Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(Excerpt from a worn blue notebook. The page is creased, water-damaged at the bottom edge, as if clenched too tightly by trembling hands.)

I woke up on the floor again. There was something sticky on my cheek when I opened my eyes. I thought it was blood, but it didn’t smell right. I wiped it off before I could look at it too closely. I’m learning not to look at things too closely, vision is a kind of luxury here, and seeing only makes it worse.

The handlers didn’t speak this morning. Not even to each other. Usually they whisper, thinking we don’t hear them through the glass. Sometimes they say things like “subject stable” or “shift resilience increasing” or “don’t touch that one, the last one bit.” Today they wouldn’t even breathe in our direction. Their movements felt…afraid? Or maybe annoyed. I can’t tell the difference anymore. Everything outside that glass either wants to break us or can’t wait until we finally do.

I heard someone screaming earlier.

(The rest of the page is stained with a smear of black, as if the ink bled through from a trembling hand pressed too long against the paper.)

The sparring grounds of Honmoon Academy always reminded Baby of a beast trying to stretch its spine. 

The arena’s amphitheater-like seating sloped around the circular fighting area, wrapping around the perimeter with layered wards that pulsed faintly in the daylight. On the frontmost seats were chattering students waiting to be entertained or humiliated, depending on their roles on the mat today.

Baby hated the noise. He hated the eyes. But despite it all, he knew there was constancy in this subject or at least a kind of stability he never really found in his other courses.

The ground beneath his boots thrummed lightly, the enchantments woven into the mats casting a soft vibration up his legs. They were designed to dampen magical residue, but Baby felt the subtle energy regardless. 

He could map the arena without opening his eyes, the Honmoon magic charting it all for him in a low, constant hum. Sometimes it helped. Other times, it made his head feel filled with angry bees. But right now, the sensation hovered somewhere between the two: useful, but an inch away from a meltdown if he got pushed too far.

He could feel the vibrations from the wards, the tiny sparks of residual magic lingering from the previous match, and even the shallow heat of a spell the last student tried to cast in an attempt to cheat, before it fizzled into nothing.

Hah, amateur.

Turning his gaze back forward, he spots his opponent strutting onto the mat like a peacock with muscles. Garin Kester radiated smug confidence, shoulders broad beneath his combat uniform, every step taken like a king surveying land already conquered. Opinion around campus was that he would go pro after graduation—a Combat Track golden boy with strong magical ability and good connections.

And unfortunately, just enough skill to back up his arrogance most days.

Baby stepped onto the mat more quietly, not timid, just unwilling to waste attention on theatrics. His uniform was plain, sleeves rolled sharply to accommodate movement. He flexed his fingers once to warm the joints, then let his arms fall to his sides with controlled ease.

He scanned the arena briefly for Zoey. It didn’t take long—her small form was perched right at the railing near the front, feet bouncing excitedly, twin buns bobbing as she waved both arms over her head like she was trying to flag down an airship.

“You’ve got this, Baby!” she shouted, already earning a few irritated glances from fourth-years trying to maintain composure. She stuck her tongue out at them without shame. “Kick his ass!”

Baby felt one corner of his mouth twitch upward in the shadow of a smile. Zoey always had more faith than was reasonable, especially in him. If he could bottle even a fraction of her enthusiasm, he might’ve been unstoppable.

He inhaled deeply, grounding himself in sensation.

His magic perception expanded. He felt Garin’s heart rate; steady but elevated with cocky anticipation. He took note of the tension in his stance, with his weight too forward on the right foot, meaning that side was his lead for striking. He felt the slight instability in the mat beneath Garin’s heel, which meant the ward grid had a tiny dip right there, just enough that he could use it later if needed. 

Knowledge was power, even if it came from a gift everyone else saw as a curse.

Professor Seoyeon strode into view, a seasoned fighter herself, her gaze scanning the students with a level of scrutiny no one escaped. Her battle-worn expression softened only slightly when she looked Baby’s way; recognition, perhaps quiet admiration, but never pity. She didn’t baby him. She didn’t ignore him. She simply expected him to perform.

He appreciated that, more than he’d ever admit.

“Combatants,” she called out, projecting her voice easily without needing amplification spells. “This is a standard non-magic bout. No spells. No enchantment channeling. You win by pin or by your opponent yielding.”

Garin cracked his knuckles, ensuring everyone saw the impatience in his movements.

Baby exhaled slowly, every breath preparing the focus he needed.

Zoey cupped her hands around her mouth. “Baby! Murder him—!” At his unamused stare, she takes a moment to recalibrate, before following it up with, “Just lightly inconvenience him, then!”

Laughter rippled through a few first-years nearby, making Garin scowled up at the stands. Meanwhile, Baby shook his head inwardly. Zoey had never really understood the meaning of “quiet encouragement.” But it does help…somewhat.

Professor Seoyeon raised her arm, signaling the impending start. “Ready yourselves.”

Baby lowered his center of gravity, feet shifting into a defensive stance that let him spring forward or back with equal ease. His senses flickered outward like a net, reading Garin’s posture in the twitch of his right hand and the tilt of his chin. The fourth-year's magic sparked faintly, itching for release despite the rules.

“Get ready for your worst nightmare, shrimp.” Garin taunted, loud enough for the stands.

Not one to back down from some smacktalk, Baby gives a feral grin. “I’ve handled essays worse than you.”

Professor Seoyeon’s arm cut through the air as the bigger male snarled in annoyance, slicing through the tension. 

“Begin!”

Garin launched himself forward in a blur of muscle and aggression, his boots slamming hard into the mats. Each impact radiated anger through the weave and Baby could feel the shockwave of intent rushing at him before Garin’s fist even rose.

Yet, Baby kept himself still. There was always a moment before a strike when a fighter revealed too much; a slight lurch forward of the shoulder, a tightening of fingers, or breath held ready to burn in a shout. And fortunately for him, Garin telegraphed every single one of these signs, too certain of his victory to hide them.

Baby shifted his weight in a single smooth motion at the last moment as Garin’s knuckles sliced through nothing but the cold air. The older student stumbled a half-step, not enough to fall, but enough to show his first crack. A hum of whispers rose in the stands.

Baby didn’t push the advantage yet. He needed more information—about Garin’s adaptability, his balance, how he recovered.

And Garin recovered wildly.

He swung again, this time lower, a sweeping strike aimed at Baby’s ribs, probably hoping to knock the smaller student off his feet. Baby tried to duck and pivot, but the strike grazed his side, not forceful enough to be painful, but a reminder that Garin was strong enough that even glancing contact mattered.

Baby found himself stepping back faster than he wanted to, forced to give space to a predator who believed he was chasing prey. This was a moment the fourth-year capitalized on, feigning another strike.

The mat seemed to tilt beneath Baby for a heartbeat, a brief shake of the enchantments trying to accommodate the magical pressure around Garin’s surge. Baby heard Zoey gasp sharply from the sidelines.

He stumbled.
A small stumble, but enough for Garin to pounce.

The fourth-year’s fist connected square with Baby’s shoulder, sending a jolt down his spine that threatened to scramble his footing. Pain radiated from the joint, grounding, unwelcome, but familiar. 

Baby hit the mat and dust burst upward in a soft cloud from the impact. His body rolled backwards with the force rather than taking it flat, as trained, and he landed in a crouch a heartbeat later. He could feel the floor thrum beneath him, and he felt every pulse of nearby magic adjusting to the shift in positions.

Zoey’s voice cut through the buzzing sound of adrenaline in his skull, high and fierce,

“Get up, Baby! He fights like a winded cow!”

