The Broken Wings of Silver

[RiP]

Link to the original Сломанные крылья Серебра by Зайцев Алескандр
* * *
This is a beautiful world.

The reality that:

- Giant sailboats seem to be flying along the water surface, cutting through the oncoming wave with a sharp bow - huge, not smaller than the tourist liners of my homeland, with masts and rigging of forms and structures that I've never seen before.

- On the half-empty, excellent quality roads and highways, mobiles sometimes pass - equivalents of cars, but purely on electric traction, reliable as tanks and just as angular.

- Cities here are trying not to occupy the dominant heights, but on the contrary, they seem to be hiding in the lowlands. Their architecture is without any skyscrapers, no higher than five floors, but each house is individual and at least slightly different from the others.

- Sometimes airplanes fly across the sky, dispersing clouds - propeller-driven, on diesel engines, for which the fuel is made from the oil of plants that are grown in coastal waters.

They try to make everything that is possible from aluminum or polymeric, organic materials. The only exception is military hardware. For example, the steel bulks of battleships - that keep their guard along the islands of the equator, they are beautiful in such a cold, austere beauty of destruction.

This is a strange world:

Where people take their time.

Where things are technologically perfect and almost never break, although they are ridiculous and crude in their design, nobody cares about ergonomics and convenience here.

Where it seems that time is as viscous as sugary sweet syrup.

Where technologies are not in a hurry, they do not rush at a gallop, changing their generations faster than people can adjust.

This is a scary world:

A world where new films appear once a decade.

The world where for one fiction book, there are hundreds of reference books.

The world where there is almost no music, and the one that exists is so simple and primitive that it makes me nauseous.

The world is inhabited by very beautiful people, whose outer beauty is completely offset by the sullenness and emptiness of their souls.

The world that did not accept me...
* * *
Shikuno, Ristol City - Dan Lier, the human being.

I'm lying on the couch, in a small, modestly furnished studio apartment, and just look at the ceiling. I feel so bad that I can't raise my hand and reach the phone. Although, why do I need a phone? Yesterday, the ambulance came and what:

"Young man, you are healthy, you just have nervous exhaustion amidst stress and jitters. Don't worry, take this sedative. What happened to your family is a tragedy that only time can heal. Stay strong and everything'll go away all by itself...."

Naive doctor, I know. I know I'm dying. But they don't believe me.

"Well! You are as healthy as an ox! Oh, I wish I were in your years! And take the pill..."

Even if I reach the phone, it won't change anything. Why don't I trust doctors? Why don't I believe in "nervous exhaustion"? It's simple, I've already died once, and now I feel the inevitable coming, the one who was beyond will never mix it up with anything.

I died two months ago. I died ludicrously because of an idiot who failed to drive on a frozen track and... No, I don't want to remember it.

It was the moment I died and came back to life here, in a different, completely unfamiliar world. I rose in a completely alien body. The first thing I remember after the resurrection is water. There's saltwater all around me, and there are waves trying to bury me beneath, as if they are resisting someone's deception of death. And then there's the screaming from above:

"Man overboard! Man overboard!"

And a red and white lifeline falls next to me.

For two months, from that moment until today, I've been constantly racking my brain about who and why, plucked my soul from my home world, and implanted it into the body of the alien world. But I didn't come up with anything. The only feeling I had was that someone accidentally "passing by" resented the absurdity of my death and gave me a second chance by putting my soul into the body whose soul had decided to kill itself by drowning in the salt sea. And the fact that I ended up in a foreign world did not bother the "savior" who immediately "forgot" my existence. Perhaps all these feelings are nothing more than nonsense, and nobody has saved me. I don't know, but there are no other answers to the question: "How did I get here?", no other answers.

Such a shame to get a second life and to die so early. The only thing that fate gave me was two months of a new life. I feel this body rejecting my soul like something alien is pushing it out of me and I already don't have the strength to resist it. I feel that this night is going to be the last one, and no one'll give me a third chance.

No, I fought, I fought as hard as I could. But, with each new day, I got worse and worse, and the more I resisted, the faster I weakened. I want to cry with self-pity and resentment, but I don't even have the strength to weep; all I can do is lie on my back and look at the ceiling.

Absurd.

Hurtful.

Frightening.

But I can't change anything.

I close my eyes, and I feel lighter and lighter, and my arms and legs are no longer obeying me.

Is it over...

This is the end?
* * *

 

[RiP]

Shikuno, Ristol City -- Tessa Sublunar, Silver 4th Rank.
* * *

The mistress of the city stretched out with pleasure on the luxurious bed covered with silk sheets. It was so pleasant, so delightful, to feel young. Her graceful legs touched the floor with cat-like grace, and the cold of the parquet pleasantly cooled her bare feet. The open window and the dank wind of the last month of winter, walking around the bedroom, did not bother her. That one, like her, could not get sick with a common cold.

Getting out of bed, in two sliding steps, she found herself in front of a full-length mirror. She looked herself over from head to toe. A ripple ran across her thin, but nevertheless incredibly feminine lips, turning into a smile. One of those smiles for which men are ready to start wars or storm the highest mountains.

If someone had been able to look into the window of the third floor of one of the elite houses on the central street of the city of Ristol, into the bedroom of the apartment registered in the name of Tessa Orima, they would never have forgotten what they saw.

The dance in which the young sixteen-year-old girl was spinning was not just beautiful. It was so beautiful that there is no talent in this world could describe it. And whoever tried to take on this hopeless task would only end up with an absurd shadow, not conveying even a hundredth of a percent of that grace, plasticity, and perfection of movements in which literally fluttered, barely touching the floor, the one whose name is Sublunar.

But no one is destined to see it, not today, not tomorrow, not ever! Silver does not dance for people, it does not dance for anyone but itself. Such is the nature of Silver. This is its strength. This is its power.

They say that once upon a time, many thousands of years ago, this was not so. But these are fairy tales, myths, and legends, in which there is not a grain of truth.

Having finished the dance, Tessa seemed to float to the closet and put on the first dress she found. The translucent sundress, stitched with silver threads, gave her already perfect figure a certain weightless finishing touch. Turning the fragile young girl into an unattainable ideal of beauty.

"How good it is to be young again!" A barely audible whisper escaped the lips of the Mistress.

For the ones like her, there is no need for a corporeal shell. But it is so nice to feel herself not only a spirit, but also truly alive. It's so attractive that all the strength, all the energy that is required to create a body, all this pays off in her eyes a hundredfold. She regretted only one thing: her rank in the Forces does not allow her to create new bodies more often than once every thirty years. If she had her way, she would forever remain young. As young as now, to feel how living, hot, young blood disperses the cold of the Silver Ice of her soul.

One bad thing is that after rebirth, there is always a loss of strength. Not physical strength, but other strength. But this was fixable. During the three months that she was busy. Pulling the smallest particles to her Spark and forming a living body from them, during this time, Tribute had already accumulated. Tribute she can collect and thereby restore her reserve and feed the Spark.

Taking another look in the mirror, Tessa sighed regretfully and took off her dress. Such a natural gesture and reaction, as if she really were an ordinary woman. With a little sadness in her eyes, she held it in her hands and, with a sharp movement, threw it back into the closet. Picking up the clothes scattered on the floor, she pulled on her jeans, hiding the grace of her legs, and wrapped herself in a thick wool sweater, almost to the knees, behind which even the sharpest eye could not see her perfect body. Old sneakers that had seen better years, an absurd, such a childish-looking hat with two lush pom-poms, as well as huge glasses of an ugly, repulsive shape, completed her wardrobe. Leaving the bedroom, she did not even look in the mirror; there was nothing to look at there, what interest in looking at a completely ordinary girl with the appearance of a gray mouse-nerd.

Before leaving the apartment, the one whose name Tessa looked into the nightstand and took out a new set of documents that no policeman could find fault with. Of course, they were real, not a cheap fake. Before dispersing her old body, she reliably took care that no one would have any questions about her new incarnation in the world of the living. The documents went into her purse, as did the keys. Glancing briefly at her makeup, she brushed it onto the floor in irritation. She would not need it for the next ten years, and this thought spread through her body like a pleasant warmth.

Having closed the door behind her, she looked around. The landing looked empty. In the human world, it was empty. But she saw two worlds at once, and in the second one, which people do not believe in, a shadow dressed in a black robe froze two steps away from her. He froze, leaning on the two-handed sword of Darkness. Noticing her gaze, the Black of the Fifth rank bowed respectfully and hissed-whispered.

"My Mistress."

She glanced at him indifferently, not even deigning to nod, and ran down the stairs like an ordinary human girl rushing about her business. She was tormented by hunger, a hunger incomprehensible to a human or any living person, and she was really in a hurry...

* * *
Shikuno, Ristol City - Dan Lier, the human being

This time, it was not painful to die. Last time it was excruciating, but now it was even pleasant, as I fell into a deep, long-awaited sleep. As if I were being sucked into quicksand, so slowly death did not hurry to take me. The soul clung to the body with the last of its strength, not wanting to leave it. It clung and weakened with every second, but resisted for three hours, from sunset until almost midnight.

But it ends. I don't feel my body anymore. My soul, it is no longer connected to it. And I feel light, so light that I fly above the sofa.

It's strange. I can move. I can. I have no body, I'm hanging in the air, but I can move my hand. I open my eyes, and fear runs through me.

I am incorporeal.

I am a spirit.

My spirit is not formless, it follows the contours of the physical body. Somehow, I know this will not last long, a few minutes, and an unearthly wind will blow me away without a trace, and I will die, finally. This thought brings peace. If I could laugh, I would. How wrong the philosophers of my native world are:

I think, therefore I exist!

How absurd, this phrase seems to me now. You philosophers were all wrong! I think, but I am already dead.

It's getting harder and harder to float above the bed, as if the planet's gravity is crushing me, although how can gravity affect the soul? Another absurdity.

And why am I thinking about such nonsense in the last seconds of my life?

I stand on the floor, trying not to look at the abandoned body. I stand on the floor! The spirit stands on the floor and feels the surface! What nonsense! But that's how it was. I still have legs, even though they are woven from something like multi-colored mist, nevertheless, I can stand on them.

Last time he died differently. Not like that. Everything was fast, almost instantaneous, and I don't remember at all how the spirit left the broken body, lying like a dead heap at the bus stop. A slight curiosity makes me overcome my rejection and look at the soulless body lying on the sofa.

Very young, he turned sixteen only three months ago. Good, much better than my first: tall, athletic, perfectly healthy. A face with regular, if a little sharp, but symmetrical features, hair black as a raven's wing. Strong palms for such an age, with surprisingly thin and long, aristocratic fingers. If I looked like this in a past life, there would be no end to the admirers, and modeling agencies would stand in line in front of my apartment, begging me to shoot for them. A body strong enough to resist someone else's soul and reject it. And even though I got it by chance and undeservedly, I am offended, very offended.

Ah, the real Dan Lier, the boy who couldn't come to terms with the death of his parents and chose death instead of life without them. What a fool you are! You were... And your body is bad, why didn't it accept me? What difference does it make to him? Its native soul left it anyway, not wanting to live, so why did it reject me? I remember how good, free, and easy I felt the first few days, before the weakness came. I've never felt so good, even when I was sixteen! And now...

It's a shame.

But.

What that?!

As soon as I focused my gaze, I saw that my entire body was covered in some kind of slime. Translucent, grey, disgusting, I wanted to look away from it and run. It gave off a sense of menace and nausea. And I realized that it was not my body that was rejecting me, but this slime that was sucking the life out of me, breaking the connection between the earthly and the spiritual. It wasn't even breaking it, but rather eating it, thereby killing me.

This shit is killing me! I am dying not because some laws of the universe forbid my soul to occupy this shell. No! This slime, invisible in the created world, is drying me up. It is killing me!!!

No!!

No way!!!

I reach out with my hands woven from weightless mist to the slime and begin to tear it into pieces. At first, it does not give in. But, here is my fear, turning into anger. Anger into fury, and my hands fill with a strange, dark-crimson light, and under them, the slime begins to give in. To give in reluctantly, not wanting to come off the body. Having torn off the first piece, I find out that the slime is a part of something greater. Some terrible spirit wrapped me in a cocoon of it and pulled life itself, absorbing it. Second by second, minute by minute, almost all two months that I spent in this world, all this time I was being devoured!!! And I need to destroy the cocoon, remove the slime, and run! Run before its owner finds me!

However, it is not easy to cope with it. I tear off a piece, it immediately tries to suck on my spirit, I have to throw a lump of mucus on the floor, but even there, it does not disappear, but begins to crawl back. I try, but I do not have time; the cocoon is restored faster than I destroy it. And also, the spirit that spat me with this gray, sticky mass, he feels my attempts to free myself. He feels, and he does not like it. And that means he will come soon! This thought makes me tear the mucus even more furiously, and still, I do not have time.

The desire to live gives strength, even when it seems that this strength is completely gone.

Get off, you abomination!

This is my body!

This is my soul!

But no, the slime is stronger. It is not intelligent, it is like an element, it just wants to milk all the juices out of me, all the energy, and the fact that I will die, its owner does not care at all about such a trifle.

When there is less than a minute left before the end of my existence, I hear a distant cry, full of rage, anger, and some kind of extreme despair.

"Mine! Go away! Mine!! I won't give it u-u-u-u-up!!"

They are shouting far away and not at me. And it can only be called a shout conditionally because the ears do not hear it; it is a spiritual cry.

I continue to fight, although I don't see the point, just with some kind of extreme stubbornness, although the outcome of this fight has long been clear to me. And suddenly, something changes. The mucus begins to give in!!! The torn-off pieces no longer climb, wanting to reunite into a cocoon; they simply fall to the floor, fall, and melt. The mucus tries to fight, becoming thinner, but not wanting to release my body from its grip, but something has changed, and now I am stronger!

"No-o-o-o-o-o! M-i-i-i-i-i-n-e-e-e-!!!"

The new scream is full of pain and a sense of some incredible loss. It is so powerful that if someone screamed like that on the street, in the physical world, all the glass in my apartment would break.

As soon as this scream dies down, the slime gives in! It loses its plasticity and viscousness, hardens and crumbles under the crimson light of my ghostly hands. And when the last piece of it falls to the floor, I am sucked into the body lying on the couch as if into a funnel.

And I understand - I will not die today!

As soon as this thought is formed, consciousness leaves me and I fall into a dark oblivion...

* * *
Shikuno, Ristol City -- Tessa Sublunar, Silver 4th Rank
* * *

It's a pity this city is so small, with only three hundred thousand people alive. It can barely support her existence. The city is of no use to any of the Highest of high rank, a trifle unworthy of their attention. Three hundred years ago, she came here and took it for herself. How long ago it was, and it seems like yesterday.

Having taken the three-month Tribute from the Reds and Blacks, having killed a couple of Grays who had carelessly crossed her path, Sublunar almost half restored her Spark, which had been drained by the creation of a new, young body.

She saved the best for last. Izuro High School, which was looked after by the only Silver in the city besides her. Elir Horn, Rank six, her loyal vassal.

She liked to walk like this at night, especially like today, under the full moon. The light of her soul and the light of the Moon intertwined in a silent dance of spiritual lines; she wanted to sing, but restrained herself. Silver sings only for itself. This is its strength. This is its power. And here they can see her, and it would be wrong.

As she approached the school grounds, she lit a spiritual flame in her palm.

But no one came out to answer her call.

It was unusual.

This has never happened before!

Night and the gates to the school grounds are closed.

She stood in front of the chain with the massive lock and looked at it stupidly. Never before had anyone in her city dared not to immediately respond to her call! She had not found herself in such an absurd situation for so long that she had even forgotten what surprises looked and smelled like.

In frustration, she took a deep breath and stepped out of her body, completely immersed in the spiritual world. The body remained standing, and she herself, her essence, her spirit, stepped through the bars without any problems.

"Elir..." She called quietly.

And in response, silence, again, no one answered. Only a strange shadow moved around the corner of one of the school buildings. Too big a shadow.

Stepping forward, she barely managed to pull her foot back to avoid stepping on the grey, nasty slime. It was worth taking a closer look, as it became clear that almost the entire school yard was covered with this nastiness.

What? She hasn't been out in the city for three months. Where did this come from? Where are her vassal and the cleanup teams looking? Although she herself forbade Blacks from going beyond the school fence and it's not their fault.

"Elir." But, there is no answer again.

It's okay. She will find her vassal who forgot his duties. She will find him, and he will beg her for mercy. Where did he hide, and where did so much of this slime come from?

"Elir..." Her call became demanding.

And it was answered.

A massive grey body like a caterpillar with a crocodile's head crawled out from behind the school. Nasty oozing slime, huge as a double-decker bus. Silver looked tiny against it.

"Elir..." The owner of the slime boomed. "Elir is delicious..." The creature's huge mouth opened, and it licked its lips carnivorously. "Was..."

Tessa recoiled. No, not from fear, but from surprise. She had only heard in ancient legends of such large Grays and even Devourers. But she had never seen such giants before. Her unearthly beautiful face was distorted by a grimace of disgust.

Devourers. The most stupid and stupid of spirits. Those who do not know how to stop. They pour their slime on people and squeeze everything out of them. Stupid, stupid, that's how to waste such a valuable resource. But they do not know how to say "stop" to themselves, and their hunger is more important than any other feelings. Gray, such is the nature of any of them.

Sublunar wasn't afraid. He might be huge. He might exude some kind of primordial, fervent Power, but he was inferior and incapable of harming her - Silver. She was only concerned about one thing: where did he get such a Power? Oh, no! He wouldn't die so easily, the creature would tell her everything at first!

The Silver Maiden's palms clenched habitually.

A short flash and the Scourge of Punishment, guided by her hand, strikes the vile carcass of the Gray, causing him to writhe in unbearable pain.

Feeling her power, the stupid giant tried to run. But who in both worlds can run from Silver?

"Where?" The scourge strikes again. "You." The blows rain down one after another, leaving wide gaps in the Devourer's spiritual flesh. "Got." A particularly successful swing and the grey abomination loses its tail. "Power!"

She had hardly said this when the creature stopped. Then it calmly endured two blows from the Scourge and focused its cloudy, small, beady eyes on her. There was so much rage, so much pain, so much desire in that gaze that Tessa involuntarily recoiled. The Highest recoiled from the Lowest. Absurd! Shame! But only this saved the Silver maiden.

"Mine! Go away! Mine!! I won't give it u-u-u-u-p!!!" The Devourer screamed.

He screamed so loudly that every spirit in the city heard him. And when they heard, they hurried to hide in the deepest hole and tremble there with fear.

Each of his words was filled with Power. And this power beat and whipped the girl like a feather in a hurricane wind. If she had not flinched, if she had remained in the focus of the scream, she would have been flattened as if by a hammer. If this stupid giant had been able to do a little more than splash out naked power, nothing would have saved her. But his mind was meager, like any of the Grays.

At that very moment, Tessa realized that this nothingness had actually managed to absorb Elir. How much power he had! And how she wanted to know where he got it from! But the dead don't need power. Between greed and life, she made the right choice. The Scourge of Punishment was replaced by the Lunar Sword.

Having recovered from the initial shock, the maiden was ready to fight. However, in order to cope with such a giant, she would have to give it her all.

The creature's new, powerful blow fell into the void; the maiden was no longer there.

A swing and the blade of the sword cut off one of the Devourer's paws. The creature strikes again, but Tessa is already standing on the other side, and the Lunar Blade knows no mercy.

So much Power, so much Might! Sublunar envied the Inferior without any shame. She envied it like a dervish who spent his whole life in the asceticism of the desert looks at someone who splashes in a lake and does not know his happiness.

The Grey giant tried to resist. His blows were all-crushing, and if he hit even once, the Spark of the maiden, already exhausted by the rebirth, would surely go out. But no one in either world can compare with Silver. There is nothing faster than they, for Silver is Thought itself.

Feeling his impending death, the Devourer screamed again.

