“Mana is the raw material that can be processed into a refined source of energy and life that we call Elements. Elements are categorized as either natural or derived. Tangible or intangible...”

  Alira pressed her face into the hard surface of the table, wanting nothing more than to merge with it. She squeezed her pair of twitching cat ears in a failing attempt to block out the professor’s monotonous, mind-numbing voice. It was boring enough for one to think they could effortlessly fall asleep to it—yet somehow, there was just a special ‘magical’ quality where it pierced straight into the listener’s eardrums, drying out both their ability to sleep and the will to live.

  “Elements can be shaped and transformed into different physical stages with spells from Ancient Times...”

  Screw the Academy and its nonsense rules.

  Her plan had been to ditch any class that wasn’t alchemy, only to discover that students with under fifty percent attendance weren’t allowed to sit for any theory exams. And absences required a reason the respective professor deemed acceptable. Attend or fail. Alira didn’t mind failing, but she needed to stick to the protagonist—her only foreseeable escape route at this moment.

  “Once the mana in the manifested element has burnt out, the element will disintegrate.”

  And so here she was, forced to listen to an old man ramble away about mana and trees and existential theories far too early in the morning.

  Back on Earth, the only reason she’d forced herself to attend morning classes was to avoid having to put in double the effort later. She wouldn’t have to do that if she just wanted good results; no, Alira wanted more than that. She simply wasn’t willing to let anyone else be the top of the class, even for a month. If not her who else would be worthy of the throne. Maybe Jian, but she just had to be born a year earlier than Alira.

  She had no such reason now. Not that she could compete with the protagonist in her class even if she tried.

  Who cared about all these theoretical mumbo jumbos anyway? Magic was simply magic. Well, Maria cared, judging by the furious nodding.

  Thank goodness, the professor doesn’t give a crap whether people listen to him or not.

  Unable to doze off or speed up time, Alira lazily scanned the auditorium until her gaze landed on a head full of silky and voluminous black hair. See? Even the protagonist wasn’t paying attention. Same as always, Raine sat at the very front, but his slightly slouched posture suggested a lesser dose of attention than usual. After class, Alira planned to finally introduce herself to him and make her official debut in the plot of Dual POV.

  She had spent the previous night doing frantic homework on Duke Ravon and other recorded Grand Alchemists to figure out how to make one out of Raine.

  Protagonists had their own cheats. In Raine’s case, it was the fact that he was greatly favored by the Will, the Divinity and the very essence of alchemy. She just had to ensure that Raine wouldn’t stray away from alchemy entirely, like he did in the novel.

  Alira spaced out, her gaze boring a metaphorical hole into Raine’s back. The professor finally wrapped things up for the day just before she succeeded at the manifesting a literal one. Groggy from the nap she never got to take, she stretched her arms and turned to Maria. They had a five-freaking-hour break before the next class of the day.

  “You go first,” Alira said.

  Maria blinked, then looked past Alira down a certain direction and nodded with a smile. A knowing smile. Alira didn’t have the energy to care about whatever she thought she knew. With her heart that promptly decided to become a drummer, she hurried after Raine’s retreating figure. The social anxiety she refused to admit she had surged the moment she realized she was actually going to talk to the protagonist, like talk-talk to him and interact the number one person she had wanted to avoid.

  “Um, hey... Raine, right?” she called, but he continued walking, his legs moving seemingly faster even.

  Am I imagining it or is he straight up ignoring me?

  She dashed forward to block his path, arms spread as though trying to catch a slippery fish. “Hey, you’re free before next class, right? I have something to say—” Alira trailed off, her voice dying out in a whisper.

  She had to stop herself from flinching the moment she got a proper look, her first glance, at him. Firstly, with her limited vocabulary, she could only describe him—or her, hard to settle on a pronoun for the gender-bent protagonist—as gorgeous as fuck.

  Raine took mostly after his mother: black hair, golden amber eyes, truly a killer combo that never failed to deliver. When she looked hard enough, she could see hints of the duke’s features in his sharp jawline and defined brows. A perfect fusion of golden genes molded by gods themselves into a face card worthy enough to grace the cover of any power-fantasy-with romance-subplots novel.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Not quite my type, though.

  Raine was a beauty that inspired awe—noble, striking, undeniably stunning. The face of a hero. Or a heroine. His was a face that belonged in portraits in grand halls and statues in town squares.

  There was a lack of wildness that she usually looked for. She also wasn’t into emotionally constipated character archetype who would abuse the miscommunication trope if they were in a romance setting. Not that she planned to fall in love with anyone at all—not when she would be leaving them behind sooner or later.

  So, no romance. I swear!

  Ogling, ahem, admiring beauty, aside, the protagonist being hot certainly wasn’t an issue. Neither was it the reason that kicked her fight-or-flight instinct into overdrive. Neither won—she froze.

  Raine hated her. Even a blind bat could tell from echolocation and from the scent of hatred radiating off him. A dark shadow fell over his pretty face as he looked down at her like a bothersome pest.

  Right. She’d forgotten.

