After the bully finally disappeared from his sight, Baston did not immediately relax. Only when the noisy footsteps faded into the
distance did he turn and head toward the dormitory. His shoulders were slumping as if all strength had drained from him.
The academy's dormitory was a single building but it was divided cleanly into three invisible classes. The upper floors belonged to merchants. Sunlight streamed freely through wide windows and laughter often
drifted down from above. The first floor was for commoners. It was simple and cramped
but at least they received fresh air and warmth. As for the poor, their rooms were underground.
Baston descended the narrow stone staircase, each step was echoing softly. The air grew colder and heavier. When he reached his room and pushed the door open, a faint smell of damp earth greeted him. The walls were bare stone, darkened by moisture. A single magic lamp hung from the ceiling, its glow weak but steady. This atmosphere reminded him of something. It was just like a grave. It was creepy and eerie.
For a brief moment, Baston felt his chest tightened. In his previous life, everything had ended abruptly. He was camping with laughter but the landslide gave him pain, darkness, and silence. Waking up in this world had felt like a miracle but standing here in such damp and forgotten place, he
wondered if fate was simply mocking him. Even though so, he exhaled slowly. At least, he was alive. That was already good.
And this room, although it was miserable, belonged to him alone. There was snoring roommate, no thieves, and no one to remind him constantly of his place. For someone with nothing, that was already a luxury.
He placed his bag beside the narrow bed and lowered himself onto the mattress. It protested immediately. The old springs were creaking under his weight as if the bed itself resented being used again. From the bag,
he carefully took out his academy book.
At a glance, it looked no different from the others. The book itself was thick, leather-bound, and its surface etched with faint
geometric patterns meant to resist wear. Students tossed theirs onto desks, scribbled notes across its pages, or left it open carelessly during meals. On the other hand, Baston never did it because his book was quite different. Unlike others, the book seemed older and it almost gave the ancient vibe.
The cover was colder than it should have been yet it slowly warmed beneath his palm as if it was reacting to his presence. The patterns engraved into it were shallow and uneven, worn down not by age but by repeated handling. It was almost as if someone had used it obsessively or as if it had been waiting.
Most students treated their books as tools. Baston treated his like a lifeline. He opened the old book. The pages shifted smoothly,
rearranging themselves without a sound. It consisted of schedules, notes, and academy
regulations. Each of them was quite familiar, identical to what every other student possessed. However, Baston noticed things others wouldn't.
Sometimes the text refreshed a fraction of a second too late. Sometimes the glow dimmed unexpectedly. And sometimes, the page numbers didn't match quite rarely when he flipped back. He turned page after page until he reached the end. He stopped because something bugged him. The final page was entirely different.
The parchment beneath his fingers felt warmer, smoother, and almost soft nothing like paper. The faint glow on its surface pulsed slowly and rhythmically like a living thing breathing in its sleep. Baston's hand then froze.
"This isn't academy-issued…" he murmured.
A quiet unease crept into his chest. None of the teachers had ever mentioned a page like this. None of the students had spoken about this hidden function. And yet, Baston felt certain of one thing deep down. The end
page had always been there, waiting for him to notice. His fingers hovered above it with hesitation on his face.
"What if…" he muttered then stopped himself.
The thought went unfinished. He had already died once. Whatever waited on this page couldn't possibly be worse than being crushed beneath a falling rock, watching his world fade away. He pressed his finger down. The page warmed instantly as it was acknowledging him. Letters slowly surfaced, forming clean and emotionless lines.
"Change the perception of one student…"
Baston stared, "What is this?"
There was no explanation followed, no rules, and no warning. It was just an order given to him by something mysterious. Such words, the academy surely wouldn't give ambiguous command. He was waiting for a while yet there was still no indication that he was allowed to refuse, no deadline, and no
failure condition. That was what unsettled him the most. This wasn't a guidance. It was a temptation. The old book seemingly seduced him to abide by its words.
Changing perception could mean many things. Making someone fear him, respect him, hate him, or trust him. Any of those could count but in the end, he still had a question inside his heart. The question he wanted to ask but quite afraid to hear its answer.
"What happens if I fail?" Baston whispered.
The old book remained silent. The glow dimmed slightly as if the book itself had closed its eyes. A faint chill ran down his spine. This wasn't a blessing handed freely. It was a test, a temptation from something
mysterious. It could be also worse if it was an invitation to step onto a path that didn't allow retreat. Clearly, the choice wasn't on him. He was only a participant here. All he needed to do was to finish what the old book asked him. Baston could only clear his head, focusing on the words.
If perception could be changed then it could be manipulated. If it could be manipulated then everyone could be the perpetrator or the victim. This path belonged to those who understood people. Almost without thinking, a name surfaced in his mind.
Panto, the merchant's son. The boy who hid behind money and numbers. The one who mocked Baston openly, confident that nothing would ever come back to him. Despite looking arrogant, his timidity couldn't be hidden. It always displayed openly. As the bullied victim, he knew better than anyone.
If Baston needed to change someone's perception then Panto was the safest choice. His timidity was an opening, an opportunity that he could manipulate. Slowly, Baston closed the book. The glow vanished instantly, leaving the page blank as if nothing had ever been written there. He slid it back into his bag. His heart was still beating faster than it should have been.
"Let's make a little drama," he murmured.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, Baston grinned. Not because of happy moment but it was more because of an opportunity. He wanted to know what kind of change in his life if he worked as the old book ordered him to.
*****
Panto liked to walk near the academy perimeter. He told himself it was just a harmless action. He wasn't trespassing and following anyone. He was just looking around, especially toward beautiful noble girls. The noble students acted differently. They spoke with confidence and walked without hesitation. Even their laughter sounded distant and refined. Especially the
girls, their faces and voices could make him being grateful to be able to attend this academy.
