Chapter 6: The council president

  “…The president? The president of your school?” I asked, my brow furrowed. “Why would she want to see me?”

  Cire sighed, rubbing her temples as if the weight of the situation was pressing down on her. “With everything that’s been happening, someone had to take charge. The teachers were too scared, and the principal… well, he didn’t make it.”

  I swallowed. The reality of the apocalypse was brutal.

  “I see,” I muttered. “And she wants to see me because…?”

  “How should I know?” Cire crossed her arms, giving me a pointed look. “Go ask her yourself. But knowing her, she probably wants to decide what to do with you. She doesn’t like unknown variables.”

  There was an unspoken warning in her tone.

  “I don’t even know if I want to stay here,” I admitted, voicing a thought that had been gnawing at the back of my mind.

  Cire raised an eyebrow. “And where would you go?”

  I had no answer for that. She sighed again and waved me off. “Just go already. I have things to do.”

  Cire pointed me toward the center of the gymnasium, where a rge table had been set up. Five people sat around it, deep in discussion, their serious expressions barely shifting despite the constant background noise of the room. Lay was among them.

  I approached cautiously. “Hey, I believe you wanted to talk to me?”

  A girl sitting at the head of the table turned to face me. Her icy blue hair framed a sharp, calcuting face, and her gaze pinned me in pce like a knife through paper. She exuded confidence, authority.

  She studied me for a second before speaking. “…And you are?”

  Oh. Right. I hadn’t introduced myself.

  I let out a nervous chuckle. “Haha, right. I’m a friend of Cire—”

  “The suicide boy. Right. I was waiting for you.”

  I blinked. “…The what now?”

  She ignored my confusion and leaned back in her chair, fingers interlocked. “Lay here refused to say much about you. Said we should ask you ourselves.” She nodded toward the redhead, who gave me a slight, unreadable smile. “My name is Cra. I’m the president of the student council.”

  She tilted her head slightly, gaze scrutinizing. “So, suicide boy, my first question for you is: do you pn to stay here?”

  I hesitated, then nodded. “I guess so. I don’t really have anywhere else to go, and Cire is here.”

  Cra’s lips quirked upward, though it wasn’t exactly a friendly smile. “Hmm. Second question: why should I use our resources to protect someone who isn’t even a student?”

  Direct and to the point. I respected that.

  “Because I can help you,” I said firmly. “I think my ability would be useful in making this pce stronger.”

  She studied me for a long moment before nodding. “Fine. You have one week to prove it. Show results, or we’ll reevaluate your pce here.”

  That was… blunt. But fair.

  She didn’t even ask what my ability was, which surprised me. But then again, maybe she understood that throwing around ability names carelessly wasn’t wise in a world where power determined survival.

  Lay stepped up beside me as Cra turned back to her discussion with the others.

  “She may seem cold, but she’s a capable leader,” Lay murmured.

  I gnced at her. “Yeah. At least she wasn’t wrong about anything.”

  A pause. “What about you? What will you do now?”

  Lay hesitated, her expression conflicted.

  “…I don’t know.”

  That admission felt heavier than it should have.

  She shifted, her fingers gripping her dress. “I can’t go back to my apartment. It’s too dangerous, and I’d be alone. My family is in France, and there’s no way I’m reaching them right now.” She exhaled slowly. “So I guess… I’ll stay.”

  Her voice was steady, but there was something uncertain in her eyes. Was this really the best choice?

  “…If you stay here, what do you want to do?” I asked.

  She blinked at me, as if the question hadn’t occurred to her. “I… don’t know,” she admitted. “Survive, I guess?”

  I nodded. “Then let’s figure it out together.”

  I held out my hand.

  For a moment, she just stared at it. Then, slowly, she took it, her grip firm.

  “…Yeah,” she said. “If it’s with you, I’m sure we can.”

  I approached Cire, watching her work with quiet fascination. Something about her ability drew me in, perhaps because forging weapons wasn’t so different from what I hoped to do with my own power. Creation, in its purest form.

  She was working on a spear, her movements precise, rhythmic, almost hypnotic. Each strike of the hammer sent a cascade of sparks flying, illuminating her focused expression. She wasn’t just making something, she was crafting, molding metal into a weapon.

  I watched, completely absorbed, as she struck the bde at just the right points, refining its edge. The way she worked… it was almost like she was dancing with the metal, coaxing it into shape rather than forcing it.

  --- Three hours ter ---

  Ting! Ting! Ting!

  Cire exhaled, stepping back to admire her work. A glimmer of pride flickered across her face. “Whew, this one looks great. I think it’s my best yet.”

  “You really did a great job on this one.”

  “KYAAAAAA!!!”

  The spear cttered to the ground as she whirled around, eyes wide in shock. Her hand clutched her chest as if she’d nearly had a heart attack.

  “You! Elian, how many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?!”

  I winced. “Uh… sorry?”

  She let out a long sigh, picking up the weapon with a grumble. “How long have you been standing there?”

  I scratched the back of my head. “That’s a good question… No idea.”

  She shot me a gre, but before she could unch into another scolding, I spoke up. “More importantly, can you teach me how to become a bcksmith?”

  Cire paused, tilting her head. “You want to learn? Why? Does it have something to do with your ability?”

  I nodded. “Yup.”

  She studied me for a moment, considering. “Hmm… I guess I can. But some parts of forging will be impossible for you since you don’t have my ability.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Let’s focus on what I can do.”

  I had one week to prove myself. Somehow, I felt this was the key to unlocking my potential.

  I grabbed a hammer and positioned myself at the anvil, trying to replicate what I had seen Cire do earlier. I focused, mimicking the rhythm, the movement, the force behind each strike.

  Ting. Ting. Ting.

  Not bad. I was only hammering the anvil for now, but I felt… good about it.

  Cire watched, arms crossed. “You… you’ve never forged anything before?”

  “Nope.”

  “And your ability isn’t reted to bcksmithing?”

  “Not directly, at least.”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment. Her expression was unreadable.

  “…Is everything okay?” I asked.

  She exhaled slowly. “Yeah. I think it’s possible. You have a natural talent for this.”

  I blinked. “Seriously?”

  She nodded. “But there’s a problem. Some techniques rely entirely on my ability, like generating the precise heat needed for tempering.”

  I thought about it for a second before smirking. “That shouldn’t be an issue.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

  I lifted my right hand, summoning a small flicker of phoenix fme along my fingertips. “If it’s just heat, I can manage.”

  Cire’s eyes widened slightly, impressed despite herself. “Huh. You might actually pull this off.”

  I grinned. “Let’s find out.”