As he entered the room, Samael carefully surveyed his surroundings.
It was simple.Too white.Too clean.Too empty.
There was only a light-colored desk and two chairs:one placed behind the desk, clearly meant for the evaluator,and the other in front—for him.
Samael sat down slowly, keeping his head lowered. His bangs fell over his golden eyes, partially hiding his gaze. He preferred it that way. Being seen felt harder than facing monsters.
While remaining silent, he discreetly observed the evaluator.
A man with a tired appearance, a closed-off expression, and bad temper clearly written on his face. Samael didn't recognize him—and that hardly mattered.
He stayed quiet.
He didn't handle silences imposed by authority figures well.Or people in general.
Social phobia? he thought.No… of course not.
If anyone asked, he would deny it with all his strength. Say he was handling his problems just fine. That he was perfectly functional.
And yet, there it was—that uncomfortable pain deep in his core. Small. Persistent.A pain that exposed him.
He chose to ignore it.
That pain was more bearable than facing reality.
— Your name and age? — the evaluator asked, not raising his voice much, but with clear impatience.
— Samael… I'm eighteen, — he replied.
Too quiet.
— What? Speak up, — the evaluator snapped rudely.
Typical noble-clan bastard… Samael thought, feeling the pain in his chest pulse faintly, as if he were being offended from the inside.
He took a deep breath.
Gathered his courage.
— Samael. I'm eighteen, — he repeated, louder this time.
Despite the discomfort, his face remained nearly expressionless. Even when nervous or embarrassed, his features barely changed—only a slight flush betraying him.
The evaluator watched him for a few seconds.
— Samael… — he muttered. — Hm. Strange name. A boy's name.
Something inside Samael snapped.
I've never seen someone more unpleasant than this guy.Hope he chokes on his own saliva.
Of course…He didn't say that out loud.
But he thought it with frightening sincerity.
And the pain in his core pulsed again.
— I have personal reasons for using a masculine name, — Samael said in a controlled tone. — I don't wish to disclose them.
And there's no way I'm revealing my flaw to an asshole like you, he added mentally.
The evaluator let out a brief grunt of acknowledgment.
— Do you want psychological counseling? — he asked automatically. — It's a basic procedure for all Awakened. Free of charge.
— I don't, — Samael replied, quietly but audibly.
Inside, his mind was boiling.
You think I need psychological counseling?Obviously I don't. I'm fine.
At that moment, his body reacted with a faint spike of pain.His bangs once again hid everything.
— What is your Aspect, and its rank? — the evaluator asked.
— I… — Samael hesitated. — I don't wish to reveal it.
I'll never reveal my Aspect.I might not remember everything from the novel, but I remember Jet's advice well:the less you reveal, the better.
The evaluator made a note in his notebook and moved on.
— What happened in your First Nightmare?
— I wish… not to disclose that either, — Samael answered.
This time, there was no arrogance in his thoughts.
As he considered the First Nightmare, a strange sensation ran through his body. A vague recollection of the sword, the blood, the whisper… surfaced.
He cut the thought off immediately.
The evaluator wrote a few more lines and, without saying anything, extended a key.
— Room 307, — he said flatly. — Congratulations. You're now a student of the Awakened Academy.
The tone was empty. Mechanical.As if Samael were just another number on an endless list.
Samael took the key.
And for the first time since arriving, he felt that there was no turning back.
As he left the room, Samael took a deep breath. It was already past eight at night.
From the lower corridor came voices and laughter. Judging by the lively sound, students seemed to be leaving some kind of evening class.
— So tired… — he murmured.
He rubbed his face.
— I think I'll rest a bit before heading to my room, — he told himself, trying to believe it.
A faint pain stirred in his chest—smaller than the previous ones.
It was true: he had walked for over six hours and was exhausted. But that wasn't the only reason for his discomfort.
After sitting for about half an hour, the voices in the corridor faded. Samael stood up, judging himself rested enough to look for his room.
A small spasm made his eye twitch involuntarily.
He started toward Room 307.
In a few minutes, he should have arrived.
Or at least… that was what he wished had happened.
— I'm lost… — he muttered, embarrassed.
You might wonder if he was really that bad with directions.
The answer was simple.
GPS.
He had always relied on it.
But inside the Academy, the signal didn't work.
And the result?
Samael was completely lost.
He was sure it was this way.
— Which idiot designed all these identical corridors? — he grumbled irritably.— Does no one think about people with navigation problems? Where are human rights when you need them?
He kept walking without knowing where he was going, mentally cursing every ancestor of whoever designed the Academy's layout.
What he didn't realize was that his feet were swollen from walking so much.The pain just hadn't registered yet.
Until, turning a corner, he ran into three female students.
Samael took a deep breath.
He didn't want to ask for help.But if he kept this up, he'd never reach his room.
— Excuse me… — he said quietly.
— What? — one of the girls asked. She seemed to be the leader of the group.
— Who are you? A new student? I've never seen you around here, — she continued loudly. She wasn't rude—she just seemed to talk that way naturally.
— I… I'm a new student. And I'm lost, — Samael replied, feeling intense discomfort referring to himself in the feminine. Still, he couldn't go around explaining his flaw to everyone.
— What's your room number? — the girl asked, her tone gentler now.
She seemed like a good person.Too loud.Too incompatible with Samael.
— 307… thank you, — he answered softly, keeping his head down the entire time.