"Ah, yes," I smiled, my serene, magician's mask sliding perfectly back into place. "These aren't just for decoration. 'Flora Reading' is a small trick I've been developing. It's... similar to tarot, but I use the language of flowers to read a person, or a situation. It can be quite... revealing. Would any of you be interested in a demonstration?"
My gaze lingered on each of them. This was the moment. The performance was not for them, not truly. It was for the eyes I knew were watching from the mezzanine. For Miss. Kim's spies. They needed a report. They needed to understand my "method." I would give them one.
"Flora Reading? How charming," Miss. Georgiadis said, her voice dripping with a melodic skepticism that was, in its own way, an invitation.
Miss. Ethereal, however, was practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "A magician and a fortune teller? Yes, please! Me! Read me first!"
James clapped. "Oh, splendid! I knew this would be a treat!"
I chuckled, a sound deeper and more resonant than my usual tone. The air around me shifted. I was no longer Isaac Mahoka, Rank 200, the 'King of Trash.' The mask of the serene, polite boy dissolved, and the performer took the stage.
"A treat? My dear James, this is no mere parlor trick!" I boomed, my voice carrying a newfound charisma that silenced the adjacent tables. I stood, sweeping my arm over the bouquet in a grand gesture. "This... is the Garden of Fates! We are not here to tell fortunes; we are here to read the truth etched into the very petals of existence!"
I saw Miss. Ethereal eyes widen, her playful smile freezing into one of genuine, sudden captivation. Miss. Ishida giggled, hiding her mouth behind her hand. Even Mr. Hai raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his neutral gaze.
"Each of these," I continued, my voice dropping to that smooth, alluring tone I had practiced, the one that felt like a secret being whispered, "represents a soul. A story. A different shade of the human heart."
I picked up the first flower, a brilliant yellow rose, practically glowing with energy. "Now... who shall be our first volunteer to step into the garden? Ah! Our gracious comedians!"
I looked at the Villanueva brothers. Jose and Alejandro. "A pair! This is perfect! The yellow rose. The flower of joy, of sunlight, of unbreakable bonds!"
I held it up. "But a rose is not just a color. Look closer." I pointed to the way the petals spiraled. "You two... you are not two halves of a whole. You are a perfect, recursive loop. A reflection in a funhouse mirror."
I gestured to Jose. "You, sir, are the setup. The one who builds the expectation. You are the straight man, not because you lack humor, but because your mind is the one that builds the scaffolding for the joke. You are the architect."
Then, I gestured to Alejandro. "And you are the punchline. The glorious, chaotic, unpredictable demolition. You see the structure your brother builds, and your entire being delights in finding the one-way to bring it crashing down in the most entertaining way possible."
They stared at me, their smiles frozen.
"People see comedians," I said, my voice softening, "but I see the future heads of Solaris Munitions. This... this isn't just humor. It's a tactic. You use this," I mimicked their jovial nudging, "to disarm. To make rivals, clients, and enemies see you as harmless, joyous fools, all while your minds are calculating trajectories, profit margins, and market weaknesses. Your comedy is the most effective smokescreen I have ever seen. But beneath it... beneath it is a deep, profound fear."
Their smiles were gone now.
"You fear failing the legacy. You don't fear being poor, or losing status. You fear that this... gift... you have, this incredible, synergistic mind, won't be enough to honor the empire you are set to inherit. You are two men playing the role of court jesters, terrified one day the king will ask you to actually run the kingdom."
Silence.
Then, Jose let out a loud, barking laugh. "Hah! Caramba! He's got us, 'Lejandro! I think we're scared!"
Alejandro wiped a fake tear. "An empire! I just wanted a sandwich! He's good, this one! A real mago!"
It was a good recovery. But I saw the way their eyes met. The hit was a palpable one. The performance was working.
My gaze scanned the table and landed on Miss. Ethereal. Her chin was resting in her palm, her dark eyes alight with a fascination that was no longer playful. It was... intense.