"No-o-o-o! Mi-i-i-i-i-n-e-e-e-e!!" And those city spirits who had not yet hidden from his first cry, hastened to immediately correct this oversight.

And the maiden realized that the lower spirit is not afraid of dying the final death, but of losing something! It is afraid of this loss more than its death!

"Speak." Without delivering the final blow, Tessa froze, with her blade raised.

"No-o-o-o." This time the Devourer didn't scream, but whispered, and there was nothing left of him, a small lump of slime, the size of a fat pig. "Mine... Only mine..."

He won't tell, he'll die, but he won't tell. The maiden understood this with all clarity.

"Moron..." The silver stroke of the blade, shimmering in the moonlight, puts the final point in this strange conversation.

Watching the filth die slowly and painfully, the maiden realized she had crossed the line in this fight. Her Spark was barely flickering and was undoubtedly going out. She had scooped up too much from it, drained it to the bottom. Having waited for the creature's final death, she hurried to the body left in front of the school fence. With each step, her spirit became paler and paler. If only she weren't too late!

She made it, a second before she melted away without a trace, her spirit touched the body and was absorbed into it.

A physical container is not only pleasant, but it is also the last fortress. And even if she is now deprived of strength and has almost no energy left, and what she has is not enough even for one swing of the Scourge, so be it. She is alive, that is the main thing, and that means she will return everything. And if she finds the Source that SO fattened an ordinary slug, the lowest of the low, then the worlds will tremble, both the material and the spiritual.

The young girl, wrapped in an absurd sweater, shivered and, leaning on the school fence, wandered along the alley towards the city center...
* * *

 

[RiP]

* * *
Shikuno, Ristol City - Dan Lier, the human being
* * *

"Dz-z-z-z-z!!!" The doorbell rang urgently, for the third time in a minute.

Who the hell did they bring? Although it's better to be careful with hell in this world, even in your thoughts. The memories of the slime made me shudder. Even though everything that happened at night seemed like a nightmare, I was convinced that everything was not a dream at all. And the main proof of this was my well-being. The weakness that had haunted me for the last few days was gone. And only my stomach was rumbling with hunger.

"D-z-z-z-z!!!" This is an annoying call.

"I'm coming!" I don't want to get up. On the contrary, the desire to close my eyes and fall asleep is almost irresistible, but it's better to open them.

I found my slippers by touch. I put them on and, shuffling along the linoleum, trudged to the front door, looking longingly at the refrigerator, which beckoned and promised to feed. Of course, refrigerators don't feed anyone here, but there seemed to be food inside. It could be taken out and cooked on an electric stove.

I stopped in front of the door, realizing that I was standing there in just my shorts and flip-flops.

"D-z-z-z-z!!!" Who's so persistent?

"Wait a minute!" I shouted towards the door and began to rummage through the clothes scattered on the floor.

All the things were dirty. The last few days, I didn't have the strength to go down to the basement of the apartment building where I lived and wash them in the washing machines installed there.

Finally, in this mess, I found a robe, put it on, and shoved everything else in one big pile into the closet, propping up the door with a chair so nothing would fall out.

"D-z-z-z-z!!!"

Having restrained myself from cursing, I tied the sash of my robe and opened the front door. On the threshold with his hand raised to the doorbell, stood a middle-aged, stately man dressed in a strict but expensive, dark blue suit. Carefully polished shoes and a Marco watch on his left hand, with the suit, all spoke of a decent income. I had seen him somewhere before, and the travel bag in his hand was familiar.

"Good morning," the visitor said with a slight bow.

"You..." The memories of the last day are like being in a fog, but the suitcase... Exactly! "Doctor?"

"Uh-huh." The visitor clicked his tongue, tilted his head, and looked at me with a searching expression. "Glen Coin, your attending physician."

"Yeah, yeah. I remember." And it's true. He seemed to come when I was lying flat on the sofa. About three days ago, he measured my blood pressure, counted my pulse. It was definitely him.

"Are we going to stand on the threshold like this?" What a sly smile he has, and only one corner of his lips has barely dropped.

"Excuse me." I step aside and let the visitor in. "Please come in. Don't take off your shoes, I was going to wash the floors anyway. Later..."

The doctor walked in as if he were at home. He looked around like he owned the place, went to the kitchen table, winced, and looked doubtfully at his suitcase. There was reason to doubt. The day before yesterday, I tried to eat, but my hands wouldn't obey and spilled soup all over the table, and to be honest, the floor got it too, and now all that mass that had once been soup had hardened and didn't smell very appetizing. And its appearance wasn't much more pleasant than the slime that had almost killed me.

"Put it right on the sofa, don't be shy," I suggested, waving my hand wearily.

Well, there you go! He still doubts! Should he put his suitcase on my bed or disdain it? And most importantly, he doesn't even try to hide his attitude towards the mess he sees in my apartment. Hey! I was actually dying here, I didn't have time to clean up, you know, Mister Doctor! But, of course, I kept quiet, not saying this tirade out loud.

"Sit down." The doctor finally decided and placed the suitcase right on the blanket. He invitingly patted the mattress, very proprietaryly inviting me to sit down on my own bed. For some reason, he is starting to irritate me with his arrogance and disgust.

"As you say." Pushing his irritation into the depths of his consciousness, he obediently fulfilled his request.

"So-o-o-o!" Stretching out this word like some kind of mantra, the doctor opened the suitcase and took out a notebook and a pencil. "Your name?"

"Dan Lier."

"Where do you live?" What is the point of this question? Doesn't he know my address?

"Ristol, Seventh Street, Building Eight, Apartment Twelve."

"O-o-o-okay." The doctor wrote something down in his notebook, drawing out his words again. "Where were you born?"

"In Austroi, in the city of Tranbur, the clinic at the Shikuno embassy." It's so good that along with his body, I also got his memory.

"Excellent!" He smiled in such a way that an ordinary sixteen-year-old would have definitely believed in the sincerity of his smile. But I saw in it only tired obligation and habit. "How long have you been in the city?"

"Five weeks."

"How many fingers do I have on my hand?" The doctor suddenly changed the subject and thrust a palm with three spread fingers right under my nose.

"Five!" I said confidently, my good mood quickly returning to me.

"Five?" The doctor looked at his hand uncertainly, and even I could see how he was counting his fingers. One, two, three. "Five? Are you sure, young man?"

"Of course." I can hardly keep from laughing. On my first day in this world, I realized how easy it is to stump the locals. It's not that there are stupid people in this world; that's far from true, but the fact is that quick thinking is not their strong point. "You have five fingers on your hand, Doctor, two clenched, three unclenched." It's an old joke that every doctor in my world knows, but for this doctor, it was completely unexpected.

"Ahem..." Apparently, he was hearing such an answer for the first time, judging by his pupils dilating in surprise. "Log-i-i-c." But he was an experienced doctor and quickly pulled himself together. "Well, Mr. Lier, I see that everything is fine with your memory and reason. But when I came to see you last time, you were clearly so plunged into the abyss of despair that you looked like a shadow, not a person." Even though I understood that the doctor simply gave a comparison that seemed appropriate to him, but still, I was still a little shaken by a bad feeling, 'look like a shadow!' "Lie down, I'll check your pulse and blood pressure."

The doctor's examination lasted about twenty minutes. He not only measured my blood pressure, pulse, and temperature, but also literally felt me all over, from my head to my heels. He even asked me to take off my panties. A hidden pervert or something? Bad, but I know so little about local medicine that I can judge this. But I did move away from the doctor a little, just a couple of centimeters, but I felt better.

"Hmm-m-m." Having checked something with his notebook after the examination, the doctor thought for a moment. "You are healthy. I could enroll you as a pilot right now."

"I'm only sixteen."

"That's true, that's true. And you probably wouldn't dare to be a pilot." It seems like a simple phrase, but for the real Dan Lier, it was a gross provocation. And I answered as he would have answered.

"Mr. Coin." Well, I even remembered his name right away. "The fact that my parents died in an airliner crash does not give you the right to provoke me in such a rude manner!"

"You're angry..." The doctor said with a kind smile, raising his index finger. "And three days ago, you didn't react to this at all. Yesterday you called an ambulance... You're clearly on the mend, young man. And I apologize. I had to ask this, one way or another, that's my job."

"Forgive me for raising my voice." Politeness. Everyone here has a shtick, to be polite, as hard as it is for me, but I have to not stand out. Otherwise, they'll cut me up into parts, trying to figure out how an alien occupied the body of a resident of this world.

"Here." While I was apologizing, he managed to write something down in a notebook and, tearing out a page, handed it to me. "Buy these medicines at the pharmacy." Well, this world is completely different! Completely! The doctor's handwriting was almost calligraphic. This observation, at first, meant almost nothing, really got to my gut. "For two days, try to sleep and eat more. And also gather your strength and take a walk in the park, forecasters assure that warming will begin tomorrow." Saying this, the doctor packed his things into a suitcase. "Anyway, rest. I'll come in three days. I'll check on you again."

The doctor rose from the couch, looked at me again, straightened his jacket, and headed for the exit.

"Don't get up, young man, I'll close the door myself. See you soon."

I waved my hand tiredly after him. As soon as the door lock clicked, I got out of bed with difficulty. Fatigue fell on my shoulders like a mountain, but hunger was stronger. Shuffling my slippers on the unwashed floor, I made my way with difficulty to the refrigerator. I found three eggs and the last two sausages in it. I rinsed the frying pan and turned on the electric stove. It took a lot of effort not to fall asleep standing up, but I managed. Having fried an omelet, I ate it straight from the frying pan, not paying attention to the fact that it was unsalted. My stomach demanded more, but the refrigerator was hopelessly empty, and I wanted to sleep even more. Having thrown the frying pan into the sink, I dragged myself with difficulty to the ottoman and fell onto it, without even taking off my slippers. It seems I fell asleep before my head landed on the pillow.

I would have slept, but I was woken up by a terrible rumbling in my stomach. I had to get dressed and crawl out into the street. I woke up late evening, so the nearest store was closed. This city annoys me because as soon as the clock shows eight o'clock in the evening, all the stores close. Although judging by the advertisement thrown into my mailbox, there is a large supermarket here that works around the clock. It is located five kilometers from the city. At least this eight-hour rule does not apply to snack bars and cafes, of which there are a huge number here. It seems the locals have an unwritten law. There must be at least two restaurants on each street.

I went into the first eatery I came across. A small, cozy cafe with four tables, most likely a family business, as evidenced by the many photographs hanging on the walls. The middle-aged woman standing behind the counter looked at me as if she was considering whether to kick this visitor out into the street right there. Actually, she was right in some ways, I looked more like a homeless person than a schoolboy. I should have gone and washed my clothes before going out into the street. But hunger was stronger than such conventions.

"Good evening. Please excuse my appearance, but I just got out of bed after an illness."

Of course, I could have kept quiet, but this is a small town, and rumors probably spread faster than fire. It is better not to attract unhealthy attention to your personality. After my words, the owner of the establishment's gaze noticeably warmed.

"I'd like something very filling and..." He looked down, as if embarrassed, and continued. "And not too expensive, if possible."

It's not that I didn't have enough pocket money, but spending it on delicacies was not in my plans at all. Especially since I'm so hungry that I probably won't even be able to taste the food.

Miss Himano, that was the name of the owner, apparently felt sympathy for me and literally surrounded me with her care and attention. She asked where I lived, when I arrived, where I studied, and also about many other small household details. Then she gave some advice on where things were cheaper. In addition, we agreed with her that a messenger would bring me food directly to the apartment over the next three days. Not for free, of course, not for free, but to my surprise, it was not much more expensive than buying groceries in a store and cooking for myself. Having sincerely thanked the talkative woman, as soon as I finished the last piece, I hurried home.

I spent the next day in groundhog mode, sleeping and eating and nothing more. Twice a day, an eleven-year-old boy, her nephew, as I understood, ran from Miss Himano, brought food, took the money, and quickly ran away. A silent, serious boy, serious beyond his years, and very responsible.

The next day, I felt strong enough to collect my dirty clothes and wash them. It was unusual to go to the basement and toss small coins into the coin-operated washing machines to do the laundry. I wanted to wash the floors, but I didn't have the energy for that. Three hours spent near the washing and drying machines exhausted me like a marathon under the scorching sun. I barely managed to carry all the clothes to the apartment, fold them neatly, and hang them up, after which I fell into a dreamless sleep.

In the morning, the doctor came, waking me up with a demanding call. He asked me how I was feeling, conducted a quick examination, and inquired whether I was taking the prescribed medications. Without a twinge of conscience, I lied that of course I was, although I hadn't made it to the pharmacy, which I needed to fix by the way. After listening to my answer, he smiled sadly, apparently realizing that I was lying, but he didn't reproach me and simply promised to come back in a couple of days.

After he left, I took a shower. I would have preferred to lie in the bathtub, but my apartment didn't have one. It was replaced by a shower stall. This apartment is literally imbued with the spirit of minimalism. I lay in bed for an hour and, having gathered my strength, started cleaning. It seems like there's nothing to clean in a studio apartment with a total area of eighteen square meters, but this is only at first glance. In those few weeks that I was "sick", I managed to make it so dirty that cleaning took almost the entire day.

In the evening, I got dressed and went outside. It was drizzling with a nasty, cold rain, and since I didn't have an umbrella among my things, and a rain hood isn't the best protection, I preferred to run to the pharmacy.

There was a small line at the drugstore: a couple of old ladies and a young woman. While I was standing and waiting, I noticed a thick reference book on medicines on the drugstore counter. As it turned out, you could freely use it, that is, look through it. I took out the paper on which the doctor had written the prescriptions and looked in the reference book to see what they were going to treat me with. The first prescription turned out to be some kind of tonic and vitamin cocktail, and the second one was appetite-enhancing pills. I definitely don't need it. I'm already eating like crazy! The third medicine the doctor prescribed was a sedative. When my turn came, I took only the tonic, deciding to refuse the rest. In addition, while I was standing in line, I noticed several disapproving glances at my wrinkled clothes. If I don't want to stand out, I need to be neater and iron my trousers.

The next day, I put the apartment in full order, ironed the linen and shirts, polished all three pairs of shoes, and took a shower, finally feeling like a human being. The sun had already set, and I lay down on the couch, no longer feeling the same tiredness as before. The constant desire to sleep, sleep, and sleep was not so all-consuming today.

I spent about thirty minutes in a half-sleep, on the border between reality and sleep. And when I was ready to fall into dreams, I suddenly felt a strange sensation. A feeling of unprecedented lightness. I opened my eyes and realized I was hovering half a meter above the bed. No, the body is lying as it should be; it was my spirit that soared, just like that time when I was preparing to die from the mucus. But as soon as I became afraid of what was happening, the spirit was immediately drawn back into its physical container.

The drowsiness disappeared as if by magic.

What was that?

Is my soul really trying to leave my body? Or is it something else? Maybe I have acquired such an ability, something like "astral walking"? I really wanted to believe that the second option was true, because if the first was true, then my affairs were incredibly bad. I would fall asleep someday, and at that time my spirit would fly away somewhere far, far away, and I would simply not wake up. However, the second version was supported by the fact that, being an astral body, I was still fully aware of myself.

Having calmed down, I tried to leave my body again, but to no avail. Again and again, but again no progress. I suffered until the morning, achieving nothing. Maybe this skill can't be activated by a simple act of will? It's a pity that I was never into meditation, perhaps now such a skill would be useful. And so I passed out, once again trying to catch the line between dream and reality.

I woke up with a huge relief. My soul is with me, my body obeys me, so we are alive! I slept for a long time, I didn't have time to wash up, as the boy from the Himano eatery brought me lunch. Having paid, I thanked him and said he didn't need to bring me any more food.

After a leisurely snack, I leaned back in my chair and smiled. It was simply wonderful to feel so young. It's not that I was old when I died. No, I wasn't even thirty yet, but in that life, I didn't take care of my health at all, I smoked, liked to drink with friends, and had never done any sports. And only when I felt this young, athletic, and completely healthy body did I understand what a fool I had been back then. The feeling of health and fullness of strength is many times better than any intoxication.

After taking a shower, I decided to try doing push-ups and lost count at seventy. And this is taking into account my body weakened by illness! Phenomenal, phenomenal for the past me, in my old body, I would have died after twelve. I liked it incredibly. So much so that I decided to devote at least an hour to exercise every day. An unthinkable decision for me in the past. More precisely, I often promised myself that from Monday I would start a new life, I would run in the mornings and sign up for a swimming pool, and... Only Monday would come, and nothing in my life had changed. Now, feeling better than ever, I was firm in this intention.

I looked out the window, dressed warmly, and went for a walk. There was no rain, and what the locals consider very cold weather, namely, plus five degrees, is familiar to me. In general, the climate in the country I was in is very mild, snow falls once or twice in winter, no more, and in summer the thermometer rarely breaks the plus thirty mark. But this mildness had a downside. It almost always drizzles here.

Having gone down the stairs, I ran into an old lady at the entrance, I think she lives on the fourth floor. I nodded politely and held the front door open for her, for which I was awarded a benevolent smile. Apparently, I will have to live in this house for at least four years, so it is better to set all the neighbors up positively. The less unhealthy attention I attract to myself, the better. It is much easier if the neighbors consider me an exemplary young man than a bungler, a hooligan, or a drug addict; this will protect me from unnecessary attention.

In the first week of being in this world, having learned a little about it, I was happy and decided to finish school as soon as possible. There was an idea to show myself as a child prodigy and a genius, it shouldn't be difficult, because I was instilled in a schoolboy. But after the "illness" and the slime, my opinion changed radically. This world is not as simple as it seemed to me at the beginning, and it would be much better not to stand out from the crowd. To behave like a completely ordinary person until I figure out what is here and how.

Walking through the park, I once again stirred up Dan's memory, but as before, I found no mention of wandering souls, magic, ghosts, or slime. Except for fairy tales, myths, and legends, which the young man certainly did not believe in. So the question is, either I went crazy during the soul migration, or everything around me is much more complex than it seems.

In general, I was brought to a very strange world. In terms of development, it roughly corresponded to the eighties of the twentieth century on Earth. With many reservations, but...

The world I found myself in was also the third planet in the Solar system. And specifically in the Solar system. There were Mars and Venus, Jupiter and Saturn, Neptune and Mercury were not called that way, of course, but they occupied their places. The Moon was exactly like home, even the Sea of Tranquility was easy to determine. But then...

The geography of this planet was not at all like Earth's. There were no continents. The oceans occupied eighty percent of the surface, and the land was represented by a huge number of islands. If you add up the area of all the islands of this planet, it would barely be enough for Eurasia.

If only the differences were in geography, oh, if only. But there was something that bothered me hundreds of times more. That something was the history of this world. It had nine thousand years of written and continuous history. Which is many times longer than the same period on my Earth. It seems that in such a time, humanity should have long ago conquered space and settled near the nearest stars, or at least populated the Solar System.

But no.

For some reason, progress here moved at a snail's pace. For example, I have a computer at home. As far as I can tell, it roughly corresponds to the 486th model of my world. There is just one nuance: it was bought by my uncle fifteen years ago and is still considered the most powerful home model. And when my uncle bought it, this configuration had already been in production for almost three decades. And so it is in everything. It is not that there was no progress here at all; there was some. If you take a long period of time, then technical development becomes undeniable. But what took years on Earth took decades, or even centuries, here.

I have never been keen on conspiracy theories, but the more I think about the phenomenon of such slow progress, the more clearly the idea forms that the technological development of this world is being forcibly restrained. Aliens, secret sects, societies, or lodges are to blame, of course, I still do not understand, but the feeling of some kind of internal wrongness of this world stubbornly does not leave. And if someone is capable of restraining progress, then undoubtedly he is the true ruler of the world, not presidents, kings, dictators, or prime ministers. They are just a screen. Or maybe I really am sick? I imagine slime, the spirit allegedly leaves the body, and then there seems to be some kind of world government. Paranoia? Br-r-r-r.