A few laughs scattered from the onlookers, breaking the tension briefly. Garin’s eyes flared with irritation, and Baby saw the muscle twitch near his left eyebrow.

That was good.

Angry fighters got sloppy.

Baby exhaled slowly, breath steadying as he rose to his feet. The pain in his shoulder was already fading, already being eclipsed by something sharper, faster. His senses flooded the space again, reaching not with fear but calculation.

And against Professor Seoyeon’s countless lectures, he closes his eyes.

He immediately felt the unevenness in Garin’s stance through the weave, his weight too heavy on the right leg now from overcompensation. Extending farther, he takes note of the slight overuse of the other’s dominant arm in the form of exhausted tiny muscles twitching beneath the skin. 

Nothing can hide from him now.

The arena’s magic network mapped itself cleanly into Baby’s mind—from the most stable foothold just three paces to the left to the ward lines brightest beneath the center tile near Garin’s right foot. Garin’s mana signature burned messy and hot, letting Baby taste every misstep a moment before Garin made it.

He opens his eyes just in time to see Garin telegraph his next move with his whole body; the shift of weight back, shoulders drawing in, and the tension pooling like a spring at the edge of release.

Baby invited it.

Without hesitation, Garin lunged again, roaring something unintelligible, and as his arm snapped forward. Baby stepped inside the arc of the punch, too close for Garin to redirect, too tight for a kick, and too open for a sweet spot; one Baby saw, felt, and welcomed.

His palm shot upward, striking just beneath Garin’s elbow to disrupt the force of the swing. In the same fluid movement, he hooked a foot behind Garin’s ankle and twisted with controlled precision.

Garin’s breath choked off in surprise as the world slipped beneath him.

The fourth-year hit the mat hard, flat on his back, yet Baby didn’t pause. The arena expected speed. Efficiency. A clear victor.

He followed movement into momentum as he braced his knee across Garin’s chest and a palm on Garin’s wrist, twisting just enough to immobilize but not injure. A submission pin that held with absolute confidence.

Seconds.
That was all it took.
A record time for the class.

Garin’s chest heaved beneath Baby’s weight as the older student’s eyes flicked with panic, realization dawning that this fight hadn’t belonged to him from the moment it began.

Only Zoey dared to speak a beat later, and she did so loudly,

“That’s my bestie!”

Baby nearly cracked a laugh right there.

Garin made a small noise of resistance—a growl of frustration that bled into fear—but it didn’t matter. His strength couldn’t change what Baby had already proven.

Professor Seoyeon stepped forward, voice strong enough to suppress all murmurs. “Pin confirmed! Match goes to Baby!”

Her announcement rippled outward, scattering disbelief among the older students. Baby rose smoothly to his feet, offering Garin a chance to stand himself before turning away. His pulse was steady again, steadier in the way his life rarely felt. Because right now, his body obeyed without hesitation, without fear.

The professor’s eyes lingered on him a moment longer than usual, but there was no surprise there, only recognition.

Baby exhaled and allowed that moment of victory to settle gently into his bones. Not as triumph, but as relief. He didn’t need magic to be competent, didn’t need permission to be strong.

The fight spoke for him, and everyone had heard it.

The arena lights brightened a little once the match officially ended, returning to that too-clean glow that made every movement feel like it was being examined under glass. Baby stepped off the mat slowly, each breath long and controlled so his heartbeat didn’t betray what really churned beneath his skin.

But no matter what he felt, he knew that victories never belonged fully to him. They were borrowed moments. Temporary. The moment he left the safety of the fighting mat, the rest of the academy—the realm where magic dictated value—would reclaim dominance again. 

People would forget that he could conquer someone older and stronger in seconds. Instead, they would remember only his failed spells, his cracked runes, his lack of raw casting power.

Still…as the dust settled and murmurs rolled through the seating around him, Baby allowed himself to feel the warmth of pride in his chest. He had shown them something undeniable, something not even magic could discredit. 

There was a kind of power in that; the bitter but satisfying kind.

Snapping his head forward, he saw Zoey practically vaulting over the boundary wall before running toward him with both arms shot high above her head.

“That was the hottest thing I have ever seen you do!” she announced, far too loudly.

“Once again,” Baby said dryly, wiping sweat from his brow, “Concerning praise.”

“Accept it,” she insisted, planting her hands on her hips, “Before I start listing every specific moment you were brilliant. I kept mental notes.”

“No doubt with doodles.”

“Of course with doodles! My memory hardly functions without visual aids.”

She reached up and without hesitation flicked a bit of dust from his shoulder like a mother bird grooming her chick. He swatted her hand lightly but didn’t move away. Her presence after a fight always steadied him. She glowed like sunlight, even indoors.

Zoey wrinkled her nose, reading his expression. “Don’t even start getting modest. You broke a record, Baberino.”

He groaned. “Don’t call me that here.”

Still, Baby allowed a tiny smirk to pull at his lips. The satisfaction of his victory overshadowed whatever oddly embarrassing nickname Zoey had for him at this time.

After accepting the towel from the girl, they started striding toward the benches to gather their belongings. As they walked, he could feel the arena surface cooling beneath their steps, the enchantments shifting now that combat had ceased. 

Baby could feel the wards recalibrating, settling back into neutrality, and he couldn’t help but shiver. The sensation was almost uncomfortable, like pressure equalizing after a long dive.

“What’s that look?” Zoey asked, hopping onto the bench and swinging her legs while she stuffed items into her satchel.

Baby shook his head. “Just thinking.”

“That’s always dangerous.”

“It’s a habit I’ve been trying to quit.”

“Well, let’s change the tune of your overthinking mind, then.” Zoey grinned wide before her expression softened. “You were incredible out there, Baby. I mean it.”

Incredible. 

The word lodged uncomfortably beneath his ribs. If he let himself want that too much…if he believed incredible means accepted, then the fall back into reality would crush him later.

He opted instead for honesty, quiet and small. “It’s the only thing I don’t screw up.”

Zoey frowned. “You don’t—”

Professor Seoyeon’s boots cut a steady path toward them across the mats, interrupting Zoey before she could deny the obvious. The instructor’s presence demanded attention even in silence, being one of the few faculty who didn’t hide combat scars. Pale marks etched across one forearm, disappearing beneath her sleeve—proof of her own battles.

She stopped in front of Baby, eyes sharp but not unkind.

“Good work.”

The words were plain, but meaningful. Praise from the woman wasn’t given out like candies at a festival.

Baby dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Professor.”

“You read his body well,” Professor Seoyeon continued. “Better than some of my third-years.” She took a pause to take in his figure that was probably shaking slightly from fatigue before she nods. “You should think seriously about the Combat Track for next semester. You already exceeded expectations in this class.”

Zoey’s eyes went wide and sparkly, like someone had dangled a hundred magical pastries in front of her. “Combat Track Baby is the only Baby I stan.”

He kicked her lightly in the shin to shut her up.

“I’ll…consider it,” Baby told the professor, though both he and she knew the truth.

The Combat Track demanded a prerequisite he would never be allowed to overlook: the power to summon a Honmoon weapon. Because apparently at this Academy, strength of flesh and bone meant little on its own—physical combat was only half the blade. The other half was forged in arcane mastery, and without it, no warrior could truly stand.

In other words, hunters were meant to wield the magical weave fiercely, and skill in combat meant nothing if one couldn’t summon the only armament that could kill a demon.

Professor Seoyeon studied him for a moment longer, as if trying to read beneath all the shields he’d built. Then she nodded once—concession or encouragement, he couldn’t tell—and moved on to correct another student’s stance near the far end of the arena.

