The Following Morning
Dawn broke with a quiet grace, stealing across the land as though walking on tiptoe.
The early sun flooded the corridors of the academy, casting a pale, golden light that was barely warm yet entirely illuminating.
Jenika awoke to a strange sensation stirring within her—an indescribable energy pulsing beneath her skin, like a hidden current beneath the surface of a placid river.
She was neither exhausted nor entirely well; she hung somewhere in between, in a state yet to be decided.
Taking a deep, anchoring breath, she stepped out.
The corridors stretched out empty as far as the eye could see, breathing in the crisp morning air which carried the scent of damp earth and ancient wood.
Her footsteps were the sole sound daring enough to puncture the silence, measured and rhythmic like the ticking of an old clock.
She was heading toward her room to change before picking up Rosaline; that, at least, had been the plan.
But plans rarely unfold precisely as drawn.
Jenika turned abruptly, a sudden sensation prickling at her senses—a gentle presence, like a shadow slipping away.
At the far end of the hallway, she caught the fleeting ghost of a girl whose features felt remarkably familiar… the girl from the library.
Yet, before the thought could fully crystallize in her mind, the apparition vanished, as if she had never existed at all, swallowed whole by the air.
Jenika paused for a moment.
She stared at the empty space where the girl had just stood, then looked down at her own palms, unsure of why she did so.
“It seems last night took more out of me than I thought,” she murmured to herself, resuming her stride.
Reaching her room, she found the door ajar—not fully closed.
She pushed it open slowly.
“Lin?”
Silence.
“Lin!”
A second silence followed, heavier than the first.
“Rosaline?”
Nothing.
The room was entirely desolate, looking as though no one had inhabited it for years.
As Jenika stepped inside, the stillness enveloped her, bringing back the weight of the previous night—her mother’s sudden stance by her side, a support she had neither asked for nor expected, which now felt like a treasure hidden in her chest, one she was reluctant to spend.
Carrying the burden of her thoughts, she retreated into the bathroom.
The torrent of warm water cascaded over her, its steady rush mingling with her scattered reflections.
Upon the rising steam, she traced the outline of her mother’s face, only to wipe it away a moment later.
She loved this fleeting moment of solace with a reluctant fierce tenderness, fearing its end with a pang that felt akin to physical pain.
In a voice barely above a whisper, as though addressing the water rather than herself, she murmured, “I don’t want this to end.”
Then came silence.
And then, she finished.
The moment she stepped out of the bathroom, she froze.
There was something in the room.
Something was moving.
Slowly.
Laboriously.
Taking heavy, dragging steps like someone bearing the entire weight of the world upon their shoulders.
A zombie?
The absurd thought flashed through her mind.
Then, the blurred silhouette sharpened.
Rosaline.
But this was not the Rosaline she knew; it was a thoroughly depleted version of her.
Her usual silvery hair hung disheveled over her eyes, and her gaze looked as though it had taken an emergency leave from consciousness.
“Lin, what is wrong with you? Why are you walking like that?”
Rosaline halted, lifting her head with painful slowness before opening her mouth to speak.
“Jenny… yesterday, after we finished lunch… I went to the student council.”
She paused to draw a long, ragged breath, like someone swimming desperately against a fierce current.
“The paperwork… it was a mountain, Jenny. An entire mountain. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t close my eyes for a single second. I am going to die.”
Her voice was unsettlingly calm—not the tense quiet before a storm, but the hollow stillness of someone who had survived the tempest and emerged from it entirely stripped of their soul.
“Stop right there. Go on, get some rest now. Lin? Lin—”
But Rosaline’s eyes had already slipped shut.
Her head tilted… and tilted further… until it came to rest heavily against Jenika’s chest, like a stone sinking into deep water.
Despite herself, a smile tugged at Jenika’s lips.
Shrugging off her red coat, she gently draped it over her friend’s shoulders and brushed the silver strands away from her pale face.
She guided her onto the bed with the meticulous care one would afford a fragile piece of glass.
“Sweet dreams, you lunatic,” she whispered, turning off the light.
The cafeteria in the early morning was a bustling world unto itself.
The aroma of slightly burnt coffee and freshly baked bread saturated the air, while a low hum of chatter rose from the tables like steam.
Jenika spotted the duo with ease—Jouske and Joseph had recently become as permanent a fixture of the morning as the sunrise itself.
Today, however, Jouske was sitting beside someone else.
Jenika blinked, staring once, then twice.
A girl?
The height disparity between the two was nothing short of… theatrical.
Jouske, with his towering stature that stood easily at a staggering one hundred and ninety centimeters, sat next to a girl who could barely scrape one hundred and fifty.
Jenika observed them with a mix of amusement and profound philosophical bewilderment.
This is a genetic gamble of the highest order, she mused.
If they ever have children, they’ll either turn out as giants like Jouske or tiny like their mother.
How did they even agree on each other?
One hundred and ninety and one hundred and fifty?
Height ought to be balanced… like one hundred and seventy… and one hundred and eighty-four.
She froze.
One hundred and eighty-four.
That was Dastan’s height.
Realizing exactly where her mind had wandered, she darted her eyes away, attempting to conceal a feeling that did not yet possess a name.
“Jenny! Come over, there’s still an empty seat. Better than standing by the door pondering the cosmos!”
It was Dastan’s voice.
A fierce blush flooded Jenika’s cheeks, burning so intensely they might well have radiated heat.
She walked toward the table, her mind spiraling in internal panic.
Mother… is this what love is?
My mind says one thing, but my heart drags me toward his voice.
Dastan’s voice alone is enough to silence everything raging inside me.
She took her seat, composed herself, and drew a breath.
