Adam crossed the garden, the wind caressing him with mocking gentleness, its touch like salt rubbed into wounds. Though a halo of healing light surrounded him, knitting flesh, blood still seeped from irregular scarlet lines where burnt flesh had cracked open like overcooked eggs. But the worst wasn't the pain—it was the scent. It clung to him, ensuring he tasted the grotesque perfume with every breath.
When he reached the dorm's lounge, he sank into a pale grey sofa without bothering to check if students were around. He had seen very few on his way—most likely busy with classes. The cushions hissed against his cracked flesh as he leaned back, sighing through twisted lips.
He let out a grunt, just as steady footsteps echoed from the stairs.
Something ruffled in a broad arc, the sound like clothes thrown at him. He raised his face in time to see dark robes, pants, a white shirt, a striped necktie, and a pair of leather shoes land beside him. A brow raised, he turned to see the weathered face of Isolde emerging from the stairway.
She held herself straight, eyes lingering a second too long on the mana threads he had woven to hide his genitals. Then, she pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. "Dress up in your room, indecent boy." She sighed, already climbing the stairs.
Halfway, the corner of her lips curled, and she added in a gentler tone. "When I felt my curse break, I thought I'd see you begging a teacher for help. Instead, you've shown me a clever use of natural laws to ignore your rank limits. And the planks you've protected with layers of ice, water, and vibrations to hide in their shadows, while redirecting the blast away?"
She waved her hand, and the emblem on the new uniform brightened. "Unlike most students, you have real potential. I'll forget yesterday's offence, so do not make me regret it."
Grabbing the new uniform, Adam squinted at her back. The fresh perfume slightly relieved his nose, and the glow confirmed it—she'd returned the hundred points.
He didn't answer. Instead, water smelling of lavender coated his hand, and he cleaned the soot from his hair, face, and body. Then, he put on the uniform in the empty lounge. The smooth fabric brushed against his closing wounds with each movement, not enough to make him wince, but an occasional grimace contorted his face when he climbed the stairs. Once on the first floor, he halted before the first door—his room—hand on the doorknob.
The moment he turned it, the mana he had coated the walls with faded into sky-blue wisps. Inside, he saw Quintella snap her head up from the parchment she had been studying. Ink stained her nose and half the desk, dripping on the ground with a steady patter.
"Big brother!" Her frown faded when she saw him back so early, and more importantly, with his usual look.
She leapt from her chair, pointing a vindictive finger at the parchment as if she had vanquished a nightmarish beast. "Look! I learned what comes after seven. It's eight!" She exclaimed, her smile twice as bright as usual when she noticed Adam had recovered from Isolde's curse.
"Well done." Adam smiled back. "I'm sure the number eight drowned under your fierce assault." This content belongs to NovelHub(.)net
With a wave of his hand, the spilt ink flowed backwards into the empty bottle. He stepped toward her, noticing the parchment. Rows of deformed eights were scribbled in pools of ink before the shape steadied into something somewhat readable. "You've learned to wield the quill, too. The best weapon against numbers and letters." He patted her blonde hair.
"It was hard to tame, but I made it surrender." Under his gentle hand, Quintella chuckled, her delighted eyes locked on his broad chest. "Your turn. How was your first class? Did your teacher help with the curse? She can't be worse than Grimhilde if she did."
"Diane's explanations and demonstrations are quite good. Strict but fair, gives everyone their turn. A perfect teacher on the surface." Adam sagged into the sofa, its cushions swallowing his exhaustion. "But she's as cruel as she seems compassionate—a madwoman, no better than Grimhilde."
Quintella's eyes widened. "That bad?"
"You have no idea." He rolled his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. "I was grateful when she dispelled Isolde's curse—even thought she helped me while disguising it as a lesson." Though he kept his tone light, his fingers dug into the sofa's armrest. "Then came real training. Almost ended up afflicted with a curse worse than a day of gender swap."
Quintella's ink-stained hand flew to her mouth as he recounted how he had almost ruined the building and buried the other students with it to escape Diane's horrible curse. And when she thought he had died, she had simply wondered how she'd explain that a student blew himself up in her class.
After he reassured her about his state, she snorted. "She's almost as bad as Grimhilde."
She moved closer and hugged him. "At least you're back to normal," she sighed in relief, yet groped his chest as if disappointed not to feel soft breasts.
He removed her small hand, lips pursed. "Anyway, we both have nothing to do until tomorrow. So why don't we conquer a few more numbers and begin with the letters?"
"I'll learn ten times faster with you!" She rushed behind the desk, already clanging the wet quill tip against the ink bottle.
Adam chuckled and taught her until the sun painted the sky orange, and they went to the common hall for supper.
As this morning, the bulk of the students mocked him, saying he was a burden to the House. A second, smaller group had formed, however. Though contempt remained, they eyed him with a mix of wariness and begrudging acknowledgement.
Adam recognised Elliot, Albert and a few other students in this group—those who had taken Diane's class with him. They didn't really matter to him, so he dined quietly while Quintella bonded with girls her age.
Relieved Grimhilde hadn't pushed the matter after her class, and with bellies full of savoury meat, Adam wished Quintella goodnight.
She kissed him on the cheek when they parted, her gaze firm. Tonight, she would sleep alone. To spite Mathilde—who had believed she couldn't and conspired to turn her big brother into a girl—to prove she could.
Once inside her room, she brushed her teeth, like Adam had taught her, and put on her pyjamas. Then, she picked up Adam's plushy that had been resting on her desk like a treasure, and climbed onto her bed. She wrapped the soft blankets around her, hugging the plushy. It felt as if he were with her. Comforted and proud of her progress, her eyelids sagged as she grinned.