“‘I’ll consider it'.” Zoey deepened her voice to mimicking his words, leaning in close as soon as the professor walked away. “That's just classic Baby speak for 'not happening'.”

“It’s not like they’d actually take me,” he mumbled.

“You’re literally the best fighter here.”

“But I can’t summon for shit.”

Zoey threw her hands in the air dramatically, nearly hitting a first-year passing by. “Who cares?! You can sense magic from a mile away!”

“That doesn’t translate into invoking flashy weapons.”

“But it does translate into you being alive longer than the people relying on flashy weapons.”

Another fourth-year (a friend of Garin, they noted) brushed past them with a roll of his eyes as he butted in. “Those flashy weapons may be the only thing that would save you out there, you know.” He sneers, "What's a good fighter if they can't finish the fight?"

Baby didn’t respond. The silence that followed wasn’t agreement, but it was the heaviness of truth that wouldn’t change no matter how much Zoey rebelled against it. In theory, his ability was valuable. In practice, it won him mockery and fear.

And in that moment, the pride he felt from his victory totally dissipated.

Zoey hopped down from the bench and nudged his shoulder with her own. “Hey, ignore that idiot. He's just pissed you made Garin into a pancake today.”

“A tall pancake,” Baby murmuered. “Too much flour. Bad texture.”

Zoey snorted. “Exactly. Flat where it matters.”

They fell into laughter, not boisterous, but it was something. It was a small moment that felt like a shield.

As they packed away their gear, Baby allowed his thoughts to wander. He touched his shoulder carefully where Garin’s strike had landed, knowing that the bruise would bloom there by evening, but he welcomed it. Bruises made sense. 

They were reward for effort. Proof of existence.

Magic failures, in contrast, left no marks anyone could see…but their wounds lingered far longer.

He slung his satchel over his shoulder, weight settling firmly against his side. To his right, Zoey finished tying a messy bow onto her bag that had more ribbons than the satchel deserved, the ends fraying from catching fire too many times in spellcraft class.

“Lunch?” she asked, bright as morning bells.

He nodded absentmindedly. “Food is survival.”

“And survival is snack time,” she declared. “Let’s go before Garin’s ego reboots and he challenges you to a rematch.”

Zoey began marching backward toward the exit, facing him, wagging both eyebrows like she was already teasing him about something she hadn’t decided yet. Baby followed, not entirely trusting her ability to walk backward without colliding into disaster.

“After lunch,” she continued, swinging her arms dramatically, “You need to walk me through the part where you rolled like a feral cat but then—like, flipped him like furniture. Teach me your ways, Baby-sensei.”

“I’m still younger than you.”

“Wisdom isn’t measured in birthdays.”

Baby sighed with theatrical exhaustion. “You’re relentless.”

“Thank you.”

They made their way up the short staircase into the corridor connected to the arena. The sound of other students scattering toward their own free periods filled the air—laughter, clanging footsteps, snippets of bragging or excuses from those who had lost.

The farther they walked, the clearer the divide became between Baby’s victory and everyone else’s reality. Already, Garin and his group pretended not to notice them. Already, whispers about Baby’s weak magic resurfaced to overshadow praise.

Zoey ignored it. She always did.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked softly, tone shifting when she realized his silence had grown heavy.

Baby glanced ahead at the hallway that stretched long, leading them toward the brighter common courtyard. It smelled faintly of chalk and old books and the metallic tang of magical residue.

He considered his words carefully. “Just…thinking about how I like feeling useful.”

Zoey slowed her step until they matched pace exactly. “You are useful.”

“In combat.”

“In life,” she corrected without hesitation.

Baby didn’t argue. He let her optimism sit beside his apprehension, letting both exist without war. For once, he didn’t push it away.

Seeing his lack of snarky responses a victory, Zoey beams a thousand-watt smile at him.

Then she promptly bumps into a wall because she still hadn’t turned around.

“Zo—”

“I meant to do that!”

“No, you didn’t.”

She rubbed her forehead dramatically despite it being the part of her head that didn't collide with the wall. “These just sneak up on you when you’re having deep emotional moments.”

Baby snorted, the tension in his chest loosening by a fraction. “Lunch,” he reminded her.

“Yes, now let’s hurry!” she said, eyes watery from the impact but full of determination. “Before all the dessert is gone! I want some Bungeoppang!”

Baby let out a sigh but followed after her, steps steady and bag bouncing against his side. Together, they stepped into the hallway and a wave of sound and magic hit them immediately. 

The Honmoon flickered faintly along the walls where students had tested their spells before leaving class, the conjured magic making the weave briefly glow bright before leaving a trailing echo of attempted brilliance, successful or otherwise. Of course, Baby could feel each one.

Tiny electric pricks danced along his arms as the Honmoon thrummed beneath the stone floor like a heartbeat he didn’t want to acknowledge. Every time someone nearby casted a spell or summoned their weapon, he felt it—like invisible fingers brushing over his nerves. Too intimate. Too loud. Too constant.

He hated how much it took from him just to pretend it didn’t exist.

Shaking his head, he let Zoey guide him as they joined the current of students flowing down the long corridor. The academy walls towered above them in all their smug, magical grandeur with its windows tall and arching, banners depicting triumphant hunters, and murals sparkling faintly with animated runes that occasionally glared judgmentally when a student walked too slowly.

Baby did his best to keep his head down. But whispers traveled quick.

“That’s him. The magic-sensing kid.”

“I heard he’s here on pity from the Headmistress… probably a charity case.”

“I’d rather flunk out than be that pathetic.”

Their voices weren’t loud, but they didn’t need to be. He could still feel every word like a splinter beneath his skin. Baby inhaled through his nose, long enough that it almost steadied him. Almost.

Zoey noticed, because of course she did. 

“Ignore them,” she muttered. “Their brains are made of rotten cabbage.”

Baby lifted a shoulder to feign a shrug. “Hey, cabbage has nutritional value.”

“You don’t have to keep deflecting with jokes, you know.” she pressed, voice edging soft concern.

“I do if I want to survive this place.”

Not wanting the conversation to sink deeper, he pointed toward a group of third-years as though the mere act of pretending indifference could make it real. “See that guy? Last week he accidentally summoned a spectral chicken. It tried to haunt him.” He huffed, “Do you hear anyone talking about that? No. Because they’re too focused on the guy who made chalk smoke.”

Zoey answered with a small sound of frustration. “That’s different and you know it.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Mine didn’t even have feathers.”

She grabbed his sleeve, tugging him out of the path of a quartet of students levitating a crate of potion reagents down the hall like some kind of magical parade float.

“I mean it,” Zoey insisted. “You can laugh, you can act like you don't care, but you’re allowed to be upset.”

Baby exhaled a laugh that wasn’t entirely humor. “If I let myself be upset every time someone doubted me, I’d never stop crying.”

Zoey opened her mouth to argue again, but he kept going. “And I’d rather spend my afternoons plotting revenge spells I’ll never be able to cast. Way more productive.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Incorrect,” he corrected. “I am an enigma wrapped in misfortune.”

His jokes were flimsy shields, but they were shields all the same. As long as he kept talking, kept smiling, kept being an entertaining disaster, then nobody—including Zoey—could see how hard it was getting just to show up.

Sometimes he wondered if disappearing entirely would be easier, but disappearing meant giving people what they already believed about him; that he was nothing.

And he refused to be nothing.

Even if his “something” was currently struggling not to burst into tears in the hallway.

Fortunately, Zoey didn’t push it further. She simply walked beside him, matching his slower pace without comment, ready to elbow away or hex anyone foolish enough to try mocking him again. She was fierce like that; small in stature but huge in loyalty.

