So, turned out, there was a problem with Det’s “plan”. Practicing within the safety of the classroom—even with Beast randomly glaring at students and throwing popcorn at them to ‘liven things up’—wasn’t exactly stressful. Sitting in his comfy chair, with his fancy brushes and bottles of ink, it was practically a spa day for him. There was no challenge finding the peace he needed to create kernels.

  The only challenge he had to deal with, in fact, was how many kernels he was using and replacing in short order. His desk was full of kernelized kittens. None of them of the calamity variety—as that avatar of the adorable apocalypse had been thoroughly banned from the classroom—instead, these kittens were born with improved things like softer hair or sharper ears.

  Nothing that would start a war, though Det still handed some out to the other cadets who requested one. Eriba got her usual ink-turtle, now with a harder shell, for all the use it would serve sitting on the woman’s desk as emotional support.

  After three hours of practice, Det was left with a small army of kittens on his table. And, it wasn’t a complete waste of time. Yes, he was tired from the constant kernelization—kind of like running a marathon at a relaxed pace—but it was getting easier with each one. It only took him a few seconds to replace a kernel, and directing one when he used it was almost second nature. He could combine it with his intent of what he wanted it to do, and place it quickly.

  Still couldn’t get a rendition—his word for one of his paintings when he brought them to life—to take more than two kernels, though. One when he painted the image, and another when he infused it with magic. A Rank thing? Probably. Trying to push a third kernel in, at any point, made the painting feel like it was going to pop like an overfilled balloon.

  No, if he wanted to learn how to create kernels while something was trying to punch his face in, he needed to practice while something was trying to punch his face in. Gently punch, preferably.

  In other words, I shouldn’t ask Calisco to help with this…

  The other ReSouled from Radiant, Calisco’s brand of magic wasn’t something that had kids’ gloves. She exploded stuff. And, given the chance to explode Det, she would go at it with gusto. As they constantly reminded people, despite growing up on the same pillar, they weren’t friends. In her eyes, Det was a loser because of how he’d mainly kept to himself.

  To him, she was just a pain.

  Nope, not friends.

  Just roommates and teammates.

  Det could ask Sage or Eriba for their help, but there was one better option. Well, okay, two options. Their group’s Medic, Weiss—another of Det’s five roommate-slash-teammates—would be a huge help fixing Det’s face if it did get punched in. On the other hand, Weiss had a bit of an aversion to violence. One he needed to get over. That was something they could work on together over time, but with the duel tomorrow, Det needed to kill two birds with one stone. Today.

  That left him with the sixth and final member of his group. Their Bulwark, Tena. Also the woman who sucker-speared Det in the face the first time they met, so she had no qualms about “stressing” Det.

  On second thought, I should really ask Weiss to be there too.

  The other perk of asking Tena was the fact she was probably the best straight-up fighter in their group. She’d come to Mount Avalon with training and skill. If there was anybody who could help whip Det into shape a bit in the day before his duel, it was her. Not including instructors, but getting one of them on short notice might be difficult. Better to just ask her, if she was willing to help him out.

  They’d need a place to spar—nobody wanted them to trash their suite—so, he’d have to ask Beauty when lunch rolled around. In the meantime, one more hour or so, should he just keep creating more kittens? The practice was like a workout for his magic muscles, and it would be how he eventually Ranked up, according to the lessons he’d gotten.

  Except, he’d been doing that for the last three hours already. He needed something different. Even his stubbornness suffered from boredom sometimes.

  Det’s finger tapped lightly on the desk as he stared at the six kitten images he had left. Was there something else he could do with them? He glanced to the playfighting renditions as they rolled and jockeyed for position. Like small cats, their behavior was exactly as he’d expect it to be. Probably connected to his intent making them act that way. Not that any of them was clearly winning, with the whole mess being a frolicking ball of black ink and cute nya’s.

  … nothing was clearly winning?

  Det looked more carefully at the melee. It was true; it was all equal. None of the kittens were stronger than the other. None were faster. Some had softer hair, sure, but that wasn’t winning them this kind of fight. Okay, maybe that one over there was winning the grooming battle, but that wasn’t what Det was interested in.

  All of them were the same.

  So, what if Det introduced a kitten to the mix that was stronger and faster? He’d never actually measured how much a kernel improved a rendition’s stats. That was something he could work on.

  Pushing aside the prepared paintings, Det grabbed a new sheet of paper and dipped his brush in the bottle of ink. One kernel went into the painting as he worked, the image taking a bare fifteen seconds to prepare. That kernel would improve the kitten’s strength. Next, with his brush still in one hand, Det put his other on the image, and pushed solar energy into the ink, along with a second kernel. This one, he directed into the rendition’s speed.

  After the two required seconds, the ink-kitten crawled off the page, the sheet of paper turning to little more than burning embers before even they vanished.