"Ah," I said, my voice becoming a velvety murmur. "The builder."
I didn't pick a flower for her. I gestured to the entire bouquet. "For you... one is not enough. You see the garden, not the bloom. You, Miss Ethereal, are a planner."
I could feel the energy shift at the table. This was different. My focus was singular, and the charismatic aura I was projecting was aimed directly at her.
"When others see people, you see assets," I said softly. "When they see a conversation, you see an exchange. When they see a friendship, you see an alliance. This isn't cold, not to you. It's... beautiful. You are an architect of a different kind. You build cities of strategy in your mind. Every road, every tower, every wall... all planned to perfection."
Her breath hitched. I could see it.
"Your charm," I continued, "this delightful, disarming playfulness... this is the tool you use to gather your materials. A wink here, a compliment there... you are gathering the bricks, the mortar, the steel, all to build your grand design. You build, and you build, and you build, because your greatest desire is to create something that lasts. Something permanent in a world that delights in tearing things down. You are, at your core, a revolutionary, and your battlefield is the human heart."
She was speechless. Her mouth was slightly open, her eyes locked on mine. She wasn't just captivated; she was seen. In that moment, the wall of her playful persona evaporated, and I was speaking directly to the brilliant, ambitious mind behind it. A connection was forged, not of love, but of something far more potent: understanding.
"My," she finally whispered, her voice a little shaky. "You really are a magician."
"I simply read what is written," I demurred, breaking my gaze and turning to the stoic pair at the end of the table. "Mr. Hai. Miss. Xiu."
This required a different approach. The magician's flair receded, replaced by an air of deep, academic respect.
"For you, Mr. Hai, I choose this," I said, selecting a pristine, unopened white rosebud. "Purity. Order. Potential. Your mind... It's like a library. A perfect, crystallized archive of knowledge. You do not guess; you know. You are a man of profound tactical intellect, a master of the known. Your entire world is built on the foundation of logic, order, and precedent. But... that is your great challenge."
He tilted his head, intrigued.
"You are so masterful with the pieces on the board, you sometimes forget that the world itself is not a chessboard. It is a chaotic, unpredictable, living thing. Your struggle is not against others; it is against the concept of chaos itself. You seek to impose order on a world that thrives on it."
I then turned to Miss. Xiu, who had not moved a muscle. "Which is why... You have her."
I pointed to a deep, dark purple rose, almost black, hidden near the base of the bouquet. "The shadow. The mystery. The unknown. Miss. Xiu, you are the other side of the coin. Where he is rigid, you are fluid. Where he is tactical, you are instinctual. You are not his bodyguard," I said, reinforcing my earlier deduction, "you are his answer. You are the guardian of his blind spot. You don't see the pieces, Miss. Xiu; you see the player. You read the intent behind the move. You are the chaos he cannot control, and the only one he trusts to navigate it."
Mr. Hai's eyes widened, just slightly. He looked at Miss. Xiu, and she, for the first time, met his gaze and gave a single, slow blink. It was a silent conversation, a confirmation of everything I had just laid bare.
"Astute," Mr. Hai said, his voice quiet. "Truly... astute."
Now. The moment I had planned for.
My gaze softened, turning to Miss. Svensson. She looked nervous, as if she were next.
"Miss. Svensson," I said gently, my persona shifting again, this time to one of pure, serene kindness. "For you... this one."
I reached for a pale blue rose. The "impossible" rose. It was delicate, beautiful, and looked as if it were carved from ice.
"This is the flower of loyalty," I said, my voice warm.
"And of delicate, powerful hope. Your kindness, Miss. Svensson is not a weakness; it is a shield. It is not the warmth of a fire; it is the clarity and strength of glacial ice. Pure, unyielding, and reflective. You find your strength in precision, in the perfect execution of a flawless line... a skater's grace, yes?"
She nodded, mesmerized.
"You are reserved, but your heart is an active force. You seek to protect. You value loyalty, true loyalty, above all else. You would cross the world for someone you trust."
