SMASH or PASS

The hallway between classes was where the predators lived.

I stepped out of the lecture hall into a corridor of women who’d been sitting in a room with me for ninety minutes and had spent eighty of them looking at me.

Four seconds. That’s how long the hallway was peaceful.

"Hi! I’m Vivienne. I noticed your handwriting is really neat."

"Thanks."

Vivienne had sharp, clever silver eyes and a cascade of white hair pinned back with a silver clip shaped like a feather. Her figure was slight but carried with the confidence of someone who’d never been told no.

"Would you like to study together? I have a private study room. My family donated it to the academy."

"That’s generous."

"It has a lock on the door." She smiled. The smile was a precision instrument. "For privacy. While studying. Room 206. Any evening."

Before I could respond, a second woman materialized beside me.

"You’re the commoner, right? Terrible mana score?"

"That’s me."

"Good. I prefer men who aren’t threatening." She pressed an embossed card into my hand. Family crest. Gold leaf. "Talia. I heard about you from my sister, Thalia. I’m in the Combat fundamentals. Third row. I’m available for tutoring. In the Evenings at least. My dormitory is in the southern red building. Room 14."

Talia had broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and powerful thighs that strained the seams of her uniform skirt. Her blonde hair was cropped short enough to reveal the shaved undercut beneath, and a faint white scar cut through her left eyebrow.

"I’m sorry but—"

She walked away before I could answer. Her stride was confident.

"...?" She must have planned this. As I saw her blushing as she left.

◇◇◇

A note appeared on my person. Not handed to me. Slipped into my bag by someone whose hands were fast enough that I didn’t feel the intrusion. I found it when I reached for my textbook.

"You’re cute. Meet me after class? Three rows ahead, red hair. ~ Estelle ♥"

I looked up. Three rows ahead, a woman with red hair turned and wiggled her fingers.

She had a mane of fiery copper hair that fell in loose curls to the small of her back. Her eyes were pale grey, almost silver, and her lips curved into a practised, knowing smirk. A dusting of freckles across her nose gave her an almost innocent look that her smile quickly undid.

Red flag. That’s the same chick the young-asshole warned me about.

Then I found another note. Different handwriting. "My family owns a tea house. Wanna come for an afternoon tea? no expectations. ~ Amelie, row twelve."

There was also a third piece of paper. Not a note. A drawing. Of me. Sitting at my desk during Mana Theory. The artist had captured my posture, my hand position, the angle of my jaw holding the pen. It was good. Actually good. There was also a small note on the back. "Seat number in the corner: Row 5, Seat 14. Let’s talk~"

I looked at the drawing. The artist had talent. She’d captured the shadow of concentration on my face during the exam questions with a few economical pencil strokes. Whoever she was, she’d been watching me closely enough to draw from memory.

◇◇◇

A woman walked past and pressed a lavender-scented hair ribbon into my hand without stopping.

All I saw was a flash of pale blonde hair, almost white, and a glimpse of lilac-coloured eyes that didn’t meet mine.

"...Can I help you?"

"..." She didn’t give me a reply.

No name. No note. Just ribbon and perfume and then she was gone. I couldn’t even identify which direction she’d come from.

◇◇◇

A servant in formal house livery found me in the corridor. She was dressed better than most students. "From the Lady Ashford. An invitation to dinner at the family estate. At your earliest convenience." Sealed letter. Wax crest. Heavy paper. Stationery that cost more per sheet than my daily lunch.

’Alright... this might be getting a little too much.’

◇◇◇

Another woman stopped directly in front of me. Tall. Athletic. Uniform stretched across broad shoulders. She looked at me without smiling.

"My name is Kira. I’m in the combat track. I arm-wrestle during lunch hour. Do you arm-wrestle?"

Kira’s frame was solid, with muscled arms and a square jaw that made her look like she could crack walnuts with her grip. Her dark brown skin was smooth, and she had a very long dark hair. Her smile was a slow, deliberate thing that never quite reached her eyes.

"I haven’t had the opportunity."

"Then let’s grab a lunch together. Tomorrow. West corridor alcove. I’ll bring a table." She walked away. I wasn’t sure if that was flirtation or a genuine athletic challenge.

In this academy, the two categories seemed to overlap significantly.

◇◇◇

A woman I recognized from the Mana Theory lecture approached. She’d been sitting in row three, front section. Noble posture. Expensive accessories. She carried herself with the directness of someone whose mother had coached her on approach strategy.

"Good afternoon. I’m Celeste of House Aldric. Yes, as in Professor Aldric Morne. He’s my grandfather."

Celeste had aristocratic, fine-boned features and dark, glossy hair pinned in an elaborate twist. Her eyes were a pale, icy blue, and her posture was so rigidly perfect it seemed she’d been measured for it. A silver locket bearing the Morne crest rested at her throat, and her nails were manicured to mirror-like polish.

’...!?’

Well that’s a big catch.

"...Your grandfather wrote the textbook?"

"He wrote several textbooks. He also sits on the academy’s board of governors. He’s very interested in anomalous students." She let that word hang. Anomalous. "Your written score was extraordinary. Your practical score was the opposite. My grandfather would call that a data point worth investigating."

"Is this your grandfather talking or you?"

"Both. He’d like to meet you. And I..." She adjusted a strand of hair that didn’t need adjusting. "I’m curious about anomalous things. It runs in the family."

She handed me a card. Different from Thalia’s. This one had a family crest and the words "Academic Review Board" embossed in gold.

"My family’s study hall is open on Thursdays. Third floor, west wing. If you’re interested in discussing mana theory at a level above the curriculum, you’re welcome."

She walked away. Composed. Measured. No urgency. She’d delivered her pitch and was leaving the decision to me.

Pixia: "The granddaughter of Aldric Morne just invited you to a private study session. That’s either a remarkable coincidence or she was assigned to approach you by a man who noticed the same thing about your written scores that I noticed about your mana flow." She paused. "Either way, accept the invitation. Morne’s personal library is reputed to contain manuscripts he never published. Your needle technique would benefit from his unpublished work."

◇◇◇

Between second and third class, three more approaches. A woman who offered to carry my textbooks (I declined; I could carry my own textbooks, thank you very much.). A woman who sat down next to me on a corridor bench and began eating her lunch without speaking, simply occupying the space beside me with the persistence of someone who’d decided proximity was a good enough strategy. And a woman who asked if I could tutor HER in analytical reasoning because she’d heard I finished the exam an hour early and she was struggling with the logic section.

The tutoring request was the first approach that felt genuine. She wasn’t really flirting. So I told her I’d think about it.

Pixia: "You said ’I’ll think about it’ again. Helena is going to be furious when she finds out you use that phrase on everyone, not just her."