They passed under an archway that opened into a wider part of campus. The vaulted ceilings here were etched with swirling wards that glowed softly in shifting patterns. Baby’s senses tingled with every shift.

Magic everywhere.

Magic for everyone.

Except him.

His fingers twitched at his sides, aching for a spell that would never form. He knew that Hunters defended humanity, that they stood against demons that live underneath the world, that they kept the Honmoon intact.

Baby wanted that. Not the glory…but the proof.

Proof he wasn’t wasted potential.

Proof that someone like him could still matter.

Zoey bumped him gently again. “Look alive, we're near the cafeteria.”

“Finally,” he sighed, voice lighter than he felt. “Food is the one spell I can rely on.”

“We both know you can ruin toast.”

“That was once. The oven started it and that oven was a demon-spawned liar.”

They kept moving, weaving through crowds and drifting magic residue, until the chatter around them grew louder and the tantalizing scent of garlic rice drifted near. Lunch was close, and by extension, relief was close.

Baby straightened his shoulders like someone preparing to enter battle. Just make it to the cafeteria, he told himself. Just sit down. Just eat. This morning would become a memory, eventually.

He pushed open the cafeteria wing doors and let the aroma of lunch wash over him like temporary peace.

The entire area was a tempest of noise in the form of clattering trays, bursts of excited conversation, and the hum of spells woven into the walls to maintain a comfortable temperature despite hundreds of students packed together. 

The high glass windows cast shifting patterns of sunlight onto the long tables, dappling faces in gold and shadow. Even the paintings along the walls seemed to lean closer to listen, their painted hunters raising eyebrows at gossip or pretending not to see food fights.

Baby and Zoey slipped into a line that wound around columns carved with glowing conjuration sigils, the scent of sizzling meat and steamed vegetables making Baby’s stomach roar loud enough for Zoey to snicker.

They grabbed metal trays and shuffled forward, watching with mild interest as a first-year in front of them levitated their plate shakily as they spooned soup into a bowl—a trick Baby would never dare attempt. The bowl hovered perfectly in the air until the student sneezed, making the soup spray across the counter in a watery explosion, and also unfortunately splashing Baby’s boots.

No magic required for that failure.

With a sigh, he wiped them on the back of his pant legs without complaint. No need to add to his reputation of magical incompetence by whining about something involving magic.

But apparently, that stagnant waiting in line was when Zoey figured that they were not done with their earlier topic.

“I still meant what I said, you know.”

Baby sighed. “Which part? The one where I crumble like a flaky biscuit during class? Or where my entire existence is a cosmic punchline?”

“Neither.” She glared in that very specific Zoey way, like a ferocious hamster guarding a sunflower seed. “The part where you're actually more capable but you act like you’re hopeless.”

He pretended to inspect the food choices of spicy pork, rice, dumplings, a soup that smelled suspiciously like sadness. “Acting implies pretending. This is just realism, Zo.”

“You were the smartest person in our first year when it comes to spell theory.”

“Cool. I’ll open a library someday where I can make books float but only by throwing them.”

Zoey clacked her tray against his. “I’m serious, B.”

He froze, eyes shutting briefly. Serious Zoey was dangerous Zoey, and Serious Zoey forced him to confront things.

“You understand the Honmoon better than half the instructors,” she continued. “And your sensory ability gives you an insane advantage during sparring. You just need to...extend it to more practical magic, like it's alive.”

“It is alive, and it is helpful.” Baby muttered quietly. “Just not for me.”

Zoey’s expression softened again. “That’s not true. It reacts to you.”

"And that's it." He scoffed and grabbed a pair of dumplings, glaring at them like they were responsible for his mood. “So maybe Honmoon magic and I will just agree to keep our relationship strictly…distant.”

“We barely have enough magic users in the world to protect the realm,” Zoey reasoned, voice low and urgent. “And you—” she jabbed his arm with her chopsticks, “—could be a powerful hunter someday if you stopped assuming you’re failing before you even start.”

He inhaled, slow and deep, before responding. “Hunters need to be in tune with the Honmoon, Zo. They need to fight demons and wield those cool glowy weapons summoned from the Honmoon.” He looks at her pointedly. “So unless demons want a guided tour of the magical weave while someone else kills them, I’m not their guy.”

Zoey stomped her foot in displeasure. “Stop making this into a joke every time!”

Baby blinked at her, mouth opening—but no witty retort emerged.

“I remember how excited you were the first time we met. You studied every spare second. You ate magic theory books for breakfast. You were unstoppable.” Zoey’s voice cracked just slightly. "But now..."

He looked away, staring as if the rice glistening in the metal tray of a student was suddenly the most fascinating sight in the world. He muttered, “But now I realized that the Honmoon didn’t answer to me the same way it did to all of you.” 

Baby remembered his first week vividly, when they first saw how spells curled away from him like he was poison, when unchanneled energy scorched the floor beneath his feet, and when his first attempt at drawing from the Honmoon fizzled into smoke and nearly ignited a classmate’s hair instead.

It was one thing to be powerless. It was another to be dangerous in all the wrong ways.

He continued with a half-hearted drawl, “I met spellcasting, we didn’t vibe, and now we’ve unfriended each other because I'm useless.”

“Baby.”

Her voice pulled at him like a hook under his ribs.

“You are not useless,” she said. “Your magic isn’t broken. It’s just…different. You can’t keep convincing yourself you’re beyond help just because you struggle. Everybody struggles.”

“Not like I do.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

“You know what the instructors do when I mess up?” he asked, quietly now, all sarcasm stripped away. “They flinch.”

Zoey’s brows tightened.

“They think I’ll blow something up. Or someone.” He stared down at his tray. “Maybe they’re right.”

“You’re not dangerous,” Zoey whispered.

“I feel everything the Honmoon does,” he said, voice barely audible. “Every surge. Every push. Every crackle of someone else trying a spell. It’s so loud. They can’t feel it like I can—so they don’t understand how hard it is to control.”

The admission left him feeling exposed, like he’d peeled skin from muscle.

Zoey exhaled. “Then…maybe that’s your strength. Not weakness.”

He laughed—once, brittle. “It feels like weakness.”

“You’ll grow into it, and then you'll kick demon ass everyday with me!”

“And what if I don’t?” Baby asked before he could stop himself. “What if this is all I’ll ever be? The boy who senses magic but never masters it?”

Zoey leaned in closer, her shoulder brushing his. “Then I’ll be here to kick your ass until you do.”

His lips twitched despite everything. “Violence. How touching.”

“You inspire brutality,” she replied with a shrug.

Baby shook his head slowly, overwhelmed by a sensation he rarely indulged: being cared for. It scared him more than any demon.

They reached the end of the line, trays filled, and walked toward the seating area. The cafeteria felt enormous now with tables stretching in rows, students laughing, and magic flickering here and there like sparks in a smithy.

“I still think you’d do well in magic-based combat.” Zoey insisted. “It’s like, the only reasonable progression to your journey of kicking butt.”

“No magic duels for me, thanks,” he muttered. “I don’t want to accidentally launch a classmate into orbit. Again.”

“That kid was fine after three days,” She said.

“Three days,” Baby echoed flatly.

Zoey waved her hand like three days was practically a spa retreat. “He enjoyed the attention.”

“He suffered a concussion.”

“He also got sympathy cookies from five different girls. I’d take a concussion for that.”

Baby huffed a laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders just a fraction. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it.”

Baby rolls his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

Zoey softened once more. “Hey. You’ll get there. You’re too stubborn not to.”

Baby dragged a breath in slowly, letting the idea sit in the hollow places inside him. She said it like it was fact—not hope. Not madness. Fact.