  Stretching its back, the kitten looked up at Det. He’d had an intent when channeling his energy into the ink, but words would finalize them. It was waiting for his permission to get started.

  “Become the king of the hill,” Det told his rendition softly.

  Small, blank-ink claws unsheathed from its paws, while its eyes narrowed, and it bared its teeth at the rolling pile of about fifteen ink-kittens. A hiss escaped its mouth, and the hair on its back stood on end. It was ready to show its dominance. To put the other renditions in place. It wasn’t a wolf, but it would be an alpha.

  Small scratches tore out of the top of the desk—whoops—as the kitten prepared. Then, all at once…

  It leaned forward and wiggled its butt in the air.

  Det sighed. Of course, it was still a kitten.

  “Well, go on,” Det said, pushing the rendition gently from behind. “Be a ferocious hunter, or whatever baby cats dream of being when they grow up…”

  With his encouragement and support, the kitten leapt—more up than forward—and came down swinging. Nowhere even close to the pile of other cats.

  Det rubbed his forehead at the same time Eriba chuckled from the desk next to his.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Let me just…” Det mumbled and trailed off, picking up the new rendition and directly depositing it on the pile of playfighting kittens. “You better…”

  He didn’t get to finish the sentence before something about the kitten changed. Suddenly, it moved. Like something from one of those over-acted-wrestling-rumble-things, kittens were suddenly flying everywhere. Tossed aside by the new kitten going on a rampage, swipes of its paws sending its brothers and sisters into the air.

  “Oh crap…” Det said, dropping his brush to snatch kittens out of the air before they went over the edge of his desk. The chorus of surprised and panicked nyas had heads around the room turning in his direction. Eriba even had to stop what she was doing to get up and start catching kittens flying in her direction.

  In front of Det, Aria did the same, turning to look at the commotion, and immediately getting a surprise kitten to the face. Luckily, it was one of the incredibly soft ones, so it was kind of like being hit by a ball of cotton candy. Still, she managed to snag it before it hit the floor.

  “Cadet Det?” Beauty asked from where he’d been evaluating one of the other cadets and their improvement.

  “Sorry, sir,” Det said. “Test got a little out of hand.”

  “Did you create a murder-kitten?” Aria asked him, the chaos finally dying down and leaving the newest rendition sitting in the middle of the space where the playfighting had been centered.

  One paw went to its mouth for a lick before it began preening itself. Two strokes of that paw over its ear, then it looked around the clear space, before turning its attention to Det. The proud look on its face didn’t need any translation. “Done,” it said, before the kitten vanished in a splash of black ink that disappeared before it even hit the desk.

  With its purpose completed, the summons had ended.

  “What was that?” Aria asked, still holding a kitten in her hands. She had the one he’d given her earlier perched up on her head, like some kind of hat. It didn’t know what was going on either.

  “You dropped these…” Eriba said quietly, depositing four kittens she’d somehow caught back on the desk. The poor little guys looked a little shellshocked.

  “Yeah, I guess I did,” Det said. He put the kittens he’d caught back in their place, with Aria doing the same. “Thanks, both of you, for catching a few of these.”

  “I think one or two got away,” Aria said, tilting her head in the direction of the classroom where both Neferan and baby-face sat. Sure enough, hidden under one desk was a black-ink kitten looking confused and lost. The second one, though, was a little surprising.

  It was in Number Two’s hands.

  Neferan had the ability to create exact duplicates of himself, which he’d “brilliantly” named One and Two. What was interesting was that they’d claimed they weren’t cat people. Bird-people, apparently. But, by the way Number Two was nuzzling up against the kitten—and the purring coming from either the kitten or him—they were both very much enjoying the interaction.

  “It’s so soft…” Number Two said in Neferan’s voice.

  “Put that down!” Neferan snapped, causing his duplicate to jump. “You’ll catch something.”

  “I don’t think that’s how it works,” Det said flatly.

  “Whatever,” Neferan said. “You’ll get ink on your face, then.”

  “Oh, right, I…” Number Two said, before looking over to find Det a few steps away from him.

  He’d already snagged the other kitten from under the desk, and had it nestled in the crook of one of his arms. The other hand, he held out, to take the second kitten back.

  “Thanks for taking care of it,” he said. Neferan wasn’t friendly, but he also wasn’t openly hostile to Det. Or, maybe it was more accurate to say he was equally hostile to him, just like he was to just about everybody else. The fact Number Two had picked up the kitten was different. Did each of the duplicates actually have personality quirks?

  From the look on Neferan’s face, he was considering exactly the same question for the first time. Something to do with the direct infusions the rest of the class was working on while Det played with kernels? It was basically the same process, except they were modifying their magic with the mist-like energy, instead of the liquid drops Det used.

  “Uh, no problem.” Number Two subtly nuzzled the kitten one more time, then reached out to return the rendition to Det.

  Det’s eyes went from the duplicate to Neferan and back again.

