Until Aiwass began teaching, Isabel hadn’t appeared in her seat.
She’d promised to attend his lecture and paint his portrait.
Her absence left Aiwass slightly disappointed.
But he set his feelings aside and focused on assisting Professor Bard. Teaching deepened his own understanding.
The lesson was about Star Antimony, covering Valentin I’s impact on the kingdom, spiced with anecdotes from his life.
These weren’t ga secrets—Valentin I, a commoner-turned-founder, had more folk tales than historical records.
This was Aiwass’s self-study for the week. He’d been reviewing Star Antimony’s language through Valentin I’s biography. Though fluent enough to read Alchemical Cryptography, his reading speed was slow. Language needed constant practice to avoid fading.
Fortunately, Aiwass learned quickly.
He’d finished General Ritual Studies and was nearly done with Valentin I.
This week, he planned to borrow and complete Exegesis of the Six Classics and Treatises on Corpse Liberation.
Both were Imperial-era texts on the Adaptation and Dusk Paths, written in Star Antimony’s near-identical Imperial tongue.
The forr overviewed six Adaptation Path skills—traps, assassination, poison, dicine, deception, and divination—while the latter was an introductory necromancy text.
Though not Secret Tos, they held mystical knowledge.
The best way to hide his true Path affinity was to borrow books on all Paths. With his speed, nothing was wasted.
Halfway through the lecture, Aiwass noticed students glancing toward the door.
He looked back twice, seeing nothing, but suspicion grew. During a water break, he caught Isabel’s head peeking silently from the front door.
Bard, clearly aware, had pretended not to notice. Only when Aiwass spotted her did the old professor chuckle.
During the break, Aiwass had Lily wheel him out.
“Why not co in? Isn’t it tiring painting outside?”
He tried to glance at Isabel’s canvas to see her work.
“Wait, don’t look!”
Isabel reached to cover it, but her small hands couldn’t. The wet paint and lack of a cover made it tricky.
She resorted to covering Aiwass’s eyes, whispering, “Wait till it’s done… Half-finished magical paintings look awful.”
“Fair enough,” Aiwass agreed easily.
He wasn’t overly curious—if she didn’t want him to see, he wouldn’t look.
After ensuring he wouldn’t peek, Isabel slowly lowered her hands.
Aiwass opened his eyes to see her cheeks slightly flushed—perhaps from the close contact or the cold.
“Not coming in? It’s freezing out here,” he asked softly. “Didn’t you say you’d audit my class? You can’t hear anything from outside.”
“…The canvas is too big, and I’ve got paints and potions,” Isabel said, troubled. “I’d take up several seats, and the paint might stain others’ clothes, causing trouble.
Plus, I worry soone in the front row might bump my table and ruin a stroke. So, I stayed outside—the sunlight’s nice anyway.”
“Then paint by the podium,” Aiwass suggested. “It’s too cold out here. You’ll catch a cold.”
It had rained all day yesterday, leaving today damp. Late November’s chill had reddened Isabel’s fingers.
I’d say, ‘If I catch a cold, you can heal ,’ she thought.
Knowing “Fox” was Aiwass, she trusted his Illumination skill. Even before enrolling, his right-hand Illumination was priest-level, easily curing minor ailnts like colds.
But she kept quiet.
Saying it might seem childish, overly reliant, like a little girl.
She knew such behavior would earn indulgence now, but she’d grow up, lose her youthful charm, and beco a burden—especially as a royal, potentially a future queen. That could spark national resentnt.
Isabel’s ideal self was mature, resolute, reliable, and charismatic, effortlessly trusted and admired, like Aiwass, Haina, or her grandmother—the undeniable center of any crowd.
Aiwass faced reporters’ toughest questions with confident, perfect answers, his eyes gleaming, unshaken by jealousy or malice.
She strove to be like that but felt far behind, leaving her a bit dejected.
Today, seeing Aiwass teach, he was exactly as she’d imagined.