He wished he could believe her as easily as she believed him.

But the fear lingered.

What if magic never listened? What if he stayed stuck in theoretical brilliance forever, admired in textbooks but useless in reality? What if he couldn’t protect himself?

He didn’t realize his fist had clenched until Zoey nudged him gently again.

“Come on. Let’s sit by the window,” she suggested. “Sunlight always makes your misery look glamorous.”

He chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Glamorous misery it is.”

Baby and Zoey found an empty table beneath the long windows, where sunbeams streamed in like molten amber. It washed over the wood in golden streaks, catching in the dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. 

Baby always liked sitting here. The light was warm, and if he pressed his back just right, he could imagine the sunlight seeping into his bones and burning away everything that hurt.

Zoey slid into the seat across from him and placed her elbows on the table, the tips of her chopsticks tapping impatiently like she was plotting something.

Baby narrowed his eyes. “Don’t do that. That’s your ‘I’m about to test you without consent’ taps.”

She flashed him a feral grin. “Smart boy.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Zoey, no.”

“Zoey, yes.”

Baby rolled his eyes. “You want me to publicly expose my neurosis.”

“Your gift,” she corrected firmly. “Use it.”

Baby sucked his teeth, but the challenge stirred something inside him. Something competitive. Something that was tired of shrinking. He sighed loudly and dramatically. 

“Fine. Perform your evil experiment, but…” Baby quickly scans the contents of her tray. “I get your last kimbap.”

“You’re on!” She sets the plate down in front of them both, “But only if you get at least five right this time.”

He grins. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Zoey scanned the cafeteria first, leveling her gaze at the chaotic sprawl of magic users and spell-stressed food. A few seats down, two first-years were trying to enchant their milk cartons into dancing animals, the cartons jittering in half-rhythmic spasms. Nearby, some upperclassmen lazily levitated fruit into their mouths like aristocrats.

The cafeteria was a buffet of ambient magic.

Zoey grabbed a napkin and held it like a flag. “Okay. Tell me who’s casting magic and where. Without looking.”

Without any other playful retort, Baby sat back and closed his eyes.

The world around him immediately sharpened—not sight, but sensation.

The hum of magic was everywhere, like a webstrung harp being plucked by invisible fingers. It rippled from table to table, pulsing in waves.

“Two tables to the right,” Baby murmured. “Someone’s experimenting with heat runes. They’re trying to melt cheese on that bread without using an oven. It’s…not going well.”

A crisp crackle followed by a yelp and smoke proved him right. Zoey snickered.

“Nice. What else?”

Baby focused deeper.

“There’s enchantment work in the corner booth. Someone is trying to charm their sandwich into cutting itself. Except…they’re mispronouncing the runic binding. That’s why the knife keeps attacking the lettuce.”

A scream, a flurry of lettuce, and a knife stabbing the table.

Zoey’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “Keep going.”

Baby continued, voice growing steadier, confidence blooming like tiny embers catching flame.

“A second-year two tables to the right is siphoning light magic into his water glass to purify it. Smart—especially since the water tastes like sadness today.” He paused slightly, “He learned the technique from his dad…the guy in the Hunter Corps who specializes in protection wards. The precision is familiar. Calm.”

He inhaled sharply. The magic sang through his nerves like a symphony no one else could hear.

“And that girl in the blue uniform. she’s…she’s using illusion magic. To hide a sandwich from the girl next to her. They have a long-standing rivalry involving stolen lunches.”

Zoey clapped her hands once, soft but triumphant.

“You’re incredible,” she whispered. “One more.”

Baby paused in thought, letting the familiar pulses of aura wash over him for a moment, before he dissolved into a chuckle.

“You’re hovering the kimbap in front of my face.”

He opened his eyes and, true enough, the rice roll was close enough for him to engulf it in one bite. Looking up, Zoey’s face was bright and proud, like she was seeing him, not as the academy’s failure, but as a miracle waiting to realize itself.

The girl had the biggest grin. “You’re amazing!”

Heat pooled in his chest. He looked back down at his tray to hide how that look made him feel. “Yeah, well… sensing doesn’t mean much if I can’t—”

Zoey cut him off quickly. “Do not start that sentence. Celebrate the win.”

Baby toyed with a dumpling, brows furrowing. The praise left him disarmed.

Zoey leaned forward. “Your magic isn’t like everyone else’s. It’s not supposed to be. You were born to read the weave, not wrestle with it.”

He stared at her. “Hunters wrestle with magic. They command it and bend it to their will.”

Zoey nodded. “Yes. But someone needs to steer them away from getting swallowed by it. Magic can corrupt. Magic can manipulate. If you can read its intentions during a fight…that’s power.”

Baby blinked. Slowly. Unsure how to respond.

Zoey nudged his foot under the table. “You’re not behind, Baby. You’re ahead. They just don’t know how to grade you.”

His throat tightened.

A laugh tried to escape but got stuck in the middle—half joy, half grief.

“I…” he started, then stopped. The words were too fragile.

Zoey saved him by shoving a dumpling into her mouth, cheeks puffed up like a squirrel storing nuts.

After a moment, Baby said quietly, “Thanks.”

“Of course,” she replied around a mouthful. “Someone has to remind you that you’re actually magnificent.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a genuine smile. The feeling of being seen…appreciated…it was intoxicating. Almost dangerous.

The cafeteria noise swelled around them again as magic flickered like restless fireflies.

Zoey finally swallowed. “By the way, Sparring Exams are at the end of the month.”

Baby grimaced. “You really love ruining perfectly nice moments, don’t you?”

She waggled her eyebrows. “Honesty is my love language.”

He groaned and hid his face in his hands. “Ugh. Sparring.”

Zoey tapped her chopsticks thoughtfully. “You’ll get to face against someone or something who relies too much on flashy spells. You’ll read their magic before they cast, and then dodge before they even start the chant. You’ll be unstoppable.”

Baby snorted. “You’re assuming I won’t panic and fall on my face.”

“You’ll fall. But stylishly.”

“Comforting.”

She aimed her chopsticks at him like a pointer. “You will do better than you expect, because you always do in combat. You’re fast. You’re clever. You don’t need fancy spells to kick someone in the kneecap.”

“I do enjoy kneecap-related strategies…”

“And I’ll be right on the sidelines, cheering for you like a very enthusiastic gremlin.” Zoey beamed, making Baby roll his eyes again.

“I’ve always wanted a gremlin cheerleader.” he comments as he finished the last of his soup.

“You’re welcome.”

They settled on a rare silence afterwards, which gave Baby some time to look out the window like he always did. Beyond the sparring arena, the towering treeline of the Akma Forest swayed in the breeze. He could feel the pulse of wild magic emanating from it, even from here. The Honmoon wove thicker near the forest given its history with Gwi-ma and his demons, threads of energy dancing like living currents under the canopy.

It called to him.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Zoey followed his gaze before he hears a snort. “You thinking about running away and becoming a forest gremlin?”

He scoffed. “I’d make a very cute forest gremlin, thank you very much.”

“Yeah yeah, and you’d get eaten by a demon rabbit in five seconds.”

“They’re small and vicious.” Baby agreed, before puffing his chest out. "But they're no match for me!"

A beat of comfortable silence passed.

Then, quietly, he spoke again. “The forest really feels alive, Zo.”

Zoey shrugged. “You say that about everything. The walls, the floor, the—.”

“No, it's not like normal.” Baby shook his head, “It's like magic moves differently there.”

He didn’t know how to explain it. The Honmoon usually pressed into him like a constant pressure. But when he neared the forest, the pressure changed. It didn’t suffocate. It…expanded. Like the magic there wasn’t trying to crush him into shape.