On my first day in this world, when I recovered from the initial shock and walked along the deck of a passenger liner, I counted about a dozen inventions that were unknown here, although very simple and familiar to me. Starting with a computer mouse, because here they used trackballs that were inconvenient for the mass user, and ending with such a banality as women's tights. But, after recent events, I probably won't stick my neck out and become a millionaire inventor. I feel that before I have time to invent something, I will immediately find myself in a cemetery, in a cozy coffin under a thick layer of earth.

No, maybe I really am paranoid. But I don't really want to check whether my imagination is running wild or not, because this is not a game and there is no save button here. So I walked around the park, breathing fresh air, following the doctor's orders, until I started to freeze. On the way home, I made a small detour and stopped at Himano's, where I had a hearty snack. I could have gone to any other cafe, but I liked her cooking and decided to refrain from gastronomic experiments for now. In addition, the owner of the cafe was quite talkative, and although she talked mostly about the weather and neighbors, nevertheless, this was not at all unnecessary information for me.

After lunch, I was sitting on a chair and picking my teeth with a toothpick when a frightening thought came to me. Himano had just been distracted by a new client. If this world is about as technologically advanced as the eighties, then doesn't that mean the dental equipment here is much more primitive than I'm used to? This thought made me feel sick. I'm already afraid of dentists, and when I imagine a drill from thirty years ago, I shudder! I mentally thanked the previous owner of the body and his parents for the fact that my teeth are now in perfect condition. I quickly paid and thanked the owner, almost running to the drugstore, where I bought the highest quality toothbrush, the best toothpaste, and mouthwash. If there's one thing I'll definitely take care of, it's my teeth like never before. I really hope that I won't have to meet the local dentists! It's a good thing they haven't invented sugar-free gum here yet, otherwise I would have bought myself a couple of boxes out of fear.

When I got home, I brushed my teeth for about five minutes until I remembered that over-zealousness is also harmful; it seems to damage the enamel, but I didn't remember exactly.

After taking a shower, I sat down at the computer. It's good that the locals invented GUI. If it had something like DOS, it would have been inconvenient for me, after all, in my past life, I was far from computer technology. I could still reinstall Windows, install drivers, but my knowledge was not enough for more. True, the local system, simply called OS, was inferior in functionality even to Windows 3.1, but at least something. Most of all, I was offended that the Internet is unknown in this world, or has not been brought to the masses. Having quickly run through the installed programs, I did not find anything useful, except for a primitive text editor and some kind of mathematical program, to use which it was necessary to study a manual of one and a half thousand pages, and something similar to a drawing program, against which Paint is an unattainable peak of progress. I also found a couple of dozen text files, some financial documents from ten years ago, apparently left over from my uncle, and nothing more. The computer, instead of an endless source of knowledge, turned out to be a dud.

My integration into the local society will be much more difficult than it seemed at first. The fact that the real Dan grew up in a different country, the one in which his parents worked, was both a minus and a plus. The minus was that I knew about life in his homeland only from stories. And the plus was that if I behaved differently from everyone else, it could be attributed to my childhood spent abroad.

I was in dire need of information, but it was difficult to get it. There is no Internet and it won't work as I am used to, to ask Google or Wikipedia on any issue.

In addition, public libraries, by some twist of the law, are only accessible to adults, and that starts at age twenty. The school library is also out of reach, because my transfer to the local school, although fully agreed upon, has not yet been signed. I was just doing this when I finally fell ill with mucus. There was another option, just to buy books, but the price of paper editions here was biting!

Realizing that I couldn't get anything more out of the computer, I went to a newspaper stand and bought the first three new newspapers I came across. At first, I wanted to buy everything, but then I thought that would be overly suspicious.

I studied the newspapers at home. The first one was a financial digest. Quotes, tables, expert opinions. I studied it from cover to cover. At first glance, if you put aside the specifics of the world, I didn't find anything unusual. The next one was a political herald. The president arrived on a visit... The head of the Solidarity Party participated in a rally... The youth movement planted two hundred trees on the Alley of Memory... And so on. But this "news" confirmed Dan's memories. The state of Shikuno was a presidential republic with a bicameral parliament. If you put aside the catchy names of the parties, everything was the same as in my world, right, left, centrists, conservatives, and liberals. The usual mess and the fight for the voter. The only difference from my world was that there were no scandals or revelations in the newspaper; everything was outwardly decorous and sedate, like in Victorian Britain. I think, like in that very Britain, there are still those squabbles going on under the carpet, but no one brings them out to the public, especially not to the newspaper pages. And not a word about magic, spirits, or anything similar.

The last newspaper was the local news. The city news. That's what I paid the most attention to. When I put it aside, the general opinion about Ristol was formed - a sleepy kingdom. A completely ordinary provincial town, where nothing interesting happens. What is the fact that the entire second page was dedicated to the school watcher who recently died at his post from a heart attack? An entire page in the newspaper, about a school watcher who was not killed, but died himself! A swamp, not a city, and this pleased me. For my gradual integration into society, you can't think of a better place.

In general, I am extremely lucky with my body. Not only youth and health, but it is also practically the only one in the country. The only relative is my maternal uncle, who has fulfilled the necessary minimum conditions and does not care about his nephew in the slightest.

When the company where Dan's father worked decided to close its office in Austroia, the parents had to move to their homeland. They flew by plane, and decided to send their son by ship so that he could have some fun before the start of the school year. But, there was a plane crash, the parents died, Dan jumped into the sea, not wanting to live, and I took his place. A tragedy, of course, but how lucky I was in such a situation!

According to Dan's parents' will, an uncle was appointed as a guardian, and a monthly board and lodging were allocated for my upkeep, plus tuition for high school. I saw my uncle once, at a funeral; he was some kind of middling businessman and hung around in the capital. So I was sent to this backwater, where he had an old apartment, and it seemed like he had completely forgotten about me. It's good that I filled out the necessary papers, allowing me, despite my young age, to live alone without any supervision from social authorities. Perfect!

Before going to bed, I relaxed in bed, trying again to catch that moment of lightness and get my soul out of my body. And when I lost hope, deciding to spit on and fall asleep, I succeeded! I soared above the ottoman again. This time, I quickly suppressed the initial fright and was not pulled back into the body shell.

Levitating from the bed, I stood on the floor. I looked around. The world had changed. The apartment and all the things remained in place, but they had lost their density, becoming as if drawn. It was the same with my body. I tried to lift the newspaper with my hand, but my palm, woven from multi-colored veins of ephemeral fog, only passed through the paper.

I spent about ten minutes on various experiments. Alas, I had not mastered telekinesis and could not move things, and in general, I could not influence them in any way. But there was an advantage, I could fly, or rather slowly levitate, though not high and not for long. And also pass through doors, walls, and even the ceiling and floor, but I did not try hard with this, afraid of falling through to the neighbors. Who knows, maybe there is a magician living nearby who will dispel me without a trace. The fact that, officially, magic does not exist in this world did not bother me at all now. Here I am, wandering around the apartment in the form of an astral body. What other proof do I need?

I went to the window and looked out onto the street. A rather noisy group of young people, about nine people, about twenty years old, were walking along the well-lit sidewalk. No, they weren't rowdy, they were just loudly discussing the final of some championship. In my state, I heard them as if through a pillow, but I could still make out what they were talking about.

Unlike my soulless body lying on the ottoman, living people looked different in my astral vision. More precisely, their physical embodiment was the same as the one drawn, but in addition to the body, I saw their souls. Or maybe they were not souls, but astral bodies, I have not yet figured out. Like mine, they consisted of the finest threads, forming a faintly glowing fog, repeating the contours of the physical shells. I was so carried away by contemplating their souls, realizing that each of them is individual, that I missed new characters. A couple came out of the alley to meet this company. A young man and a girl. In principle, ordinary people. Yes...

Only there was something sitting on the girl's astral body in the neck area. This something had no physical component, only an astral one. And yet... It was alive! I looked closely. Most of all, the "sitter on the neck" reminded me of a chameleon in form, unlike people, the threads that made up its spirit were of one color - red. Noticing someone else's attention, the chameleon spirit turned its ugly head, with a mouth that took up its entire muzzle, in my direction.

Suddenly, the red spirit tensed up, tensing its illusory paws like a cat preparing to pounce, and licked its lips carnivorously, not taking its eyes off my window. The realization that they wanted to devour me went right to my astral liver! Right here and now, they would go and devour me! It was a very unpleasant sensation, frightening! The red spirit was very interested in my soul, walking around without a body, clearly interested from a carnivorous point of view. I felt its hunger as a barely noticeable, wave-like pressure.

I was scared. Very scared, that look reminded me too clearly of the feeling of slime that had sucked life out of me not long ago. Panic rolled over me like an unexpected tsunami. I barely managed to stay on the brink of losing my mind and not turn into a disembodied spirit madly rushing around the apartment, so I was overcome by the feeling of imminent death.

No, the demon himself didn't look scary. Small, yes, toothy, but in the movies I've seen monsters many times more terrifying. Only in the movies are you not doused from head to toe with the feeling of thirst and hunger emanating from a predator. And that was truly frightening. Even creepy. Unnatural. And for some reason, I had a firm belief that I was completely defenseless against this chameleon. A feeling akin to intuition confidently whispered about it. And also about the fact that my spirit was a desirable prey, while it was walking around like this, outside of its body. Obeying a hunch, I rushed to the bed and touched the physical shell lying on the bed with my ghostly palm.

As soon as I felt my body, I immediately felt calmer. However, I was still afraid to get up from the couch and go to the window. This meeting left an indelible impression on me. So strong that I couldn't fall asleep that night. Despite the fact that the body shell gave me some sense of security, all the same, this feeling was not enough for me to be able to completely calm down.

It was a long, sleepless night.

I was never a brave man, and I probably couldn't be called a coward either, but this demon... He was frightening. The feeling of complete powerlessness against this creature of the other world was especially unpleasant. It seemed to me that he could devour my soul, condemning me to something much worse than simple death.

When the first rays of the sun broke through the window glass, I dove into a restless sleep. But not even a couple of hours had passed when I was literally thrown up in bed by a pounding sound in my ears:

"D-z-z-z-z-!!!"

Was it really nine in the morning already? I quickly washed up, put on my robe, and opened the door. Yes, the doctor had come. This time I gave him slippers, hinting that he shouldn't come in wearing shoes.

"Well..." the doctor said thoughtfully, sitting down next to me and looking into my eyes. "I was thinking of discharging you today." Well, I understand him. When I looked at my reflection in the bathroom, I saw a pale shadow with red, sleep-deprived eyes. And my eyebrow is twitching in a nervous tic, and I can't do anything about it, at least my hands aren't shaking from what I've been through; that's an achievement. After measuring my pulse, he continued. "Young man, aren't you following the regimen I prescribed?"

"I do. I just had a nightmare."

"And what kind of nightmare brought such a strong young man like you to such a state?"

"I..." What to think of, I categorically did not want to tell the truth. "I... I was drowning and no one saved me."

"Ah..." He must have my full medical record, and it must include the case of Dan Lier falling into the sea from a passenger liner. So he must buy my simple lie. "Drowning, then... A nightmare, then. And show me, young man, the medications you're taking."

Well, there you go. I think I'm in trouble. Lie? No, that won't work. And come what may, as if I were the only young man in his practice who ignored his instructions. He opened the nightstand and took out a vitamin kit.

"Is that all?" the doctor said, barely glancing at one bottle instead of the three he had prescribed.

"I eat well." I don't want to make excuses, but I have to play a role, and a normal boy in such a situation would certainly try to justify himself. "And I wanted to cope with my nerves on my own."

"Eh-h-h." Raising his eyes to the ceiling, the doctor sighed heavily. "Youth-h-h-h. You don't have to take it to improve your appetite, since you eat normally, but you need to treat your nerves."

"Good!" I try to show remorse in all my appearances. "Excuse me for my high-handedness."

"You've already punished yourself." Is he hinting at the nightmare I had, in his opinion, because I ignored my medicine? Naive doctor. "I can't discharge you in this condition." He said thoughtfully, opening his notebook. "Today is Wednesday. So-o-o-o. I'll come by on Saturday. You need to get better soon. The school year has already started a month and a half ago, the more you miss, the harder it will be to catch up with the others."

"I understand," I say quietly, looking down at the floor.

"That's good, then until Saturday. Don't get up, I'll close it myself."

An hour after he left, I finally made it to the pharmacy and bought a sedative.

I was so unlucky to come to life in a world where people are doused with astal slime, and demons ride beautiful girls! But if you look from the outside, there are ordinary people around, calm, even kind, although so far I have only met two locals, and maybe everything is not so blissful.

Returning to my place, I took some medicine and almost immediately fell into a restless sleep.

I woke up well past midday. I took a shower and did the exercises I had forgotten about in the morning. After that, I sat at the computer and turned it on, staring at the desktop wallpaper. The impressions from the previous night were no longer so vivid, and my head cleared up.

So, what was THAT? In order. I managed to release my astral body. This is kind of good, because that's exactly what I was trying to achieve. But what was that thing sitting on the girl's neck? What are the possible options?

What if the girl were a mage and the chameleon was her astral familiar? Not a bad theory, but if it is true, then why didn't she notice the spirit in the window? Why did only the chameleon react? Another option: she is not yet a mage, but belongs to a magical family, and her potential has not yet been revealed. And the red rider is her guard, who perceived the disembodied spirit as a threat. Ugh, I have never seen living mages, and all my thoughts are a compilation of fairy tales and fantasy I have read. What other options could there be? The most obvious one is that the chameleon is a demon or spirit that possesses her. Not a bad theory. Or maybe the chameleon is some kind of alien parasite that subjugates the will of the host, and it wanted to attack me when it realized that it had been discovered?

After thinking about it, I dismissed the alien version. Because the Red One saw me and knew that I saw him, which means he would have easily found me, and my return to the body would not have stopped him. So, a demon or a familiar? A demon seems clearer, obsession is something I can easily accept. But a familiar and magicians... This version fits perfectly with my thoughts about a world government or a world lodge that controls progress. The presence of magicians hiding their abilities from people and slowing down technical development, this version had logic, which was confirmed by my indirect observations.

I really hope that the familiar is unreasonable. Because if it is capable of transmitting information about a soul freely wandering without a body, then... Yes, there are three options. First, they will kill me as a person with unusual abilities, but not included in their structures. Second, they will experiment on me if my ability is unusual for this world. And third, they will find me and begin to teach me. I really want to believe in the third option, but all my life experience screams that the first two are more likely to come true than teaching. There was also a fourth option, that such freely wandering souls are commonplace in this world, but I dismissed it almost immediately.

Unpleasant conclusions suggest from these thoughts. Can I escape from the city? To hide somewhere in the wilderness, where there are no people? However, the hope of escaping from the structure of the control of the whole world, if it knows about your existence, such hope is ridiculous! Such things work only in cinema and books; in reality, if such forces are interested in you, then they will find you.

And yet, remembering the red spirit, I did not feel the mind in it, only hunger and thirst. Yes, and he did not seem like a mind-endowed creature. Perhaps he is something like an evil dog? I remember that girl on whose neck it was sitting, she didn't even look in my direction. Or maybe the spirit is not a familiar, but a murderer's spell, which some magician put on a girl? Too little information, too much! And how can I survive in this mess?

Well, firstly, stop astral travels. Once lucky, the second time it can end much more deplorable. Secondly, I must learn to see the astral part of the world without leaving the physical body. And if the first is just safety precautions, then without the second, I can't even superficially understand what is happening in this world. And not imagining this, I can do something stupid and die at any moment.

No, of course, it's a good idea to learn to see the Astral. The question is only who will teach me this? Searching for local teachers somehow did not seduce me at all! They will put such a spirit on the neck and ... either a leash, or a quick death.

However, if training with the mentor is not an option due to fear for my skin, then I will try it myself. There is only one nuance. I don't know at all which side to approach this issue. Looking at the watch, I quickly dressed and ran to the newspaper stall, buying a local newspaper with private ads, an analogue "from hand to hand".

I was interested in very specific ads. I was looking for a club or a teacher of meditation. But here's the problem: in Shikuno, meditation was not very popular, and in such a small town, there was no one teaching it professionally. Why am I so unlucky? Wherever I go, there is no exit but a concrete wall.

One advert caught my attention, something like a group for training in gymnastics similar to Tai Chi. I'll have to go and see it, tomorrow there's a demonstration and a free lesson. I don't think it can help, but they say a drowning man should grab at a straw, so I'll grab one too.

The closer to night, the more uncomfortable I feel, as soon as I close my eyes, I see this chameleon spirit. Yesterday's unexpected meeting left an indelible impression on me. For the first time, someone looked at me as food, and it was not one of those feelings that I want to experience again. He wanted to devour me! I can literally physically feel his hunger to this day, such was its intensity.

But what if it's not a familiar, but a demon? What if it ate that girl and came back for me? Maybe it's sitting on my neck right now and... That slime, it didn't kill right away either!

This simple possibility short-circuited me. Could THIS be sitting on me right now?! My teeth chattered so hard that the glass of tea on the bedside table clinked. The more I thought about this option, the more clearly I imagined this nasty thing sitting on my neck and sucking the life out of me.

Realizing that I couldn't cope with my nerves on my own, I took the sedative prescribed by the doctor. I waited another fifteen minutes, but the anxiety didn't go away; I even had an unpleasant feeling, as if someone was squeezing my neck. I took another sip. And then another. Then I took the bottle and threw it in the trash. I don't know the ingredients of this medicine, and perhaps a large dose would kill me faster than any demon in this world.

Perhaps the potion worked, or I managed to overcome my fear, but in the end, the thought that I was being eaten, possibly right here and now, made me spit on my initial decision not to leave my body in spirit. Relaxing as much as possible, I tried to catch "that very" feeling that precedes separation. And an hour later, I succeeded. Soaring above the bed, I turned sharply in the air, ready to run away at any moment if I saw something frightening.

Having looked around in the astral plane and not finding the demon either on me or nearby, I quickly returned to the body. Well, thank all the gods, no one is eating me. The relief from this discovery was incredible. Until it let go, I didn't even think about how consumed I really was by this paranoia. My nerves are going to hell! The doctor was right, I need treatment, otherwise a nervous breakdown is guaranteed at this rate.

In the morning, after breakfast at Himano's, I decided to walk to the sports club in one of the halls where classes in local "spiritual gymnastics" were planned today. Which "equally harmoniously develops both body and spirit." This hall was located on the other side of the city, but in the local backwater, "the other side" meant a distance that could easily be covered at a leisurely pace in an hour and a half.

The doctor prescribed that I walk anyway, and the weather cleared up, having driven away low and dark clouds. So I walked on city alleys in high spirits. Previously, in my native world, I loved such walks, though I walked more at night, along the Neva embankments, but the sensations were elusively similar, possibly due to the eternally cloudy sky. Only now, I probably will not decide here for a night walk soon. In the meantime, the sun shines, albeit behind the gray veil of distant clouds, why not take a walk?

Since it was the middle of the week, and the time was the most working time, I didn't meet many idle passers-by like me on my way. Mostly elderly people or mothers with small children. I look at them, and if I abstract myself from the surrounding architecture, I might get the illusion that I'm not in another world but simply somewhere abroad.

In general, they build strangely here. All the houses are squat, it seems that even the five-story buildings are trying to cling to the ground, like snail-shaped houses. Massive sloping roofs further enhance this feeling. The local architecture avoids sharp angles with a stubbornness that is incomprehensible to me; all the corners of the houses are at least a little rounded. There are no well-shaped houses or high-rise buildings that are so familiar to me. If you forget that I am in the city and I am surrounded by residential buildings, then the houses of Ristol can be harmoniously imagined as some kind of breakwaters, which, for some reason, were built on land, and not in the sea. This feeling is complemented by small, narrow window frames. And here the streets are very wide, considering that there are very few private vehicles in the city, such a width of the roadway causes me some bewilderment. But despite this unusualness, I like Ristol, there is something in this city that arouses my sympathy. If it weren't for the demons, I feel like I would have fallen in love with this town very easily.

