A Regressor's Guide to Hunting in the Academy

Chapter 12

“All right, let’s call it there for today.”

One week since the first lecture.

Fortunately, the students were keeping up with Henrik’s pace.

Except...

“......”

One student watched him in silence.

The freshmen’s top entrant, Grimory.

Her gaze felt heavier than a textbook. She followed every word, yet her eyes said she was mining for something else.

“Grimory, something on your mind?”

She shook her head.

“Not yet, Professor.”

‘Yet?’

Henrik almost pounced on the word, then let it go.

“Fine. Dismissed.”

He glanced at her hat-an oversized, wide-brimmed thing straight out of a witch story.

Seeing it, he knew her schedule.

“You’ve got a Department of Magic lecture now, I take it?”

She nodded.

“Yes, right this minute. I’ll save my questions for next time.”

“Good. Time’s a currency-spend it wisely. I like that attitude.”

As he praised her, Amecitia raised a timid hand.

“Carmine and I... we’ve got the next class too...”

She trailed off, guilty sparks in her eyes.

Henrik turned to Carmine first.

“Carmine, what’s next on your slate?”

“Astrology, then alchemy.”

“Tight window. Off you go.”

“Yes, sir.”

Carmine bowed and left; Grimory followed, silent as a shadow.

Quiet fell.

Only Henrik and Amecitia remained.

He sighed and walked over; she fidgeted, stealing glances.

“Auditing again?”

“......”

Ever since she’d declared demonology as her major, Henrik had memorized her timetable.

Which meant her next slot was...

‘Empty.’

He knew she still couldn’t let go of basic magic and sneaked in to listen. Passion was admirable, but another magic lecture would do her zero good, and saying so would only waste breath. Some lessons have to be lived, not lectured.

“Amecitia.”

She answered in a mouse-voice.

“Y-yes...?”

“You’re running laps with me today.”

“Professor, please. We sprint the yard every single day. Is this really training or just torture?”

“It’s training.”

He turned to leave; she blocked the door.

“What are you plotting?”

“Stamina, stamina, stamina! A Demonic Swordsman is still a swordsman who casts spells-why must I live on a track? Even if endurance matters, I’ve already banked enough!”

Henrik pondered, then sidestepped her and stepped out.

“Maybe you’ll understand why after today. I’ll wait outside-gear up and join me.”

With that cryptic line he exited; Amecitia kicked the door shut behind him.

“Then just tell me the reason!”

Her shout echoed through the empty room. The only witness was her own throbbing toe.

* * *

“Morning, class-homework done?”

Department of Magic Building, first-floor classroom.

The Basic Magic Theory professor beamed at the freshmen.

“No need to call roll for Grimory, I see.”

He smiled at the familiar hat perched in the back row. Behind it, whispers flew.

“Told you-pay up. Ten fairy tales, now.”

“Ugh, I thought she’d switch hats today.”

The hat had become a daily betting pool: which shape would show up? Grimory didn’t care. Better they wager on felt and feathers than ask why she never took it off.

“Hey, Grimory-what’s tomorrow’s hat?”

The red-haired girl beside her leaned in.

Grimory flicked her a sideways glance.

“Haven’t decided. Speaking of schedules, shouldn’t you be sprinting laps with Professor Henrik?”

“Forget it. I’m done decoding his riddles.”

“......?”

Amecitia, still tailing her to audit magic lectures. Grimory found the tag-along equal parts worrying and wearisome.

For a week straight, Amecitia had been clinging to Grimory like burrs on wool.

She claimed she just wanted to get close to the top-scoring prodigy, but Grimory couldn't decode her actual game plan-every question the girl asked was either bizarre or flat-out rude.

Should I call her clueless?

At least the intentions weren't malicious.

"Can't you just give me a heads-up about tomorrow's hat?"

"..."

"I'll pay you if I win the pool."

Grimory had already warned her after the demonology opener, yet Amecitia kept barreling past boundaries like they were imaginary.

People who ignore social scripts are exhausting.