As I spoke, I moved. The bouquet was on the table, between us. I had a small, folded note palmed in my right hand, prepared long before the lunch period ever started. I had anticipated this. William Huntsman, the son of Beck Huntsman, the one Milicia had revealed was a "suicide" victim... he wouldn't be here.Hwas a factor for me to understand Milicia more, however I anticipated he would be rather busy… or rather someone intervened. But Miss. Svensson, his girlfriend, his partner... she would be his eyes and ears. I had counted on James inviting Mr. Huntsman, and on Miss. Svensson coming in his place.
I picked up the blue rose with my left hand, holding it up for her to see. "You carry the hopes of others," I said, my voice full of empathy. My right hand, the one with the note, gestured toward her as I spoke, sweeping low... and "accidentally" brushing her lap, just under the table's edge.
The note was dropped.
Miss. Svensson flinched, not at my words, but at the small object that had just landed on her skirt. Her eyes darted down, then back to my face. I gave no sign. I just continued my reading.
"Your path will be difficult, as you will find your loyalty tested. But the ice does not break... it endures."
She stared at me, her mind clearly racing, trying to process the reading, the note, the timing. She subtly moved her hand to cover the small piece of paper. Good. The message was delivered.
And then I looked at Miss. Ishida as I didn't need a flower, I just needed to look at her. "And as for you Miss. Ishida, I see the white camelia. A flower of 'perfected loveliness.' But also… a 'noble death.' You are the princess, yes, but you are not a politician. You are… a patron. You surround yourself with beautiful, interesting, broken things. You see the potential in others, the art in their flaws. You collect them. But… you're terrified."
Miss. Ishida's smile froze.
"You're terrified," I continued, as my voice was gentle. "That you, yourself, are not a work of art. That you are just… the frame."
Miss. Ishida gasped, her hand flying to her chest, tears instantly welling in her eyes. "You... You... that's..."
I gave her the white camellia as she let out some tears and with a thankful smile for someone was able to see her.
And then… There was one…
I turned, the charismatic energy draining away, replaced by that core of serene, profound calm. The table was silent, expectant. I was holding the final rose. The one I had set aside. The one that was a brilliant, burning red, so bright it seemed almost white at the edges.
"And finally... Miss. Rivera," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
I held up the flower. "This rose... it is not the color of a simple, passionate love. This is the red of dawn. The color of a fire that burns away the old world to make way for the new."
I met her piercing blue eyes. Her serene smile was still there, still waiting for my read.
"To read you, Miss. Rivera, is... not possible," I said. "It would be like trying to read the sun. One can only describe the experience of it."
I could feel the entire table lean in. Miss. Curie, I noted, had stopped watching me. Her eyes were scanning, as expected.
"To stand in your presence... is to feel a gravitational pull. A warmth that promises everything. Acceptance, understanding, absolution." I let my voice fill with a near-reverent awe. It was a performance, but the words were true. That was her power.
"I have read your book," I said, "and I was mistaken. It is not a thesis. It is a prophecy. You do not look at the world and see what is... you look at it and see what it must become. And you possess a will so pure, so serene, that it does not break obstacles... It's simply... dissolves them. You are the eye of the storm. The absolute, perfect, beautiful calm that shapes the entire world around it. I... have no reading for that. Only... admiration."
I placed the rose gently on the table in front of her.
The performance was over. The silence that followed was different. It was not awe. It was... heavy. I had laid my cards on the table, or so it seemed. I had presented myself as an admirer, a "reader" of souls, a harmless magician completely captivated by her.
Scarlett Rivera's angelic smile widened, just slightly. Her eyes were bright. "That... was the most beautiful reading of all, Mr. Mahoka. You truly are... a magician."
And you, my dear, are a fantastic liar.
My internal list was complete. The Villanuevas? Too focused on their legacy. Miss. Ethereal? A builder, not a saboteur. Mr. Hai and Miss. Xiu? Too macro-strategic. Miss. Svensson? A loyalist, not a puppet master. Miss. Ishida? A patron. And Miss. Rivera...