At the address indicated in the ad, there was a large sports complex. Indoor courts for team sports, a skating rink, two swimming pools, and many halls for fitness, boxing, dancing, and other activities. I asked at the reception how to get to the right hall. I had to go outside again, find the third building, and go up to the second floor. They don't like to build large or simply long buildings here; that's why there is such a rush.

In a small hall, no bigger than a regular school classroom, there were only four curious people besides me. There was also the master, as he called himself, the one who had submitted this announcement. For the first fifteen minutes, he told us that he had studied this art on the equatorial islands. I could hardly suppress a yawn while listening to this lecture, because here the reference to "equatorial islands" is the same as in our language, saying "studied in Tibet" or "experienced enlightenment among the Mojave Indians."

Then he showed "unprecedented" possibilities that can be achieved if you start learning the "ancient gymnastics of the Cloud Cover". Well, what can I say about what I saw? His stretching is truly amazing, but what I saw on TV performed by yogis on Earth is more impressive. After an hour-long presentation, the only thing that interested me was the breathing technique performed by the "master". Everything else is, of course, also good for health, but not at all what I need. But as soon as I found out the prices for individual training, I politely asked for time to think and left. This "teacher" asked for more than I was allocated for board and lodging, and this was for eight lessons a month, an hour each.

The thought flashed to "invent" something and make money on a patent, but reason prevailed over greed and buried this idea. I'd rather be poor but alive than rich but not for long.

We can say that he spent time in vain. But this is on the one hand, on the other hand, the very presence of breathing technique in this world that allows you to very quickly relax muscles is a discovery for me. A very important discovery, because my separation experiments had always failed until I got rid of muscle clamps. And why did I not engage in yoga or Wushu in a past life? Such a fool, now it would help me a lot.

Eh, youth! Instead of being upset, I went straight to the bookstore. If there are techniques, gymnastics, and the like, then there are probably printed tutorials! Education on them, of course, can not be compared with classes under the supervision of a living teacher, but as they say, from a dead sheep at least a scoop of wool.

Having decided not to exchange for the little things, I went to the Central City Trade Center, because there was the biggest selection. Since the working day had not yet ended, there were not many visitors. The seller immediately approached me and inquired about the interest of a young man. At random, I blurted "breathing exercises" and was understood to my surprise.

A whole rack was dedicated to various gymnastics, three hundred books no less. True, after half an hour, my initial enthusiasm faded. Most books and albums were retelling the same info. The second half of the books was dedicated to the aspects of training athletes in various sports. Everything is not what I need. It's good that at least no one drove me out and prevented me from leafing through the books. Having looked through the entire shelf, I really got rid of the whole thing, but why are my excellent ideas constantly breaking on indifferent reality?

"Oh! What a meeting." It came behind me.

"Good day, Mr. Coin." Although it was a surprise to meet the doctors in this store, I was still so tired from browsing the books that I reacted almost indifferently.

"Are you better?"

"Yes, thanks." Or maybe he is watching me? Hmm, most likely not, there is a coloring for girls in his hands, apparently he went to buy a daughter or granddaughter. At his age, a little more than forty, both options are possible.

"Interested in gymnastics?" That's ... it seems to him really curious.

"No, I'm looking for a tutorial on breathing practices."

"So, don't you like to drink potions?"

Um-m. What is he talking about? Ah! So good when a person comes up with an excuse. Exactly, the doctor decided that I did not want to take sedatives and look for breathing exercises in order to replace potions.

"I prefer it without them, if possible."

"It is commendable ..." And it sounded sincere, the first time I met a doctor who reacts so much to the patient's reluctance to drink the prescribed medication. "Only you are looking for in the wrong section. Wait, one moment."

He left, and it's true, not for long, returning a minute later with an unremarkable little book of about two hundred pages, in a cheap, soft cover.

"I recommend it just for you. If you work out with this book, then it will not pass and a month, as I can cancel the recipe."

"Thank you." I can't refuse. He could be offended. I'll have to buy this cat in a bag.

Having exchanged a couple of non-meaningful phrases, we went to the checkout. Here! Now I will have to buy for sure. Somehow, it happened that I was the first in line. Not to way out. And I did not want to insult the attending physician, rejecting his recommendation, rather than part with a certain amount of money. True, my eyes almost popped out when they voiced the price of this "cheap" book. I could have dinner in a cafe for a week with this money!

While in thought, I calculated his finances, the doctor said goodbye and disappeared into the toy store. What if really followed? That's what is bad in paranoia, so that you never know where it ends and reality begins.

I walked along the sidewalk, wondering, watching me or not. I am under supervision, or is it a coincidence, and Dr. Coin is just a good doctor and nothing more? Already approaching the house, I concluded that if I am under supervision and do not notice it, I still can't change anything, and therefore I just need to continue to live while they let it do.

Entering the house, I quickly took off my clothes and jumped onto the couch, opening a book.

Two hours later, I set the text aside, just so much took a cursory reading and thought. I read something similar on Earth, the authorship of Vladimir Levy, only forgot everything. The doctor, without knowing it (or still knowing?), handed me into what was suitable, even better than yoga or Wushu - a self-instigator in auto-training. The book was written in a very simple and, most importantly, understandable language. And also divided into lesson chapters. In my situation, the real treasure!

Before you go to bed, I conducted the exercises of the first lesson, "Inner pendulum," several times. It had to streamline my breathing, lead it to a single rhythm, and, according to the beat of breath, relax the muscles. Of course, on the first day, I couldn't perform even such a simple task from the book. But the separation has passed many times more easily. Having left the body for a second, I examined myself on the subject of "a demon sits on me" and immediately "dived" again into the physical deposit, immediately falling asleep as the righteous.

All the time until Friday, I spent at home training. I will not say everything was given to me easily, but progress was noticeable. But so far, I could not figure out how to look at the astral side of the world without leaving the body. Here, it seems that what can be easier? Learn how to relax and breathe measuredly. In words, it is simple, but in reality, the task was not easy. It only seems that breathing evenly is easy. And why did I not do anything like that before? Oh, how would it come in handy now? I wonder how much time I will need to master all the lessons of the book, a year, two, or more?

On Friday, as promised, Coin came, conducted a full inspection, and closed the sick leave. On the one hand, this is good, so physically I am really healthy, and on the other, now I will have to go to a local school. And you won't get away, because the expulsion from school is equal to a visit from Social Services. No, I have not seen anything bad in the school itself. I still have the best memories of those school years, and re-live this carefree time, I did not mind. Only one detail was embarrassed, I did not feel ready for such a dense social integration into local society, I would have to be a alone at least six months, to figure out everything ... But I still do not have this time to adapt, so that there is nothing to dream of an unrealizable.

I checked all the papers, documents, certificates, and everything was in perfect order, only two signatures remained: the auditor of the local equivalent of the RONO and the director of the high school in the city of Ristol, where I was supposed to study.

The school system in Shikuno was a bit unusual for me. Children started studying here at the age of eight and went to primary school until they were twelve. From twelve to sixteen to secondary school. Moreover, primary and secondary schools were free and even compulsory. The senior school was also a four-year school, but it was fee-based, and you could only get in after exams. Dan passed these entrance exams while still at the school at the embassy in Austroia, and the money for education was allocated from his parents' account, in a separate column, as it followed from their will.

For me, the positive thing was that there was only one high school in the city. That is, students from different cities and rural secondary schools entered it. This means that there will be many students who do not know each other very well, which is an undoubted plus for me. The only bad thing is that I "fell ill" because of the mucus and missed almost a month and a half from the beginning of the new school year. That is, I will have to join a class in which people have already managed to get to know each other. That is, at first, I will be provided with increased attention from classmates and teachers. The attention that I do not need.

A couple of hours after the doctor left, after a hearty snack, I took a large suitcase out of the closet that I had never opened before. It had been in my luggage since Austroia. It contained the school uniform that Dan's parents had bought. It wasn't that wearing a uniform was mandatory, but it was accepted and considered good manners. In order not to stand out from the crowd of students, it would be better to wear it rather than go to school in jeans, a sweater, and sneakers.

The suitcase had two identical sets of dark blue uniforms of strict shape, also two pairs of boots, a pencil case with a large set of pencils and multi-colored pens, and papers about the end of younger and secondary schools. More precisely, copies of the papers, the originals, were handed over to the Headmaster the next day upon arrival in Ristol.

I leafed through them. Well, the conclusion can be made simple. Dan was not a genius, but far from an idiot. His average grade at the end of high school was eight point seventeen hundredths. Since this world does not have a five-point system, as I am used to, but a ten-point grading system, it turns out that he was a solid "good student". Of course, I knew all this from his memory, but I preferred to double-check. Someone else's memory is still someone else's, and a calculator does not make mistakes if your fingers hit the keys correctly.

I changed into my uniform and stood in front of the mirrored closet door. And I looked pretty good. More precisely, if you put aside false modesty, then I looked simply magnificent! The jacket looked like a naval tunic, though without any embellishments, the high stand-up collar made you hold your head up high, and the buttons were fastened slightly diagonally. The trousers were ordinary, but made of very high-quality material and fit perfectly. And if you add to all this the perfect swimmer's figure that Dan was endowed with... Poor female classmates! It's not that I was deprived of the attention of the fairer sex in my past life, but I was far from handsome, so looking at my new self, I even began to daydream in some anticipation. For about two minutes, I was in the clouds, or rather in fantasies of a very specific direction. After which, I glanced at my figure in the mirror again and grinned. The uniform was clearly designed by a man. How did I figure that out? Yes, for one fact, the jacket reliably hid the erection.

Well, here it is! As soon as I started thinking about girls, these thoughts swallowed me up completely. I should be thinking about something completely different, preparing for social adaptation, but I see women's legs flashing before my eyes, and not only legs...

I tried to calm down with the help of auto-training, but no way, the hormones were stronger. Not only am I sixteen now, but I also know very well what sex is, and all this was really filling my head and pressing on my underwear. I suffered, suffered, and eventually went to the shower, and washed myself at the same time. As a result of this healthy procedure, my brain cleared up, and I regained the ability to reason sensibly.

But this is a big problem! The Shikuno society is very conservative. Sex before marriage is not exactly forbidden, but still silently condemned. And according to Dan's recollections, lovemaking in a school environment is something out of the ordinary. Should I put up with this for four years? I'll have to find out later, by roundabout means, if there are girls in the city who provide a certain kind of service, otherwise, I'm afraid I'll break down. The fact that with each passing day, after getting rid of the mucus, I felt better and better, as it turned out, had a downside. Well, I somehow managed in that life, I can manage in this one too.

To finally ventilate my head, I went out for a walk. I visited Himano, drank tea, and chatted a little with her, carefully asking about the school. I did not find out anything new. The school, as a school. It's calm, not very prestigious, ordinary in one word. There was only one nuance, as it turned out, many students from rural schools and small towns rented rooms on Seventh Street. However, it was logical, from my house to school, only a seven-minute walk. So it is clear why parents rent housing for their children. The fact that I did not see a crowd of schoolchildren was explained by the fact that I go out for my walks during school hours. And I thought that these neighbors calmly took a sixteen -year -old living without parents? And here it turns out to be a very common thing. It's better for me, the less I stand out from the total mass, the better.

Returning home, I ironed the uniform, both sets. Not only do I hate this work, but it took me a lot of time until the evening. I need to find out how much the ironing service costs at the dry cleaners across the street. If they don't charge much, I'll save on something just so I don't have to do it myself in the future.

Then I started training. If it were up to me, I wouldn't leave the house until I learned astral vision, but who would ask me?

Repeating the "Pendulum" several times, I set about the second lesson of "River Sand". It was necessary to imagine a quiet, warm, and calm wave, which brings sand, rolls over you with every sigh. And this sand is becoming more and more. It covers your feet, then the ankle, then the legs ...

In about forty minutes, something began to turn out. Where the body was already covered with imaginary sand, a pleasant, relaxing weakness appeared. When this "sand" reached the knees, my right leg jerked sharply, as if someone had released the spring. From surprise, I sat on the bed and began to check my leg, and then remembered. The tutorial said it was a relaxation of the so-called "muscle lock". Many muscles in our bodies are constantly tense, sometimes to spasm, but we are used to it and do not feel them, although such "locks" are one of the key barriers to complete relaxation of the body. In fact, the whole book and all the lessons in it were aimed at getting rid of these "locks". It also interested me from the other side. I read the book on yoga once. Oh, I read so much instead of doing. In that text, it was written that these "locks" interfere with the free course of astral energies in the body. Perhaps if I learn to get rid of them, I can go a step closer to my goal - astral vision.

"River Sand" was given to me much more easily than a Pendulum. Apparently, because it was tied to the imagination, and the imagination has always been my strength. True, the incident came out when I first "bombarded" myself with sand for the first time, I did not notice how I fell asleep, even forgetting to check if anyone was sitting on me. Moreover, I slept until dawn.

Despite the fact that I am in the life of an owl, today I woke up 7:50. So rested and sleepy, I probably never felt before. These classes definitely benefit, wake up early, it was always a big problem for me.

Saturday was spent in classes. It is not so easy to learn to relax, it is difficult work, as paradoxical as it may sound. You either fall asleep or the spirit escapes into the astral plane if you overdo it. Everything was further complicated by the fact that I tried, at the moment of complete relaxation, to try a partial exit of the soul from the body. Once something similar even happened, or maybe it seemed that it happened. So far it has not occurred to me that in order to obtain astral vision, nothing else can be done than to try to partially release the spirit in the eye area. Just a fraction of a millimeter, so that the astral "fog" goes beyond the pupils, for some reason, it seems to me that this will be enough.

Never before have I trained in something as seriously as now. This is what real motivation does to a person. After mastering the "River Sand" lesson, "Pendulum" immediately became easier. In addition, it was a plus for me that Dan was actively involved in swimming; that is, to some extent, my body already had certain skills in breathing practices. I think if it were not for this nuance, I would have been stuck in the first lessons of the self-study guide for weeks, if not months. In addition, in the evening, I learned a cheat. You slip out of the body in spirit for a couple of minutes, and it begins to breathe measuredly. All that remains is to return and not to lose your breath. So all day long I was doing the same thing in different variations, and, surprisingly, it did not get boring. And only an hour after sunset, I allowed the "sand" to cover myself completely and fell asleep peacefully. In general, this "sand" is simply a great exercise, getting rid of insomnia with frayed nerves.

Sunday morning woke me up with the quiet drumbeat of rain on the window. I stretched without getting up from the ottoman and rolled onto the floor, doing a couple of dozen push-ups, getting the blood flowing. Like yesterday, no trace of the morning melancholy.

It would be good to make a training schedule and generally write down my thoughts, but I was afraid to trust my thoughts to paper, and especially to a computer. Paranoia, damn it, did not think to disappear, sometimes there were even exacerbations.

While I was having breakfast, an idea came to mind about how to achieve partial separation using a slightly different method than I had tried before. I lay down on the bed, and after ten minutes of "Pendulum," my spirit hovered above my body. I turned around right in the air and tried to touch my physical container with "fog". But as soon as my ephemeral palm touched the body, I was immediately sucked into it. The merging happened so quickly that I didn't have time to react.

Okay, the first pancake is always lumpy, it's familiar and not upsetting. "Pendulum" - separation. And again, I'm hovering over the ottoman. This state used to scare me, but now I'm even starting to like it, to feel weightless and capable of, albeit slow, but still flight, it's incredible. Previously, I experienced a similar sensation only when I was flying in a dream. A new attempt at touching and the same result, an instant fusion of the physical and astral bodies.

Bad, it feels like the spirit is instinctively drawn to return to the body. Maybe I started from the wrong side? Wouldn't it be wiser to first study the capabilities of the astral body before starting anything else?

Eh-h! I wish I had a couple of years on a desert island to sort it all out! Maybe I should really get out of the city, ditch school, and become a hermit? Well, that's a stupid idea, to trade a cozy apartment and boarding house for the life of a homeless person, especially since no one will give me an island.

Somehow, I've wandered in the wrong direction with my thoughts. My situation with isekai is almost perfect. It's a sin to wish for more. If only the world were friendlier, but here, alas, I have no choice.

Having made myself some tea, I sat down at the table and, scribbling in a notebook, began to think whether my astral experiments were so dangerous. Perhaps if I didn't go to the window and didn't leave the room, no one would pay attention to my spirit? Moreover, I have some kind of irrational feeling of security while I'm at home. Could it be that the otherworldly can't enter a person's house without an invitation, like in the legends about vampires? Stop! Nonsense! The slime ate me quite normally right in bed, that is, I can't even dream about safety in my home.

And yet, in those moments I am in the astral plane, I do not feel any danger. However, until that red one so clearly wanted to devour me, I also did not feel anything dangerous. Brrr, the more I think, the more this world seems more and more alien to me.

I need to decide for myself how I will live. Let's say no one knows about me, or more precisely, that I have occupied someone else's body. I will try to be an optimist and take this situation as a basis. Because if you start thinking about the bad, it is easier to immediately, right here and now, hang yourself. Because such horrors are drawn by the imagination that it is really scary to live.

I will have to go to school anyway. Since I don't need any additional attention from government agencies, even at the lowest level.

But should I get closer to the locals? Make friends and good acquaintances? Or is it better to play the role of an unsociable young man? No, it's too early to think about it. I need to study at school first and then decide.

Much more important is another thing, whether I should develop my "abilities" or "forget" about them. I am sure that the majority of people in this world do not even suspect the existence of the supernatural literally under their noses. This conclusion suggested itself when analyzing the newspapers and Dan's memory. That is, if I manage to pretend to be an ordinary person, then perhaps I will be able to live a long and happy life.

No matter how much I turned this thought over in my head, for some reason, it seemed too naive and untenable to me. Perhaps that girl on the street also lives like everyone else and doesn't know that someone is eating her. I didn't want such a fate for myself. What's left? It's all the same. I started off right. I need to learn and develop so that in case of a threat, I can first "see" the danger, and then, after analyzing what I "saw," be able to fight back or at least escape. However, if the world here is ruled by a magical world government, then I won't be able to either run away or fight back. Again, I was drawn to pessimism.

If the choice is between the life of a snail shaking from every rustle and an attempt to grow a fighting hamster out of myself, then I will choose the second. I did not want to live a second life in grayness and ordinariness. One was enough. I will train to the fullest, but I will not leave the room, do not go to the window. But I will.

Having lain down on the couch and having repeated the first two lessons from the book, I carried out the separation. Only this time, I did not touch the body, but having flown away from the bed to the center of the room, I sat down on the floor. First, I examined my hands. Such ordinary hands, quite human, only instead of matter, they consist of thin, barely distinguishable, multi-colored threads. These threads were intertwined quite tightly, if one can say so about something as ephemeral as the spirit. With the rest of the body, everything is exactly the same. Even my height in the astral form is similar to Dan's height. That is, my spirit is like a cast of the physical body, or perhaps this physical body is a cast of the spirit, however, the priority of this issue does not bother me much.

I can control my astral body as easily as my physical body, I do it instinctively. To fly above the floor and levitate in the right direction, you don't have to make any effort, just desire, and you're already hovering above the floor. And to simply move or wiggle your arms, you don't even need desire; everything happens naturally.

Having looked at myself, I switched my attention to the world around me. It really did resemble a drawing, with one difference: no artist is capable of drawing everything around me so qualitatively and realistically. From the astral plane, everything physical looked somehow unreal, illusory. I decided to pick up a pencil, but my palm easily passed through it. Eh! What a pity.

I tried to "compact" the threads with a mental command, but nothing came of it. Maybe this is the rule, and the astral plane cannot interact with the physical? How bad it is without a teacher! But where can I find one without risking my life? However, it is certainly useful to dream, but dreams of the impossible are now only a distraction.

I tried to somehow influence the material for more than an hour, but absolutely unsuccessfully. I decided to postpone this issue until the moment when I can get at least some information and not poke like a blind kitten.