  To Raine, Alira was the newly adopted, and rumored-to-be-doted-on, daughter of Duke Ravon. Raine had never shied away from showing how much he despised the man; the novel reminded readers of it every two paragraphs. Naturally, he hated her too.

  “What?” he practically hissed.

  At least he’s still willing to talk.

  Alira used Narrate on him.

  [ His adopted daughter. ]

  She blinked, waiting for more of the golden runes...but that was it. That was all he had to say about her, apparently.

  Three whole words.

  Raine was never expressive, but he always went easy on most characters in the novel. His ‘darker’, and admittedly cringer, side was usually reserved for the evil incarnations—the ‘bad guys.’

  She simply forgot that she technically qualified as one of them. A Ravon.

  “I want to make a deal with you,” Alira said anyway.

  Raine’s frown deepened, as though he was trying to crush a fly between his eyebrows’ creases.

  “I don’t want anything from you.” He gritted out. “And you shouldn’t hope to keep anything you have right now as yours forever. Illusions disperse in time, and fake things will show themselves eventually.”

  Ouch? If she had truly been a slave-turned-princess hybrid from a world like this, the word ‘fake’ would’ve wrecked her.

  She took a precise step to the left in response to Raine’s attempt to go around her.

  “Even if it has to do with your mother?” she said, internally apologizing to the woman for weaponizing her to take advantage of her son (daughter).

  Raine glared like he wished he could stab her instead. “You... What’re you trying to do?”

  Narrate.

  [ Raine wondered if that man had already caught on to him. ]

  So, he really thought she was on the duke’s side. Alira shrugged. “We can talk right here in the middle of a busy corridor if that’s what you want.”

  “...Fine.”

  +++

  Alira dug her spoon into a bowl of ice cream and shoved a third scope into her mouth. She hummed with satisfaction at the cool, coffee-flavored sweetness melting across her barbed tongue. Ever since becoming half-cat, she’d developed a fondness for cold food with creamy textures. The kind that was meant to be licked.

  She refrained from licking the serving spoon clean. Raine had been kind enough to head for food when her stomach sang like a tone-deaf beggar on their way to a quieter place, but she doubted he signed up to watch someone’s messy eating—even if that someone was a cute cat girl.

  The thought remined her of LoveFurries and the rest of them, who hadn’t appeared in two days.

  “Can you talk now?” Raine asked.

  Alira fed herself another generous scoop, a humble Everest, of ice cream. “Sure, sure. But let’s start with your little misunderstanding because, I loathe the miscommunication trope.”

  Raine’s face remained impeccably unamused. She noted that he resembled his father more when he frowned, even though she’d never actually seen the duke frown.

  “Miscommunication trope?” he repeated.

  “What I mean is, everything you’ve heard about me is heavily sugarcoated. I’m not his daughter because I want to...”

  Alira crossed her hands, wrapping them around her throat to make a collar. Confusion colored Raine’s face, then it shifted to a black venom.

  “He has some mysterious reasons for keeping me. I’m as clueless as you’re about what it is, though. But!” she declared with a flick of her spoon, unintentionally casting a sprinkle of melted cream around. She pretended not to notice a few droplets landing on his uniform.

  “It could be because I can see things from time beyond and before us...”

  She kept her voice low and obscure. That was bullshit, of course. She doubted even the duke could guess her Role.

  Alira continued, keeping the momentum. “And I saw you, the shining hero who will save this poor damsel in distress. If only you wouldn’t take so long to do it... I can’t afford to wait so long.”

  Alira delivered the last blow of her riddles with deliberate vagueness. She needed hold more cards in this deal—enough to be able to boss Raine around when needed. Her strategy? The classic, cliché trope: I am the Prophet. Surely, he would listen to a prophet.

  For that, she needed actual future knowledge to bluff with—which she did—and cryptic behavior, which she could fake.

  She tried using Narrate again, but nothing appeared, Two uses per Scene. She was hoping they would already be in the next Scene after moving location.

  I still don’t get how this Scene thing works.

  Either way, she proceeded on with the rest of her prepared script before Raine could speak.

  “That’s why I have to get myself involved with it. As much as I don’t want to...” Alira shook her head, murmuring as if to herself. “You’re planning to kill him either way, right? And I happen to want him dead, too. Helping you is just helping myself, so no need thanks.”

  Raine’s eyes widened, instantly glancing around to see if anyone was around. “You... How—What are you saying?” Raine whisper-shouted, torn between panic and fury.

  “Of course, of course. I get it. Trust issue. Stranger danger. If you don’t believe me, just give me a chance to prove it. It won’t hurt to try, right?”

  “Who are you?”

  Alira rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw her own brain. “Come on, dude. I know you did plenty of ‘research’ on me. I bet you know me better than myself, so quit this. You already have a guess, don’t you? My unique Role.”

  Raine looked down at her remaining ice cream that had melted almost completely. He stayed silent long enough for Alira to finish the creamy, cold soup. Just as she debated dragging his mother further into this, Raine looked up. A sharp glint in his gaze told her that she didn’t need to do that.

  “Proof,” he demanded, like he was asking for her life and soul on a silver platter.

  Alira smiled. “What do you think about going on a little forest date?”