"I don't even know who this girl is…" Baston muttered, "Why is my performance suddenly become good?"
He sat on the edge of his narrow bed, the old book resting on his knees, and its pages faintly warmed beneath his fingers. The result was there and it was clear plus undeniable. The book had judged his actions
favorably. And that was the problem. Baston hadn't meant to do anything today.
He had no plan, no target, and no calculated move. He had only wandered through the academy, eaten a decent steak for dinner, and taken a slow walk to ease his full stomach. Nothing more of those things. Yet, the old book had responded. His thoughts retraced the day, step by step, until they stopped at a single point.
"It was because of Alicia..."
She was the only girl he had spoken to. The only one who had looked at him instead of passing him. The realization made his temples throb. Alicia was a noble. Not just any noble but a special one. If the old book's
performance metric truly revolved around her interest then things were already
spiraling far beyond what he'd intended. He never meant to involve such beautiful yet dangerous noble girl. He wanted to pick someone else but it was too late. The quest had to continue and he as the participant had to work toward it.
The old book didn't lie. If it said his performance was good, then it meant something had worked. Not affection and not romance but curiosity.
"That means I can increase it…" Baston murmured.
Good wasn't enough. The book had never rewarded adequacy. It rewarded excess, going beyond some invisible line only it could see. Alicia's status made her valuable. It was risky and dangerous too. But, if he could deepen her curiosity with just enough of his performance, then the reward would
be greater. He exhaled slowly, a thin smile was tugging at his lips.
"Alright…" he whispered, "Let's see if my acting is good enough."
*****
Alicia returned to the noble dormitory with quicker steps than usual. She closed her door, leaning against it and only then allowed her composure to crack. Her thoughts were a mess but certain moments stood out with
disturbing clarity. In the quiet corner, the fat boy was waiting as if he knew someone would come.
Her accidental reply and his calm acceptance of it. At first, she had dismissed him as a fool grasping for attention. Then, she saw his magic. It was powerful, dense, and controlled. Truthfully, it was impossible.
She had searched his records the moment she returned. The fat boy's name was Baston and he had poor background. In this academy, he had no patron and no hidden lineage. He was truly less than a commoner. However, the fact disturbed her greatly.
Magic like that didn't grow in poverty. Tampering with identity was nearly impossible without a great wizard's involvement. Also, the great wizards didn't waste their time on nameless boys. Besides, it always left traces, rumors, and pressure. It was risky and it would just make a great loss.
As for the cult, she had never heard of it. And as a noble's daughter, she should have. Information flowed downward. If she even didn't know, then others didn't either. It might be just a lie yet doubt lingered. She had considered reporting him but if he was telling the truth, even partially, then alerting the wrong people could cause the enemy to vanish before being exposed. In the end, she chose silence. For now, she would follow his rules.
*****
The next day's lesson dragged on as usual. Nobles filled the back rows. Commoners and the poor sat at the front. Alicia's gaze rested, not on the board, but on Baston's broad back. From behind, he was utterly
unremarkable. There was nothing special about him yet the fact that he could conjure the ice magic within his hands told something different. He must be hiding something behind such power.
"Alicia, you're really focused today," her friend whispered, "Always staring at the board."
"Yes… Of course," Alicia replied lightly.
"If only you knew what I'm really watching…"
*****
The cafeteria was noisy, crowded, and alive with many students. Baston had just received his meal which was chicken drenched in a fragrant sauce, steam curling upward when the table jolted violently.
"CRASH!!!"
Plates were shattered and juice was spilled. The chicken slid onto the floor, making it a waste. The silence soon followed with a few
noble boys stood nearby.
"Watch where you're going…" one said lazily.
"It's packed here. Unlike the noble area…" another replied.
They didn't apologize. They didn't even look guilty. Baston said nothing. He only stared at the ruined food. He knew better than to
retaliate. Winning here meant losing later.
The waiter rushed over, pale and shaken, "I… I'm very sorry…"
"It's fine," Baston said quietly, "I'll help clean it."
The waiter hesitated then hurried away to get a broom. Behind Baston, two people stopped at the same time.
"Don't just stand there," Baston muttered without turning, "People are watching."
"You mean the cult?" Panto whispered.
"They're already inside the cafeteria?" Alicia breathed.
Both of them were frozen after hearing what each of them had said. Then, they instinctively walked away. In the meantime, Baston never noticed. He was still mourning his chicken. Though it was free, it was truly a
waste to throw it away. If not because of some cocky students, this dish might be able to taste delightfully. He sighed before trying to forget the matter. There was nothing to do here except going back to his room.
*****
That night, Baston didn't sleep immediately. The room was quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that made every small sound feel
deliberate. The distant footsteps in the corridor, the soft creak of wood settling, and even the faint hum of magic lamps from neighboring rooms all pressed gently against his awareness.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The old book rested closely beside him. He had eaten well. Perhaps, it was too well. His stomach was full, his body was relaxed, yet his mind refused to follow.
Another two meals were suddenly served at him. Even though he already ate a sandwich, such free food was always welcomed. Just like before, the one who delivered the meals didn't explain much. The man only smiled upon him before leaving the place.
