# Chapter 3: The Red-Haired Instructor
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Giovanni woke to pain.
Not the dull ache of exhaustion or the lingering remnants of a dream—this was sharp, splitting, a spike driven through his skull from temple to temple. He gasped, his small hands flying to his head, turquoise eyes snapping open to darkness.
*What—*
The room was still. The curtains were drawn. The faint gray light of early dawn seeped through the gaps, barely enough to see by. Everything was where it should be. Everything was normal.
Except for the figure standing in the corner.
Giovanni's breath caught. It was human-shaped—tall, indistinct, a blur of shadow and static that seemed to flicker at the edges of his vision. He couldn't make out a face. He couldn't make out details. Just a silhouette, watching him.
*Who—*
He blinked.
The figure was gone.
Giovanni lay frozen, his heart pounding against his ribs. He scanned the room—the curtains, the furniture, the grimoire on his bedside table. Nothing. No one. Just shadows and the slow creep of dawn.
He was drenched in sweat. His sheets clung to his skin, cold and uncomfortable. His head still throbbed, though the pain was fading now, receding like a tide. He swallowed, his throat dry.
*What was that?*
He had seen something. He was sure of it. A figure. A presence. Something that didn't belong.
But now there was nothing.
Giovanni pushed himself upright, his arms trembling slightly. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. The sweat was real. The headache was real. But the figure...
*Maybe I'm still dreaming,* he thought. *Maybe I haven't woken up yet.*
He pinched his arm. It hurt.
He was awake.
Giovanni sat there for a long moment, breathing slowly, waiting for his heart to stop racing. The room was quiet. The estate was quiet. Everything was exactly as it should be.
And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had been there. Something had been watching him.
*The fragments,* he thought. *Is this because of the fragments?*
He didn't know. He didn't have answers. He only had questions, and they were piling up faster than he could count.
A knock at the door made him flinch.
"Young master?" A maid's voice, muffled through the wood. "Your uncle requests your presence at breakfast. Lady Elara will be joining as well."
Giovanni exhaled slowly. "I'll be there shortly."
Footsteps retreated down the corridor.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. His body felt heavy, his mind foggy, but he forced himself to move. He washed his face in the basin by the window, the cold water shocking him fully awake. He dressed in the crimson robes—clean ones, today, without the faint scorch marks from the courtyard incident—and checked his reflection in the mirror.
Wavy blond hair, slightly disheveled. Turquoise eyes, still carrying the shadows of a restless night. Pale skin, paler than usual.
*I look terrible.*
He tried to smooth his hair down. It didn't cooperate.
*Fine. It doesn't matter.*
He left the room.
---
The dining room was warmer than usual.
Giovanni noticed it immediately—the fire in the hearth had been stoked high, filling the room with a golden glow. The table was laden with food: fresh bread, honey, fruit preserved from the autumn harvest, eggs prepared three different ways, smoked meats, and a pitcher of milk so cold it fogged the glass.
And there, seated beside Lord Cassius, was Aunt Elara.
She looked better than she had yesterday. Her dark hair was braided neatly, and though she was still pale, there was color in her cheeks. Her round belly pressed against the fabric of her dress, and she was smiling—actually smiling—as she spoke to her husband in a low, warm voice.
Giovanni hesitated in the doorway.
*She's happy.*
It was such a simple thing. Such a normal thing. But it struck him somehow, seeing her like this.
*She's going to be fine,* he thought. *The baby is going to be fine.*
"Giovanni!" Aunt Elara spotted him first, her face lighting up. "There you are, little star. Come, sit. You're just in time."
Giovanni crossed the room and took his usual seat—across from his uncle, beside his aunt. "Good morning, Uncle. Good morning, Aunt Elara."
Lord Cassius grunted. "Hmm."
Aunt Elara reached over and squeezed Giovanni's hand. "Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"
Giovanni hesitated. The image of the figure in the corner flashed through his mind—the blurry silhouette, the feeling of being watched.
"Yes," he said. "I slept fine."
Aunt Elara smiled, though her eyes lingered on his face a moment longer than necessary. "You look tired."
"I'm fine," Giovanni said quickly. "Really."
She didn't press. She just squeezed his hand again and released it, turning back to her breakfast.
They ate in comfortable silence for a while. Or rather, Aunt Elara and Giovanni ate. Lord Cassius mostly moved food around his plate, his mind clearly elsewhere.
The food was excellent. Giovanni hadn't realized how hungry he was until he started eating. The bread was warm, the honey sweet, the eggs perfectly seasoned. He ate more than he usually did, and Aunt Elara noticed.
"Good appetite today," she said, pleased. "That's good. You need to eat more, little star. You're too skinny."
Giovanni felt his ears turn red. "I'm not skinny."
"You're a twig," Aunt Elara said, utterly unrepentant. "A very cute twig, but a twig nonetheless."
Lord Cassius cleared his throat.
Aunt Elara glanced at him, then sighed. "Alright, alright. Business first." She settled back in her chair, one hand resting on her belly. "Cassius, tell him."
Lord Cassius set down his fork. He looked at Giovanni with those tired, sad eyes. "Your new instructor arrives in three days."
Giovanni straightened in his seat. *Finally.*
"His name is Fanzell Kruger," Lord Cassius continued. "He comes highly recommended. A young mage—barely joined the magic knights—but already renowned for his innovative teaching methods. The royal family is reportedly considering him for a position training new recruits."