Having moved closer to the bed, I began to examine the body lying on the sofa. The living matter was slightly different in appearance from the inanimate, from the same chairs or table. This "slightly" was expressed in the fact that the living also had moving spiritual threads; there were just an order of magnitude fewer of them than in my spirit, but they were there. Hmm-m-m, and is it not the human energy system I am now observing, which is so often mentioned by yogis and psychics? Is it not along these threads that the mythical "subtle energies" flow, or as they say in India, prana?

Looking into my body, I noticed many "knots", those places where the threads were tangled. Moreover, there were clearly structural knots; they looked, let's say, "natural and appropriate", and there were also those that I defined as incorrect, unnecessary, parasitic knots. Where did I get such knowledge from? It seems that no one taught me, but I look and "feel" this way, and that way. Intuitive, knowledge laid down by nature itself? Who can figure it out, the main thing is that they exist, and I would really like more of such "intuitive insights".

I wonder if I can try to untangle the parasitic knots and straighten the threads that are going wrong in the body? I tried to concentrate and smooth out one of the knots with my gaze. It didn't work, there was no reaction to this attempt. What if I untangle it manually, so to speak? But as soon as my astral palm touched the body, a merger immediately occurred. Ugh!

Opening my eyes in the physical world, I immediately felt a sharp attack of hunger. Apparently, my astral travels take a decent amount of energy. I was so hungry that I called Himano and ordered a double portion of the most filling noodles and a bunch of pies. As a result, as soon as they brought my order, I gobbled it all up in ten minutes and wanted more! This time, Himano did not call, but rummaged through the advertising brochures I had dumped on the nightstand by the door and found pizza delivery there. I immediately ordered three large pizzas with seafood.

It seems to me that these trainings in the astral world will cost a pretty penny, I'll go broke because of the food costs! Although, if I don't have fun and don't spend money on all sorts of crap, maybe what I get at the boarding house will be enough. The pizza was delivered hot, and I ate one of them right away. It weighed at least six hundred grams. What an appetite. I hope I won't get a bloat from stuffing so much food into myself. I listened to my body, but apart from the feeling of satiety spreading throughout my body, I didn't notice anything else. Apart from the fact that I immediately felt sleepy. I set the alarm to wake me up in two hours and, having wandered to the ottoman, I literally passed out.

Surprisingly, I didn't need an alarm clock. I woke up about ten minutes before it rang. However, I didn't feel that morning surge of energy. I had to go to the shower and chase away the drowsiness, the old, familiar method, pouring streams of a contrast shower on myself. Since there was still a lot of time left before sunset, I continued my training.

This time, after the separation, sitting down on the floor in the same place as last time, I focused my attention on a more detailed review of the astral body. The threads that made it up were not static. They not only vibrated barely noticeably, but something was "flowing" through them. Perhaps this is the very same flow of prana? Most likely, it is. Curious! But all attempts to control these flows led to nothing. But there was no point in despairing about this; Moscow wasn't built in a day either.

Looking at the vibrations of the colored lines on my palm, I wondered why these threads are multi-colored. Right now, blue is clearly predominant, blue in all its manifestations. I tried to remember the auras of passers-by. It seemed that pink and green shades dominated in them, but I can't vouch for sure. I should look out the window and look again, but I didn't even want to approach the windowsill. The possible benefit is not worth the risk that is possible when looking out the window.

I remember various psychics on Earth saying that people have different aura colors and that you can tell a lot about a person by the color of their aura. Maybe they weren't as charlatans as I thought then? And what would the prevalence of blue threads in me tell an outside observer? Is it good or bad?

What's really bad is that they haven't thought of the Internet yet! And I couldn't find a single book dedicated to mysticism in the bookstore. But maybe I didn't search well enough.

And yet, how I want to compare my colors with the colors of other people! I really want to. I got up from the floor and took a step towards the window. To be honest, it was scary, but I took another step and then noticed that the color of the threads that make up my spirit had changed, and yellow shades began to predominate in it. This discovery made me freeze and return to the center of the room. Why did I turn yellow? Because I got closer to the window? Or... While I was thinking, I calmed down and noticed that blue was my main color again. Gr-r-r-r-h! What's wrong with me? All this confusion made me angry. True, I didn't stay angry for long, because I immediately noticed that the threads that had just been blue were becoming crimson. But I didn't move anywhere, I was sitting in place, so what changed? Hmm-m-m-m. And again, the color changes to the usual blue tones. Is it really that simple?

After an hour of experiments, I realized, yes, "it's all that simple." The color of the aura depended on emotions. Experimentally, I managed to make several colored "bindings." Yellow - fear, crimson - anger, thoughts - blue, green - calm. No, not all my threads changed shade, no more than a quarter, but this was enough for the visual effect of "recoloring" the astral body.

Lost in thought, I rose to my feet and began to pace the apartment, wisely not approaching the window opening. If I could see the auras of others while in my physical body, what a treasure trove of information about the people around me! I would be a brilliant salesman or a psychiatrist or... My head was spinning from the prospects that had opened up, and my color changed to pink. Ha... So the phrase "pink dreams" didn't just come out of nowhere!

 

[RiP]

* * *
Such a pity that sunset is coming soon. At night, I was still afraid to walk in the astral plane, remembering that night is the time of dark forces, as was commonly believed on Earth. Of course, it's okay if I take a break. Tomorrow I only have to sign a couple of papers. Then I'm free, there will be more time for my research, but I really wanted to continue right now. Still, caution won out. But before I stepped towards the bed, I felt a stream of attention. Well, or someone's gaze. I slowly turned around, noticing out of the corner of my eye that my aura was rapidly turning yellow.

And it had reason to turn yellow...

Behind the door, through which I could see, albeit poorly, unlike the walls, someone was standing. And not in the Physical world, but in the Astral! And the most unpleasant thing was that I felt this someone was watching me. Something, visible to me as a blurry spot of indefinite shape, caught my attention and stepped right through the closed door.

And so my illusions about the safety of my home have collapsed...

Having stepped over the barrier in the physical world, the visitor immediately ceased to be perceived by me as a spot. Almost at the very threshold, something strange froze. A sort of hairy bun, the size and shape of a basketball, with small ball-like legs and the same awkward arms. Thick wool made of threads covered him or her from head to toe. And if it weren't for the three eyes carefully examining me, the visitor could have been mistaken for a plush toy-smesharik that had come to life.

Unlike me, the guest was almost monochromatic - green, if you don't count the many spots of putrid brown color of something similar to lichen, scattered all over his "body". And his gaze was, that's for sure, not at all toy-like. Such a heavy gaze that literally pressed me to the floor, not giving me a chance to escape into the body lying on the sofa, just two steps away from me.

I quite over-experimented...

He played the staring contest for about five minutes. I would have been glad to stop it, but I can't. The gaze of the "smesharik" was pressing like a multi-ton slab. So I look at him and think. Why did I check every night whether someone was sitting on me or not? Well, if I saw someone on me, so what? What can I do? I dealt with the slime, I remember, my hands turned bloody purple then, but how can I achieve the same effect now? I should have done it right away, and not wasted time the way I did! I feel like a bug that was taken, strung on a pin, and pinned to the wall. And I can't take my eyes off him. Is this hypnosis? Or is it magic?

The difference between the astral body and the physical one is that emotions are much easier to control. After all, if we get scared, the body immediately pumps adrenaline into the blood, gets angry, and there is a surge of testosterone and so on. That is, the body itself supports the emotion that was once launched. And the spirit has no glands or secretions, so it calms down quite quickly. Maybe they won't eat me, especially since the guest doesn't give off any thirst or hunger, but the threat from him is felt and is serious.

But what if he attacks? I tried to move at least a finger - it didn't work. But blue began to dominate my colors again. And as it happened, the visitor swayed his whole body forward and stepped towards me. And he walks strangely, waddling, his very short legs make themselves known. Coming closer to me, closer than a meter, the guest froze again. Yes, why is he looking at me like that, as if it were me, and not him, some unknown animal!

Seeing that I was starting to turn purple, the visitor frowned, which would have looked funny if it weren't for that look. So, how should I behave? One thing is clear: I shouldn't get angry. It's fraught with trouble. But how annoying, I was pinned to the floor by a creature shorter than my knee. And comparisons with Master Yoda didn't calm me down at all, this ball of fur didn't look like a Jedi mentor, not at all.

"Kavelli..." The whisper of this strange creature reached me.

So-o-o-o! Does it even talk?

"Bad..." The Smesharik's gaze crushed me even more. And it was also clearly felt that the creature was VERY unhappy. "Kavalli... A long time ago... So long ago..." Saying this, he walked around my spirit, spread out on the floor, and again froze a step away from my face. "Your time is up... Not right... You're superfluous... Bad... Why here..." And there was so much resentment in this "why" that it seemed the furry one would now burst into tears of pity. From pity for himself, and it was strange that he should feel sorry for himself. I am the one who should be crying. I can't even move! "E-m-p-t-y-y-y-y... It's e-m-p-t-y-y-y-y here! Go away..." And looking into my eyes with some kind of plaintive intonation, he continued. "Go away, please-e-e-e-e... Go-e-e-e..."

Eh?! How will I leave? Where will I go? I tried to say something in response, but I couldn't. The same look was in the way.

"Can't? Kavelli... Guest?" He literally sniffed me, and then howled pitifully. "Not a guest!!! Not a guest!"

He repeated this for about ten minutes: "not a guest!" and walked in circles around my apartment, as if thinking about something very unpleasant for him.

"Go away..." Asking? "Pleeeease..."

A strange conversation, he expects answers from me, but he himself presses so hard that I can't say a thing! Or does he not understand this?

"No? I can't escape..." I could literally feel his doom physically now. Just let me go, I'll run away to the ends of the earth! And he kept echoing. "I can't escape..." And suddenly, without transition, he started running along the walls and ceiling, and despite his ridiculous legs, he started running quite briskly, muttering. "I want to live... I want to live... I'll die... It's bad... I want to live... It's bad... Why me?.. Why me?.. Why me?.."

And suddenly he stopped, froze, and ran up to me, asking with longing.

"Live? You want to live?"

A stupid question! Of course I want to! But how can I tell him this? But apparently he understood everything without words. He began to fuss and say:

"Maybe it will work... Maybe it will work..." The spherical spirit began to outline the perimeter of the room with its paw, and leave traces of its paws on the walls, floor, and ceiling, and there was some kind of pattern in this, but I couldn't grasp its meaning.

Having completed his ritual, he again froze next to me.

"Don't go... Don't go any further..." A small paw circled the room. "Don't go LIKE THAT... Otherwise we'll die... You'll die... I'll die... We'll die..."

He stared at me for about three minutes, then sighed so heavily that I felt like pitying him. He sighed, turned around, and walked out of the room, leaving me alone. The last thing I heard was a howl:

"I'm so unlucky-y-y-y-y!!!" And something that sounded like crying.

And then, the pressure of someone else's gaze passed, and I immediately rushed to my body. Merging! Well, finally! I was shivering and again terribly hungry. That night, I couldn't fall asleep; no auto-training techniques helped me with this. Still, the otherworldly is frightening, it is too unusual.


* * *
Shikuno, Ristol City - A creature that has forgotten its Name, a former guardian of the gates, a former keeper of the hearth, a former spirit of the place, now just a brownie.
* * *

Huddled in the farthest corner of the basement of a multi-story building, Green cried quietly and mournfully. He was not completely rational, so it was hard for him to think; instead, he pitied himself. Self-pity overwhelmed him, flowed thickly along the threads of his spirit. He had lived a long time, a very long time, he did not remember how long. But despite this, he did not want to die, because the longer you live, the less you want to die. Sometimes, through his crying, sobbing words of regret broke through.

"This is punishment... I have violated the Destiny... This is punishment... But why me, why not others?"

What bothered him most was that this had happened in his house, not in the house of his neighbor, who kept the house next door. When the world was different, when he was young and the energy flowed in him, everything was simple. For him, everything was simple. Just keep the house and those who live in it - fulfill your destiny. But then, then, something happened and everything changed. In order to survive, he, like other similar creatures, had to rob the living, steal their dreams, otherwise, he would not survive. Since then, these putrefactive spots began to appear on his once luxurious skin, which hurt and constantly itched. But if he had not stolen dreams, he would have died of hunger and would not have been able to fulfill his destiny. Of two evils, he, like others who are now called brownies, chose the lesser. But you have to pay for everything, and now his time has come. You can't escape fate, it always comes for its own.

But why did the Kavelli appear in his house? There are thousands of houses in the city, and only nine Greens. Why did the Mediator move into his house?! Why did he suffer such misfortune?!

Kavelli, they were needed when the world was so young that there were not even gods, but only spirits. Their time has long passed; the world does not need them. They are not needed, but in one of the apartments of the house that he must protect, there lives a Kavelli. The one who is a tasty prey and the one who can only talk, but does not have the strength to fight back. For the essence of a Kavelli is not in the Force, but in the ability to see both worlds, to see and speak in both, a rare, but such a dangerous and unnecessary Gift in these times.

But who will talk to the human spirit now? One does not talk to food, and the "naked" spirit is an incredible "delicacy" for those who live outside. The world has changed, the time of such as he has passed.

Green cried, cried because he knew that if the Kavelli were eaten in his house, the brownie would cease to exist. Destiny would not forgive such a keeper. And the fact that the Mistress, should she find out about the Kavelli, would come for him, even the small mind of the one who had long forgotten his Name was enough to guess this. And he was too weak to resist Silver, weak and would not protect the tenant, which meant he would die. Just as this Kavelli would die, damn him.

"Well, why did I have to go through all this?!!" The shaggy, astral being cried quietly, huddled in the very corner of the building he was supposed to protect.

And only one thought consoled him a little, the thought that this new tenant would die outside the walls of his house...

* * *

 

[RiP]

* * *
Shikuno, Ristol City - Dan Lier, the human being.
* * *

As often happens in Ristol, a drizzle was falling from the sky. I put my face under the small drops of water falling from the sky. I stood there for about ten minutes, not paying attention to the surprised looks of the rare passers-by. Gradually, the tension of the night began to leave me, as if the rain was washing away everything bad.

What thoughts didn't come into my head that night! One more nightmarish than the other. Who is this guest? Why did he react to me in this way? He clearly didn't like me. Rather, he was even scared. Nevertheless, he tried to help. Strange. But the fact that I wasn't eaten is already a plus. I'm alive, which means everything is not so bad.

Without opening my umbrella, I walked along the city sidewalks towards the regional Education Department. Of course, I could have taken a tram, but the rain really did cool my head, returning clarity of thought. The astral world, I know nothing about it. And this is the main problem. Why did the "smesharik" with the heavy look dislike me so much? Why did he ask me to leave, and what does this "leave" mean in his understanding? What a pity that I could not talk to him, crushed by his gaze. So many questions that have no answers.

The Green shaggy one was obviously afraid for himself; my presence had somehow frightened him, and frightened him greatly. We will die, I will die, you will die. I must say that was not an ambiguous message. And what did he call me - "kavalli"? What did he mean? Dan's memory did not store such a word. And why am I alive if I am dangerous for him, because I clearly felt that it would not have been the slightest effort for him to kill me, I was completely defenseless in front of him! But he did not kill me...

It is so complicated! And what does "Go away, it's empty here" mean? What does "empty" mean, and why should it make me leave? Stop, not me, but Kavali, what was "empty" here should have driven away. I looked longingly at the tram passing by, how good it was for the people in it, they were busy with such ordinary, everyday concerns.

The rain intensified, I opened my umbrella, and hurried to get to the building I needed.

Since I had all the documents ready, all that was left was to certify them at the last resort, it didn't take much time. Which is actually a bit surprising. Because in this world, as in mine, there is a ton of bureaucracy, and for every little thing you need a corresponding piece of paper. For example, my transfer to a local school. For it, I had to issue more than fifty different certificates. But unlike on Earth, here the bureaucratic machine worked like a well-oiled mechanism, which led to the fact that there were almost no lines in front of officials' offices, and all permits were processed very quickly. For the first time, I thought about the fact that bureaucracy and officials are not a "necessary evil" at all. The locals, of course, grumble and swear, but they simply have nothing to compare it with.

Before heading to school, I made a small detour and went into a bookstore. I was haunted by this word - "kavalli". Having pressed on the pity of the saleswoman a little: "Oh, I'm a poor schoolboy, I just want to look, if possible, no one will notice...", and they let me leaf through the books for a while. I couldn't find anything similar to "kavelli" in the dictionaries and encyclopedia. Maybe I heard it wrong, or this word has been forgotten, or is it from some dead language? So far, one thing is clear. Those who live in the astral plane are not the first to encounter people who are able to leave their physical bodies with their spirits.

Having thanked the kind saleswoman, I left the store deep in thought.

What kind of unknown animal am I, which is not mentioned even in the complete encyclopedia? And does this word mean "occupied someone else's body"? How many questions are spinning in my head...

The rain stopped, and I sat on a bench under one of the chestnut trees, relaxing my legs. There was no need to rush to the school office. They do paperwork in the afternoon, and now it was not even eleven.

Maybe I'm a magician or a shaman now? Although a magician is unlikely, I don't feel any special powers. Neither can I release lightning from my hands, nor read thoughts, nor even move an object by force of will, and that's beyond my powers. My new abilities are more like a shaman's. Astral travel, I understand, and see spirits. There's just one nuance: the word "shaman" is known to Dan. It's known not because he knew at least one, but from legends and myths, but at least it's something, unlike the mysterious Cavelli.

Having made another turn, my thoughts returned to "Smesharik". Remembering my feelings from his presence, I tried to put everything on the shelves. First, I did not feel thirst or hunger from him, and the threat from the night visitor was completely different from what I experienced when I looked at the chameleon. Second, it was the guest's color. As far as I found out from my experiments, the green color of calm in the aura was also encouraging and did not indicate the initial aggression of the wool ball. Or maybe he was sick. These spots of putrefactive lichen look very unhealthy. And what was he doing, running along the walls and leaving his tracks everywhere, and not just stomping, but according to some kind of pattern, forming a picture with them. The conclusion suggests that he was putting some kind of barrier in my room. Although this may be my fantasy, which is based on many fantasy books I have read. Can we conclude that the night guest is not my enemy? If it weren't for his oppressive gaze and his clearly shown desire for me to leave, then perhaps it could be said so. It remains a mystery why he helped me. If I interpreted his running correctly, then this is precisely help. Although no, first of all, he was saving himself.

Where can I find a teacher or guide in the astral world? Without solving this issue, I am forced to rely only on my guesses, which can ultimately lead to fatal consequences. But for some reason, I don't want to look for this hypothetical teacher at all, as soon as I remember those who artificially restrain the development of this world. I have less and less doubts that this world behind the scenes consists of magicians, and perhaps all or many spirits are in the service of these magicians.

I'm sitting on a bench under a chestnut tree, watching the rare passers-by and feeling like a spy sent to an unfamiliar country. And no one bothered to prepare me or give me any instructions before sending me here. And I'm not James Bond and certainly not Don Rumata Estorsky.

But what am I saying? They gave me a second life, and I feel so pity for myself! Even these two months of a new life are better than nothing. Alas, for some reason, such thoughts did not cheer me up.

Water droplets started falling from the sky again, I got up and opened my umbrella, and walked to school. In my previous existence, I lived in Saint Petersburg, and the local cloudy weather was familiar and did not cause rejection or depression. True, the climate of Ristol, if you do not count the frequent rains, is closer to Yalta than to Saint Petersburg, and this makes me a little happy. Now it is the end of February on the calendar, and judging by the newspapers, the coldest days will be this winter, and the thermometer will not fall below plus five.

The upcoming school life both frightened and attracted me. It frightened me for a very understandable reason - the fear of making a mistake and revealing myself as an alien. And it attracted me because there was something very attractive about returning to school, plunging into the life of a schoolboy.

