Chapter 12 - A 101

After leaving the Dean's office, Trish, the Dean's secretary, offered to give me a tour of the academy grounds. Along the way, we chatted about the academy, its ins and outs, minor personal details, and her position as the Dean's secretary. 

I had a feeling I would be seeing her often, given what had just transpired. Making a good first impression seemed prudent, especially if I ever needed her assistance in the future. 

"Anyway, it was my mother who got me into this job. She referred me to the Dean and told him to make use of me. Looking back, it sounded more like a command than a request," she said with a laugh. "She's an old work friend of the Dean's from way back, so he didn't need much convincing. 

"He had me work at some other company he owns at first, but when the previous secretary retired last year, he brought me here to work for him as his secretary at Phalanx." 

Trish walked beside me as she spoke, occasionally brushing her brown hair behind her ear. The medium-length strands bounced with her springy steps. She had started walking ahead of me at the beginning of the tour, but I suppose she felt comfortable enough to loosen up after a bit of conversation. 

To be fair, I can be quite friendly when I want to be. No need to judge her too much. 

"If it weren't for her, I don't think a civilian like me could ever land a job as the Dean's secretary." 

"Hm, maybe," I replied thoughtfully. 

"What do you mean, maybe?" Trish asked, tilting her head to one side. 

"Well, is your mother an M.E.?" 

"Yes, she is. Unlike me. I take after my dad—he's a pseudo working at the military. My mom's actually still active, though she mostly works a desk job now. She goes out once in a blue moon." 

"If she is a very capable woman, then it is no wonder the Dean took you in so easily. He probably thought you would be just as amazing as your mother." 

"Don't joke with me. How am I even comparable to my mother? Come on, you're not even making sense," she said with a forced laugh. 

"Well, do I look like I am joking? My bad. But you do not really think he did it only because of your mother, do you?" 

"I mean, why else would someone like me be working for the Dean—The Torgan himself?" 

Her tone noticeably dimmed, and she began to play with the ends of her hair, her shoulders practically slumping. Ah, look what I did. I should not have let my mouth run off. 

"That is part of it, certainly. But he took you in as his personal secretary, did he not? He did not leave you at one of his other companies or give you a meaningless position, like, say, a guard—because he surely does not need one. Even if he did, it would be purely for appearances, to keep the so-called hooligans away. 

You are his secretary. I do not know what you think of your job, but I bet people do not hire secretaries for no reason. He would not keep you around if he did not think you were valuable. I doubt your mother could say anything to sway him if he decided otherwise. At least, that is my impression of him. So, chin up, and do not sell yourself short." 

"I—I see. Thank you, Mister Zorias. That's… sweet of you to say." 

I watched as Trish twirled the ends of her hair, her earlier dour expression replaced with a brighter, more chipper demeanor. Mission accomplished. Dad of the Year nominee after this one. 

"No problem. And you can just call me Rell." 

"Okay." She nodded, her voice softer now. 

We walked for a few more minutes before stopping in front of a lecture room. 

"Well… here we are. This is the room. Are you ready, Rell?" 

"Just a second." 

I took off my blazer and tossed it into a nearby dispenser bin—no point in holding onto that anymore. Then, I rolled up my sleeves to my elbows, hiding the burnt edges. My right forearm, with its ornate tattoos, was exposed, but I doubted anyone here would think twice about it. After all, this would be their first time seeing me. By the time I saw William again, I would just say I got them during my time at the academy—if he even asked. 

My once-kempt hair, which had been properly styled this morning, now resembled a bird's nest. Any chance of making a polished first impression was gone. Students should look proper, you know? 

We make do with what we have, I suppose. 

Instead of trying to fix it, I tousled it further into a kind of organized chaos. Catching my reflection in the door's glass, I smirked. At least I looked less like a beggar now. 

"Well, how do I look?" I asked, untucking my shirt for the final touch. 

"Like a ruffian," Trish giggled. 

Taking a deep breath, she stepped closer, tiptoeing to reach my collar. She unbuttoned it down to my chest. 

"Might as well go all the way." 

"Hm, long ago, someone told me to just be myself. I suppose this is the universe sending me a message." 

Trish laughed—a genuine, lighthearted sound. She seemed to find everything I said amusing. 

"You think so? You know, you're pretty tall… well-built for your age, too. You're eighteen, right?" 

"Thanks for the compliment. And yeah, I'm eighteen." 

