This new deskmate came with benefits.

  And annoyances.

  Arlen’s knowledge was impressive. He answered Elira’s questions with ease. Too much ease, to the point where she felt like a trained monkey watching a human solve puzzles meant for children.

  But never in her life could Elira have imagined that this nerd was such a chatterbox. Worse, he dared to speak to her like a normal person.

  When he talked about magic, Arlen seemed to forget everything around him, including the piercing gazes burning holes into his back.

  “…Did you know that magic comes from the soul? Our souls seem to be designed to store mana and harness it for personal use. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

  Elira’s eyebrow twitched.

  Isn’t research on souls heavily forbidden? How is this guy not locked up already?

  “So I have a theory that to reach the pinnacle of magic, Brand Magic, one needs to look inside their own soul. That’s just my theory though. Maybe that’s why there are so many

  restrictions on topics related to the soul.”

  The mention of Brand Magic touched someone's sore spot. Marcelline’s attention snapped fully onto him.

  Even the stupidly smart nerd knew when to stop. He froze the moment he felt the princess’s gaze drilling into his back.

  He’s fucked. There’s no way he doesn’t get beaten after this class.

  Class ended.

  Arlen and Elira were escorted out by Marcelline and her lackeys. Nothing new for Elira, except this time another victim was dragged along.

  Marcelline pulled Arlen away with a different group. Elira could only pray for the boy.

  Her own tormentor today was Rovan Valecourt and his friends. A distant branch of the royal family. His parents held no real power. That was why he was so eager to be Marcelline’s dog.

  That was also why he and his friends were currently beating a girl into a pulp in a quiet corner.

  Soon, they grew bored and left.

  It took Elira a minute to gather herself. Several more to clean up. After spitting out the blood, she walked back to her dorm.

  On the way, she ran into Arlen.

  Their eyes met, and she almost laughed out loud.

  His glasses were cracked. Half his face was swollen purple and blue.

  “You look fucked up.”

  “And so do you.”

  Elira raised an eyebrow, not expecting him to talk back.

  “You should join them. Maybe they’ll spare you.”

  Arlen’s swollen mouth twitched into a grotesque smile.

  “Nah. They were beating me before you even showed up.”

  She couldn’t hold it anymore.

  “Pfft. Hahahahahaha.”

  “Ha? Ha ha… ha?”

  The hallway echoed with Elira’s heartfelt laughter and Arlen’s hesitant, confused imitation.

  “Are you sure this spell is safe?”

  “One hundred percent. Most spells get stronger the more mana you push into their structure,

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  but this one has its output capped. If you pour in too much mana, it just fails.”

  “It looks simple. Let me try.”

  After double checking the spell, Elira shoved the book they had borrowed from the library back to Arlen and stepped toward the practice target.

  They were in the practice zone. The sun was setting, night creeping in. No one else was around.

  Elira took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  She had never wanted this forsaken power. But now that she had it, she wanted to control it. No. She had to control it.

  So she would never hurt anyone. Accidentally. Ever again.

  Of course, Elira would never have taken this leap alone. Somehow, Arlen and his stupid way with words had convinced her.

  She constructed the spell’s structure in her mind, then slowly poured mana into it.

  The sensation was strange. Her hand felt cold and burning at the same time.

  She opened her eyes.

  The spell worked.

  A bolt of magic rested in her palm. At her command, it shot straight at the target.

  Thud.

  That was all.

  Unimpressive. That was why she chose it.

  It was a downgraded version of Mana Bolt, designed for children of nobles. Children. Not teenagers. Not academy students. You had to be incredibly creative or incredibly stupid to kill someone with it.

  She turned to Arlen, a stupid, sheepish smile on her face.

  He smiled back through the bruises.

  “Told you it’d work.”

  Elira leapt toward him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him back and forth.

  “Yes! Yes, it worked! Arlen, it worked! I can use magic!”

  She laughed like a little girl.

  It had been so long since she last laughed like this.

  She laughed until tears spilled out. She laughed until she cried.

  Elira knew she was a monster. The moment she lost control, she would ruin everything. She would hurt everyone around her.

  But maybe, just maybe, she could become human again.

  Thwack.

  A kick to the face.

  “Hey hey, don’t give up yet. I’m still not done with you.”

  Splash.

  A water ball slammed into his gut.

  “It doesn’t matter if you’re top one in theory. Just look at you. Pathetic.”

  Elira flinched.

  She turned away, but her heart still throbbed with every sound. The crack of Arlen’s head hitting the ground.

  Smash.

  Smash.

  Again.

  And again.

  It was Tuesday. Mock battle practice day.

  Arlen was her friend now.

  So his beatings were worse.

  Elira couldn’t do anything. Retaliating would only make it worse.

  But maybe it didn’t have to be this way.

  She had tried meditating like that useless therapist suggested. She fell asleep once. Just once. Nothing broke. No nightmares. No one got hurt.

  She had tried her Brand Magic again. It still didn’t fully listen, but there was progress.

  Small. But real.

  So maybe she didn’t have to hold it back forever.

  If it meant Arlen didn’t have to endure this, then it was worth the risk.

  She stepped forward and grabbed Rovan Valecourt’s wrist, the hand gripping Arlen’s hair.

  “Stop. Let me fight you.”

  “Huh? What a lovely couple. Sure. If you want to get punched that badly.”

  Elira helped Arlen to the side and sat him down.

  As she turned back, someone tugged at her arm.

  “…d…n…”

  Arlen’s grip was firm. Even bruised and swollen, his hand clung tightly.

  Elira bit her lip and pulled free.

  “Arlen, you’re my friend. The only friend I have left. I can endure this alone. But with you, I can’t.”

  I deserve it. You don’t.

  “Bold of you to challenge me, Ms. Archmage. Missing my fist already?”

  The words reached her ears, barely her mind.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  She didn’t want to kill him.

  She wanted him alive. Defeated, but alive.

  She could turn him into meat paste with a thought. Everyone around her too.

  So she had to control it.

  “…So you still remember I’m an Archmage?”

  “Since my fist caves your face in, I can’t see you as one.”

  Rovan lunged.

  “…Maybe after this, you’ll see me as one.”