Walking along a high fence made of thorny bushes, I came to the school gates, which at that time were, of course, open.

Ristol High School was very different from the ones I was used to. The only school of its kind in a city of almost three hundred thousand people, it was huge. The area it occupied was equal to a decent city district. Eight academic buildings, many sports grounds, its botanical garden, and even its own swimming pool and indoor skating rink. A kind of city within a city, that was what the high school was, with just under five thousand students aged sixteen to nineteen.

The administration building stood separately. I had already been there, although I don't remember well the time I spent under the influence of the slime, but still, finding the right office wasn't difficult.

The secretary on duty accepted my documents, asked me to wait, and went into the headmaster's office. I thought I would be invited for an interview, but everything turned out to be simpler. Less than three minutes had passed when the secretary, a middle-aged woman in a formal jacket and a floor-length skirt, came up to me and handed me a signed certificate. After she asked me to wait again. This time, the wait lasted almost twenty minutes. Then, I received a full set of high school student documents and a wish to study well from tomorrow. My time for social adaptation was over, and no one cared that I was not ready for it.

On the way home, I stopped by Himano's, and while she was preparing my order, I studied the documents. They included: a student card, a schedule, a diary stitched and printed on each page, as well as a number for a personal locker. In the student card, in addition to my age, first name, and last name, the class was indicated: 1-8, that is, the eighth grade of the first year of study.

Returning home after a hearty lunch, I packed my things for school in advance. Even when I started my registration in Ristol, I was given a list of necessary things. Two dozen notebooks, a pencil case with pens and pencils, a set of rulers and drawing instruments, shoes, and a uniform for sports, etc. All of this had already been bought a long time ago, so all that was left was to carefully put it all in a briefcase, and that was all the packing.

Having put the assembled briefcase in the closet, I changed into my home clothes and lay down on the sofa. In order not to walk around the apartment in vain and torment myself with thoughts of "how will it all go tomorrow", I decided to repeat the lessons from the self-study guide. The pendulum was still difficult for me, because the main difficulty of this exercise was that my breathing became natural. And for me, as soon as I stopped following the imaginary pendulum, everything went wrong. And so far, I have not been able to achieve the desired result - natural breathing in a given rhythm.

I studied for an hour and a half, but there was no noticeable progress. I would get distracted by thoughts, and that's it. I should start over. It's a shame when the very first lesson is so difficult. In order not to get bored, I carefully read the third task. It didn't seem difficult at all. The same "River Sand", only you need to relax your muscles with a "Cone of Attention", and not imagine waves rolling in on you. As if with your inner eye, you look at your body, imagining how it warms up and fills with heaviness in the place where the "cone" focuses.

Despite the fact that, in essence, the "Cone" was no different from the "Sand", it was nevertheless much more difficult for me. Because the "Sand" was based on imagination, and the "Cone" on maintaining attention, and the latter was never my strong point. But precisely this thought about weaknesses made me study so persistently.

I am a person who gets carried away easily, but it is hard for me to do something for a long time. I often give up before finishing what I started. The reason for this is that routine brings boredom, which I cannot resist. As my mother used to say about me, "There is power. There is will. But there is no willpower!" In my new life, I have a good incentive, the desire not to be eaten, which gives excellent motivation to continue studying. On Earth, I would have given up after the third or fourth failure with a lesson, simply deciding "not my thing" and pushing the auto-training self-study guide to the far shelf. Here, everything was different. Or maybe I got something from Dan's character? I don't know. But now, having hit a wall, I don't want to hang my head, but I have a desire, if not to destroy this wall, then at least to find a way to get around it.

Today, I didn't manage to make any progress, however, I wasn't too upset. If auto-training or yoga were so easy to learn, people would do them everywhere. I was too lazy to go to Himano, and a little saving wouldn't hurt, so I had a banal fried egg for dinner. After which, I wondered if I would be able to notice the tracks left by the night guest?

The night fears faded and seemed less frightening, so I thought about separation without fear. I lay down on the sofa again and, after half an hour of swinging the "pendulum", left the corporeal form. Smoothly lowering myself to my feet, I approached the section of the wall where I clearly remembered the guest leaving his paw print there. At first glance, the wall was like a wall, without any changes. And no matter how much I looked, I could not notice anything, nothing at all. Maybe I misunderstood something, and the visitor did not put any protection on my apartment, and I made it all up for my peace of mind? And only after I touched the wall did I feel something like warmth in the place I was studying. I moved my palm ten centimeters to the side - cold, returned to the mark - warmth. Oh wow! I repeated this ten times until I was sure I was not imagining things. And then, over the course of two hours, I pawed all the walls, floor, and ceiling. I only left the window without my attention, since I am still afraid to approach it.

Having completed this peculiar study, I returned to the physical world and immediately rushed to the desk. Having torn out several sheets of paper from the notebook, I began to sketch the "traces" from memory. Only, it turned out badly, my memory is far from ideal, and, as it turned out, I had already forgotten the location of many traces. I had to make a separation again, this time I concentrated my attention only on one wall, without trying to keep the entire apartment in my head as a three-dimensional object with a unique pattern.

Having dived back into the body, he was able to depict the traces left by Smesharik on paper without much difficulty. And only after doing this, he froze in amazement. He froze not because he recognized something in the drawing, on the contrary, it seemed like a chaotic pile of spots, but because he was able to remember and transfer all thirty-six traces to paper quite accurately. Somehow, I don't remember either myself or Dan having such an excellent memory! Could auto-training classes really have given such a quick and unexpected result as an improvement in memory?

I pulled the first certificate I came across out of the pile of documents and tried to remember it word for word. After that, I did a hundred push-ups and fifty squats. Having completed these exercises, I took a new sheet of paper and rewrote everything I remembered. It seems I got carried away with my improved memory; half of the information successfully left my head during the exercises. Then how did I manage to remember the drawing on the wall? I don't understand anything... What if?..

I took a random certificate from the stack, put it on the table without reading it, and returned to my sleeping place.

Separation.

This time it was more difficult, since my head was busy with something else, but I still managed to calm down and achieve my goal. Hanging over the table in a spiritual form, I read the postponed certificate with great difficulty and tried to remember what was written on it. Then I carried out the fusion and repeated the push-ups with squats

This time, I managed to rewrite the certificate on a clean sheet of paper verbatim! And even though it only had a couple of hundred words, I remembered them, with all the punctuation marks, numbers, and even signatures. Although the signatures turned out crooked and hardly resembled the original!

So what does it mean? In the astral form, my memorization is many times more effective. Having forgotten about the original plan to draw all the traces, I experimented with memorization in the astral until the very night. By nine in the evening, I could already sum it up. That's right. In the spirit form, I can memorize much more information. It doesn't mean ideal memory, but I can quite hold a page of literary text in my head, spending a couple of minutes on its thoughtful reading and another five on memorization. One bad thing. Reading texts in the astral is not so convenient. Printed or handwritten letters look very pale and faded in the world of subtle energies. But they can still be made out, which means I can overcome one of my main shortcomings - a bad memory.

I didn't risk continuing the experiments with separation. After all, the sun had already set, and I still had some apprehension about working in the dark. After all, all my encounters with the otherworldly had only happened after sunset. I postponed drawing up a complete diagram of the green spirit's tracks until tomorrow, and, after drinking hot tea with cookies, I went to bed. It's good that the "River Sand" exercise was so easy for me, otherwise, I would hardly have been able to fall asleep quickly. After the discoveries I had made today, I would have probably spent half the night filling my head with various fantasies. But as soon as the imaginary sand brought by the warm waves covered me completely, I immediately fell into a deep sleep.

I was lucky that I had some tea before going to bed. Because my memory is still leaky, I forgot to set the alarm. If it weren't for the physiological needs of the body, I would have definitely overslept on my first day at a new school! But I woke up at eight and even managed to have breakfast.

Having put on my uniform, I realized that I was nervous. Before leaving the house, I sat down on a chair and got up from it only when I had calmed my nerves. I didn't need to show myself as a nervous newbie in front of those I might have to study next to for many years.

The senior school started at nine in the morning, and since it was less than a kilometer from my house, I left home at half past eight and arrived with plenty of time to spare. Or so it seemed to me. In reality, while I was looking for a locker, I found the third building, where my class was supposed to start today, and I barely made it.

School life was seething, there were tons of people rushing back and forth in the seemingly primordial chaos of movements. I had already gotten used to the almost deserted streets of daytime Ristol and the general leisureliness of passers-by, and in order to join the stream of scurrying schoolchildren, I had to strain myself.

In front of the class I needed stood a tall young man, about twenty-six years old by the look of him, dressed in a grey suit of a rather loose cut. In his hands was an open folder. Noticing me, he looked into it and gestured for me to come to him.

"Dan Lier?" He asked.

"Yes," I answered with a slight bow.

"I am Zhen Uramo, a literature teacher and your class mentor." The young teacher introduced himself.

"Very nice to meet you." Again a bow, damn this politeness and local etiquette.

"Here is your schedule for the next month." He handed me a sheet of paper with a printout. "You were supposed to get it yesterday, but there was a hitch. The bell will ring in two minutes, you and I will go into the classroom, and introduce you to the other students." I was shaking with a slight chill again. Seeing my reaction, the teacher continued. "Class 1-8 are made up of those who came to study in Ristol from other cities, so it will be easy for you to fit into the team. Of course, the rest have been studying together for a month and a half, but the students are still getting used to each other." Glancing at his watch, the teacher finished, "After the third lesson, go to room 2-9. That's the teachers' room in this building, we'll get to know you better.

"Good."

The school schedule at Ristol High School is extremely standardized. Five school days, with five lessons per day. Here, the lesson lasts a full hour. There are ten-minute breaks between lessons. After the third lesson, there is a long, hour-long break, then there is a double lesson in physical education or labor education. Such small regular breaks are since the schedule is formed in such a way that on one day, the students study in one building and do not need to move to another.

The teacher asked a couple more questions about my health. I answered that I felt fine. But the conversation was interrupted by the bell ringing. It sounded exactly like the one I was used to, and I involuntarily shuddered from the strange feeling of having fallen into the past. The teacher took my twitching shoulders as nervous and patted me on the shoulder encouragingly before opening the classroom door.

But anyway, what's wrong with me? I'm really nervous. And I'm not sixteen anymore. I have college behind my belt in addition to school, as well as experience working in different teams. Having encouraged myself in this way, I went into the room with the young teacher.

"Good morning," Zhen said, standing at the board.

"Good morning, Teacher Uramo." The students jumped up from their seats and shouted almost in sync.

"Sit down." He reinforced his words with a gesture. "Today, your class will grow by one person. Allow me to introduce..." The teacher moved just a little to the side, but I immediately became the center of everyone's attention. "Your new classmate Dan Lier... Don't make noise. You'll have time to discuss the newcomer and get to know him later." And turning to me. "Dan, there's your desk."

Dan also remembered that in Shikuno, they had single-seat desks. But it's one thing to "remember" and another to see it for yourself. For me, accustomed to double-seat classrooms, this class looked very unusual. As if each student occupied their own island in the sea of the classroom.

There were thirty desks in the classroom. Five rows with six desks in each. There were three free seats, so with me there were twenty-eight students in the classroom. The desk the teacher indicated was the sixth in the fourth row from the entrance. It turns out that I was placed almost on "Kamchatka", I wouldn't say that I was against this situation, it's even better for me to sit at the back of everyone.

Spoiler

T.N. The hero took the place of the classic Main Protagonist. Haha.

I had barely managed to sit at the table when the teacher immediately began writing on the board.

The Life and Deeds of Count-Admiral Ergin. Volume One, Part Two.

"Last week, we read the first part." Having finished writing, the teacher took the book from the table and turned to the class. "In it, we learned about the time spent by Gerard Barista Ergina, Baron Sargo, in the naval cadet corps. Today, we will begin reading the second part. Everyone took out clean, thick notebooks and pens."

He opened his briefcase and took out one of the ninety-six-page notebooks and an ordinary ballpoint pen.

"Let's get started." After waiting half a minute for the students to carry out his order, Uramo began to walk along the board and read. "This day will forever remain in my memory. I, like the other twenty midshipmen, stood on the pier..."

Damn!!! Damn!! I had to dig into Dan's memory about how the educational process is structured here! But since digging into the memories of the previous owner of the body is not a pleasant occupation, I did not bother myself. So what if "Literature", I thought, like in our country, they would discuss books or arrange class readings. No way! The literature lesson here was combined with a language lesson and was structured in a very strange way. The teacher read the text, and the students had to write it down. A kind of dictation, only permanent! Yes, yes, the students had to rewrite the book being studied in their notebooks completely, and do it by ear, from the teacher's words!

I quickly started writing. Uramo dictated measuredly and seemingly not quickly, but I still barely kept up. The lack of practice was taking its toll. It was lucky my body's motor memory didn't let me down, and I didn't have to frantically remember my writing skills in the local language.

Sometimes the teacher would stop and, choosing one of the students at random, ask a question. For example, where punctuation marks should be placed in the sentence he had just read, or how to spell a particular word.

How self-confident I was yesterday, reasoning that it would not be difficult for me to study and, in general, using my baggage of knowledge, I would be able to easily and naturally get good grades without straining myself. Yeah, right... In such a structured educational process, such a thing did not shine for me at all! After half an hour of writing, there was a feeling that the hand holding the pen was starting to dry up.

About ten minutes before the end of the lesson, my fingers really started to cramp. This is hard labor, not studying, real hard labor! And you can't shirk, the teacher walks up and down the rows and makes sure that the students write everything verbatim.

"Dan." The teacher suddenly turned to me. "How do you spell the bottle of water?"

It is customary to answer the teacher standing up, not sitting down. But now I was glad of this display of etiquette, as it gave me a break, a chance to straighten up and flex my fingers unnoticed.

"B-o-t-t-l-e-o-f-w-a-t-e-r." I answered the question letter by letter.

"Right, sit down. Let's continue..."

And the hard labor began again. Never before had I been so happy when the bell rang, announcing the end of the lesson. Ah!!! I want to go to wo-o-o-o-oкл! To hell with such studies!!! However, if they teach like that here, then how do they work?

After the bell rang, the teacher finished the lesson, having only finished dictating the chapter. Then he warned that our next lesson would be held in the same classroom and, taking the book, left.

I planned to look around my classmates during the first lesson, identify leaders, groups, and determine promising acquaintances. But in reality, I barely had enough strength to keep up with the dictation, and there was no talk of looking around. And after the bell rang, I wanted only one thing - to throw away my pen and blow on my fingers. I barely restrained myself from such a display of weakness.

It will be harder than I thought to study here.

"Hi!"

I had just flexed my fingers and was opening my briefcase to put my notebook in it when I heard this coming. I slowly closed the lock on my briefcase and looked up. There were three people standing next to my desk: a guy and two girls. A guy of medium height with unruly, straw-colored hair greeted me.

"My name is Garn Nouri, I am the class president."

I shook the outstretched hand. The boy seemed normal. His gaze was direct, but not challenging. He didn't look like a nerd or the captain of some school sports team. An ordinary student and, nevertheless, a class president. As far as he remembered, in this world, unlike mine, this "position" was fought for, and not pushed off on someone who couldn't fight it off.

Before I could open my mouth, Garn continued.

"And this is Siri Himina, my first assistant." He introduced the petite brunette standing to his left, with huge olive-colored eyes and gorgeous, waist-length, jet-black hair pulled back into a ponytail. On Earth, such a girl would certainly be the most beautiful in school. By local standards, she was pretty, but nothing more. And again, I didn't get a chance to say a word, as the headman switched to the girl standing to the right. "Emri Noruza, my second assistant." A tall blonde who, at sixteen, already had such a figure that my eyes almost popped out of my head. A little over six feet tall, with long legs, a thin waist, and a bust of C, barely contained by her uniform blouse. Not only that, but she also had a very pleasant, open face, which was not spoiled at all by her perhaps slightly overly long nose. And her eyes were bright blue, like faceted sapphires.

However, if it were up to me, I wouldn't have looked her in the eye, but I had to, because staring at her chest more than I did was already terribly impolite!

"Nice to meet you." I stood up and bowed to the girls. It was not customary to shake hands with women here. "Dan Lier, as Teacher Uramo introduced."

"Despite the fact that our class consists of students who came from other cities, we have a very friendly team." Nouri rattled off as if it were written. "If you need help, contact me, Siri, or Emry." It seems I have already decided who I will contact for any reason! I barely had enough willpower to look at the class monitor and not at his second assistant. "Now it will be math. The teacher is a beast! Don't be fooled by her sweet appearance, she is a natural monster and a despot! We'll talk later!"

After these words, they sat down in their seats. I was lucky that Emry was sitting at the first desk in my row, and I couldn't have stared at her during the lesson even if I wanted to; otherwise, I definitely wouldn't have been able to resist. I barely had time to drive the blonde's tight blouse out of my imagination when the bell rang and a pretty woman in her early forties entered the classroom. Her carefully applied makeup successfully hid her age, and her jacket and tight skirt emphasized that she was watching her shape. She looked around the classroom and smiled sweetly, but despite her smile, for some reason, I immediately believed the class monitor that a dictator was hiding behind this external kindness.

"Good day."

"Good day, Teacher Riminazo." Along with everyone else, I stood up and said hello.

"Sit down. Today's lesson topic: Monomials: Multiplication and Exponentiation, Examples and Solutions. Siri, tell us what a monomial is."

In my old school, a question like that from a teacher to a pretty girl would have certainly caused a wave of laughter and giggles from the boys, but here no one even smiled.

Spoiler

T.N. Well, in Russian Monomial it sounds something like singledick. So Math is fun.

"A monomial is the simplest algebraic expression containing the product of numbers and variables raised to a natural power."

While the president's first assistant was answering, the teacher came up to me, leaned over, and asked:

"Is today your first day of high school?" I nodded. "If you're not familiar with the topic, I can give you a textbook and you can study individually."

"I am familiar with this topic, Teacher Riminazo." It seems to be nothing complicated, as far as I remember, so my answer sounded confident.

Siri finished answering, and the teacher straightened up and turned to her.

"As always, impeccable, Siri. Sit down."

Approaching the table, she opened her briefcase and took out a stack of sheets of paper. Then, walking along the first row, she handed out several sheets to those sitting at the first desks.

"Pass the assignments on." She ordered. And while the sheets of paper were being distributed around the class, she began to speak. "A new student, Dan Lier, said that he is familiar with this topic... Dan, tell the class which monomials are similar?"

What a setup! No, I seem to remember something, but the exact wording, just like that? He slowly got up from his chair, trying to drag out the time as much as possible.

"Similar monomials are those monomials... Which... Differ from each other... Only by the multiplier... And... Or the coefficient." Not remembering anything else, he froze in place.

"The exact wording is as follows." Miss Riminazo gave me a withering look and continued. "Monomials reduced to standard form are called similar if they differ only in the coefficient or do not differ at all. In Ristol High School, it is customary to study from standard textbooks in which all the wording is clearly spelled out. Young man, I beg you, if you have not learned them word for word, then do not claim that you know the topic!"

"I beg your pardon, Teacher Riminazo." And what could I do but bow my head and stand there with a look of complete remorse?

"Sit down. Let's see how well you know the practical part." Then she addressed the whole class. "I see sheets with printed assignments already on each desk. Well, you have forty-five minutes to solve these problems."

Having said this, she sat down at the teacher's desk and, opening a book, became engrossed in reading. Why didn't I say: "I'll try to cope," instead of confidently answering: "I know the topic." Although something tells me this woman with a kind smile would have found something to find fault with in order to put the new guy in his place from the first day. It's not that she saw me as a hooligan. She does it just out of habit, as a preventative measure and as a lesson to others.

Having stopped scolding myself, I turned my attention to the task. On a sheet of paper slightly larger than the A4 format I was accustomed to, the equations that had to be solved were printed in typographic form. Fifty equations! Fifty! Have they gone crazy at this school?! How is it possible to solve all this?

