Testing for Commonness

Alice bolts upright in bed, scanning her surroundings in a panic. A cold sweat prickles her skin beneath her nightdress, and her heart races, seemingly stuck in her throat. Yet there are no constricting hands gripping her, no oppressive presence behind her — just darkness punctuated by the glow of the moon. That haunting dream is back again.

With a weary groan, she lies back down. She takes deep breaths to steady herself, massaging her sore shoulder; she must have jerked it violently in her sleep. It doesn't matter; this will soon come to an end. Her opportunity for revenge on Demont is nearly within her grasp.

"Princess," Kara, her roommate, says as she lifts her head from the pillow. "You haven't had a nightmare for a long time. This is all because of that weakling! You shouldn't have gone for a walk with him, it only stirred up unnecessary emotions."

"Arthur is not a weakling."

"As you wish," Kara grumbles. "But why this commoner? Why not Axel? Rich ancestral lands, ancient baronial blood. Eugene would move mountains for you!"

Kara comes from untitled petty nobility, but sometimes her pride makes her seem as if she came from a line of counts or princes.

"Eugene can't handle Rowdy," Alice sighs. "I like him, but he's too soft. I need a protector."

"And what kind of protector are you going to get from the wretched?"

"Stop it," Alice snaps, pulling the pillow out from under her and throwing it at her annoying friend. "Arthur is a champion, whatever his bloodline."

It doesn't help.

"Come to your sense, Princess. You'll only tarnish your reputation by being with him. His energy centers were tested during the medical examination when he enrolled. They're empty. All of them: Root Chakra, Sacral Chakra, Solar Plexus Chakra, Surma Chakra, and the rest!"

"How did you find that out?" Alice asks.

"Dager found out and posted the information in our chat group for nobles only. See for yourself. Now the whole cohort is betting on when he'll be expelled."

"Well then, place a bet for me too. Let's say a hundred dollars," the princess says, her eyes tracing the dark spots on the moon.

She doesn't want to visit this cesspool. The less mud she reads, the better. She easily imagines how those so-called noble individuals talk about Arthur behind his back.

"You bet?"

"He'll never be expelled."

"Princess." Kara sighs heavily. "You already keep to yourself. Don't make it worse. They won't understand."

"Do it." Alice insists.

"All right, but be ready—"

"For sniggering behind my back? I've been ready for this for a long time."

They've already been laughing at her. That day in the arena when the sophomore Rowdy humiliated her is etched in her memory. It was a whole year ago, but it doesn't matter. There's no statute of limitations on trampled honor. Only blood will wash away the shame. Only a crushing victory will restore her good name.

***

So, here I am on my second day at the Academy, sitting in class and listening intently to our Korean teacher. Though he's teaching entirely in a foreign language, I'm catching on to every word. Thankfully, I've landed in a language-focused course, dodging the complexities of economics or natural sciences. Unlike Arthur the Imp, I didn't even finish school. From the age of twelve, my life revolved around slaying demons. But I can manage languages. My quest to track down the High Demons has taken me all over the Terrifying World, including a six-month stint in Korea. So, I can speak it to some extent, even if my grasp of the grammar isn't perfect.

During the break, a pencil slips off the desk of the girl to my right. It rolls across the floor, coming to a stop at the front of the classroom.

"What a shame," the red-haired beauty says and glances my way. "You're Arthur, right? Could you help me?"

As if orchestrated, the whole class pivots to look at us, and the room goes silent. I take this moment to really observe her. She has a lovely tan, a graceful décolleté, and a fitted school blouse that flatters her modest bosom. Her slender legs, encased in black tights, seem to stretch on forever. Given my past of enduring countless grueling hours in ambushes — waiting for Tyrannazes to appear — I have an abundance of patience. So, I leisurely let my gaze travel from her ankles up to where her legs vanish beneath her skirt. Interestingly, my blatant scrutiny doesn't seem to disturb her. Her posture remains impeccable, and her gestures are unaltered. That, I suppose, is a mark of true aristocracy.

"You're looking in the wrong direction." She raises an eyebrow. "The pencil is on the other side."