It was reaching out.

Zoey hummed thoughtfully and popped another dumpling into her mouth. “Weird. You should tell a professor about that.”

“Oh yes," He gave a sarcastic smile, "Let me just go tell the faculty that the spooky forest whispers to me. I’m sure they’ll throw a parade.”

Zoey giggled. “A parade thrown by demons, more like. With confetti made of curses.”

He grinned back.

But something about the forest stayed with him; a prickle of curiosity stitched with dread.

What if the forest held answers he wasn’t getting here? What if it was the one place where magic might actually want him?

His heart skipped at the thought.

Zoey suddenly gasped. “Baby. Emergency.”

He flinched. “What? Are we under attack? Did someone animate the mashed potatoes again?”

“No,” she hissed, “Look.”

Baby followed her gaze across the cafeteria. His eyes landed on two fourth-year girls standing in line near the dessert section; one with a long, glossy purple braid that shimmered like enchanted silk and the other with a waterfall of deep pink hair, graceful and radiant even in a school cafeteria.

Baby’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. “Your girlfriends are here.”

Zoey turned the color of a freshly boiled lobster. “They are not—! They’re—!! I don’t—!!!”

Her words dissolved into frantic squeaks that he could only hope to decode. Baby leaned back and savored the chaos.

“Oh yes,” he whispered dramatically. “Midterm Sparring Exam? Demonic invasion? Not scary.” He smirked. “But women? Terrifying.”

Zoey threw a napkin at his face and Baby let it hit him, his chest bubbling with laughter. The midterm loomed, his pulse still throbbed with the echo of humiliation from their first class, and doubt gnawed at him.

But right now?

Right now, he felt almost okay.

There was comfort in kimbap, in sunlight, and in the one friend who refused to let him drown.

He didn’t realize this lunchtime lull was the last stretch of calm he’d have before everything changed in the form of quick spark of red from the corner of his eye. He turned.

No matter how bright the midday sun soaked the cafeteria windows in gold, Baby noticed that the far alcove always seemed to remain in twilight. It wasn’t the absence of light that darkened that corner, but it was the people who chose to dwell in it. Magic clung to them like cold mist, precise and restrained, the kind of strength honed over time and privilege.

Baby felt their gazes before he saw them, his senses picking up the polished hum of controlled spells and the threads of old power woven tightly around each heartbeat in that alcove. It scraped down his spine, familiar as an old scar.

He had hoped, foolishly, that today they might leave him alone.

But as Zoey chattered about tactics for approaching her crushes, his gaze drifted unbidden toward that shadowed enclave. The moment his eyes found them, his stomach turned to ice.

Jotek lounged at the center like he owned the air around him, his posture casual, attention sharp. To his right and left sat his usual lackeys, laughing over something scrawled in a notebook. 

He could see him flicking a worn coin through nimble fingers, the metal glinting each time it spun—flick, catch, flick—a rhythm Baby had learned to associate with someone else’s suffering. 

Then they had noticed him noticing them, and Baby swallowed around the knot forming in his throat.

“Hey,” He feels terrible for cutting Zoey off her usual tirade, but it’s better to keep her in the dark for things like this. “I just need to drop something off,” he continued. “It won’t take long.”

Zoey cocks her head to the side. “Did you forget to turn in your assignment again?”

“Haha, yeah,” He set his tray down gently, fingers lingering on the edges longer than necessary, almost like letting go of it meant letting go of safety. “In the meantime, your girlfriends look like they’re gonna get some Bungeoppang.”

Her face lights up at the mention of the fish-shaped pastry and the two girls she was pining for, but she still gave a worried look. “But—”

“Don’t worry about me,” he cut her off, forcing his tone to go soft. “Go, this is your chance. The universe has gifted you a moment with queer women and carbohydrates. Seize the moment!”

Zoey gave a reluctant laugh, quick and brittle, then stood from her seat. She paused, eyes searching him like she wanted to argue and stay, but the sight of Rumi and Mira waiting in line drew her away like gravity.

“You yell if you need anything,” she demanded in a whisper, grabbing his sleeve.

“I’m always yelling on the inside,” he said.

She pouted, puffed out a defeated breath, and finally scurried off toward her crushes with nervous determination.

As soon as she left, the cafeteria felt larger. And colder.

Baby exhaled quietly. His legs already wanted to flee, to hide behind Zoey’s chaos and pretend he had never sensed that alcove at all. But the reality of his situation, a reality he had built with every reluctant favor over the past year, held him in place.

They owned too much of him.

If he ignored them, the consequences would come. Not loudly, not publicly. But they would come.

Baby picked up his tray and satchel, tucking the latter against his side like a shield as he used the former to keep his hands busy. He walked slowly, not out of caution, but because every step was a choice he wished he didn’t have to make.

He wished someone—anyone—had taught him how to refuse.

The closer he got, the more his senses constricted. Magic pulsed from them in silent, sharpened, and contained patterns, making his head ache beneath the pressure. He hated how easily they made him feel like a mistake.

He stopped at the boundary where sunlight faded into their shadows.

For a breath, he stood still, bracing. Trying to make his heartbeat sound like bravado instead of fear.

Then he stepped inside.

Jotek spoke first, though he didn’t bother looking up from the parchment in his hand. His voice was smooth, practiced indifference. “You took your time.”

Baby imagined himself throwing his tray across the table, imagined himself screaming, imagined himself tearing every parchment he had written for them into shreds.

In his imagination, the fantasy lasted seconds.

In reality, he simply lowered his satchel from his shoulder, careful and silent.

He laid down four scrolls, each bound with a different colored thread to match their assignments, their subjects, and their needs. Nothing too flashy, nothing that could draw suspicion, and everything they asked for.

One of Jotek’s lackeys, a pudgy boy named Taejin, unrolled his without hesitation, scanning a few lines before giving a single approving nod. 

“This looks good,” he muttered, as though the words had cost him money.

The girl to Jotek’s left, which Baby assumed was his girlfriend, simply took hers between delicate fingers, eyes never leaving Baby’s face.

Observing. Always observing.

Finally, Jotek set down his parchment and leaned back. He interlocked his fingers behind his head, elbows flaring outward, taking up space the way men like him always did.

“Efficient as usual,” he said, voice silk-wrapped amusement. “You’re quite reliable, Baby.”

Reliable. Not brilliant. Not talented. Not appreciated.

A tool.

Reliability was what you praised in appliances.

Baby felt something twist inside his chest. Something that might once have been pride.

“I should get to eating,” he said in a quiet and non-confrontational voice. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll go.”

He took a measured step backward. Just enough to signal departure. Not enough to seem like he was fleeing.

He expected silence, dismissal, even a passing remark about his magicless-ness.

Instead, he got one word that was spoken in an almost bored voice.

“Stay.”

Jotek didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t threaten. He didn’t even look angry, but the single word held all the power it needed.

Baby’s stomach crawled into a tight little knot.

He stopped, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, he stared down at the shadow that cast from his own body—small compared to the four stretching before him. It struck him how easily shadows could be swallowed by darker ones.

His fingers tightened around the tray’s edge until the metal bit into his skin.

Behind him, he heard their movements. A shift of posture. The faint scrape of a chair. Slow smiles forming.

And Baby inhaled through his nose, preparing himself for whatever came next.

He knew better than to hope it would be kind.

The noise of the cafeteria seemed to quiet the moment Baby turned back to face Jotek. It wasn’t actually any quieter; students still laughed over trays, utensils still clattered, chairs scraped tile in restless legs, but his mind drifted away from all of it, sinking deeper into that dark alcove where reality felt tight and air felt rationed.