But, having looked at the tasks more closely, I could hardly hold back a smile. I could easily solve such problems without even straining my memory, because the examples were primitive. The most difficult equation looked like: (2*a^3 * b^5 * c^2 ) * (4* a^2 * b^2 * c^1) = ?, and its solution was considered to be = 8* a^5 * b^7 * c^3.

As they say, the eyes are afraid, but the hands are doing, and that's what happened in this lesson. Before the allotted time, I not only solved everything but also checked all the tasks three times just in case! I didn't need to make a mistake at something so simple, or even make a typo.

Five minutes before the bell, Miss Riminazo closed her book and, rising from her desk, gave the command.

"Class, put down your pens and pick up your pencils." Taking a large sheet of paper from the table, she hung it over the board. "Here are the correct solutions. Check and mark the mistakes with a pencil."

Having given this order, she began to walk around the classroom, carefully watching to make sure no one picked up a pen. After the allotted five minutes had passed, she returned to the board.

"Those who have five or more mistakes or who did not manage to solve more than five examples, raise your hands."

What would someone just go and confess? The answer to my question was seven raised palms. They've been trained like that here!

"I see. Now, those who have three or four mistakes or who did not manage to solve three or four examples, raise your hands."

This time, nine people raised their hands. Eight people failed to solve two or one problems. Only four solved everything: me, the president, Siri, and a tall, brown-haired, broad-shouldered athlete I didn't know yet.

Those who made five or more mistakes, solve the problems from the textbook on pages ninety-five through ninety-nine by the next lesson. Those who failed to solve three or four problems, do page ninety-six through ninety-nine. Those who made two or one mistake, do page ninety-eight through ninety-nine. Yemanri, Dorovi, Kliros, and Lier, give me your sheets, I will check them.

And here's the answer to why everyone admits their mistakes! Random check. And for some reason, it seems to me that those who are caught in a lie will get into trouble! It took her only three minutes to check all four submitted papers. After which she looked around the class:

"Dorove! Your handwriting is very bad for a girl! I will convey my displeasure to your literature teacher. Spelling is a necessity in our society. Take it seriously! The rest are fine. The lesson is over."

She had barely said this when the bell rang. I couldn't help but admire her precise timing, a bitch of course, but a professional!

In general, it is an interesting system. Homework is usually given only to those who fail in class. Those who manage to do everything have no need to sit over their studies at home. Apparently, this is how they solved one of the main problems of mass education, namely the gap in knowledge between students. Of course, this did not completely close the issue, but the fact that, if they wanted, the laggards could catch up with the excellent students was visible in such a system.

As soon as I put my notebook and writing utensils into my briefcase, the president approached me.

"Dan, the next lesson is in a different class. Let's go, I'll show you the way."

"Sure."

I nod to him with gratitude, but I think it would be better if Emry guided me! But she was busy, she was cornered, quietly scolding Siri. Walking past the girls after Garn, I heard a piece of conversation.

"I help you so much, and you still make mistakes. You need to study more, and not make eyes at boys!"

Even though Emry listened to the first assistant calmly and even seemed to repent, it didn't escape my notice that she was not interested in studying. And the way the beauty looked at me gave me certain hopes. As I imagined her shape, yes... Stop! What kind of debauchery was in my thoughts? Stop! I'm a respectable student! And I'm not going to end up in jail for corrupting minors! By the way, I need to clarify what the age of consent is in Shikuno. It's not that I couldn't control myself, but... But it was still worth finding out...

"We've arrived!" Garn stopped in front of the entrance to the classroom on the third floor.

Damn it, he was saying and explaining something the whole way, but I wasn't listening, having flown away somewhere far away in my fantasies.

"Thank you for your help." He thanked the president.

"Yes, you're welcome. Contact me if you need anything!"

The classes here were standard and, when moving from one to another, students occupied the same seats they had sat in before.

The third lesson today was History. And I was looking forward to this subject the most. Because in elementary and middle school, Dan was taught the basics, without any specifics, and I wanted to understand how the historical process proceeded in such a world. What conflicts were there, and what was their main cause? How did such a slow technological development affect geopolitics? The maps of various historical periods hung around the classroom were encouraging. I really hope that the teacher will be good, and from his lessons, I will be able to at least slightly clarify the questions that interest me.

Before I had time to take my desk, the bell rang and a gray-haired man entered the classroom. I couldn't determine his age. He could have been thirty-five or over fifty.

"Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Teacher Tsiuro!" It seems I got used to these constant choral greetings too quickly.

"Sit down." Walking to the table, he glanced at the class register, straightened up, and began to speak. "Last time we stopped at the twenty-fifth year of the era of the Divided Provinces, or the one thousand three hundred and thirty-third year of the Universal Chronology. Let's not waste time and continue." All the students immediately rustled the pages of their notebooks. "The year one thousand three hundred and thirty-four. On January 8th, the heir of Duke Oga was born. The boy was healthy, and the Duke threw a feast on this occasion. January 12th, behind-the-scenes negotiations began between Duke Iori and the rebellious Count Tronto. January 19th, as a result of a short battle, Horvo's troops captured the crossing on the Eoiry River, near the free city of Triam ..."

And this is a history lesson? Really? I only had time to write down so as not to stand out from the crowd. And the teacher read the textbook, listing dates. No review, analysis, no questions about why someone did something, and what this action led to. A listing, even of the most insignificant events! My hopes of understanding something from the history of this world, having devoted more time to the school subject "history", seem to have gone down the drain!

Teacher Tsiuro read for fifty minutes without stopping. And the last ten, having asked to close the notebooks, he devoted to questions addressed to random students.

When was Duke Oga's heir born? Near what city did Horvo's troops capture the crossing in January?..

Luckily, he didn't ask me anything, because I couldn't even imagine that all this damned pile of dates and events actually must be remembered! This is not studying history, this is some kind of profanation! Cramming dates is not studying the subject, but I managed to pull myself together and not shout it out. I'm afraid no one would understand me here; that's just the way it is here, period.

By the end of the lesson, my wrist ached no less than after literature. Really hard labor... And not only do you have to write for hours here, but they will ask about all this later. Hell in reality, that's what local education is!

Now I understand why there is only one high school for a city of three hundred thousand and its suburbs. I understand that at least four thousand people study here, that is, approximately every eighth of the appropriate age, and the rest preferred to work or study in vocational schools or technical schools. Unloading wagons with cement is easier, I tried. I can compare, and if I had a choice, it would be better to load cement. And when I imagine there are exams here, I want to hide in a corner and howl at the moon that has not yet risen! But, all the same, I was not going to leave school. The orphanage looming in that case, I did not like much more. My uncle would definitely send me there; he does not need any nephew, and will not babysit me.

The president brought me out of my unhappy thoughts.

"Come with us to the dining room!"

"I would be happy to!" And it was true. It wasn't that I wanted to eat. It was just that Emry was standing behind Garn's right shoulder, and I would have been very happy with her company. "But, Mentor Uramo asked me to come see him during the long break."

"What a pity! But, never mind, we'll catch up!" Is he really so cheerful and happy, or is he just kidding? How can you save so much energy with such boring and exhausting training?! "See you in the workshop!"

I hope I didn't imagine it, and my refusal to have lunch together upset Emry a little. This thought raised my spirits considerably! How I am thrown around on waves of hormones, it's something! I hope I don't turn into a sexual maniac. I watch how the girls leave, and all my thoughts are about one thing. Br-r-r-r!!! Besides, many girls passing by, despite their young age, were fully aware of their attractiveness. And they walked along the school corridors in such a way...

Well, yes! I need to visit Dr. Coin and ask for some pills. Otherwise, I can't vouch for myself. Apparently, Dan was initially more impulsive and explosive than I by nature, and there's my experience and rich imagination, all of which, superimposed on each other, can play a very cruel joke.

For about three minutes, I stood in the corridor, leaning against the wall, secretly looking at the beauties passing by, and there was something to look at! In this world, for some reason, people are more beautiful than on Earth. The famous couple Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, against this background, would be people with a completely ordinary, unremarkable appearance, nice, but nothing more.

I tried to use the "Pendulum" and, closing my eyes, concentrated on my breathing. And to my surprise, it helped! The obsession, desires, and fantasies faded, lost their appeal, and I was able to think normally. Having regained control over my mind, I headed to the teachers' room, trying to look straight at the floor and in no case to the sides. I didn't need to catch my gaze again on someone's legs or figure, and there was something to catch on to here, oh there was...

Finding the teachers' room was not difficult. Zhen Uramo was already waiting for me. The first part of our conversation was dry and businesslike. As it turned out, we were supposed to meet yesterday, after I signed all the papers, but the class with him was on an excursion on Monday, and he had no opportunity to meet with me.

The mentor wrote me a pass to the library and signed a paper for the provision of the necessary textbooks. Everything was centralized here, and you don't have to buy them yourself. He also told me a little about the class, but just general words without an ounce of specifics. As soon as we finished with the bureaucracy, the teacher turned to me with a question.

"Dan, have you already decided which clubs you will enroll in?"

There was a tradition of clubs here. On the one hand, a student wasn't obliged to stay on school grounds after school. Yes, he wasn't obliged, but that was the customary practice here! It was customary that after finishing school, students would do something within the walls of the school until at least six in the evening. And it's often much more dangerous to go against such "customary practice" than against "obligatory practice".

"Not yet, I used to go swimming and study my native language in depth." Dan's memory prompted her answer in time. "But now that I'm in high school, I want to try something new."

"Commendable..." Rubbing his clean-shaven chin with his palm, the mentor looked into the folder and asked: "In the admissions form, you wrote that you are interested in history, especially the Time of the Divided Provinces, as well as bladed weapons."

What? Did I write that? I don't remember. Most likely, Dan filled out this form before he sailed from Austroia. It looks like that, because the interests voiced by the teacher were quite standard for a sixteen-year-old boy: knights and weapons.

"Yeah, yeah. Interesting." Actually, I'm more interested in the industrial history of this world, but a sudden change of interests might seem strange, so I agree.

"How do you feel about joining the Shatano club?"

Shatano? Memory, au, what is this? Hmm. It turns out to be some kind of cross between Kendo and knightly swordplay. Do I need it?

"Moreover, classes have not started yet, and you will not have to catch up with anyone, which is an undoubted advantage compared to other clubs."

Now this is strange. Classes started a month and a half ago, and the section is still not working? Something is wrong here, should I keep quiet or ask?

"Why hasn't it started yet?" I'm leaning towards the second option.

"To start classes, we need at least six students, and so far, five have signed up. If you agree, the club will start training next week."

I don't understand. What's the point in his persuading me to join it? There are more than three hundred clubs at school. What's his interest in agitating me specifically for Shatano?

Taking my silence for doubt, the mentor continued his persuasion.

"I understand that today's youth is not interested in Shatano. Many are interested in fencing, but most choose utility, without thinking about the development of the spirit." Now my ears are twitching. Development of the spirit. "Our school has five different sections training young men and women according to universal rules, and old styles are not in fashion; they are not so functional." Is there a hint of sadness in the teacher's voice? "Everyone thinks about success in competitions, and not self-development." Self-development? What a sharp-tongued devil, he almost talked me into it! "Shatano was created when Honor, Dignity, and Strength of the inner spirit were not just words." Strength of the inner spirit?! Yes, I already agree, I hope this is not a banal advertisement. "I see you are interested. Then you have another reason to agree, the section will be led by Master Lancer, at the school, he teaches mathematics to the graduating classes. Master Lancer has been practicing Shatano for over a quarter of a century. He has his own sword school in the city, and charges students a decent amount of money for tuition, but here you will have free lessons."

Somehow, everything is good, too good. And how could it be that under such conditions there were not only six students among four thousand? Something is wrong here. But "development of the spirit", "strength of the inner spirit", this is exactly what I need!

"I'm not pressuring you, but think about this section." Well, yes, he's not pressuring, yeah.

"Yes, I've already thought about it. I agree." Even if the Shatano turns out to be a profanation, a good relationship with the mentor is worth it.

"Then, sign up after your Labor lesson, on the notice board in the administrative building."

"Maybe you can recommend another club?"

"Hmm-m-m." Having received my consent, he clearly lost interest in the conversation. "There will be only one piece of advice, one sports club will be enough for you, choose a club based on your interests, Astronomy or Library. And try to decide before the beginning of next week."

"Thanks for the advice."

"You have ten minutes before the start of your Labor lesson, I won't keep you any longer."

"Goodbye."

"See you on Friday." The teacher nodded and immersed himself in studying the papers.

He's strange, I thought as I made my way to the workshop where the double lesson was supposed to take place.

The workshop was in one of the remote buildings. As soon as I entered the front doors, Nouri ran into me.

"Here you go." He handed me a black apron made of rough fabric and fabric gloves. "And you're unlucky to miss lunch, today there were excellent fish cutlets!"

"Yes, I would love to taste them, but..."

"I understand! Let's go to class."

A work class, a workshop? What I saw made me stop in my tracks because the room looked like a real woodworking shop. Machines, workbenches, tools, and all the students in gloves and aprons. I was so surprised that I didn't notice a strong man, shorter than average, approaching me.

"Newbie?" He asked.

"Yes. Today is the first day. Dan Lier."

"Master Chivar." He introduced himself. "The teacher of labor and the head of this workshop. You missed a lot, but I don't have time to work with you individually." Turning to Garn, he pierced him with his gaze and, grabbing him by the lapel of his jacket, ordered. "Nouari, you are the president. So show the new guy everything here. You are exempt from the rest of the work for three classes." And again, he turned his attention to me. "I hope you are smart and have hands growing from the right place. In three classes, I will check that you understood this." Then the bell rang. "Haven't you changed your clothes yet?" He barked at us, the president literally blew away from this roar, and I immediately hurried after him.

Well, yes. A labor lesson... How so... The more Nouri told me, the more surprised I was. In general, this workshop made school furniture. And not only for our school, but for all the others in the Ristol area. Children made it under the supervision of teachers. A natural use of child labor, and for free, because no one even thought of paying the students! True, there were nuances, judging by Nouri's explanations, no one was chasing the quantity of products here, the master paid main attention to quality, sometimes forcing a careless student to redo something twenty times until he was satisfied with the result. I would have been happy to somehow get out of such lessons, but they were mandatory. In addition, all the other students took them for granted. And in the curriculum, everything was regulated; that is, this workshop was not the arbitrariness of the director of this particular educational institution.

The president took the assignment seriously. He showed and told everything. Once, I spent half a year working in a garage workshop that assembled furniture as an errand boy. I managed to pick up something then, so I could start working in class right then, but I didn't want to at all. So, I followed Garn and pretended to listen attentively.

All the machines were generally familiar. There were design differences, but not such that I couldn't imagine how to approach the machine. However, it is probably difficult to invent something new from a circular saw, a drilling machine, a grinder, and the like.

I assessed the technological level of the school workshop's machine park as acceptable. No CNC or anything complicated, but at one time, I had the chance to see more primitive machines. In general, nothing more complicated is needed to make desks and chairs. I don't think that the demand for such specific products is excessive; most likely, this workshop covers all the needs of nearby educational institutions.

But fate is a tricky thing! You wanted to work instead of studying? Here you go, get a job!

Listening half-heartedly to Garn, I paid more attention to something else. I tried to identify the leaders of my class. Since the girls were working right there, only not on the machines, but doing small finishing, it was possible. By the end of the school day, I had more or less made up my mind.

There were two leaders in the female part of the class. Olaya was a very beautiful girl, of an oriental type, a sort of Persian princess, perhaps even more beautiful than Emry, but still not to my taste. And Ursita was outwardly unremarkable, not outstanding in her grades, but as the class monitor said, she was the captain of the junior school girls' water polo team.

The boys seemed to have one clear leader. Kliros, the same one who, like me, never made a single mistake in math class. Tall, only I could compete with him in height in the whole class. Athletic, because Dan had been swimming for many years. But that was where our similarities ended. If Dan was handsome with an aristocratic beauty, then Kliros immediately attracted attention with the masculinity that sixteen-year-olds so lack. Long, dark blond hair emphasized his facial features, and many girls clearly melted from the guy's bright blue eyes. Before I came to the class, he was clearly considered the most handsome guy "in the village". And also, he seemed to like Emry, and now he looked at me askance and unkindly. This is bad because he has a lot of influence in the class.

Nourш and his assistants stood apart from everyone else, neither joining any of the groups nor extending their influence over the class.

So the question is, should I establish contact with the Kliros, become a loner, and there were quite a few in my class, or create my own group?

It seems that joining the president will not work. Garn clearly has some goal of his own, having brought two girls closer to him, he behaves evenly with the rest, not letting them into the inner circle. Although I can clearly see, behind the external carefreeness and talkativeness, our president is not as simple as he wants to seem. However, imposing myself is not in my rules, so to hell with him, it helps to join the team, and that's good.

As the bell rang, announcing the end of the compulsory school day, all my classmates dispersed to their clubs. The one left alone, following the advice of the mentor, headed to the administrative building.

First, I went to the library and got textbooks with a card, with an urgent recommendation to buy protective covers. Because if I hand in damaged textbooks at the end of the year, I will be fined three times their value. Remembering how much books cost here, I involuntarily shuddered at such a prospect.

In general, the school library is a strange place. You can't take anything with you except textbooks. If you want to read something, you can only do it in the reading room and cannot take it away. I'm angry at the local customs! And I wanted to take something on history to read. But sitting in the reading room now? For now, I have more important things to do.

Coming out into the main hall of the administrative building, I easily found a notice board dedicated to recruitment for clubs and sections. A leaflet calling for people to learn Shatano was hanging almost in the very bottom corner. Only five people signed up, all from senior classes, one from the graduating class. I looked at the recruitment for other fencing sections; there were many more people there, from ten to fifty in each. And, characteristically, girls were signing up for all of them except Shatano. I sensed with my gut that there was a setup somewhere, but it was too late to back out.

Taking out a pen, I wrote on the sixth line: "Dan Lier, class 1-8."

If something goes wrong, I'll leave the section. It was tacitly discouraged to change clubs during the year and it would damage my reputation at school, but if it really was a setup, then screw that reputation.

I spent over half an hour studying the other ads. Maybe my eye will catch something?

Library club? Perhaps the best choice, indeed. Because there will be time to sit in the reading room. Only one drawback. I won't be able to chat in the reading room, plus there are Shatano classes, which will be attended by a minimum of people. It turns out that my social life will be greatly "cut down".

Even this morning, I was thinking that it was too early for me to join social life. But today made me think about this issue. The library is good, of course, but live communication with peers can give me much more in terms of understanding this world. And if I'm right and the Kliros doesn't like me, I need my own group of classmates so that they don't bully me. I know these schoolchildren, hellish monsters against their background, often look pale.

Astronomy club? During the day? Study the starry sky on maps? What do I need that for? In this world, the Big Bang theory is still in doubt. I seem to know more about astrophysics than all the professors here, although I didn't study it specifically. And they launched a couple of satellites into space about seventy years ago, and then it was quiet. It's unprofitable, according to the locals, and there seem to be huge problems with rocket fuel here. The locals pumped out all the available light oil three hundred years ago. However, for some reason, they didn't think of offshore drilling, but I don't want to interfere with this society with my tips.

And yet, what to choose in addition to Shatano? The most socially convergent atmosphere in team sports. True, the mentor mentioned that two sections are too much, but I have something to occupy my brain with anyway.

Among the team sports, volleyball was discovered. A quick dive into Dan's memory, yes, in this world, this sport was almost no different from the one I knew. Only the court was a little bigger, and there were seven players on the field for each team. At one time, I wanted to take up this sport, I liked it, even in those school years, but in that life, I was not tall enough, and I was not fit to be a point guard. Maybe I'll try it?

No matter how much I thought, I couldn't come up with anything better for myself than a Library club or Volleyball. And choosing between them turned out to be a difficult task. However, I have time until Friday, so there is no need to rush.