"Exactly," I agree. "On the other side of the room. Why don't you ask the guys at the blackboard?"

A group of students are standing there, watching the situation unfold. Among them are former members of Arthur's team — the blond and the green-haired guy. The rest of Arthur's crew also made it to the Academy but were assigned to different classes.

"Well, you are a commoner," she retorts, fluttering her eyelashes. "You should learn to serve the nobility. It's your duty. Consider this practice."

"I see," I say. "Do they also teach nobles the virtue of self-reliance?"

She snorts in displeasure, her eyes narrowing.

This is undoubtedly the first test of my mettle, and I'm certain there will be more to come. But I have no intention of backing down. What's the worst that could happen? She challenges me to a duel? She may even be a Warrior, but I highly doubt she'd escalate things over a mere pencil. Then again, who knows? And frankly, I couldn't care less. Sooner or later, someone's bound to challenge me — to show the crippled commoner his place. And judging by Stan's comments, my place is at the feet of the local nobility.

This isn't my first rodeo when it comes to trials for joining a different 'team.' I once nearly aligned myself with a group of demon hunters. They were a tough crew, and I would've steered clear had the situation not forced my hand. But they were the only ones who knew the whereabouts of the demons-xinus egg nests —hundreds of thousands of unhatched monstrosities that could plunge the world into unprecedented chaos. I knew I couldn't trust the gang to take care of it, so I applied to join them. The initiation trials were nothing short of brutal: a knife fight, procuring the head of a Nosorgius, consuming a bowl of hallucinogenic gruel without dying. But the final straw was when they ordered me to kill a human child. That's where I drew the line. I ended up taking down the entire gang single-handedly, and their leader only spilled the beans about the nest locations after enduring a lengthy torture session. I proceeded to destroy the eggs alone. Turned out I wasn't much of a team player.

"I have a backache," the red-haired girl snorts. "Does that answer satisfy you?"

"It does," I reply, my lips curling into a subtle smile.

"Then will you help?" There is mockery in her eyes.

"Of course."

I stand up, walk quickly over to her and stop behind her. My hands drop to her shoulders and grip her lightly. I feel her flinch.

"What are you doing?" She says in a shock.

"Helping you," I answer calmly. "Like you said, I'm learning to serve the nobility. Is that better? Does your back feel lighter?"

My hands knead her shoulders, then slide lower to smooth out the tight muscles.

"What the hell?" She mutters softly, glancing at the stunned students around us.

I pinch the area around her waist. She flinches. With a confident movement, I gently pull her back.

"Stop squirming and relax or it won't do any good," I say, ignoring her words.

Some classmates are rubbing their eyes, others have their jaws dropped to the floor. One chubby boy is even blushing with excitement — probably imagining himself in my shoes.

"Is he crazy?" the boy at the blackboard whispers.

"Definitely. He's massaging Gruson like she's a peasant girl in a barn... She'll tear him apart."

"Idiot."

"RIP that kid."

"We should change the bet: after a beating from Gruson, he'll probably leave the academy by the end of the week. If he survives, of course."

My fingers slide along the girl's spine. Gently rubbing between her shoulder blades, I ask,"I think I've removed any potential areas of discomfort. How do you feel? Better?"

"Yes," she whispers.

I glance at her face and notice she's genuinely flushed, her cheeks mirroring the vivid red of her flowing hair. Her lips, slightly parted, breathe in and out slowly as she tries to regain her composure. I see the internal conflict in her eyes. She was the one who complained about a sore back, after all. To strike a commoner for offering aid would contradict her own statement. In the circles of nobility, your word is your bond, and deceit is typically met with dire consequences. Even though this situation may not fit that extreme mold, these ingrained principles, learned since childhood, are difficult to shake off.

"All right then," I say, patting her shoulder. "Now you can pick up the pencil yourself. If your back hurts again, don't hesitate to ask for help. As you said, it's my duty."

"Thank you," she murmurs, trying to make the unexpected incident seem like my gracious service.

"I hope the quality of service met your expectations," I say, nodding, and leave the classroom.