The Academy's Terminally Ill Side Character

I wore jat black coat and mask as I moved through the farm as quietly as possible, avoiding the traps I knew he'd set. I'd read about them in the novel, but seeing them in person was something else—woven nets hidden in the soil, wires disguised as vines, pressure triggers under loose dirt.

Ban wasn't paranoid.

He was… thorough.

If this was how he treated vegetables, I didn't even want to imagine how far he'd go with actual enemies.

I stopped just outside the field, the moonlight casting long shadows over rows of sleeping crops. My mask felt heavier than usual. My fingers tapped against the smooth porcelain, as if to remind myself that the mask was the role now, not me.

When Ban appeared, I didn't even hear him coming.

One moment, there was just wind and rustling leaves. The next, he was standing there—wide shoulders, arms like coiled ropes, eyes scanning me like he could pull me out of my own skin.

"Yeah, I see you're not here for my vegetables," he said, voice steady but edged. "So, what's your business?"

I let the modulator twist my voice into something low and alien.

[There's nothing to fear. I've only come to make a proposal.]

He squinted. "A proposal?"

[Yes. One where you have nothing to lose… and everything to gain.]

His posture shifted, subtle but telling. Not backing down, but no longer ready to strike either. Good—at least I'd bought myself a minute.

"You talk like a traveling merchant," he said, "but you don't smell like one."

That line almost made me break character. Did this guy really sniff people?

[You notice smells?] I asked, tilting my head just slightly, keeping my tone slow and measured.

"I notice everything. Especially the scent of someone who's stepped foot on a farm… or never has."

I had to improvise.

[Then you already know I'm not here to haggle over cabbages.]

His eyes narrowed. "Then why waste my time?"

[Because, unlike others, you have no fixed roots.]

His tone sharpened. "That's not true. Roots run deep, even if you can't see them."

This was the tricky part. I needed to reel him in without sounding like some cult recruiter.

[Ah, but roots can be moved. Transplanted. Given richer soil… better sunlight.]

He didn't flinch, but I could tell the words hit something. Maybe curiosity, maybe suspicion.

"You're not talking about farming anymore, are you?"

[Call it… cultivation of a different kind.]

Ban's eyes flicked toward my hands—sharp, measuring, like he was deciding whether I was a guest worth tolerating or a trespasser worth removing.

The longer we stood there, the more I could feel his patience thinning.

Not yet.

But then, his tone hardened. "Quit circling around and tell me why you're here."

The message was clear—keep stalling and he'd make his move.

…Well. Here goes nothing.

[Alright, I'll get to the point.]

No hesitation. No wavering. Boldness was the only weapon that mattered now.

[Join us. Become our comrade.]

In my head, I pictured myself not as some wandering negotiator, but as the mastermind who pulled the strings of the academy, an executive of a secret society whose influence seeped into every shadow. Someone far above the reach of the farmer standing in front of me.

"…A comrade?"

[Yes. Take His hand, and He will grant you what you desire.]

Of course, there was no "Him." There was no shadowy godlike figure backing me. But it sounded better than admitting I was the top of the ladder. Mystery was leverage. And I had a plan—so in a sense, it wasn't entirely a lie.

"…Can I ask a few questions first?"

[As many as you like. If you are chosen by Him, you have the right to question me.]

Surprisingly, the words rolled out of my mouth without effort—smooth, confident. It was like something inside me had been waiting for this moment.

No… it couldn't be, right?

"Then my first question," Ban said, his voice steady despite the sweat glistening at his temple, "since you said 'we,' am I right to assume there are others at your level in this… organization?"

Why did he look so tense?

-It's the mask.

The voice came from my jet-black tailcoat—or rather, from Lan, who had shifted into the shape of my tailcoat.

'The mask?' I thought back.

-Yes. The mask's perception interference makes the energy of your relics bleed together, like they're all yours. To him, you don't just seem strong—you seem… dangerous.

'I don't really get the details, but that's a good thing, right?'

-It is. It's setting the perfect mood. To him, you probably reek of something sinister.

…Interesting.

He didn't know it, but I could feel the heat of his stare even through the porcelain.

Ban stood like the earth itself had raised him there—steady, immovable. If I wanted to sway him, I'd have to tilt his ground without him noticing.

His question was a probe, not an invitation. He wasn't curious; he was calculating—mapping me out like a trap he hadn't sprung yet.

I let the silence stretch, just long enough for him to start wondering if I'd answer at all.

Then I shifted my head slightly, so the moonlight caught the mask at an angle that obscured my eyes completely.

[Yes.]

My voice came out slow, deliberate.

[Others exist. Some greater than me. Some… lesser.]

That wasn't strictly true, but ambiguity is a blade sharper than honesty.

His jaw moved like he was grinding a thought between his teeth. "And why would someone like you come here? To me?"

[Because certain roots grow better away from prying eyes. And you—] I let my gaze flick over him once, measured but unhurried. [—have been cultivating yourself in silence for too long.]

A gust of wind rustled the crops between us. His hand twitched toward the small knife at his belt—not to draw it, but to remind me it was there.

"That's a flowery way of saying nothing," Ban said.

[Sometimes nothing is exactly what's needed before planting something new.]

He didn't like that answer. I could see it in the subtle tightening of his grip.

The mask's perception haze was working; I could feel his instincts screaming at him to place me in a box, but every time he tried, the shape shifted.

Zaho Yuren voice curled in my mind like smoke.

-He's halfway there. Keep feeding him mystery, not answers.

I almost smiled under the mask.

Ban exhaled through his nose, sharp but controlled. "If I refuse?"

[Then you'll keep tending your fields, setting your traps, waiting for a storm you can't stop.] I stepped forward—not enough to breach his perimeter, but enough for the soil between us to feel smaller. [And when that storm comes, you'll wonder if maybe you should have taken my hand.]

His eyes didn't blink. Neither did mine.

In the moonlight, I saw it—not surrender, not trust, but the faintest bend in the steel of his posture.

The first crack.

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Author Note:

Thank you for reading the chapter. I hope you continue to do read more in future.

It's my first novel so if there's any kind of mistakes you find in the novel related to grammar please tell me and I'll edit it as soon as possible.