  “You know, you can keep the kitten, if you like,” Det said. “It can stay on your desk. It’s probably good until lunch time before it runs out of energy.”

  “No,” Neferan said at the same time Number Two asked, “Can I?”

  Det and Neferan looked at each other, before the cadet turned to his double.

  “You don’t even have a desk,” Neferan pointed out. He was the only one of the three identical men seated. Number One stood behind him, expression neutral while he watched the others. Number Two had moved to pick up the kitten, which meant he wasn’t standing where he was usually summoned and dismissed from.

  Number Two was, after all, the focus of Neferan’s practice. He was constantly being summoned and resummoned, as Neferan practiced direct infusions on different parts of the duplicate. Reinforcing the eyes was his goal, but something about Number Two’s behavior suggested Neferan had branched out from that.

  “I can leave it on… your desk?” Number Two suggested.

  “I don’t have room for…” Neferan started then cut off. Even he had to realize his desk—just as big as Det’s was, which hosted more than a dozen kittens plus his art supplies—was practically empty. Neferan had tons of space, and everybody watching the strange altercation knew it. “Fine,” he finally said to Number Two, before turning to Det. “This better not make me sneeze. Or mess things up.”

  “Can ReSouled even be allergic?” one of the cadets behind Det asked quietly.

  Det ignored the comment and lowered his outstretched hand.

  “Really?” Number Two asked.

  “Yes,” Neferan said. “Now, hurry up. We have to get back to work.”

  “Thank you,” Number Two said, openly giving the kitten at least three more nuzzles before carefully placing it on the desk. As soon as it was down, it reached up a paw like it wanted to be picked back up, but a single look from Neferan backed Number Two off.

  “If you want another one after lunch…” Det said, only to get a dramatic roll of the eyes from Neferan as a reply. Taking that as close to a win as he’d get, he took the other kitten he had in his arms back to his desk, and sat. Most of the class was still watching him until Beauty coughed.

  “Cadet Neferan has the right of it,” Beauty said. “We should all get back to work until the lunch break. And strive not to distract our fellow cadets with our tests.”

  “Of course, sorry again,” Det said. Not that he actually felt sorry.

  Shenanigans aside, the test had been a roaring success. A nyaing success? Whatever. The kernelized kitten had been significantly stronger than the others. It was flipping the others around like pancakes before an all-you-can-eat-pre-bingo-breakfast.

  Det shuddered at the single memory of what he’d volunteered for back on Earth. One time. That was all he could handle. Those people were hardcore.

  Wordless are easier to deal with.

  Pushing the thought—and the trauma—aside, Det grabbed two more sheets of paper. He needed to do more testing on just how much more powerful kernels made things. The best way to do that was to create a pair of new renditions for direct comparison. One with a kernel, and one without. Then… what? Have them beat each other up. Sure, that could work, but there had to be a better way.

  Oh, he needed weights. Did any of the other cadets have weights he could…?

  Det nearly slapped himself in the forehead at the question, but stopped himself just before… since it would likely be distracting to the others. If Det needed weights—or just about anything, really—he could just paint them.

  First, what kind of renditions would be best? If they’re going to be lifting weights, kittens were out. No opposable thumbs and all that. So, monkeys? Ugh, no. Monkeys could be little bastards, and if the kittens were taking on traits from Det’s subconscious, monkey-pranks was the last thing the class needed.

  How about something close to monkeys, though? Liking the idea more and more every second, Det got to work on the two small renditions. The first, of course, was drawn without adding any kernels. To the second image, he added a single one, focusing on making the thing stronger.

  As for what he drew, that was simple. Two small—about a foot tall—gorillas.

  “Do you even lift, bro?” Det asked as he simultaneously summoned the pair of them. Sheets of paper burning to nothing as the two rose next to each of his hands, they both flexed like they were bodybuilders on stage.

  Seeing a gorilla—even a small one—flex like that was both humbling and hilarious. The lines of his ink moved to display impressive musculature in their powerful arms. Interestingly, both sets of arms looked equally commanding.

  Note number one, the kernelization isn’t visible. Good to know.

  Next, for the weights themselves. Since he really had no idea how much his ink creations could lift, Det started with a simple set of illustrated weights. To give them, well, weight, he made sure to label each cartoonish barbells.

  2lbs. 5lbs. 10lbs.

  Three sets of two weights—sized for miniature gorillas—each emerged from the page as he finished. As to whether or not it would work the way he wanted, Det grabbed the two-pound weight with his fingers and lifted. Then he moved on to the five and ten-pound variants, and they were significantly heavier.

  Huh, learning more and more everyday about what I can do with my magic…

  Labeling the weights had imprinted his intent directly on them. How far could he take it? Could he write ‘unbreakable’ on something, to make it just that? Likely not, especially when put in front of higher Rank magics. This probably only worked because of how simple it was.

  That was a different test for later. For now, he had some posing gorillas who needed to do some lifting.