Miss. Rivera was playing a game so far beyond this that using Miss. Kim would be like using a cannon to swat a fly. She was here... for me.
They were all crossed off the list.
My real goal was complete. The spies on the mezzanine had their report. They would tell their master that I was a "reader," a 'cold-reader' who used empathy and observation to deduce truths. They would report that my "magic" was just perceptive psychology.
And they would, eventually, build a trap based on that. A trap that required me to read them. A trap that would fail... because I was not a reader. I was a reconstructionist. And I had just handed them the wrong blueprints.
"Well," I said, my normal, serene smile returning as I sat down, "I hope that was... enlightening."
"Enlightening?" James breathed, "Isaac, that was... astonishing!"
As the table erupted in discussion, I glanced at Miss. Curie. She was looking at me, her expression pale. She leaned in, her voice a low hiss that only I could hear.
"Isaac."
"Yes, Miss. Curie?"
"The spies. They're still there. Bennet and the five".
"I know."
"No," she said, her eyes intense. "That's not it. I saw someone else. Second floor, by the juice bar. An adult. Dark suit, sunglasses, drinking orange juice. He was... too casual."
My smile didn't change. "A referee."
It was the only logical sense, since a referee is more lenient than a normal staff member.
Miss. Curie's eyes widened. "You knew? He wasn't watching the table, Isaac. He was watching you."
"I know that, too," I said. "A performance, as I said, requires an audience. It seems we had three."
I pushed back my chair. "Thank you all, truly, for your time. This has been more informative than you can imagine. But I'm afraid my friends and I must be heading back. We still have... preparations... for the coming school days."
James stood, "Oh! Of course! Thank you for coming, Isaac! And for the... the show! It was marvelous!"
"The pleasure," I said, bowing slightly to the table, "was all mine."
I turned, and with Aurélie and Miss. Curie in tow, I walked away from the center of power, my mind already five steps ahead.
We navigated the chaos of the cafeteria, the sound rushing back in to fill the vacuum of the VIP area's intense quiet.
Aurélie was practically bouncing, her face flushed with excitement.
"Isaac, that was... I mean... how did you do that? You knew everything! And Arwa! I think she likes you!"
"It's just a trick, Aurélie," I said calmly. "Paying attention to the little things. You'd be surprised what people tell you when you just... listen."
"I..." Miss. Curie started, then stopped, shaking her head. "Later."
We reached the massive cafeteria doors and pushed our way out into the grand hallway. And there, as if summoned by fate's sense of irony, was Lucico Dimensi, leaning against a marble pillar, idly inspecting his nails.
He looked up as we approached, his jester's grin firmly in place. "Ah! The magician returns from the lion's den! And with your lovely assistants! Tell me, my friend, did you tame the beasts? Or did they find you... delicious?"
Aurélie giggled. "He was amazing, Lucico! He read all of them!"
"Of course he did," Lucico said, pushing off the pillar to join us. "Our Isaac is a man of many... surprises."
I stopped walking. Aurélie and Miss. Curie took a few more steps before realizing I wasn't with them. They turned.
"Lucico," I said.
My voice was flat. Quiet. Devoid of any warmth or performance.
The grin on Lucico's face didn't just fade, it evaporated. His entire posture changed. The slouch was gone, replaced by a soldier's stillness. His heterochromatic eyes, usually dancing with mischief, became lethally sharp. He knew this tone.
This was not Isaac the Magician. This was not Isaac the Friend. This was... something else.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice equally flat.
"She's here," I said.
That was all. Two words. But to him, they meant everything. He didn't need to ask who. He knew. The only "she" that mattered. The one Isidora and he were here to guard me against.
"Understood," Lucico said. His gaze flickered past me, into the cafeteria, as if he could sense her.
"The... parameters... have changed. I'll let Isidora know."
