Teacher Fern looked toward the Thistle descendant calmly. He was 18 years old this year and had been in the academy for three years. Among the students present, there were quite a number like him—students who no longer attended class as they focused on passing higher difficulty courses.
To these students, the right to participate was huge. They were no longer as bright and doughy-eyed as the first years. Once you had cleared all of the basic courses, gathering more credits after 20 or so was a monumental task.
These sorts of opportunities for extra credit had value that couldn’t be understated.
“I chose Theron because he is the best option,” she replied.
“Under what metric? I have more experience than him and double his credits. There are any number of seniors here that can say the same!”
The more he thought about it, the more enraged the Thistle became. This was ridiculous. Many of them had never even seen this Theron before, and they didn’t know what he looked like. It wasn’t until the Thistle mentioned these facts that the majority grew more incensed.
“What do you think, Theron?” Teacher Fern asked.
There was no immediate response.
Theron looked down toward the long desk before him, an almost rhythmic set of thoughts going through his mind. It was the same cycle he went through every time he wanted to refocus himself, to remind himself of why he did the things he did—why he acted the way he should rather than the way he wanted to.
His voice was gentle, not in a timid sort of way, but a soothing one. It was the kind of voice that made it difficult to gather any ire for. Even those who had not personally met Theron before couldn’t help but soften their stance.
Teacher Fern frowned, not liking the answer. But there wasn’t much she could do. Listening to the wishes of her students, she passed an exam paper to Theron as well.
“Please begin. The exam will end either after the first half of the class has finished or within the next hour.”
Silence fell, and the students began to work on the two questions. From start to finish, Teacher Fern’s gaze rested on Theron.
Theron pretended not to sense Teacher Fern’s gaze. He wrote the entire time, and of the class of 50 or so, he was the twentieth to hand his paper in.
When Teacher Fern read his paper, her heart sank to rock bottom.
There was nothing wrong with the response. It wasn’t purposely incorrect, but it was dully average. Both answers were exactly what you’d expect an above-average first year to write. It was so stereotypical that it was almost an eyesore.
And it was somehow a slap in the face in both directions.
On the one hand, there was no fault that she could pick at. If Theron had written poor answers, it would be obvious he was deliberately failing. But he hadn’t.
On the other hand, the answers were so perfectly chosen that they looked like they came out of a grading book on what one should expect from a first year. It was so precise that it couldn’t have come from anyone other than a genius.
She suddenly wasn’t sure what to do.
By Theron’s side, little Sadie was biting at her pencil, wondering if she had missed anything. The moment she heard there was going to be an exam, she became so nervous she even forgot Theron was sitting beside her.
When the 24th person got up, she panicked, realizing there was only one spot left. So she hurriedly scrambled to her feet.
Theron chuckled and slid out to let her pass.
“That concludes the exam. I will tabulate the results now.”
Teacher Fern tossed the papers into the air, and Theron frowned. It seemed that Teacher Fern didn’t know how to take a hint.
A green-tinted energy rushed out again, and the papers were all shredded to pieces—or at least, that’s what Theron saw.
In the eyes of the students, it looked like a nice trick of the light, as though Teacher Fern was extracting the merit of their answers from the papers.
It was nothing but a trashy magic trick, but it was also one best at fooling children like them. Sadie’s large green eyes lit up as she watched in awe, feeling as though she was witnessing something magical for the first time.
Elemental Mancers like Teacher Fern and Theron were the closest to Soul Mancers, while Flux Mancers were closer to Spirit Mancers. Though one would usually be born with a single strong affinity, they typically had an adjacent Mancer path they could casually dabble in.
Something like extracting the merit of answers from a test paper sounded exactly like what a Soul Mancer would be capable of. Teachers were also authority figures most would trust implicitly, so how could they know that Teacher Fern was lying to their faces?
Theron closed his eyes, running through his checklist again. His breathing was slow, taking as much as five counts to inhale and exhale.
“That decides it,” Teacher Fern said with a stern nod. “The participants for this exchange will be Malaya and Theron.”
There wasn’t much shock to the first name. Malaya was a senior who had already accumulated 52 credits. She was also 18 years old this year, and though she wasn’t a Thistle, she had been sent here from the Vermouth Earldom.
This was also her third year, so she was on pace to graduate with honors. There were two others in the class around her level, but neither found it unacceptable that she was named ahead of them.
What wasn’t expected was that Theron would still be named. Thinking about the dubiousness of the previous results “tabulation,” the unfriendly gazes were abound.