Giovanni filed the information away. *Fanzell Kruger. Young. Innovative. Connected to the royal family.*
"What kind of mage is he?" Giovanni asked.
"Wind magic," Lord Cassius said. "And swordsmanship. A rare combination. He's said to be quite skilled in both."
Wind magic. Swordsmanship.
Giovanni nodded slowly. He had heard of mages who combined magic with physical combat, though it was uncommon in the Diamond Kingdom. Most nobles relied purely on their magical abilities, viewing weapons as the tools of commoners and foot soldiers.
*Interesting.*
"He'll be staying at the estate for the foreseeable future," Lord Cassius said. "You'll train with him daily. Your aunt and I expect you to show him proper respect."
"Yes, Uncle."
Aunt Elara smiled. "I'm sure you'll like him, little star. I've heard he's quite... energetic."
The way she said *energetic* made Giovanni suspect she meant something else entirely.
"Energetic," he repeated.
"Very," Aunt Elara said, her smile widening. "You'll see."
Giovanni didn't know what to make of that. He filed it away with the rest of the information and returned to his breakfast.
Three days.
He had three days to prepare.
---
The three days passed in a blur.
Giovanni spent most of his time in his room, as instructed. He didn't practice magic—his uncle had been clear about that—but he couldn't stop his mind from wandering. The fragments were still there, just out of reach. The figure in the corner haunted his dreams, though it never appeared again when he was awake.
He tried to recall more about the peasant boy, but every attempt ended in the same splitting headache. He stopped trying after the second day.
Instead, he focused on what he could control.
He asked the servants about Fanzell Kruger. Casually, carefully, so as not to seem too interested. He learned that the mage was indeed young, barely out of his teens, and that he had made a name for himself by training a group of commoner mages to pass the Magic Knight entrance exams. He learned that he was unmarried but rumored to be involved with a witch from the Witches' Forest. He learned that he had a reputation for being brilliant, unorthodox, and—according to one particularly nervous maid—*"a bit strange."*
*Strange how?* Giovanni had asked.
The maid had flushed and refused to elaborate.
Giovanni added it to his mental file.
By the morning of the third day, he was ready.
He dressed carefully—the formal crimson robes, the gold embroidery, his hair as neat as he could manage. He checked his reflection three times before leaving his room.
*First impressions matter,* he told himself. *Be polite. Be formal. Be perfect.*
He made his way to the training grounds.
---
The Rosenthal training grounds were expansive—a wide courtyard of packed earth and stone, surrounded by high walls and shaded by ancient oaks. Training dummies lined one side, their straw bodies scarred from years of practice. Targets for ranged magic stood at the far end. The ground was marked with chalk lines for sparring.
Giovanni had spent countless hours here. He knew every crack in the stone, every worn patch of earth. It had never felt like a place of comfort. Only a place of expectation.
Today, it felt different.
Today, there was someone waiting for him.
The man stood in the center of the courtyard, his back to Giovanni. He was tall and lean, with a shock of red hair that caught the morning light like fire. His clothes were simple—a loose tunic, worn trousers, boots that had seen better days. A sword hung at his hip, and there was something about the way he stood—relaxed but ready—that suggested he knew how to use it.
*This is him,* Giovanni thought. *Fanzell Kruger.*
He straightened his robes, lifted his chin, and walked forward.
"Master Kruger," he said, his voice formal and precise. "I am Giovanni Rosenthal. It is an honor to—"
The man turned.
Giovanni's carefully prepared greeting died in his throat.
Fanzell Kruger was... not what he had expected.
The man was young—barely older than Giovanni had been told—with sharp green eyes and a scruffy beard, despite being a teenager, that looked like it had been trimmed with a dull knife. His red hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction like he had just rolled out of bed. His tunic was wrinkled. There was a stain on his collar that might have been coffee or might have been something else entirely.
And he was grinning.
"Yo, kid," he said, his voice casual and warm. "I'm Fanzell. And you must be Giovanni."
Giovanni blinked.
*Yo?*
"Y-yes," he managed. "I am Giovanni Rosenthal. It is an honor to meet you, Master Kruger."
Fanzell's grin widened. "Master Kruger? Man, you're stiff." He walked over and clapped Giovanni on the shoulder—a familiar gesture that made Giovanni flinch. "Relax, kid. We're going to be spending a lot of time together. No need for all the formal stuff."
Giovanni stared at him.
*This is the genius instructor? The one the royal family is considering for recruitment training?*
Fanzell seemed to read his thoughts. His grin didn't waver. "Yeah, I get that look a lot. Don't worry—I know I don't look like much. But trust me, kid. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be something else entirely."
Giovanni didn't know what to say to that. So he said nothing.
Fanzell laughed. "Alright, alright. Let's get started." He stepped back, looking Giovanni up and down with those sharp green eyes. "First things first—you're way too stiff. All that formal training has got you wound up like a spring. We're going to fix that."
Giovanni frowned. "I don't understand."
"You will," Fanzell said. "Now come on. We've got a lot of work to do."
He turned and walked toward the training dummies, clearly expecting Giovanni to follow.
Giovanni hesitated for just a moment.
Then he followed.
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**End of Chapter 3**