He didn't say goodbye. He didn't use a smoke pellet. He just turned, his movements economical and precise, and walked down the hall in the opposite direction, his purpose a tangible, cold aura.
"...What was that about?" Aurélie asked, her voice small, the excitement gone, replaced by confusion and a small kernel of fear. She had felt the shift.
"Just... coordinating," I lied smoothly, my warm smile returning as I turned to her. "The logistics for a... a much bigger magic trick. You understand. Professional secrets."
"Oh!" She visibly relaxed. "Okay! That makes sense! Well..." she glanced at her phone. "I'm actually supposed to meet some friends from Class B by the library. But... Thank you, Isaac. That was... amazing. And Marie! It was really nice hanging out with you!"
"You as well, Aurélie," I said.
She gave us one last bright, innocent smile and then practically skipped away, a small beacon of light in this den of shadows.
Now, it was just Miss. Curie and I.
We walked in silence for a long time, the only sound the distant murmur of the school and the sharp, rhythmic click of our shoes on the polished floor. We were heading back to Class H, back to our empty classroom.
It was Miss. Curie who finally broke the quiet. Her voice was low, purely analytical.
"You're terrifying, you know that?"
I glanced at her. "I'm not sure what I could have possibly done to warrant such a description, Miss. Curie."
"Cut the 'Miss. Curie' crap, Isaac," she snapped, though not in anger. It was... frustration. "Your readings. They weren't guesses. They weren't 'Flora Reading.' That was... psychological dissection. Live. On an audience."
"You're very perceptive," I said.
"And the story," she continued, ignoring me. " 'The traveling man.' You were using a memory. I could tell. The emotion was genuine. But... the way you told it... it felt like you were reading from a script. A script you wrote about your own feelings."
I remained silent. We turned a corner.
"And that entire 'Flora Reading' performance," she pressed on, "it was brilliant. But it wasn't for them. You were feeding them... the spies. The ones I saw. You were giving them a false methodology. A way for them to 'understand' you, to predict you. You were intentionally building your own 'flaw' for them to target."
I stopped and turned to her. "You are, without a doubt, the most exceptional mind I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, Miss. Curie."
She huffed, crossing her arms. "And you... you knew about the referee. You knew he was there. The whole time. This was all a multi-layered performance for three different audiences."
"Four," I corrected gently.
"Four?"
"Myself. A magician must always be able to appreciate his own art."
She stared at me for a long moment, her yellow eyes sharp, trying to piece together the puzzle that was Isaac Mahoka. Finally, she sighed, the tension leaving her shoulders.
"I... despite the terrifying psychoanalysis and the elaborate, borderline-sociopathic stage play..." She paused, as if the next words were difficult. "I enjoyed myself, Isaac. It was... stimulating. More stimulating than any gamble."
A genuine smile touched my lips. "As did I, Miss Curie. As did I."
We reached the Class H classroom and stepped inside. It was empty, just as we had left it. The lingering animosity between Miss. Curie and Mr. Beckham, the tension of Milicia's taunts... it all felt like a distant memory.
However before we could sit back at our desks, our phones buzzed as we looked at it and it was…
A video of my performance in the cafeteria…
Miss. Dolfuss, must you try that hard to paint me as the IRA's clown?
"Damn Isaac, you really are becoming infamous, and it's only our first official day here. Keep this magician act up and you might become our mascot." Miss. Curie said to me as she nudged me.
"A mascot of fools one might say no?"
"Yeah the mascot of fools, and the fools is one audience, which is you obviously," She chuckled. "Also, like Aurélie said earlier, that Arwa girl seems to like you romantically."
"I don't see why she would, for someone like her, I don't think she would like a magician like me." I said as I tilted my head.
Like I said earlier this morning, who would want a magician for a boyfriend let alone a lover?
Miss. Curie looked at me with a deadpan expression that I have never seen before. "You're kidding right…?"
"I am quite serious," I said with a sheepish smile.