Joseph greeted her with his characteristic easy smile.
“How are you, Jenika? My name is Jose—”
“You are Joseph. And that is Jouske. And beside him is his friend, Rasika.”
A brief silence descended upon the table.
Lucian spoke up, a note of genuine admiration coloring his tone.
“Well, you saved me quite a bit of effort.”
Jenika offered a small smile.
“I’ve memorized everyone’s names and faces since the very first class. No need to trouble yourselves.”
“That is wonder—”
Lucian cut himself off mid-word.
He stopped entirely, looking like a man who had just laid eyes upon the impossible.
His gaze remained transfixed on the entrance of the cafeteria, his expression shifting by degrees—tightening, hardening.
Something near the doorway had arrested his attention, causing the words to freeze in his throat before they could escape.
Blue eyes.
And a scarred lip.
Jenika grumbled, “Why did you stop? Did you see a ghost or something?”
He did not reply.
“Never mind. Anyway, Joseph—what are your interests?”
Joseph answered with the solemn gravity of a man discussing a matter of life and death.
“Video games. Especially those with well-developed characters—both male and female alike. My absolute favorite is the Water Swordsman. Out of pure devotion to him, I bought his sister everything she could ever want, and I will continue to do so for as long as I draw breath.”
Jenika stared at him, her expression asking: Is that truly considered a hobby?
Anticipating her question, Joseph spoke with such sudden earnestness that everyone involuntarily adjusted their posture.
“A hobby? My true hobby is pushing every single one of my characters into the top one percent. But I’ve temporarily abandoned it—I am a fourth-year repeater, and I have absolutely no desire to go through this year a second time.” Visit novelping.com for the full chapter.
“May luck be on your side then,” Jenika offered with genuine warmth.
He replied, his tone laced with a lingering, ancient resentment, “Luck? Try injustice. The minimum passing grade to graduate is fifty. I received a forty-six.”
Jouske burst into a sudden fit of laughter.
“Loser.”
Joseph shot him a glare loaded with all the hostility he could muster.
“Look who’s talking.”
“A forty-eight is still better than a forty-six, you failure.”
“Let’s see who the real failure is—”
Rasika stepped into the space between them like a small but immovable wall.
“Enough. Both of you.”
Remarkably, the two fell instantly silent.
Dastan smoothly cut through the quiet.
“What about your hobby, Jouske?”
“Bullying and terrorizing anyone weaker than him,” Joseph muttered in a low, yet perfectly audible voice.
Jouske ignored him with the practiced elegance of someone thoroughly accustomed to the commentary.
“The same game as Joseph. Except I prefer the Mage-Lawyer with the magic water book. That’s where we drew inspiration for our combat style—he takes the front lines with his sword, while I manifest energy traps in midair, blasting water at a pressure of nearly one hundred megapascals. Mind you—I am nowhere near as obsessed with it as he is.”
Joseph flashed a look that clearly signaled of course you aren’t.
Dastan turned his attention toward Rasika.
“And you?”
“I actually graduated already,” Rasika replied in a thoroughly casual tone, as if she were merely commenting on the weather.
“But I requested to repeat the year.”
An absolute hush fell over the table.
“…For Jouske’s sake,” she murmured.
Jenika whispered under her breath, the words barely clearing her throat, “Love truly makes fools of us all.”
Joseph raised his head.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.”
Joseph scanned the group, his eyes calculating and organizing.
“What about the rest of you? What are your hobbies?”
“Mastering the sword,” Lucian replied.
“Physical training and refining my abilities,” Dastan said.
“Reading,” Jenika concluded.
Joseph stared at them for three agonizing seconds before opening his mouth.
“Well, that explains a great deal.”
And with that, he began.
Joseph began to analyze them, his deductions pouring forth like a river breaching a dam—relentless and unstoppable.
Lucian was the primary offensive force, the literal axis around which the entire battle rotated.
Dastan served as both support and secondary offense, restricting movements with darkness and launching disorienting attacks to ease the pressure on Lucian, granting him the space to operate.
As for Jenika, she was the most intriguing enigma—simultaneously providing support, striking, and vanishing into thin air.
And those smoke bombs she crafted…
He paused.
“Smoke bombs capable of obscuring even an aura—that isn’t mere smoke. That is condensed aura, isn’t it? When you dial down its density slightly, you become entirely invisible to any standard energy scan. The two academies on this continent import them directly from the Second and Fifth Continents, and the delivery time takes anywhere from two to five months. Which means crafting them here… is rare. Revolutionary. And in all likelihood, they are of your own making.”
The three of them stared at him, caught in a suspended state between profound admiration and utter disbelief.
“Don’t let him startle you,” Jouske said slowly, adopting the tone of a tour guide explaining an exotic specimen.
“He’s like this with everything. The ‘One Percent Syndrome’—he won’t rest until he reaches the absolute peak of any game. If only he had applied that same dedication to his actual studies.” He punctuated his remark with a mocking laugh.
Joseph replied coldly, “Shut up. In any case—” He turned back to face Lucian.
“—I would like to accompany you for sword training, if you don’t mind.”
Lucian extended a hand.
“Of course.”
Dastan followed suit, as did Jouske.
When the table finally cleared, Jenika and Rasika remained seated for a moment in a comfortable, understanding silence—the kind shared between two women who recognize that some books are better left unread aloud.
Rasika couldn’t stand books and had resolved to study entirely on her own.
And Jenika—for the exact opposite reason—had decided to do precisely the same.
**”I am writing this novel purely for enjoyment and to offer you something a bit different from the usual fare.
It truly matters to me to know: what are your thoughts on the perspective of a simple NPC compared to overpowered heroes?
A single comment from you means the world to me.”**