"That's good. I'm only twenty-one. I'll be twenty-two in about three months." 

"Is that so? Then remind me when your birthday's coming up. If you wouldn't mind me joining the celebration, that is." 

She smiled lightly and nodded a few times. 

"Well then, I guess I will see you around, Trish. Thanks for the tour!" 

"Yeah. Come find me if you need anything. Oh, I almost forgot—here's my business card, and… that's my personal number on the back. I'll be waiting. Good luck!" 

"You too. All the best with your job. Thanks again for today. See you around." 

As I walked into the lecture room, I thought to myself: Me and Pressy never had a daughter, but I imagine this is what it is like to have one. What a refreshing feeling. 

-0-

I waited for Trish to leave and turn a corner before knocking on the door. After a brief pause, the door slid open to the right. 

Standing behind a podium was a man who looked at me stoically. 

With his grey-striped suit, polished brown leather shoes, and conical silver glasses, he exuded the aura of a well-educated and meticulous individual. 

"You must be the new trainee. Introduce yourself briefly and quickly find an empty seat," he instructed. 

"Rell Zorias," I said, meeting his gaze with a short nod before turning toward the class. I quickly made my way to the nearest seat, opting for the closest chair on the lowest level of the stalls to avoid further disruption. 

As I settled into my seat, I noticed the instructor's gaze still fixed on me, even as murmurs rippled through the small but sizeable auditorium. His stern expression prompted me to stare back at him, curious as to his intentions. 

After a short, tense moment, he turned back to the front of the room. His commanding presence silenced the room almost immediately. 

What was that about? 

I pulled a small notebook from the back pocket of my pants and clicked my ballpoint pen. As the instructor began his lecture, I thought to myself: Here we go again. 

The lecture lasted a full hour and a half. Apparently, it would have been three hours if I had not arrived late and in the middle of the session. 

Throughout the lecture, I made only minor notes, focusing more on the presentation. I jotted down key concepts for further study later. I do not know how these kids manage to listen and write at the same time, I mused. Still, it was an encouraging sight for a parent like me. 

As I stood up to leave, a voice called out: 

"Mister Zorias, please remain for a moment." 

I nodded and sat back down. 

As the other trainees exited the room, curious glances and whispers were directed my way. While I did not particularly enjoy the attention, watching them sneak glances as they passed was oddly endearing. These youths were working hard for a better future, and it was heartening to witness. 

Their varied aesthetics, influenced by the type of mana they wielded, created a vibrant display beneath the crimson tones of the Phalanx uniform. It was a sight that would have sent Marcus into a philosophical trance. 

Once the room cleared, I made my way to the instructor. 

"Sorry for the late arrival," I said, extending a hand. "Once again, my name is Rell Zorias. May I ask for your name, Sir?" 

He looked at my hand intently before locking eyes with me. After what felt like an eternity, he finally shook my hand. 

"Gauton. Maxis Allore Gauton." 

"It is good to meet you, Sir Gauton. I pray that we have a good year together." 

I gave his hand a firm but polite shake before letting go. 

"I assume you called me regarding the catch-up content? If physical copies are available, I would much prefer them, if possible… Sir Gauton, is everything alright?" 

His incredulous expression was hard to read. Was he seeing something beyond his comprehension, or simply trying to decipher what made me tick? Whatever the case, something about me clearly perplexed him. 

"No—" he began softly. 

Then, more firmly, "No." 

A moment later, he seemed to regain his composure, his demeanor springing back to life like a clock resetting itself. 

"And yes… you are correct. I presume you have already been registered?" 

"Yes, Sir. I was registered before arriving here." 

"Very good. Then you should receive an email from me by the end of the day. The contents are to be completed at your own pace. I trust that it will serve either as a refresher or, at the very least, will not be entirely unfamiliar to you. Regardless, feel free to contact me if you require assistance. 

As for physical materials, you may visit my secretary, Franzes, by the end of the week. He will have them prepared for you by then." 

"Cool. I appreciate the help, Sir Gauton. I'll see you next class." 

He extended his hand again, and I accepted it. His grip was noticeably firmer this time, leaving me puzzled. Was he not hesitant to shake hands earlier? 

"It's this Thursday. Don't be late again," he said, holding onto my hand firmly. 

"Understood. Barring force majeure, I will make sure to arrive on time," I replied with a light chuckle. 

As I turned to leave, I couldn't help but think: I think I'm going to get along with this man just fine.