Too Much Pressure
The mess hall smelled, as always, of stew and old bread. Marion sat slumped at one of the long tables, the bowl in front of him steaming, but he barely stirred it. Tobia and Manuel dropped down beside him, both wearing wide grins.
"So, bro…" Tobia began the second he sat. "We heard something."
"From Jenny." Manuel lifted his eyebrows, savoring every word. "And Jenny talks a lot of crap. But this time…"
Marion felt blood rush to his face. "W-what did she say?"
Tobia leaned in, whispering theatrically: "That you peed yourself."
Marion nearly choked on a piece of bread. "What?!"
"Come on, tell us!" Manuel grinned. "True? Or did Jenny make it up?"
Marion wanted to shout, to spit out the truth—the image of Nix standing there with the dead rabbit flashed through his head. But Tamara's words pressed against the back of his mind: Don't tell anyone. Promise me.
He clamped his lips shut. "I… guess I just had too much pressure."
Silence—then Tobia and Manuel laughed so loudly that other students turned to look.
"Too much pressure!" Tobia wheezed, tears in his eyes. "That's the best excuse ever!"
Manuel smacked his back. "Bro, you're a legend. Not everyone would admit that so casually."
Marion forced a strained smile and stared into his stew.
If you only knew…
But he stayed quiet.
For Tamara.
Pants, Pants, Pants
The great hall was packed. Students lounged on benches, talking over one another. In the middle of the noise stood Adrian, lute loose in his hand, soaking up the attention.
"…and there they were—seven goblins, sparks in their eyes. Marion and I, back to back, like true heroes!" Adrian spread his arms as if he were singing an epic. "His knife flashed, my sword sang—and the beasts fell like ripe apples!"
"Ripe apples!" Basti snickered, while Lukas already clutched his stomach. "Heh-heh… plop, plop!"
Marion sat a little off to the side, head lowered. He remembered blood and filth. But Adrian turned the misery into a shining tale—and nobody questioned him.
"Incredible," a girl sighed dreamily. "So brave…"
"Real heroes," another student added.
Then Rico spoke up, grin wide. "But… sometimes, hero or not, you just have pressure. No toilet anywhere. And if girls are nearby… well, then you drop your pants? Boom—you're the pervert."
"Höhö… pants!" Lukas and Basti exploded with laughter. "Pants, pants, pants!" They high-fived like they'd invented comedy.
Tobia grinned awkwardly, trying to clap Marion's shoulder. "Come on, bro. It was nothing. Everyone's had… pressure."
Manuel, though, twisted his mouth. "Hero of the pants. Fits."
The hall shook with laughter—voices crashing over one another, the "höhö" chants mixing with Rico's jokes.
Marion wished he could sink into the floor.
But when his eyes flicked to Tamara, he saw her. Head lowered, cheeks flushed—and she wasn't laughing. Her gaze searched for him, and in that moment it felt like the whole hall went quiet.
Marion drew a deep breath.
She's on my side. No matter what they say.
The Gift
Marion kept the silver coins tight in his pocket as he left the Academy. His heart beat faster with every step toward the city. Today he was finally going to buy something—something that would show Tamara: I can be more than the class loser.
He muttered to himself, wavering between jewelry, a scarf, maybe a book—when a voice appeared right beside him.
"What are you doing?"
He answered without looking up, almost relieved to talk to anyone. "A gift. For my beloved. Just something small…"
"For Tamara?"
He stopped, frowning. That voice was… unfamiliar. A little rough, but also oddly childlike. "Yeah… for Tamara."
"I can help you." A smile echoed in the tone. "A dead deer! She would like that. Big, fresh, full of blood."
Marion froze.
A deer?
Slowly—far too slowly—he turned his head.
And went cold.
The goblin girl stood beside him. Copper skin. Bright eyes. A bow slung casually over her shoulder. In her hand dangled a bloody strip of hide, as if she'd already prepared the "present."
Marion's breath caught.
I'm alone. No one nearby. She's going to kill me.
His legs went weak, but Nix leaned forward slightly, her face genuinely concerned. "You not good? You so pale. Should I get boar fat? Makes strong. Makes color. I bring you some!"
Her voice sounded so sincere that he almost would've laughed—if terror hadn't nailed him in place.
"N-no… no, really…" He backed away, his hand twitching. Then a thought hit him: Attack. Maybe I have a chance.
He jerked his arm up, muttered a formula as fast as he could. A spark jumped from his hand, became a small flame, and he hurled it at her.
Nix's eyes flashed. She stepped aside with smooth ease. The flame died uselessly in the air.
"Why…?" she breathed, almost disappointed.
Then she vanished—like the shadows swallowed her whole.
Marion spun around. The wind whistled down the road. Nothing else.
Until a movement flickered behind him.
"There you are." The goblin girl stood right at his back, so close he felt her voice against his neck. No threat, no anger—just baffling certainty.
Marion fought for breath, knees turning to water.
I can't get out. She's playing with me.
Nix tilted her head. "I only wanted help."
A shadow crossed her face. A blink—
—and she was gone.
The road to the city was empty again. No sound, no blood, no deer. Just Marion, alone, sweat-soaked, heart hammering like it wanted to burst out of his chest.
In the City
Parzipazio's streets were, as always, full of noise and stench. Merchants shouted prices, children darted between stalls, beastfolk hauled loads under their masters' eyes. Marion stumbled through it all as if only half-present. His heartbeat was still uneven; drying sweat cooled on his forehead.
He kept looking over his shoulder. Shadows, movements at the edge of his vision—each time it was only a passerby, a dog, a fluttering scrap of cloth.
She's gone. She's gone. Please.
At last he stopped at a stall where copper and silver jewelry glinted. An older merchant woman with sharp eyes studied him.
"Well, boy? Looking for something for your mother?"
"Uh… no… I mean… my girlfriend." His voice came out brittle.
The woman raised her brows, taking in his simple clothes—then his trembling hands. "Your girlfriend? Then it has to be something special."
"Yes. Very… special." Marion swallowed. In his mind the image of the goblin girl flashed again—holding out the rabbit. He shook his head, trying to chase it away.
"So what do you want?" The woman pushed some chains aside. "A bracelet? Or a hairpin?"
"Something… small." Marion reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver coins. His fingers shook so badly one coin clinked to the ground.
The woman bent down, picked it up, and pressed it back into his palm with a long look. "Boy, you look sick. You sure you don't want to eat first?"
"No, no… I'm fine." He forced a smile. "Just… a little pressure."
She frowned, but said nothing. Then she pulled out a simple necklace with a small pendant—a stylized copper rose, plain but neatly made.
"That one's popular with young couples. Not too expensive, but it has heart."
Marion nodded fast. "Yes. Perfect." He set the coins down, almost relieved to have chosen.
The woman wrapped the necklace while still watching him. "Take care of yourself, boy. You look like you're being followed by a ghost."
Marion stared at her, his heart going wild again.
If you only knew…
He took the little box, murmured thanks, and left the stall as quickly as he could.
The streets blurred as he headed back toward the gate. The merchants' voices, the clink of slave chains, the bleating sheep—everything sounded like static. He held the box so tightly his fingers hurt.
Just back. Just to Tamara. Then everything will be fine.
But deep in the shadows of the alleys, he thought he heard a soft little giggle.