Jotek stood now, just slightly, a shift of weight enough to change the atmosphere. Most people would not have noticed. Most people did not live their lives attuned to the smallest swell of power in a room. But Baby felt it; a pulse in the weave, a ripple of attention. Even without looking up fully, he could feel eyes on him from every angle.

His heart thudded too loud in his own ears, a traitor to the calm look he attempted to maintain. He kept his chin level, just above humble, just below prideful. That balance had saved his skin more than once.

Jotek approached, his steps graceful, his presence as cold as carved marble. He had a way of moving that looked effortless, like the world parted for him so he never had to brush against rough edges. His smile was faint, almost fond, the kind reserved for a pet who had learned a new trick.

Baby waited, eyes lowered in something close to deference, but internally? His teeth were grinding.

“What’s the rush?” Jotek asked, tone light as feathers landing on snow. “We haven’t had the chance to talk.”

Baby’s eyes flickered quickly to Zoey—her delighted face as she talked with her crushes, blissfully unaware of the wolves watching from the shadows. He envied her ignorance, just for a moment. Then guilt chased the envy away. He’d rather take every lash himself than let the world find new ways to bruise her.

“I just wanted to make sure my food doesn’t go cold,” Baby said, his voice steady enough to pass inspection. “It’s nothing urgent.”

Jotek gave a small hum, as though charmed by the illusion Baby dared to offer. “Of course. But you have a little more time to spare, don’t you?” His hand lifted, palm up, as if presenting a choice. But the room’s magic pressed tighter, revealing it for what it was: a command.

Baby nodded once. Not a bow. Just enough.

Jotek circled slowly around him, not predatory in appearance; no bared teeth, no snarling threats, yet more dangerous than any beast in the Akma Forest could dream to be. His words, when they came, were gentle.

“We’ve always helped you, if you remember.” he said. “Since the beginning. I remember how lost you looked in your first month here with that brilliant mind but no magic, drowning in expectations you could never hope to meet.”

Baby felt heat crawl up his neck. Not embarrassment. Rage. 

“Others wanted you removed,” Jotek continued. “You know that. A student who can’t cast is not a student at Honmoon. It's a liability. Reputation stains so easily. And you were…quite the stain.”

The anger flared again. Then, memory came unbidden; his first spell attempt in the form of a simple light conjuring had turned the chalkboard into a smoldering sheet of ash.

The professor had taken a step away from him.
And another.
And another.

Fear plastered across their face.

That was the first time Baby realized just how alone he was.

Jotek’s voice pulled him back. “We intervened. We told them your theory knowledge was invaluable. We kept eyes off your failures.”

You didn’t do that for me, Baby thought silently. You did it for the assignments.

But aloud, he only murmured, “Yes. I remember.”

Jotek leaned in, speaking softly. “Good. Gratitude is important.”

The words brushed his skin like silk and sandpaper.

Taejin laughed under his breath, as if Baby’s forced obedience was the punchline to a joke. Jaein’s unblinking gaze stayed locked on him, studying the cracks in his composure like a seamstress taking measurements for a noose.

He flicked his coin once, the metal spinning a lazy arc. It caught the light, reflected it like a blade’s edge. Baby wondered when that coin had become a signal for threat.

Jotek’s tone remained unchanging. “We need a Class Z demon. For Demonic Beasts Studies. You’ll collect one for us tonight.”

There it was. The favor.

Baby kept his breath smooth even as panic tugged at his ribs from the inside. His mind raced through excuses, alternatives, any possible exit. Each one died quickly. They had backed him into this role long ago.

“I’m…limited,” he said carefully, choosing every syllable the way a person chooses where to step in a minefield. “Nighttime is forbidden. The forest—”

“—Is just beyond the walls.” Jotek interrupted without raising his voice. “You are aware of the rules, yes. You know why they matter.” He stepped back, granting a sliver of space that still felt suffocating. “But you also have advantages others don’t.”

Advantages.

His face soured at the word.

“You can feel magic,” Jotek said, as though complimenting a child on a messy drawing. “If danger approaches, you’ll sense it before it reaches you. Before it reaches anyone.”

He made it sound like a gift.

But right now, Baby hated his magic sense more than anything. Feeling every surge, every flicker, every overwhelming and relentless pulse was like a scream threaded through the air at all times.

Yet, he kept his silence.

Jotek took silence as consent.

“We’ve already failed the assignment,” Taejin chimed in, her tone soft but the underlying edge unmistakable. “The deadline is tomorrow morning. We’d rather not be penalized for something…]avoidable.”

Avoidable.

That word stung more than expected, as though all of his struggles were choices he’d simply refused to correct. Baby felt his jaw clench before he controlled it. “I didn’t know you waited until the last moment.”

“You’re clever,” Taejin waved away lazily. “You’ll fix it.”

Baby tried to mutter another excuse, but Jotek’s next topic made him freeze.

“Zoey’s doing quite well this year, isn’t she?” he remarked, tone dipped in fond admiration that didn’t belong to him. “A spark of talent with no proper lineage…It’s refreshing, really. These halls are full of old names and bought success. She’s…pure merit.”

Baby’s chest tightened. Jotek’s compliments were never gifts—they were wrapping paper. You didn’t notice the blade until the bow came undone.

“She’s lucky,” Jotek continued, pacing slowly around Baby the way a lecturer might circle a blackboard. “Not many students without influence survive their first term here. The Academy is…strict. The professors can be unforgiving. One little suspicion of cutting corners, one whisper too many, and—” He snapped his fingers lightly. “A potential expulsion becomes a formality.”

Baby’s grip on his tray hardened. His pulse thrummed so loudly in his ears it felt like another voice.

Jotek smiled, gentle as morning light. “Of course, you and Zoey share all of your study time, don’t you? The same circles, the same table, the same breath. People talk. They wonder how she learned certain runes so quickly…whether she had help she shouldn’t have needed.”

His eyes flicked up to meet Baby’s; serene, unbothered, cruel.

“And she doesn’t deserve that,” Jotek said. “To be dragged down over a misunderstanding. Over someone else’s poor choices.”

The air left Baby’s lungs in a slow, quiet collapse. He felt it, the moment the blade slid beneath his ribs.

Jotek rested a warm hand on his shoulder. His voice softened into a sweetness that tasted like poison. “You can keep her safe, Baby. Do this for us tonight, and she continues to rise.” He gave a smile that bordered on warm, but all Baby felt was pure frost. “Her future stays bright. Isn’t that what you want?”

Zoey wasn’t like them. She didn’t have powerful family names, sponsors, or influence. Jotek’s group could end her future with a smile.

Baby could withstand humiliation. Pain. Threats. He could swallow all of that like broken glass.

But Zoey?

The anger beneath his ribs hardened—a molten core he refused to let spill out. One wrong move and it would sear him instead of them.

He let himself breathe. Once, then twice, then a sigh.

“I’ll do it.”

Baby met Jotek’s eyes, not with defiance, but with a bitter understanding.

You win.

Jotek reached out and laid a hand on Baby’s shoulder. If anyone else did it, the gesture might have been comforting. But here, it was a verdict.

“I knew we could rely on you,” Jotek murmured. His voice held a warmth that froze bone. “It’s so fortunate your loyalty is exactly where it should be.”

Baby didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t flinch or recoil. He simply became stone; a useless, breathing stone.

“Try to avoid getting hurt,” Jotek added as he slid his hand away and returned to his seat. “A dead supplier is a useless one.”

His coin spun again, finalizing the transaction.

