dead man.'
Ansel entered the arena and was met by two familiar figures silhouetted by the sunlight. As his eyesight adjusted, he noticed Cerua standing to his left, and beside her—
"Eyra?"
Eyra's expression was frozen mid-yell, her right foot extended toward Cerua. She looked like a leopard poised to pounce. Stiffening instantly, Eyra frantically glanced between Cerua and Ansel. "Ohhhhhh," she cleared her throat. "Hi."