Grimory tilted her brim, blocking Amecitia's puppy-eyed stare.

"Yo, check it out-the insubordinate swordsman."

"She couldn't even register. Why show up?"

"Auditing, obviously. Plenty come just to listen, credits be damned."

The whispers rippled through the room. Magic Department capped its courses at thirty, but at least fifty bodies were wedged between the desks, all in the name of "free learning." The professors barely blinked; the academy preached academic liberty, and they practiced what they preached.

"Grimory, you're a commoner-how do you even cast?"

Amecitia leaned closer, voice sticky with curiosity.

Is she really this dense?

Grimory flicked her a sideways glare, but the girl's eyes sparkled with nothing worse than genuine wonder.

"No idea. Mystery to me too."

She pulled the pendant from her collar, letting it catch the light.

"Orphanage raised me. Never met the donors."

Amecitia lit up. "But talent's blood-bound! One parent had to be a mage, maybe both-"

Smack! A piece of chalk clipped her forehead.

"No chatting during lecture!"

The Magic Professor lowered his hand.

"Audit all you like, just don't derail my class."

"Yes, sir... sorry, sir..."

Amecitia deflated, sinking into her seat while the professor resumed scribbling runes on the board.

"She's gonna pick a fight with him again, mark me."

"Probably. Wonder what he'll make her do this time."

"She's already sprinting the training yard daily. Next penalty'll be bunny-hops in full armor."

The snickers from the back row made Amecitia's head droop lower. Grimore clicked her tongue and returned to her notes, pen scratching across parchment.

A prickle crawled across her neck-someone watching from the corridor.

...

Henrik.

He stood outside the window, expression unreadable, gaze fixed on Amecitia. She kept scribbling, oblivious, muttering formulas under her breath.

Should I warn her?

Grimory frowned, annoyed at her own hesitation, then nudged Amecitia's ribs.

"What?"

"Your fan club's waiting by the window."

Amecitia glanced out-and snapped back around so fast her braid whipped Grimory's cheek. She stared wild-eyed at her notes, legs jittering under the desk.

Did Henrik already chew her out? But he looked calm, almost... proud?

Just checking on his star truant. Didn't know he cared that much.

Grimory forced her attention back to the lecture. Five minutes. Ten. Sweat beaded her hairline; the man still hadn't moved.

What's his endgame here?

Whispers spread; heads swiveled between Henrik in the hall and Amecitia at her desk. The buzz grew until Grimory risked another look.

Yep. Amecitia was sheet-white, sweat dripping off her chin. Their eyes met; Amecitia's hand shot out, clamping onto Grimore's sleeve.

"Grimory."

"Why are you grabbing me?"

The girl's grin looked more like a grimace.

"Professor wants you too. Said to bring you."

"Excuse me?"

"He mentioned a question. Probably easier if we both go."

Oh, please.

Grimory snorted. "You think I'll fall for that? Even if he asked, I can wait until class ends."

"Come on, kill two birds-he'll appreciate the efficiency."

"Unlike you, my grade actually depends on this lecture."

SWACK!

Two pieces of chalk sliced through the air and smacked Grimory and Amecitia on the head. Chairs toppled with a crash, and every eye in the room snapped toward the source of the commotion-not at the girls, but at the Professor of Magic.

"Both of you, out-now!"

The professor, furious at the constant disruption, pointed at the door.

"Amecitia, you are barred from this lecture from now on. Auditing is your right, but disturbing my class is not."

"Professor!" Amecitia pleaded with wet eyes, but the professor's anger was beyond appeal. She shuffled out, shoulders sagging.

Grimory gave the professor an apologetic bow. "I-I’m sorry. I’ll reflect on this and do better. Please, just this once..."

"Grimory, choose your friends more carefully."

"...Yes, ma'am."

Inside, Grimory wanted to scream, We're not even friends!

But that simply wasn't her style.

She glanced toward the window; Henrik's seat was already empty.

With a quiet sigh, Grimory stepped into the hallway and let the door swing shut behind her.