Such double treatment gnawed at him. Baston had lived long enough in poverty to know that kindness was rarely accidental. People did not spend money on others without reason. They certainly didn't do it anonymously. Someone was watching him. No, they were watching him. He didn't know what they meant about free meals but since they had already sent to his door, it was disrespectful to neglect it. Before, he was thankful of one person but pondering about more than one person, the thought made his fingers curl slightly against the thin blanket.
Slowly, he reached for the old book. The moment his skin touched its cover, the warmth seeped into his palm. It was faint but it was unmistakable. The book responded not with words but with presence like a living thing acknowledging his attention. Baston then swallowed.
"What do you want from me?" he murmured quietly.
The pages did not turn. No new text appeared. Yet, he could feel it. The same sensation he had felt before during the first quest. A subtle pressure, like eyes behind the paper, was weighing him. It was judging him. He closed the book again and set it aside. For now, that was enough. If he pushed too hard, he was afraid it might push back.
*****
Across the academy, Alicia lay awake in her bed. Her eyes opened in the darkness. The canopy curtains blocked out most of the moonlight, leaving the room wrapped in soft shadows. Her breathing was steady, controlled, and perfectly even as any noble lady was trained to maintain. Yet, her thoughts refused to obey.
The cafeteria scene replayed itself again and again. The shattered plate, the spilled food, the nobles' indifference before finally, it
pointed to Baston. He hadn't shouted. He hadn't argued. He hadn't even looked angry. He had simply accepted it. That disturbed her far more than any outburst would have.
Alicia had seen humiliation before. She had seen commoners flare up, desperate to reclaim dignity. She had seen others swallow it whole, eyes dull with resignation. Baston was neither. There had been something
restrained in his silence. It was calculated. As if he knew exactly where the line was and chose not to cross it. That kind of self-control didn't come from weakness. It came from experience. She shifted slightly, the sheets whispering under her movement. And then, there was what he had said.
"Don't just stand there… People are watching…"
At the time, she had assumed it was paranoia. A cautious warning. But now, lying in the dark, she felt a chill creep up her spine.
"What if he wasn't wrong?"
"What if someone truly was watching?"
The academy was old. Older than most people realized. Its wards had been layered over centuries, reinforced, modified, and in some places was neglected. Secrets had a way of surviving in such spots. If a cult truly existed, then this would be the perfect hunting ground. Alicia closed her eyes. For the first time since enrolling, she felt uncertain about the academy's safety.
*****
Panto slept poorly. His dreams were fragmented, tangled with half-remembered whispers and shadows that dissolved the moment he tried to focus on them. When he finally woke, it was with the uneasy sensation that something important had slipped just beyond his grasp. He sat up in bed, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"This is getting worse…" he muttered.
Baston's warning echoed in his mind, sharper now in retrospect. Panto had always known Baston was hiding something. He had suspected it since he had seen his ice magic. Since the way Baston had survived
when survival alone should not have been enough.
But now… Now, Alicia knew too. That was dangerous. A noble's curiosity was not a small thing. It could become protection or a death sentence. Panto dressed quietly, his movements were careful, and his thoughts were heavy. If the cult truly existed, then every careless word mattered. And Baston… Baston was walking a sword's edge without even realizing how thin it was.
*****
Baston attended classes as usual. He spoke little, answered only when necessary, and kept his head down. To most, he remained invisible which was just another poor student blending into the front rows.
But Alicia noticed. She noticed the way he listened more than he spoke. The way his gaze flicked briefly toward certain students before moving on. The way he never reacted immediately, always leaving a small pause as if measuring outcomes before choosing words. Once or twice, their eyes met. Each
time, Baston looked away first. His simple action unsettled her. He wasn't avoiding her out of fear. He was avoiding engagement. As if he knew that every interaction with her would become a future trouble.
*****
Meanwhile, the old book remained silent. It gave no sign. There were no instructions and demands. Yet, the pressure did not fade. If anything, it grew heavier. Baston could feel it during mundane moments. When he was walking through corridors, sitting through lectures, and even standing in line at the
cafeteria. The sensation that something unseen was aligning itself around him,
slowly tightening like a net.
He realized the old book was not passive thing. It accumulated every glance that Alicia gave him. Every unanswered question and every coincidence grew something. All of it fed into something larger.
And somewhere deep within the old book, that accumulation was being measured. Baston clenched his jaw. If this was how performance increased, then the reward would not come without cost. But turning back was no longer an option. He had already stepped onto the path. The old book had noticed. Baston exhaled slowly and loosened his clenched fists.
If the book was watching, then recklessness would only hasten whatever judgment awaited him. He had survived the first time by restraint, by knowing when to advance and when to stop. This time would be no
different. At least, that was what he told himself.
Yet even as he lay back on his bed, eyes half-lidded, his thoughts refused to settle. The old book's silence was heavier than any command. It meant expectation. It meant that whatever came next would not be
prompted. It would be earned.
Somewhere within the academy, curiosity was ripening. Alicia's questions had not been answered. Panto's doubts had not been eased. And Baston himself no longer knew where his performance ended and his true self began.
He turned his head slightly, glancing at the old book which was resting beside him. It lay still. It looked harmless and very ordinary.
Yet, Baston knew better now. Performance was no longer about action alone. It was about perception. About how others saw him, misunderstood him, and filled the gaps with their own imagination. If that was the game the old book demanded, then the next move would be far more dangerous than the last. And this time, he wasn't sure who would be caught in the reward or the cost.