Baby remained a moment longer, letting shadows swallow the flicker of fury in his expression before the sunlight could reveal it. Then he picked up his tray and walked away.

Not fast.

Not defeated.

Just…leaving.

The cafeteria sounds rushed back in with waves of laughter, clinking dishes, and casual magic flickering harmlessly under the vaulted ceiling. Students living their lives untouched by quiet wars fought in corners.

Yet each step Baby took felt like he was dragging chains. He navigated the bustle with expressionless efficiency, shoulders squared, hands steady. But inside, the anger burned hot and coiled—a caged flame against ribs that felt too small to contain it.

He saw Zoey laughing awkwardly with her crushes by the dessert line and paused for a breath, watching her from afar. She didn’t notice him, too busy attempting social survival with a tight smile and nervous fiddling of her chopsticks, and that was probably for the best.

Jotek’s words echoed in his head. Her only protection is proximity to you.

Baby turned away before his expression could betray anything as he sat back at their table and took a long moment to stare at his tray. The dumplings had gone cold.

He picked up one and bit through the cold skin anyway.

His frustration tasted of garlic and clenched teeth.

Baby didn’t realize how long he had been staring into nothing until Zoey slipped back into the seat across from him with a tray piled with Bungeoppang far higher than school regulations allowed. Her buns were slightly crooked now—a sign she had either panicked or run—and her cheeks were flushed a nervous pink that had nothing to do with the warmth of the cafeteria.

She beamed, practically vibrating. “I talked to them.”

Baby blinked once, forcing his mind to claw back from dark corners. It took a while, but he was quick to plaster his signature teasing grin. “To the nepo baby and queen candyfloss?”

“Yes!” Zoey whisper-screeched, leaning forward as if the universe might snatch away her success if she didn’t physically hold onto it. “They complimented my handwriting. And my ward ink. And—and I didn’t salute this time!”

Baby let the smile come slow, softening his eyes in a way that made it real, even if only on the surface. “That’s huge. I’m proud of you.”

Zoey ducked her head but peeked up with a grin that trembled on the edges of disbelief, making it fragile. She grabbed a fish pastry and shoved it into her mouth with all the finesse of a starving raccoon. 

“They’re so pretty,” she said around the food, barely swallowing before adding, “Like—disgustingly pretty. Rumi asked if I was new in their division and I considered switching majors on the spot.”

Baby snorted quietly, managing real amusement for a moment. “You’d last a day. Two, if no one asked you to identify a leyline.”

Zoey jabbed her fork at him. “Rude. Accurate. But rude.” Then, after a beat. “They smelled like lilacs and death. Is that a spell? Do you think they enchanted their perfume? Do you think—”

Her voice wavered, and that was what drew Baby’s attention fully back to her.

Zoey was laughing, smiling, glowing even, but her eyes flicked to him again and again between sentences. Searching. Checking. Worried she had missed something.

“Baby,” she said, quieter now, the levity settling into caution. “What happened while I was gone?”

The cafeteria noise swelled back up around them, like the world had been waiting for Zoey’s question to rejoin the moment. Students continued to chatter and clatter and move, but here at their table, silence thickened.

Baby delayed the answer by stabbing at his dumpling. The cold filling felt like chalk in his mouth. He chewed mechanically, giving himself time to build walls. Strong ones.

Zoey didn’t look away.

He swallowed. “I dropped off their assignments.”

She waited.
He didn’t continue.
So she prodded gently.

“And…?”

Baby forced a breath past the weight in his lungs, made himself lean back and adopt the lazy shrug of someone who had spent years pretending nothing touched them.

“And nothing,” he said. “They took them. I left. You survived flirting with your crushes. We just keep having victories back to back today.”

Zoey stared at him like she could see where the polish cracked.

“You’re lying,” she said softly.

Baby didn’t flinch. He couldn’t afford to. “Why would I lie about that?”

“Because your voice does the thing.” She tapped her own throat. “The tiny stutter on vowels. You get that when you’re bothered, but you don’t want to talk about it.”

He cursed inwardly. She was too perceptive for her own safety.

He tried again, lighter this time. “Maybe I’m just hungry and Bungeoppang make me emotional.”

She didn’t buy it, but her gaze softened in that careful, warm stare and didn’t push further. Zoey understood boundaries, even when she hated them.

“Okay,” she said. “But if someone upset you, I want names.”

Baby nearly laughed. Zoey, who cried over squashed ladybugs and panicked when faced with mild confrontation, threatening retribution on his behalf—the absurdity was almost enough to loosen the knots in his chest.

Almost.

“If you’re my only bodyguard,” he teased. “We’d be doomed.”

“Not doomed,” she said firmly. “Chaotically victorious.”

He smiled again, small but sincere. And for a moment, they ate in silence.

Zoey hummed under her breath while she worked through her feast, tossing Baby a fish pastry or five. Every now and then she glanced back at the dessert line where the two fourth-year girls still lingered, laughing together, both breathtaking and untouchable.

Baby could see Zoey trying to replay every moment in her head: Did she seem normal? Did she breathe weirdly? Did she drool? He let her spiral harmlessly through the anxieties that came from having a crush instead of being coerced into dangerous errands.

He envied her.

He glanced back to the shadowed alcove, now empty as its threat was gone for the moment but never truly absent. Their demand clung to him like a stain.

Tonight.
Akma Forest.
Alone.

A Class Z demon wasn’t the problem. He had fought worse with his bare hands. It was the forest at night—its magic free and feral. It would throw itself at his senses like a tidal wave. If he wasn’t careful, the overload could leave him paralyzed or worse.

He knew too what else prowled that forest after dark.

Zoey nudged his arm gently. “You’ll be okay,” she said. “You always are.”

He wondered how long she would believe that. How long until she saw the cracks he had so carefully hidden.

He didn’t want to find out.

So he pushed away from the table and stood. “Come on. We’ll be late for casting.”

Zoey huffed. “Already? Ugh. Fine. But you’re telling me everything eventually.”

He didn’t promise.
He didn’t need to.
She already knew he wouldn’t.

They put their trays away. Zoey slipped back into her usual chatter, pacing herself between panic over the two colorfully-haired beauties and annoyance over classwork.

Baby stayed quiet, letting her voice fill the spaces where fear tried to root in deeper.

His steps carried him farther away from the alcove, but the dread remained, coiling tightly around his ribs like iron vines.

As they crossed the courtyard toward their next class, a cool wind brushed across his face. The wards above shimmered faintly, reacting to the shift in daylight. The afternoon sun glinted off the high spires of Honmoon Academy; beautiful, imposing, and shaped to keep things out.

Or keep things in.

Baby looked toward the distant treeline. From here, the Akma Forest was merely a dark smudge against the mountains, but he could feel it from this distance, that deep, hungry magic pulsing like a heartbeat in the ground.

Waiting.

He reminded himself, firmly and quietly. You’re not doing this for them. You’re doing this for her and for yourself.

He had survived worse odds on the streets long before magic entered his life. Fear was familiar, anger was fuel, and pride, even fractured, could push a body forward.

Zoey skipped a step to keep up with him, her shoulder bumping his. “Hey,” she said, “Can you teach me how to throw a proper punch later? I think it would impress them.”

Baby let out a breath that was almost a laugh.

“Sure,” he said. “But don’t punch them. Just—gesture threateningly.”

Zoey nodded with solemn determination. “Violent vibes. Got it.”

Baby smiled, small and real. He wasn’t alone, not really.

But some paths had to be walked in the dark.

Tonight, he would step into that darkness willingly—with anger wrapped around him like armor, with fear as a silent companion, and the weight of unspoken promises driving him forward.