"Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"
Inside the carriage, a woman relentlessly pestered the driver. Her hands patted and poked at him without pause. Despite the distraction, the man did his best to ignore her. A smart choice, as she quickly lost interest.
Unfortunately, Elira became the woman’s next target.
The poor girl sat curled in the corner, hugging herself like a ball of anxiety.
"Archmage Elira! What do you think the academy is like? Honestly, I’m quite nervous. This is my first time going to the academy, after all. To become a teacher, at that..."
The words kept spilling out, but Elira was trapped inside her own world. Her eyes were glued to the floor, unfocused. If one looked closely, one could see the dark bags beneath her long bangs.
Why? Why is this happening to me?
I shouldn’t have said yes. To the academy... to learning magic.
God... please don’t make me kill anyone this time...
"...So don’t worry, Ms. Elira. With your talent, I don’t think there’s anything you should be worried about. Anyway, you still haven’t told me about your Brand Magic yet."
"Fuck my life..."
Elira spat water into the sink. It was pink, mixed with fresh blood.
The taste still lingered in her mouth. It had been stuck there for weeks now.
Sighing, she splashed water onto her face. The cold soothed the pain, but only slightly. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, her hands pressed on the sink for support.
She looked battered. New bruises layered atop old ones. She had looked fucked up before, but somehow she managed to look even worse now.
For a moment, Elira thought of ending it all.
The thought came quickly.
But it died just as quickly.
Deep down, she knew she deserved this.
Death was too light a punishment for a sinner like her. She craved torment instead. She enjoyed none of the bullying, but somehow... it made living feel slightly less undeserved.
Elira stepped out of the grim bathroom and into the afternoon sunlight.
It greeted her with a punch to the face.
"Gotcha, bitch!"
Before she could react, a boot slammed into the back of her knee.
Elira collapsed to the floor.
Kicks and stomps rained down on her body, mixed with high-pitched laughter and giggles.
She covered her head with her arms and gritted her teeth, curling into a ball.
She didn’t lift her head to see who was beating her. She didn’t need to. Ever since that bitch Princess made her move, the whole school had followed like loyal dogs. Students bullied her. Teachers ignored her pleas.
Judging by the voices, these were probably the students paired with her in mock battle practice this morning. Apparently, the earlier beating hadn’t been enough.
Nothing surprising. Just another Tuesday.
Elira lay limp on the floor, taking the kicks without a sound. She knew there would only be more pain if she retaliated. If she made a sound. If she showed them that she cared.
Three weeks in this damn academy, and all she had learned was how to make it hurt less.
At least the pain makes it harder to fall asleep.
After a final kick to her ribs, the group got bored. They walked away, chatting and laughing, innocent and happy.
As if they hadn’t just beaten a helpless girl.
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"Archmage my ass."
"What do you think her Brand Magic is?"
"I bet it’s useless, considering how pathetic she is."
"Pfft."
"Hahahaha."
Their laughter echoed down the corridor.
Elira waited until they were gone. Then, she dragged herself back to the bathroom to spit out the new blood and wash off the dirt.
Elira walked her battered body to a certain teacher’s personal office. She entered without knocking.
The woman was already seated inside. She always was.
Two cups of tea sat on the table. There always were.
Elira sat down. Like she always did. Once a week.
"How is your day, Ms. Elira? I bet it is lovely."
That earned the woman a glare.
"S-sorry," the therapist stammered, adjusting her glasses. "But a report was sent to the upper echelon, so please wait. Things will get better."
"...You said the same thing last week."
Liar.
Liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar liar.
"Y-you know, since the Princess is personally involved, I can’t really help you directly. Do you remember offending her somehow? Maybe if you apologize, she will, ah, forget that."
The therapist shuffled some papers, avoiding Elira's eye.
"How about your sleep? Did the tea I gave you help?"
"..."
Sometimes, Elira wondered whether they had sent this useless excuse of a therapist to help her heal, or to push her into destroying the academy out of sheer frustration. Either outcome would benefit certain noble houses.
"...Someone yanked the tea from me while I was walking back to my room last week."
"W-well, how about the food? Amazing, right? Made from ingredients of the highest quality."
"..."
Hard to enjoy food when my face is pressed into the plate. Even harder when it’s mixed with tears and snot.
"Well... the monthly exam is coming up," the therapist chirped, desperate to change the subject. "Have you prepared? If you show your talent, maybe things will improve."
With my fucked sleep schedule, I’d be lucky to score 20%.
Elira stared at the test result.
19%.
Well. I tried. At least.
Her brief moment of peace didn’t last.
A delicate, manicured hand snatched the paper away.
"Pfft. Nineteen percent? What is this, loser? How did you even get into the academy?"
Surprise, surprise. It was the one and only. Princess Marcelline Valcourt. Who else but the one person dedicated to making Elira’s life a living hell?
"Ah. Right..." Marcelline sneered. "Luck."
Thud.
She slammed Elira's head onto the desk.
"That's all you are! A fucking! Lucky! Peasant!"
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The Princess not-so-elegantly slammed Elira's face against the table again and again.
Elira, of course, couldn’t fight back. A scratch on the Princess's skin and she would be executed tomorrow. Such was the privilege of the royal family.
Honestly, Elira didn’t even know what her problem was. Since the first day, Marcelline had targeted her with a hatred that felt personal.
The pain didn't hurt like it used to. Not because it was weaker, but because it came too often.
Seeing Elira’s bored, unimpressed expression only made Marcelline angrier.
"That’s it. You asked for this."
She signaled her lackeys.
"Get this trash out of my sight."
The teacher entered mid-escort. Their eyes met for a moment. Then, the teacher looked away, pretending to rearrange papers on the podium.
Elira was dragged into the hallway and beaten again.
This would probably be her life until graduation.
If she even lasted that long.
The morning sunshine poured into the room. The birds were singing. The students were chatting and laughing.
Elira got out of her bed and got ready for a new day of beating and bullying. She put on her uniform and dragged her sleep-deprived ass to class.
But her daily routine of pain and suffering was a bit different today.
She was stopped at the door.
"New seating arrangement," the teacher announced flatly. "Elira. You sit there."
She pointed to a seat next to the window. Next to the student with the highest score on the monthly exam.
"It is to help you catch up," the teacher said.
And for once, it didn’t sound like bullshit.
Elira complied. She wanted to graduate. She wanted to learn magic. What she’d learned so far intrigued her; magic wasn’t inherently dangerous, as long as one was careful.
That rule didn’t apply to her, but as long as she didn't use her magic, it should be fine.
Right?
She sat down and turned to her new deskmate.
He looked like he’d seen better days. His eyes were glued to the board with a thousand-yard stare, trying desperately to ignore the gaze on his back. A gaze that was probably there because of her.
Small. Weak. A nerd.
Whatever.
"Nice to meet you."
Not really. If you weren't getting bullied before, you will be after this.
"Please take care of me."
The boy flinched. He adjusted his glasses, his hands trembling slightly.
"N-nice to meet you, I’m Arlen."
