They announced their arrival and were swiftly escorted to the center of the room. Six other seminar members joined the upperclassman who’d recruited them.
The upperclassman smiled at them across a table covered in documents. “Welcome to our humble seminar,” he said. “I didn’t expect a decision so soon! Such good news.”
With that warm greeting, he began making introductions. Oliver and Katie gave their own names and shook hands with each member in turn. With those pleasantries out of the way, they were led to the document table.
“Ordinarily, we’d love to hold a party and get to know each other, but from what I saw last time, you’d much rather learn,” the upperclassman said. “We’ve prepared accordingly. I thought we’d bury your heads in these books—unless you have any objections?”
“N-none! Exactly what I want!” Katie hopped into her seat, thirsty for knowledge, and Oliver settled in next to her. Their uncontained appetite earned them smiles.
“Most promising. Tír creatures themselves are highly dangerous, and credentials and permissions for handling anything in this field are a snarled mess. If you don’t have a grasp of those, you can’t even reach the start line, but at this stage, nobody wants to waste a bunch of time on technicalities. In other words, we’re about to cram.”
The upperclassman glanced at the other members, and they brought in massive wooden boxes, plopping them down on the table flanking the new arrivals. Wands waved to open the lids; inside were rows of potions. Oliver let out a squeak—this was clearly a test of his mettle.
“Focus potions are on the house. Classic perk of almost any seminar, nothing to get worked up about. Let’s get going—if I move too fast for you, just say the word. Until you do, I’m going flat out. If it’s any comfort, I haven’t slept in three days just to prep this curriculum for you.”
That quiet smile spoke volumes.
From then until very late that night, Oliver and Katie would have the term cram redefined.
✦ ✦ ✦
Meanwhile, in another part of the school, Guy was grappling with a new field of his own.
“…Ngh…!”
In a darkened, closed-off interior, he was passing curse energy to the receptacle before him. Curse energy fundamentally preferred animate hosts, but it was possible to magically doctor objects like dolls and trick the energy into believing that receptacle was alive. It did not take long for the curse to corrupt and disintegrate such receptacles, so they could not be used to store the energy, but for wrangling exercise, they sufficed. Working with living things was a closer match to practical applications—but improving his craft did not seem like a fair trade for the consequences of that. It was an approach ill-suited for Guy’s character.
The assignment complete, he paused and turned around.
“…How’s that? Switched up the conduit and channel. Like you said.”
“…Hmm…” Eyes on the crumbling receptacles behind him, the substitute curse instructor, Zelma, folded her arms. “…Exceptional. You sailed past nearly each place I imagined you’d stumble. You should know the work you’ve completed this week is a training regime that would take the average budding wrangler an entire month. I’ve had my share of promising students, but few as good as you.”
“Don’t blow too much air up my ass. I don’t need it going to my head.”
He shrugged it off, exasperated. Zelma rather enjoyed his discomfort.
“Keeping yourself in check is hardly a bad thing. But clearly, you’re still highly resistant to the idea of being a wrangler. Not enjoying living with that in you?”
“Find me anyone who does. I’m here learning because I know this can be a powerful weapon—nothing more, nothing less. Maybe I oughtta ask: Is it good for anything else?”
A blunt question, and Zelma laughed out loud.
“You sure don’t hold back. You’re one of those boys who back off the more enthusiastically you’re invited?”
“I dunno. But Instructor David just said to ‘think carefully.’”
“How like him. To me, however, that’s a bit too hands-off. I’m more inclined to guide a troubled student.”
She moved to the back of the desk, facing Guy across it. Zelma put both arms down, leaning toward him. Each gesture and movement beguiling, which was exactly why Guy could not let himself fully trust her, nor did he try to curry her favor. Like Baldia, she was undoubtedly cursed.
“It’s true that curse energy, by its nature, corrupts life. But this is exactly why our world requires wranglers. What would we do without anyone who can manage something that dangerous? I’d argue our contributions to the public good are far more obvious than your average mage. Just living with these curses benefits the world of man—you could think of it in those terms.”
Zelma closed her eyes, keeping her tone unruffled. She spoke obvious truths about the nature of curse energy—but Guy did find it rather novel hearing this from the mouth of a wrangler. In hindsight, Baldia had nearly never addressed that side of things. She’d been more inclined to treat herself as the embodiment of loathing and despair, sparing no words to who might be saved by her nature. Guy frowned, considering this. In light of what he’d just heard, Baldia’s behavior was rather pitiable.
“In those terms, we can very much call Baldia the savior of our world. If all the curses she harbors were still out there, how many more would have fallen victim to them? As warped as my junior is, I have no end of respect for her. What she carries has only warped her insides—she has retained a human shape. And that is a veritable feat.”
“……”
A weighty silence. Sensing her words had resonated with him, Zelma flashed a cheery smile.
“You’re impressionable. This speech alone seems to have changed your perspective on wranglers! Consider it the price for my personal instruction. Like Instructor David, I will respect your ultimate decision. The only thing you need to do is avoid letting me tempt you,” she told Guy. “That’s it for today’s lesson—come back in three days’ time. I shall tempt you all the more.”
With that, she released her student. Guy bowed his head, turned, and left the realm of the curse wrangler, certain he’d be there again.
✦ ✦ ✦
Even when Guy was back in the hall, Zelma’s speech continued spinning in his head. He knew that’s exactly what she wanted, but he couldn’t stop himself. Every aspect of a wrangler’s behavior had meaning—and he was learning that just by example.
“…Can’t let my guard down,” he muttered, scratching his head. “Damn, every last wrangler is—”
At this point, hands clapped down on both shoulders.
“Huh?”
“We’ve been waiting for you, Guy!”
“Join us for tea. And don’t refuse.”
It was the Barthé twins, sporting identically wicked grins. As Guy blinked, a third student trudged up behind them, an exhausted, derisive smile on her lips.
“You heard ’em. Come along. I’ve already thrown in the towel,” Mackley said.