If she is referring to my charisma then she would mean I have captivated the audience, which was the members of Class A to keep them engaged in the performance, nothing beyond that.
"Isaac… your charisma is a black hole, it literally makes any woman or man completely captivated. Even that fascist's charisma was like yours, but you were genuine about it. And now you got that Arwa chick's heart smitten."
Oh moons and stars…
Mother… it appears you taught me the arts of charisma far too well…
"She'll most likely get over it once she finds out how boring I am."
"Isaac… you are anything BUT boring." She sighed as she departed for her territory.
Miss. Curie headed to her desk, pulling out a notebook and muttering to herself, already lost in a new web of deductions.
I stood by my own desk in the back row. I put my bag down. And I looked up.
My eyes traveled from the door, to the windows, to the teacher's podium. And then... to the projector screen mounted on the ceiling.
And there, right on top of the projector's casing, was a tiny, black dot. A new addition. A pinhole lens, angled perfectly to cover the back three rows of the classroom. To cover my desk.
Miss. Kim. Or... her master. You didn't just send spies. You're not just observing me in public.
You're watching me here. You're that desperate for data.
If she was the one who set this up, it must have been the time that the classrooms were completely empty when Miss. Curie and I left.
But then again, that risks someone… or rather I decided to buy the receipts on who bought a small camera…
And I don't think Miss. Kim would risk that as she is a paranoid individual based on her perception.
Or it could be someone else entirely…
I looked directly at the tiny, black lens.
And I smiled.
————
As Isaac smiled at the camera, the owner in question who was sitting on the second floor of the cafeteria hall, watched with amusement through his phone.
The owner(Rank 153), wearing the same male school uniform, had long black hair that was slicked back and had an empty small smile, tan skin tone that suggests he has Coptic origins, and yellow eyes.
"You are a very interesting one Isaac Mahoka… very interesting…" He murmured as he switched to another camera in Class F that is positioned in the same area.
The boy in question replayed the footage as it was Kim Yeong-Hwa, who found the hidden camera and stomped on it.
'How unfortunate, I was really hoping to see more in Class F and the dynamic with Class E' The boy thought as he let out a sigh.
And then the boy switched to another camera, the one in particular, Class D as he watched the footage of Vittoria Mussolini display her iron fist on her own class to establish complete loyalty.
He paused the footage and looked at Vittoria with a hint of a primal emotion as if he had found his soulmate. "It appears I have found my empress of Rome…" He said as he finished his lunch.
The girl in front of the boy had long curly black hair, brown eyes, and yellow diamond earrings. "It appears you found someone you are truly interested in, Kaelan,"
"It's only natural I would find someone who is like me, and Vittoria, is a remarkable woman, and it seems destiny has brought us here at this school together, wouldn't you agree Zahra?"
Zahra(rank 163) hummed in agreement. "Of course," she said as she touched her lip in amusement. "Although Kim Yeong-Hwa and Isaac Mahoka are rather interesting, no? Those two are the only ones who found your hidden cameras. you had the janitor last night install all of them in all eight classrooms. Perhaps you found your adversaries."
Kaelan nodded. "Yes that is true, since I wanted to see the inner works of all the classes to see our competition, although I'm not entirely interested in Yeong-Hwa… but that Isaac is interesting… he noticed the camera and all he did was smile and went to his desk, although his performance a few minutes ago was in fact interesting."
Both got up and threw their trash away, and as they walked down the stairs to get onto the main cafeteria floor to leave, Zahra spoke. "Do you think we should keep an eye on Isaac?"
Kaelan shook his head. "No, since he already has his hands full with that Yeong-Hwa based on the conversation she and Nathanel had, although I am intrigued to see what Isaac does, a magician is always entertaining to watch."
He then opened up his book that he was searching for a long time, which was a Gnostic text that he was dying to find for a long time based on a prince.
"You found the book you were looking for?" Zahra asked. "The lamentations of the moonlight?"
Kaelan nodded as he kept reading the book as both walked into their classroom which was Class G.