Out of the infirmary I went.
I ended up unfolding that note.
I knew at that moment that if I were to live this would go on.
But if this child were to live...even worse things would happen.
That was what was written on the note.
Formerly, the note I received had written the following:
"Do not look back."
I had thought that it was too vague for me to uncover, so I put it aside.
Maybe I shouldn’t have.
In the first place, who was giving me these notes?
Remus couldn’t have.
He didn’t even know I was in the infirmary, which resulted in our undestined meeting.
Then, Frederisha?
She hadn’t an idea on who I was!
The parchment note made with animal hide had creases from the folding, and crumples that came to be as I clutched the paper as my arms swung, running.
The image of the child, Ren, came to me in a flash.
Red eyes and dark hair. He was barely half my height.
"Ren Hoover is the first sign."
The note was written in grotesque dark crimson writing and had contained the aforementioned.
That figure of light...
I recalled that time when the figure of light opened its mouth creepily and it unravelled an abyss of zilch.
I was unable to remember what the words that came out of its mouth were.
I recalled the words of Horace "Four-Eyes" Jameson:
"You do realize that the first play will be starting in days?"
I understood upon unfolding the note.
My legs and feet, which were bare, burned as I stepped and ran on textured concrete.
Then, I tumbled, tearing the fabric of my trousers.
I couldn’t stand up.
Did I not have enough rage for a simple matter as standing up?
Was I afraid?
The gall of someone like me.
Actually, even before that, I think I knew.
Are you a god, Ren?
This was the apocalypse.
An angel? Archangel?
And with the apocalypse, came signs.
Must I hex you?
The first sign...
Was this anger in the flesh?
At once, I was consumed by some unknown force.
However, this force was ever-so familiar to me.
[Regulus is following the script.]
Regulus, as though following orders, stands up with no light in his eyes.
He rushes along the campus of Colegio de Santo Rafael with a destination in mind.
Students of the Colegio looks past him like he was a homeless man due to his ragged clothes.
Eventually, he arrives at the dormitory. This particular dormitory was inhibited, unoccupied.
So, it was no surprise that the school let the guests sleep there.
Regulus’s steps were loud, banging on the wooden stairs and flooring when he entered the dorm.
He knew which door it was immediately.
His fist shatters the wooden door, splinters puncturing his fist.
A white figure of light watches everything.
[Character introduction, Child Martyr, has failed.]
A pale hand knocked on the office door.
The office belonged to the floor’s prime minister and the Colegio’s headmaster.
Braham, clad casually in a half-buttoned white shirt and jeans, entered the office upon hearing affirmation.
"What kind people you found," said the minister, "Owl," turning with his wheeled chair. "The brunette girl and black-haired boy protected the child, thankfully. But...I was under the impression that you were...friendly with each other."
Braham coughed.
"I was as well."
Braham felt a pit in his stomach.
He felt...betrayed, to say the least.
"Bunny, this is why we don’t take in outsiders."
"Sir, that’s not the vision and mission of Babel—"
"It really isn’t," ended Owl. "But it’s due to these incidents that we cannot take in guests.
"Education is a must in the apocalypse.
"Everyone wants a place here at the Colegio."
Owl took a deep breath, analyzing the papers of reports by witnesses and student journalists of the school.
"We have six hundred and thirty-eight elementary students—"
Braham listened and watched as Owl flicked through pages of documents.
"—more than eight hundred junior high school students—"
Braham looked serious and understanding. Though, with a slight raise of a hand and an eventual relinquishment, he also looked like he wanted to say something.
"—six hundred and five students in STEM—
"—three hundred and sixty-nine in HUMSS—
"—And two hundred and eight students in ARC. A total of one thousand and one hundred eighty two students in senior high school."
He bunched up the papers and thudded it on the wooden table, then placed it gently with a loud, bass sound.
"That’s a total of two thousand and six hundred seventy students.
"That doesn’t include the tertiary students. We can take in the children, for we have hope for them. And the older ones who don’t have bad records. But he? That violent man? We’re not so sure, but I’m certainly against it."
This man, whose alias was Owl, was around his fifties. Tanned skin, and large pupils that made his eyes look pitch black like a doll.
"Braham Stan Lee," said Owl.
He said it like it was an order, perhaps a threat.
Braham swallowed. Despite the fact his clothing was loose, it stuck to his body uncomfortably.
"We have your name. Please remember that."
Braham swallowed and bit his lip.
"Yes, sir."
"All right." He set the stack of papers aside. "You have—" he checked his watch— "three minutes to convince me to take in this...Regulus Locke, violence personified, to our school.
"You may begin."
The tall, grandfather clock of Owl’s office ticked loudly, vibrating against wooden decor.
Really. This office was too maximalist for Braham’s taste. All scattered around were books, books, books, stacks and stacks of papers, and boxes, boxes, boxes.
This was what it was like to have the ability to buy a whole floor of Babel.
All you needed was knowledge and words.
Braham had prepared a speech.
It wasn’t particularly long, but he had written out what he was going to say.
But, right now, he realized that there was no need for that.
This one statement would convince Owl in a matter of seconds.
"He’s a mage, sir."