Panto stayed far enough away to avoid attention. He had no desire to embarrass himself. Being called a creep by a noble girl would be a humiliation worse than death. Lost in his thoughts, he turned in a quiet
corner. Suddenly, something slammed into him.
Before he could shout, arms wrapped around his shoulders and yanked him sideways. The world spun violently. Leaves scratched his face and branches tangled in his clothes. By then, he was shoved into a thick cluster of bushes.
"What the…" Panto froze, "Who is it?"
Baston was on top of him, gripping his collar with surprising strength. His eyes were sharp, focused, and nothing like the timid
plus frightened gaze Panto knew.
"Panto," Baston said quietly, "Did you put your name into the goblet of fire?"
"What?"
"I asked you something," Baston leaned closer, "Did you put your name into the goblet of fire?"
"I don't know what you're talking about! Get off me!"
"You're doomed," Baston said flatly, "You're going to die horribly."
The words sent a chill straight through Panto's spine. If this were a noble or a teacher, he would have believed it. If it were one of his lackeys, he would have struck back. However, the one who was in front of
him was Baston. The fat boy who always ran and the one who begged. The sudden change terrified him, clouding his judgment whether to believe his words or not.
"The cult already knows you," Baston continued, "Your name is on their list. From now on, don't wander outside. The academy is the only place that's safe."
"What cult?! What list?! You're insane!"
"Don't try to understand it," Baston said, releasing him, "Understanding more won't save you. It will just haunt you. You will never
sleep peacefully then."
He stood and turned away, leaving behind the dumbfounded Panto on the way. The merchant was struck silly, puzzled toward what had happened before he came back into his sense.
"Wait!" Panto shouted, panic breaking through his voice, "At least, tell me who's after me!"
Baston halted his steps. He slowly looked at Panto with his deadly serious eyes.
"I don't know," he said quietly. "That's why I'm pretending to be weak so they won't notice me. I don't want to die either."
After that, Baston left. There was no explanation. The fat boy only left question and hesitation inside Panto's heart.
*****
Panto remained frozen long after Baston disappeared. None of his words made sense. And yet, Baston had reminded him against the cult. He hadn't demanded money and hadn't mentioned revenge. He only looked afraid. Panto replayed every word and every glance. The way Baston's hands didn't shake. The way his eyes never wavered. He was confused which was the true Baston.
"What if…"
A cold thought crept into his mind. What if it was true? By the time class resumed, his palms were damp with sweat. Every glance from a teacher felt suspicious. Every whispered conversation sounded like conspiracy. He glanced down at Baston. The fat boy was back to normal with hunched shoulders, trembling hands, and eyes glued to the floor. When the teacher called him
forward, he stammered and blushed, earning laughter from the room.
Panto didn't laugh. The contrast was too sharp that he was unable to believe what had happened before. When class ended, he hurried out. He didn't notice Baston step into his path before it was too late. Both of them
collided. Both of them fell to the floor at the same time. Suddenly, several people noticed what had happened. Their sights soon turned into their direction.
"I… I'm sorry!" Baston cried, bowing repeatedly, "Please forgive me!"
Snickers erupted around them. Panto's lackeys approached eagerly, thinking they could bully this fat boy once again. After all, he dared to embarrass Panto. They might be afraid of nobles but toward such poor boy, they would bravely confront him.
"Boss, want us to teach him a lesson?"
Panto's heart pounded. He still couldn't forget what Baston had told him. His life was in danger. His lackeys couldn't possibly save him. Only the fat boy in front of him could.
"Let him go," he snapped, "I'm in a good mood."
As he turned away, Baston leaned close and whispered. His voice was barely louder than breath yet the words struck like a blade.
"Go back. Someone's watching you."
Panto's body reacted before his mind could. His heart lurched violently and the air seemed to vanish from his lungs. He didn't dare to turn his head. He didn't dare to look around. He only dared to ran. At first, he told himself he was overreacting. Baston was just a fat, timid, and nobody. Someone who had lied, exaggerated, or gone mad. However, the echo of those words clung to him, sinking deeper with every step.
"Someone's watching you."
His pace quickened. The stone path blurred beneath his feet. He became acutely aware of every sound. The scrape of shoes behind him, the rustle of leaves, and the faint creak of academy doors opening and closing. Each noise felt deliberate and each shadow felt wrong. His heart screamed at him.
"Don't look back…"
Sweat soaked through his collar, trickling down his spine despite the cool evening air. His breathing grew uneven and shallow. He forced himself to slow it down, afraid that panic would make him stand out.
He didn't want to die. The thought surfaced again and again, crude and desperate. He had plans for his future. A family business was waiting for him beyond the academy walls. This couldn't be how it ended, cut down by something he didn't even understand.
By the time he reached the dormitory, his legs were trembling. He tried his best to stop panicking but it was futile. His mind had
already imagined something worse. Though it didn't happen, his thinking was already clouded and haunted by something invisible.
He slipped inside, climbed the stairs two at a time, and slammed his door shut behind him. The lock clicked into place, loud in the
quiet room. Only then did he allow himself to breathe. He needed a time to calm down. It was best to forget everything yet he couldn't just do it. His fear conquered his mind and his body completely.
That night, Panto pushed a chair beneath the doorknob. He shut the curtains tight, leaving not even a crack for moonlight. Dinner was delivered and eaten cold. His eyes never leaving the door. Sleep came in
fragments, broken by imagined footsteps and half-formed dreams of eyes watching
from the dark.
In another room, far below, Baston slept soundly. His breathing was slow and even. In his dreams, the last page of the book glowed
faintly, steady, and silent as if calmly recording the outcome of his little drama.