The cafeteria was, predictably, a maze. By the time I navigated the inefficient staircases, the pixie riot was old news, and most of the students were already eating, buzzing about the incident. They'd missed the point, of course. The point was: boring lectures cause chaos.
I went to the ramen station. "Tonkotsu," I said to the man operating it.
He prepared it with practiced, acceptable efficiency. This was promising. I found an empty table, sat, and took a bite.
The assessment was immediate: adequate.
The broth was fine. The noodles, acceptable. The pork was tender. It met baseline standards. Veyra's "ramen quality" guarantee was, technically, being honored. I allowed myself a small moment of satisfaction.
"Is it good?"
I looked up. Mira. She was holding a tray with some kind of vegetable stew. She had that look—the one that asked a simple question while meaning something else entirely.
"It's adequate."
"That's high praise from you," she said, sitting down without asking. "Elara told me you negotiated a ramen clause into your contract. The staff thought it was hilarious."
"It's practical. Food quality impacts daily function."
"You prioritized ramen over your education."
"I prioritized sustainable life quality over abstract objectives," I corrected.
Mira smiled. A real smile. It did something stupid and illogical to my chest. A flutter. I immediately suppressed it. That was a useless data point. A system error.
"You caused the pixie riot, didn't you?" she asked, her tone conversational.
"That's an interesting theory."
"It's not a theory. I've known you for ten years, Haru. You get bored, reality gets weird. It's your pattern."
"Proving causation would be difficult."
"I don't need to prove it. I just need to know." She took a bite of her stew. "Are you okay? Being here. I know you didn't want to come."
It was a genuine question. My usual deflections felt... inappropriate.
"It's inefficient," I said finally. "But manageable."
"Also high praise."
We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't entirely unpleasant.
Part Two: The First Classes
Magical Theory was, as expected, tedious. Professor Aurelius spent an hour explaining concepts that were outlined clearly in chapter one. I read chapter four while pretending to listen. A piece of chalk fell off his desk just as he made an incorrect statement about causality. No one connected the two. Plausible deniability maintained.
Combat Fundamentals was better. Instructor Kael was efficient. "Magic is a tool. Tools require practice. Practice requires effort. No effort, no results. Questions?"
No one had questions.
He had us demonstrate basic magic. I observed with clinical interest, but I had no intention of participating. My power doesn't work that way.
"Tanaka," Kael called out. "You. Fire conjuration. Demonstrate."
This was going to be a problem. I walked to the front, aware of everyone watching. I went through the motions he'd shown.
Nothing.
"Focus," he said. "Channel your mana, visualize—"
I was *doing* all of that. My power doesn't use mana channels. It's a glitch in the source code.
"I can't," I said. "My magic is... different."
"Can't, or won't?"
"Can't."
He frowned. Before he could press, the practice dummy at the far end of the room spontaneously burst into flames.
"Strange," Kael muttered, walking over to extinguish it. "Enchantment must be malfunctioning."
I walked back to my spot. My frustration had, apparently, decided to prove my point by setting something random on fire. Extremely inefficient.
A few spots down, Elara gave me a look. *I know what you did.*
I gave her one back. *Prove it.*
Part Three: The Library Encounter
I retreated to the library. It was quiet. I found a corner, selected three books on theoretical causality, and began to read.
I was thirty pages in when Sera Vex appeared. She didn't announce herself. She just... sat down.
"You're reading advanced theory," she observed, nodding at my book. "Fourth-year material."
"Knowledge doesn't have grade levels," I said, not looking up.
"You're deflecting."
"I'm reading."
She leaned forward. "I've been researching you. Haru Tanaka. Special admission. No magical heritage. No power assessment. You just... *appeared* in the recruitment files three weeks ago."
"That's accurate."
"It's suspicious."
"It's not your concern."
"It *is*," she said, her voice sharp. "I'm the top student here. I earned that. And then *you* show up—mysterious, deflecting, causing 'incidents'—and I'm supposed to just accept it?"
"Yes. That would be the efficient approach."
Her eye twitched. "You're infuriating."
"I'm consistent."
"I'm going to figure you out," she said finally, standing up. "Whatever you are, whatever you're hiding, I'm going to discover it."
"That sounds time-consuming and ultimately futile."
"We'll see."
She left. Another complication. An intelligent, persistent one.
Part Four: The Wind Gust
It happened on day three.
I was walking to the library. Sera Vex was walking from the opposite direction. A simple collision course. I'd move right, she'd move left. No interaction required.
