Chapter 6: Fundamentals

I feel a little embarrassed. How could it be such a coincidence? Once again, someone was talking badly about him right when he walked by. Could he have heard something?

I look down at the ground. No stones, no obstacles. How did Stephen suddenly trip?

Could George have put some kind of curse on him?

Karla checks Stephen's face, where the skin is slightly scraped, and mutters under her breath, "You mention George and you fall. He really is bad luck."

It's not that I'm enjoying their misfortune. It's just genuinely a little funny. They were the ones talking behind his back in the first place.

I finally speak up. "Thanks for the warning. I'll be careful. Let's stop talking about him and go eat."

We're all in our early twenties. One mention of food and the previous unpleasantness is forgotten, tossed aside. We head to the dining hall in high spirits.

Still, I glance back at George's straight, retreating figure. This is the third time I've run into him today.

The first time, he bought the enchanted chocolate that Karla had wanted.

The second time, I got his chocolate and wanted to thank him, but Karla stopped me—and he happened to walk by right then.

The third time, Karla's friend was talking badly about him, and he happened to walk by again.

All three times involved Karla. Back in the human world, during college, some classmates and I used to read those CEO romance novels.

My imagination starts running wild. Why does Karla reject him so strongly? Could she and George have some history?

For some reason, the urge to find out grows stronger.

When I get back to the dorm, I don't wander around. I go straight inside.

I haven't met my birth mother yet, which is a bit disappointing. But I've already gotten used to life without a mother. This barely bothers me.

At least she enrolled me in the academy. She gave me a chance to start over.

I shout into the unfamiliar room: "Magic world, I'm here. I'm going to become a great mage, right?"

Thinking this way, my first night at Wharton Academy of Magic doesn't feel lonely or strange at all.

On the comfortably firm bed, I fall asleep quickly.

The next day is Fundamentals of Magic. The academy has strict rules—no saving seats for others. I wake up too late and arrive late. Only seats in the back row are left. Two seats away from me sits George, equally sleepy and tired-looking.

Karla, sitting in the front row, turns around and sees that George and I are in the same row. Her brown, clear eyes fill with worry. I smile and give her a reassuring look, letting her know she shouldn't worry.

The teacher is Dean Brandy York. Her face shows no expression, her speech is fast and her voice is flat. I only vaguely understand that Fundamentals of Magic focuses on mana sensing, elemental shaping, spells, and runes.

She gives a simple demonstration of how to make a sheet of white paper float in the air.

She stares at the paper on the desk, presses two fingers together, and mutters something at it. But the spell is like the last lines of the dean's speech yesterday—another language I've tried hard to understand without getting a single word. In an instant, the paper really does lift and float through the air.

The entire class gasps in amazement. Brandy looks around the room. "Got it?"

The magic students shout in unison, "Got it!"

Soon, sheets of white paper are floating all across the classroom.

"Too easy" rings out everywhere.

Only I, following the steps, sit quietly for a long time, picturing the paper rising in my mind, stumbling through the spell. When I open my eyes, the paper in front of me hasn't moved at all, as if stuck to the desk.

Sure enough, a kid who starts behind has to work harder than everyone else.

I glance at George beside me. He's wearing a long black coat, the crisp, fine fabric making his posture look even straighter. He leans back in his seat, long fingers casually directing the spell at the paper.

The paper rises, falls. Rises, falls. Over and over, as easy as playing with mud.

Compared to my completely still paper, his relaxed manner feels like showing off.

I gather my courage and ask in a sincere, friendly voice, "Hi. Could you teach me? I really don't get it."

George stops what he's doing. His sharp profile turns toward me, blue eyes showing slight surprise.

Is he going to say no?

I brace myself and ask again.

Maybe I'm imagining things, but I catch a slight reddening at his ears. George pulls himself together, and his full lips part. "Because you can't understand the deeper meaning of the spell. You can't connect with it."

Then he briefly explains the meaning of those two lines of the spell. He lifts his chin and looks at me with deep, cool eyes.

"Try again."

This is the first time I've heard him speak. His voice is deep and smooth, nice to listen to. His explanation is short and clear. Not the thick, heavy voice of a monster I might have imagined.

I clear my throat and practice the pronunciation first.

"No. Don't drop the ending. Again!"

The previously lazy George now looks like a strict teacher. I take a deep breath and keep practicing under his guidance. When I see the paper slowly rise, it feels like a strange light is blooming before my eyes.

Maybe the noise in the back row is unusual. Several classmates turn their heads. Their eyes move back and forth between George and me, surprised and cautious. They whisper to each other, as if trying to find some connection between George and me so they can put me in his category.

I ignore them completely and say to George sincerely, "Thank you."

George's previously cool gaze softens a bit. He nods slightly. "You're welcome."

Class ends. The students leave the classroom cheerfully. George throws his bag over his shoulder and walks out without looking back.

Karla comes up to me with clear anger.

"Thelma, I've warned you three times not to go near George. Not only did you ignore me, you talked to him for so long. Do you even think of me as a friend?"