"What do you mean, "who?""
Now, I was the one confused.
Jibril may have been eccentric, but he would surely give an impression even to the likes of Braham.
Braham crossed his arms.
"There’s no instructor by that alias, is what I mean. At least to my knowledge."
"But..."
I didn’t understand what he was saying.
That teacher who stitched me up that day had introduced himself to the group of students as Jibril. I was sure he couldn’t have lied.
Were there that many instructors in the Colegio? I tried to recall what happened during the first week of school, the orientation.
Perhaps Braham knew him by his real name?
I didn’t know.
In the end, I bowed a farewell to Braham and we went our separate ways.
Before that, I decided to check out the library for a moment.
I first spotted a dusty book that was in the cornermost of the shelf as if it hadn’t been touched for years.
I looked at the title, "Noli me Tangere." I hadn’t an idea what language it was. And so I curiously glanced at the author’s name...
...but it was smudged and erased.
I was about to open the book when the bell rang, and it wasn’t the death bell. There was a difference in the pitch.
I was off to my next class.
Once again, I was late.
It was almost the norm for me now. Perhaps I shouldn’t let my curiosity get the best of me any time soon lest I wanted to fail...
The class, which was Ritualistic and Runic Arts, was governed and taught by a teacher who looked quite old on the surface. Maybe around seventy to eighty in mongrel age?
At the mention of mongrel, I recalled Braham and Horace, who were both mongrels with no mage title. But they still taught in the Colegio’s school of divinity.
"Instructor Shepherd," a female student, one of the many that were crowding the instructor in the front of the classroom, called out her name.
The instructor, whose corners of her eyes crinkled when she was raised a question or smiled, glanced with her eyebrows raised.
"May I ask how old you are?"
"Ah..."
The voice of the instructor was calming and quite comforting even for me who was one of the few people that were seated.
"You know you really shouldn’t ask a woman’s age just like that, but if I must..."
The students leaned in curiously, fully attentive.
"...I’m nearly three hundred. Ah! How embarrassing, embarrassing!"
"Wow..! You don’t look your age!" The students cheered.
I myself was fascinated by this. So a mage really could live forever if they wished..!
The female instructor looked like an old lady on the exterior, but if you glanced downward, you’d see that her legs were prosthetics. And when you looked even closer, under those leather gloves that reached her elbows, she had animatronic arms whose fingers could move through brain signals.
I was a little shocked...On this floor of the tower of Babel, at least, it seemed kind of medieval. No, not medieval. More Victorian. It didn’t seem too advanced, so I wondered when electricity such as this got invented...
Instructor "Shepherd" got a little too carried away that period...She never ended up teaching.
I didn’t have any classes for the rest of the day, so I was about to head to the dorms when...
"Ah, Regulus."
Once again, I was approached by Bohemian Basil, who was leaning on a pillar outside the classroom. He was accompanied by no one this time.
"Hiya," I said, dapping him up, "any clues with this Solomon?"
"Not a clue, mate. Tough shit." He rubbed his temples. "Have you chosen an elective?"
I was then forced by the hand by Basil somewhere, leaving me no choice to resist.
We went down the stairs, and further down, until...
We reached the school’s basement.
This was...
Basil knocked on the door.
"Jibril, tis Basil!"
I knew it.
I was being led to Jibril’s classroom.
Why?
Basil said that he was going to show me an elective of his and that I should see if I wanted to take it.
I had nothing against Jibril, but...I kind of fear what’s going on in Basil’s mind.
I looked above wooden door where it said: ROOM M-109
The door unlocked. Basil glanced at me with a smile and beckoned me to enter after him.
The room was still dark with only a singular candle that sat on Jibril’s desk lighting the midst of a chess board that sat on the table.
This time, however, there was a pot over a pile of flaming firewood. Smoke that clouded above it made me unable to see what was inside.
Sam was seated on one of the desks, drawing humanoids that awfully looked like the nephilim from Supernatural Anatomy.
Jibril was rummaging through the cupboard in the back of the room—something fell out, and he finally glanced at me. Us.
"Howdy, Jib, Samreah," said Basil, about to seat himself next to Sam.
Then, it hit me.
The erased words in that book—Noli me Tangere—the author’s name...
What was written was...
"Jose Rizal."
However, I had never heard of such a name. Not that I recalled.
So why did this name appear in my mind right at this instant?
Jibril’s eyes constricted slightly.
"...I haven’t been called that in decades."
"You," I said at once, suddenly agitated. I understood then. "You’re a Magus Prophetes yourself.
"—you were forgotten. Just like Solomon. You were forgotten by Instructor Bunny and—
"Like—Like this Solomon whom you claim to have disappeared and killed the headmaster—
"Not too loud," said Jose "Jibril" Rizal, halting my erratic speaking and hushing me.
He moved to the front and placed a stool in front of his desk where the chess board was. The chess pieces were crude and made of carved wood. Coco lumber, I noted unnecessarily.
Afterwards, he seated himself on one end.
"How about a game of Dead Man’s Chess?"