Except that's when *she* decided to intervene.
I felt it a split-second before it happened—that tell-tale prickle of cosmic mischief.
And then: wind.
Not natural wind. It was a perfect, targeted, *idiotic* gust of wind that swept through the courtyard at the exact moment we passed.
Her skirt... went up.
It happened in that horrible, slow-motion way the universe reserves for maximum awkwardness. The wind caught the fabric, sending it billowing.
I was looking straight ahead. I didn't see anything.
It didn't matter.
The wind died. Her skirt fell. Her face had cycled through several shades of red and settled on "incandescent."
"YOU—" she choked.
"I didn't do that," I said immediately. It was the truth. Ætheria had.
"DON'T LIE TO ME!" She grabbed my collar, her face inches from mine, and I could see the fury and humiliation crystallize. "I know it was you! That was *not* natural wind! That was TARGETED!"
"I literally did not."
Other students were starting to gather. This was becoming a scene. Scenes are inefficient.
"Listen," I said, "I understand you're upset—"
"UPSET?!" She shoved me back, her entire body trembling. "You humiliated me! In front of *everyone*! You're disgusting! You're a pervert! And I'm going to make sure everyone knows it!"
She stormed away, pushing through the gathering crowd.
I stood there, the sudden focus of about forty students.
*This,* I thought with profound certainty, *is Ætheria's fault.*
From somewhere in the void, I was absolutely sure she was laughing herself sick.
Part Five: The Aftermath
The story spread like a virus.
By dinner, everyone knew. And the story had mutated. I had used wind magic. I had positioned myself strategically. I was a "pervert."
I was in the cafeteria, eating my ramen and projecting an aura of total indifference, when Elara slammed her tray down.
"Haru. What did you do?"
"Nothing."
"Sera Vex is telling *everyone* you're a pervert. She's... very angry."
"She's mistaken."
"I was walking. Wind happened. Her skirt lifted. I wasn't looking. She blamed me. That is the entire sequence of events."
Elara stared at me, then sighed. "Okay. I believe you. But *she* doesn't."
"That's her problem."
"It's *your* problem if she keeps this up."
"I can't control her narrative."
Mira appeared, her expression concerned. "I heard what happened. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Sera's really upset."
"I'm aware."
"Did you actually—"
"No."
Mira nodded, satisfied. "Okay. I didn't think so. You're too... efficient. Deliberate harassment would be a waste of your time."
"That's accurate," I confirmed.
"But she's going to make your life difficult," Mira added.
"She already was," I said. "This just accelerated the timeline."
Three days. A pixie riot and a public branding as a pervert. Impressive, even for me.
Part Six: Confrontation
Sera found me the next afternoon. She blocked my path in a quiet corridor.
"We need to talk," she said. Her voice was ice.
"I don't think that's productive."
"I don't care. I know you did it. And I'm going to prove it."
"You can't prove something that isn't true."
"Your power is invisible," she shot back. "That's what makes it dangerous. You do things, reality shifts, and no one can trace it because you're not using standard magic. But I'm going to figure out your pattern. I'm going to document every 'coincidence' that happens around you. And when I have enough evidence, I'm going to expose you for what you are."
"And what am I?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"I don't know yet. But you're not normal. You're hiding something. And I'm going to find it."
"That's an ambitious research project."
"It's not research. It's justice."
I looked at her. She was smart. She was committed. And... she wasn't entirely wrong. I *am* hiding something. I *am* dangerous. She was going to be a persistent problem.
"Do what you want," I said. "But you're wasting your time."
"We'll see about that."
She walked past, brushing my shoulder with deliberate force.
This was going to be a very long year.
Part Seven: The Pattern Recognition
That night, back in my room, I ran the numbers. The situation was suboptimal.
Sera Vex was now an active, intelligent investigator who thought I was a degenerate. My Glitch was firing more often in this crowded, stimulating environment. I was experiencing inconvenient emotional responses to Mira, which was a critical, recurring system error. Ætheria was clearly an active saboteur.
And the ramen, while acceptable, was still not optimal.
I had to maintain plausible deniability, which meant perfect emotional control, which was already failing. I couldn't avoid Sera. I couldn't suppress the Mira-related errors. And I definitely couldn't do anything about a cosmic goddess.
The only achievable goal, it seemed, was learning to accept adequate ramen.
Veyra was right. This was going to be chaos. Sustained, escalating chaos.
But at least the food was acceptable. Small victories. That's all you can hope for.