His lips curved upward, exuding warmth and ease; his voice was clear, pleasant, and strong. Though seated, his expressive gestures and rhythmic speech captivated students, sparking gasps or laughter.
A lecture leaving students wanting more—she’d never heard of such a thing. It was like a performance or a stirring speech.
The last ti she saw this was the Grand Protector’s twenty-minute oration, electrifying the crowd.
But that relied on the Authority Path’s “Leadership” skill, including command, inspiration, and pacification. Aiwass achieved it with words alone.
Maybe he has Authority Path talent, she thought.
Could he take an Authority Path profession?
The idea struck her: lacking Authority affinity herself, she could entrust the kingdom’s power to soone trustworthy with that Path.
Wait, that’s…
Lost in thought, she flinched as Aiwass leaned forward, placing a hand on her forehead. Warm light mana flowed, soothing her chilled forehead.
Feeling the light mana, she snapped out of her reverie, expression tightening.
“No fever…” Aiwass said, bemused. “Why the daze?
Stand out here longer, and you will get sick.
I know you’re shy about being watched. But don’t you want to be like , speaking confidently to a crowd? You need to get closer to learn.
Observe , observe them, place yourself in the scene. Like actors draw from life, you need to watch closely to gain the courage you want, right?”
He gently urged Isabel.
Saying, “You’ll get used to being stared at,” might make her doubt herself.
But framing it as, “Watch to gain courage,” would focus her on him, letting her gradually adapt to scrutiny and realize it’s no big deal.
Before she could respond, Aiwass leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, “By the way, you know… Sherlock’s fine, right?”
“…I know,” Isabel replied instinctively. “Teacher told but said not to interfere. He’ll be at next month’s advancent ritual… You knew too?”
“Good,” Aiwass’s lips curved. “If I pull a Sherlock next week, don’t worry about .”
“You too…?”
Isabel was surprised.
After a mont’s thought, she said earnestly, “Need my help?”
“…Help with what?”
Her response caught Aiwass off guard.
Emboldened, Isabel tested, “I could help you stage it… make your plan more convincing? You know I’m a [Polymath]… Since the last ritual, I’ve started studying performance.”
She hesitated, lowering her voice. “Or maybe not… I might ss it up…”
“No,” Aiwass interrupted. “I do need you, Isabel. Badly.”
She looked up, eting his radiant, sunrise-like eyes.
He smiled encouragingly. “I really need you. If you perform well, it’ll help imnsely. If this goes smoothly, by next month’s ritual, you’ll fully shine.”
So I won’t be a burden?
She didn’t want to be a decorative vase, a protected liability. She wanted to be a reliable ally, like Aiwass.
Isabel’s gaze hardened. “I’ll do it.”
A clear resolve ford: she’d complete this task, no matter what.
“Then co inside, Isabel,” Aiwass said, signaling Lily to open the door. “You’ll face far more scrutiny then. This isn’t practice—it’s learning; not training, but a trial. Emulate , bear their gazes—can you do it?”
“I can,” she answered without hesitation.
She followed Aiwass into the classroom. This ti, she painted until the end.
Despite curious, teasing, or nosy stares from classmates, her hand didn’t tremble. Every stroke was perfect.
She surprised herself with her steadiness.
It was like waking from a dream, the world suddenly clear.
When she resolved to “do it no matter what,” the once-sharp gazes couldn’t touch her.
Others’ malice and scrutiny were just a rainstorm.
Before, she’d tried shielding herself, only to look pathetic and weak.
Now, with a goal, she realized the rain was just rain. Compared to true crises, it was nothing—weak, laughable to the strong.
Her heart had been too fragile, her spirit too delicate, to fear it.
Rain could wilt flowers, but she could be more than a flower.
As the second hourglass emptied, Isabel’s final stroke fell.
The painted Aiwass raised his hand, his profile confident, spirited, eyes blazing—not in a classroom, but against a fiery red-purple sunset.
Staring at her work, Isabel resolved:
One day, I’ll walk into the rain laughing, like him.
(End of Chapter)
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