I stared at the man unconscious in the middle of my living room, then glanced with a bitter taste in my mouth at the empty bottles scattered around. Thirty-five vials of Purity Essence. A fortune that most mages only see in their fever dreams, and this man had inhaled them in a single sitting.
Was the process really that close to disaster? Several times, he nearly slipped, his body twitching on the verge of becoming some grotesque beast, held back only by those vials. I asked myself, 'Was it worth it?'
The answer came instantly: Absolutely. I have to survive. I hope this won't force my mother to descend.
A slight movement caught my eye. The man was stirring. "Michael, get ready," I snapped. "We can't let the experiment fail at the finish line."
Inside, I was praying. I needed to figure out how to smuggle him out of the Academy before the Rituals without smelling like a conspiracy. My entire future was pinned to this lab rat.
The man's eyes flickered open. Confusion clouded his face like a fog over a swamp. He squinted at us, trying to sit up, but his limbs were leaden. He looked at us and rasped:
"Who the hell are you? And where am I?"
I kept my voice like ice. "I am Amanda. This is my servant, Michael."
The man looked at Michael with a strange, tilted gaze. "I thought he was your father."
After that bizarre comment, he looked down, inspecting his hands as if they belonged to a stranger. Finally, he looked back up, lost. "Who am I? Why am I here?"
Disappointment settled in my gut like wet rot. My desperation grew. Is there really no hope for my situation? We expected memory loss, but a total wipe of his identity?
I signalled to Michael to explain. If this man didn't understand his reality now, he was useless—or worse, a liability. Michael began the story. I watched the man's face, hunting for a crack, a sign that he was faking it.
Nothing. He was a blank page. He didn't even flinch at the name Wolfgang.
***
After I processed the "situation," I looked at the servant, Michael.
"So, let me get this straight. You're telling me I lost my mind because of some 'contamination,' that I was a street thug kidnapped by a student, and I've been a trainee in this Academy for over a week?"
Michael nodded. "Yes. You survived the corruption thanks to my Lady. You came out without your memories, but you still owe us the bill for your life and those potions."
I looked at the servant, then at his Lady. "First, I don't see any proof of this 'debt.' Second, from what I gather, I'm not some superhuman yet, right?"
I stared into their cold eyes and kept going. "So how did I get tangled up with a 'mad instructor'? And if this is so dangerous, why isn't your Lady affected, since you say she's a trainee too?"
I narrowed my eyes at Amanda. "And before you open your mouth, let me guess. You'll say: 'I was the one protecting her.' Well, if that's the case, why pull me out of the classroom? You could have saved me there. Why bring me to her house like a bunch of criminals fleeing a crime scene?"
A soft, slow clap echoed from Amanda's side. She smiled for the first time—a sharp, dangerous expression—and pulled up a chair. She took a breath of relief.
"How reassuring... to see you haven't lost everything. Somehow, you've lost your past but kept your teeth."
She pointed a finger at my head. "That's not the talk of a man with a broken brain. Don't worry, I don't doubt your amnesia. If you remembered who you were, the first thing you would have tried to do is run."
I grinned back at her. "And what's that supposed to mean, you little hottie? Were you my enemies or—"
The sound of steel sliding against leather cut me off. Before I could blink, a frozen blade was pressed against my throat.
"Stop, Michael," Amanda said calmly.
I looked at the man holding the sword and sneered. "What? You going to kill me?"
I spat at him, but the spit didn't even travel an inch before it settled near my own neck. I didn't even have the strength to hurl a looger properly.
"Kill me then," I snapped at Michael. "What are you waiting for? This is a pathetic play. I lost my memory, not my human logic."
I glared at Amanda. "Since when does a servant break his mistress's orders? You two obviously rehearsed this cheap act." I felt the rage boiling. "Quit the acting, you sons of b*tches."
Amanda's eyes went wide. Her mouth hung open for a second. "That's not what surprised me," she said after a heartbeat, "though your deduction is impressive. It's the way you talked about my mother."
"If you knew who she was, you'd stitch your mouth shut before insulting her. If the old Russell could see you now, he'd skin you alive himself."
I looked at her with pure boredom. "If he were so legendary, he wouldn't have died. From what I've heard, he was just a coward with a god complex. Why didn't he run when the instructor turned into a monster? Why did he sit there like a lamb for the slaughter? I bet he was paralysed with fear. If I were him, I would've run. At least I'd die trying."
***
As soon as those words left his mouth, I realised he was right. What drew us to Russell wasn't his courage; it was his extreme cowardice and caution. The man had a god complex but was so terrified he avoided Miranda—a girl younger than him with zero authority.
We chose him precisely because of that yellow streak. A coward like Russell wouldn't seek revenge unless he was 100% sure of victory. That's why we dared to tell him to devour those beasts. And he did it, with barely a whimper of resistance. Even with his fear, we expected some fight.
But this new Russell? He's a different beast. This one doesn't seem to fear death at all. He's arrogant, foul-mouthed, and looks at a blade as if it's a toy...