As I was leaving the school grounds, I noticed the guard looking at me with disapproval. Why was he looking at me like that? Was it because at this time all the normal schoolchildren were busy with something and not hanging around doing nothing?

During dinner, I was replaying the first day of school in my head. All my plans for easy learning went to hell, in order to stay at least at an average level here, I will have to work and work. My knowledge base will certainly help, but it will still not be an easy walk.

Having thrown panicky thoughts out of my head, I decided to finish what I started yesterday. That is, to transfer the drawing left by Smesharik onto paper. I managed to do it just before sunset. Then I stapled the sheets together into a three-dimensional copy of the room and froze, looking at the result.

At first glance, there is no pattern. On the second, however, the same thing. The feeling that the green and lichen were just stomping around. I looked from different angles, sometimes added something, but all to no avail. It's too chaotic. My consciousness does not catch the pattern. So I sat until late at night, having achieved nothing.

Falling asleep, I thought about whether I'm just stupid, huh? And the local school reminds me of hell, and I can't figure out Smesharik's art. An offensive thought, and if it weren't for the "River Sand", I probably wouldn't have been able to fall asleep for a long time.

The alarm sounded like the voice of the gates of heaven. Because I dreamed about such a shit! The morning awakening against this background was simply manna from heaven. When you dream about Miss Riminazo running after you through the school corridors, shaking a massive, meter-long ruler and shouting "Have you learned the definitions?!", and you, as luck would have it, can't even remember anything! It was scarier than if the Predator or the Alien had come into my dream.

But against the background of these experiences, Smesharik, slime, and chameleon already seem not so scary. Progress!

Today I had Chemistry, Biology, and Geography in the morning block and Physical Education in a double lesson.

I had barely taken off my coat and hung it in my locker when Garn appeared next to me. I'm already curious how long his patronage of the new guy will last. Or did the mentor give him such a task? Of course, I don't mind that he helps, if only he talked less, he would be priceless, but he just babbles on and on!

Chemistry, the first easy lesson for me in the new school. This year of study, we were still learning the very basics, namely the periodic table, although here it was called differently, which, however, did not change its essence one bit. While everyone was busy repeating after the teacher, I was looking for unfamiliar elements on the board. I did not find any. The names are different, of course, but this does not change the fact that in this world, hydrogen has remained hydrogen in its structure.

Watching my classmates, I confirmed my observations from yesterday. And also that Kliros sometimes casts far from friendly glances at me. However, this fact was easily outweighed by the fact that Emry volunteered to take me to the Biology class. Perhaps, for the sake of such a girl's attention, it is possible to feud with the class leader.

As we walked along the corridors, the girl was telling me that she couldn't stand Chemistry. But she loved Biology. It wasn't hard for me to figure out that she was lying. She also barely tolerated Biology, as well as any other school subject. At the same time, her speech was structured correctly, without flud and parasitic words, so I was wary of classifying her as a dud girl. What is she doing here, in high school? Even I can see at first glance that she is burdened by her studies, and she has other interests in life, although I haven't figured out what they are yet, but they are definitely there.

"Em!" An unfamiliar girl ran into us and literally grabbed my guide with her hands. "How's your wrist?"

"It's better, Wim." Judging by the tone of the answer, the girls were not only acquainted but had already become friends.

"So, should I expect you today?"

"Yes, tell the teacher that today I'm going to beat an apology out of that arrogant Fla."

"Super!" A smile flashed across Wima's face. "We're waiting!" And having said this, the girl ran off to do her business.

Beat? Apologies? What kind of showdowns are these, especially among the fair sex? Maybe some kind of martial arts? But no, I can't imagine someone like Emry in the ring. Although... My imagination immediately drew two girls in revealing swimsuits wrestling in the mud...

"Why are you stuck?" The beauty tugged at my sleeve. It's good that she can't read minds, otherwise, she would have killed me on the spot. "Did you like Wima?" She said without a trace of jealousy.

"Uh-uh... She's pretty, but my brain is still full of studying." I shook my head. Breathe evenly, don't stare, don't stare at her blouse...

"Yeah, it's tough to transition like you did, almost two months into the school year." Sincere sympathy?

I'm not sixteen. I shouldn't buy this. So, what is it that I like so much?! And I didn't fall in love. I like her for sure, but it's not love. And still, I like her participation and attention. Hormones, definitely hormones!

I will buy Dr. Coin a cognac for the self-study book, because the exercises saved me again. And when I let the girl enter the class first, I had already calmed down. Opening the door for her like a gentleman. For which I was rewarded with an amazing view, but I saw off Emry's figure rather simply admiring than fighting my desires.

Biology. Another disappointment. I thought I would learn something new, but here they were teaching "The Cellular Structure of the Plant Organism". And the teacher started from afar, devoting almost the entire lesson to telling us what a wonderful invention the microscope was and what benefit it brought to biology. Everything would be fine, sit, listen, relax. If only we weren't obliged to write down everything the teacher said. Verbatim! Whoever came up with this teaching system is a sadist. Why rewrite the textbook? And one more nuance, the textbooks were intended only for home use; they were not allowed to be used in classes. This rule is a mind-bender for me!

This lesson, if I hadn't been writing by hand all the time, I would have had time to think and observe. But my long-forgotten skill of writing and thinking about my own hasn't woken up yet. So it was really hard. The teacher was blaring without looking back, whether anyone could keep up with him or not.

I hope Geography will give me something new!

But the teacher's first words:

"So, in the previous classes, we looked at our hometown as a geographical object. Today we will also look at the Ristol region. The largest settlement after Ristol is considered to be Distol, founded in..."

Rustling my pen on the notebook page, all I could do was quietly curse to myself. Geography, learning about the world. Naive...

I went to lunch deep in thought. Apparently, in order to learn something here, it is not enough to just study at school.

Before I could finish this thought, someone pulled me by the shoulder, with such force that I was turned around. I had just opened my mouth when a heavy and professionally delivered blow landed in my solar plexus. Everything happened so unexpectedly that I didn't even have time to tense my abs, not to mention any other counteraction. From the burning pain, I folded in half. Luckily, I didn't fall to my knees, I managed to put one hand out and rest it on the pavement, thereby saving my pants from the dirt. My breath caught, and all I could do was open my mouth like a fish on ice. It hurt!! It really hurt! There were bloody circles in my eyes.

Someone's hand falls on my shoulder, and someone leans over and speaks into my ear.

"You, mlar*, are you the harshest or something? You, mlar, have nothing to do, mlar? I, mlar, will ruin your life here until the end of the year, mlar. You ruined all my plans, mlar. You'll get more on Monday, mlar."

/*mlar -- a swear word, rude. Originally a rare animal, which is very indiscriminate in its sexual life./

Damn. What did I do? I roll my eyes. A big guy is squatting next to me, half a head taller and about twenty-five kilograms heavier! And judging by the chevron, he is from the graduating class. His fists are made of cast iron, and he knows how to hit. And the fact that he is almost four years older has a big impact. And unexpectedly. And students are passing by and going around our couple. Trying not to look at us. As if there are not two people sitting in the middle of one of the school paths. True, if no one saw the moment of the blow, then it might seem that the older student is helping the younger one.

"Dan Lier, mlar, I remember you." So it's not a coincidence? And he didn't confuse me with anyone else. It's bad.

"Kano, get away from the new guy." Garn's voice is heard behind.

"I didn't ask you, mlar." But he removes his hand from my shoulder.

"Move away." The president repeats more insistently.

"I don't give a shit about your last name... Nouri." Spitting, the high school student answers him. "Anyway, I'm done with this shit, mlar." And leaning towards me again, he whispers. "Until Monday."

Finally, the pain lets up a little, and I can breathe. It hurts so much... I remember you too... Kano...

"Can you stand up?" The president sat down next to me.

"Yeah-ah-ah." It hurts, but the spasm seems to be going away.

I managed to get up, but I couldn't straighten up completely. I fought more than once in that life, not that I was a bully, but there were parties, girls, in general. A couple of times, I even got hit by a democratizer, but I don't remember being knocked out with one blow. But my new body, despite its young age, is no stronger than my old one, twenty-eight years old. It's good that I didn't get hit in the nose; there would have been a fracture at least one hundred percent.

"When did you manage to cross the Kano road?" Garn asked, supporting me by the elbow.

"I don't even know him, and I'm seeing him for the first time!" It's the pure truth, by the way.

"It's strange..." the president said thoughtfully. "He stopped picking on everyone three years ago and seemed to have calmed down. I haven't seen him like this for a long time."

"Do you know each other?" I need to get more information about this thug out of my interlocutor.

"We grew up in the same yard, yeah..." Garn admitted reluctantly. "As a child, he was always picking on everyone, but when he went to high school and started boxing, it was like he was a different person." Well, he's also a boxer who's been training for over three years! That's where he gets that punch. "He became calm, even reasonable."

"I can't believe it." I blurted out involuntarily in response to these words.

"Are you sure you haven't crossed his path anywhere?" I don't like the doubt in his voice.

"I'm sure. And when would I have had time?"

"That's right..."

"What did he mean when he said he didn't give a damn about your last name?" The president's cheekbones tensed at this question.

"Hmm. However, you would have found out with time, and there is no particular secret." As if in thought, stretching out each word, the young man says. "My father, the Chief of Police of this city."

"And this thug curses you like that?" I'm provoking the headman.

"His mother is the Head of the Ristol Tax Office." He winces as if he bit off half a lemon, Garn. "She's quite the influential bi..." He clearly wanted to say "bitch", but stopped himself in time.

It seems that my thoughts about tracking down Kano and breaking his legs with a baseball bat are not the best idea. For her son, such a mother would turn the whole city upside down, and they would find me. Yes, even without this mother, such revenge is the lot of minors. My excessive ardor and emerging tendency to simple solutions are beginning to strain me considerably.

"You said your father is the chief of the city police?"

"Well, yes." Garn looked at me as if I had a hearing problem.

"Aren't Class 1-8 made up entirely of out-of-towners?"

"Ah!.. That's what you're talking about. Gathered, gathered, there are only three Ristolians in the class. My father told me, it's common practice... What did he say there... The center of social crystallization, I think those are his words verbatim."

"Let me guess... Siri and Emri are local, too?"

"Of course!" Nouri smiled at my quick wit. "You have some brains." Flattering? "By the way, have you signed up for any clubs yet?" Does he want to suggest something?

"To one club, I haven't chosen second yet."

"And which one?"

"Shatano." At that moment, I had almost recovered and was standing straight, so I noticed how the headman suddenly turned pale.

"Dan... Let's go sit on the bench..." And again, taking me by the elbow, he pulled me towards the nearest bench.

It seems I'm not paranoid after all. And my thoughts about the section being a "set-up" turned out to be correct. Well, teacher Uramo, thank you!

We sat down on the bench. Garn half-turned towards me. I don't like his look. He looks guilty somehow.

"In general... Here's the thing... Kano only goes to the boxing club at school. Twice a week. The rest of the time, he trains individually outside of school. He's not a great student, but they forgive him a lot, since this year he's representing our school at interregional competitions." So not only is this Kano a boxer, he's also the school's heavyweight boxing champion! To be honest with myself, there's absolutely no chance of beating him in a fair fight.

"What does the Shatano section have to do with it?" I'm redirecting the president in the right direction.

"Kano has trouble with math, real trouble. And they say that teacher Lancer is a real beast, who our Miss Riminazo can't compare to in terms of strictness. And he has a lot of influence at school. If he didn't devote so much time to his hobby, he would have been the principal long ago."

"Shatano..." I reminded.

"Lancer agreed to the director's persuasion, to give Kano some leeway, only if he signed up for his section. And since the Shatano section was not recruiting students and had not worked, as they say, for more than five years, Kano agreed. In addition, if five people sign up for the circle, the announcement continues to hang; it is not taken down. It turns out that if five people are signed up, then you are kind of listed in it, but in reality, it does not work, and you are free to do whatever you want. It seems like you are a member, but in fact, you are free. In general, of those signed up there, only two really want to study, and Kano persuaded two more to "hang around". He also spread a rumor around the school that if someone signs up sixth, he will rip off their legs and twist their head. Kano spends all his free time preparing for competitions. The Shatano classes that have begun will ruin his entire training process. And he was a fanatic about boxing, the only thing he found himself in..." It's not a school, but some kind of dramatic tragedy club.

"Spread the rumor?" My fists are itching to punch the headman in the nose, so hard that the blood would splatter his perfectly clean and ironed jacket.

"Yes... Oh... " It's got to the idiot! "I... Forgive me, but I didn't think that you would... Just today, I wanted to talk to you about clubs..." I really want to hit him, but hitting the president, and remembering who his dad is, is a bad idea. But I want to squash his nose so much! "And what about you? Why did you go to Shatano? Did you practice before?" Garn quickly changed the topic, which was unpleasant for him.

"No, I haven't." I barely refrained from saying I heard about this Shatano for the first time yesterday. "If I cross out my name, the club won't start, will it?"

"If you do it before the first lesson, then yes, it won't start."

On the one hand, my refusal is a weakness. On the other hand, in this world, there are enough incomprehensible spirits and magicians monitoring progress for me to get involved in school squabbles that I don't care about at all.

"Why did you even sign up for it?"

"Mentor Uramo recommended... " I tried to put as much bile as possible into my "recommended".

"Oh-oh-oh..." Nouri's face acquired a strange expression that I couldn't interpret correctly. "Then refusing is not an option for you. You see... Teacher Uramo, after work, practice Shatano with Master Lancer... If you refuse, you will offend him, which he will not forget. And the bad attitude of the mentor, as you probably guess, will affect your school life much more than any troubles from Kano."

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I'm in deep trouble. I'm stuck like an idiot between a rock - a boxing fanatic, and a hard place - my class teacher. I had a feeling I shouldn't sign up, but I didn't trust my instincts. I'm a fool.

"Look..." Having made some decision, Garn straightened up and sat up straight, as if he had swallowed a crowbar. "Because there was some share of my carelessness in what happened." Share?! Carelessness"?! You're a master of understatement, that's who you are, class president! "In general, I'll take Kano on myself. He won't touch you outside of school. If he does anything, he'll go to a juvenile correctional facility for ten days. I'll hint to him about this, and also that in that case, he can forget about the competition, even if his mother, as usual, gets him out of there on the first day. But at school, be more attentive and, most importantly, keep your eyes open during training."

"But what if he persuades someone else, and not himself?"

"Kano? Persuades someone into it? He's not as bad as you thought. He has a sort of code of his own..." Nouri glanced at his watch. "How's your stomach?"

"It hurts..." I didn't lie.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Is he making fun of me?

"I don't think I'll have an appetite now." I smile at his question.

"It's better if you don't go to PE today."

"I don't want to skip school."

"Listen..." He slapped me on the shoulder with his palm. "Go home and rest. I'll explain everything to the Physical Education teacher."

"Okay." I really didn't feel healthy enough to run or do pull-ups.

With a strain, I thanked Nouri and went home.

Having somehow hobbled to the apartment, I undressed and climbed into the shower. An examination of my stomach revealed a large, spreading bruise. I hope this boxer did not cause me serious injury. I squatted a couple of times under the streams of hot water. It seems that there was no pain anywhere. So he hit me competently, more with the aim of humiliating than causing real harm to my health. And he was not afraid that I would go and complain. Although... Remembering the conversation with Nouri, he did not even hint at the possibility of my turning to the teachers. This can only mean one thing: snitches are not liked here, and not a single self-respecting guy will run to cry on the teacher's shoulder...
* * *

 

[RiP]

* * *
Shikuno, carriage of the electric train Distol - Ristol -- Tessa Sublunar, Silver 4th Rank.
* * *

A pretty girl, with makeup skillfully made up to hide her true beauty, sat in a soft chair and looked out the window, as if observing the sprawling countryside. Not a single psychologist, not even the most experienced, looking at her, would have guessed that the girl was furious. Yes, furious, in the most natural rage!

In the north of the region, she also found no trace of the Gray Giant. And the Master of Distol, Black Fifth, seemed to be able to sense her weakness and behaved insolently and defiantly. Black, one rank lower, contradicted Silver! At any other time, she would have undoubtedly put him in his place. But not now, not only is her Spark barely flickering, but time is precious. Very precious!

She must first find the Source that fed the slug.

First!

But so far, her search has been fruitless.

The biggest mystery, how such a giant gets unnoticed through her town, past the Black patrols, all the way to the high school? For now, it remained a mystery. That Gray had grown up locally and had come into town small, a thought she had long ago dismissed.

She had ruled Ristol for three hundred years, and if the Source of Power had been hidden in her city, she would have found it long ago. Silver didn't doubt that for a moment. Which meant Gray had eaten somewhere. The question was where? Certainly not in the big cities, where he would be spotted at once. Major transportation junctions were also out of the question, as Steel was constantly feeding there, and no Knight would let such a large prey pass him by. The neighborhoods of Ristol remained, unless there was a mistake in her reasoning. She had made this trip through the region to find out.

The Source...

The more she thought Gray had found it, the less she believed it. The last True Supreme shard had been found in this world more than two thousand years ago. She was just giddy at the thought that Gray had found something unrevealed to the world for so long. To get a shard of the Spark of the Gone was the realization of all her dreams of strength, power, and...

And safety.

No one saw the pretty girl's palms clench into fists.

She was deluding herself. Dreams of the Source clouded her mind.

But something fattened the slug, didn't it? It couldn't have been born like that, could it?!

Under the even rattle of wheels, pressed her forehead against the cold glass, the girl sat in thoughtfulness, paying no attention to anyone and anything ...
* * *

 

[RiP]

* * *
Shikuno, Ristol City - Dan Lier, the human being
* * *

Gradually, I am getting involved in my studies. Despite all the local specifics of the educational process. I have already stopped being irritated by the fact that it will be difficult to learn something new at school. I learn more about the world around me from newspapers.

No, it hasn't become easy. Far from it! To keep up with the level, I have to work hard not only in class, but also study my textbooks at home. If it weren't for my ability, improved memorization in astral form, then there simply wouldn't be enough time for meditation. How do other students cope? It seems like no one here has a personal life; there's just no time. Or you have to be a workaholic or a genius.

Over the last five days, there has been progress in only one thing. I learned to perform "separation" in just five "pendulum swings". I couldn't summon a bloody-crimson glow on my astral hands. I also didn't reveal the secret of Smesharik's tracks, and I haven't seen him again. I tried to call him all weekend. But I did it carefully so as not to attract anyone else. He didn't hear me or didn't want to hear me.

Thinking about who this green-lichen spirit is, I came to the conclusion that he is none other than a brownie. He didn't attack, didn't kill, helped "mask" the room, but didn't try to get acquainted and generally tried to be unnoticeable. A couple of times, I poured milk into a saucer and put it near the threshold, but no one touched the milk. Perhaps in this world, brownies are thanked somehow differently? I'll have to look through local legends and traditions on this matter.

On Friday, I finally decided to join the clubs and signed up for the Library club.

Tomorrow is Tuesday, just the right time to sit in silence and browse through books. But that's tomorrow, today is Monday. I walk after Physical Education, along a path covered with tightly fitted cobblestones, and look around. I remember Kano's promise. This time, he won't catch me off guard.

I'm not doing well with social adaptation and making friends in class. Honestly, I'm not doing well at all. A rumor has spread through the school like a hurricane that I crossed Kano's path, and now everyone is avoiding me like a leper. No one wants to be friends with a boxer's enemy. Only many girls look at me sympathetically from afar. A handsome man challenges a troll, it's so romantic. The rumors about what our conflict is about are the craziest.

Even Nouri avoids me, though not because he's afraid of Kano, but simply because he feels guilty for not warning me about the club in time. And people tend to minimize communication with those they feel guilty towards. I understand this, and I don't hold a grudge against him. Because of this attitude of the president, Emry avoids me, too. For some reason, this hurts a little. Just a little, but it hurts.

I'm really not angry at the president. If he were older, then yes. But he's just a sixteen-year-old boy who forgot what seemed to him an insignificant detail. I don't see any point in getting mad and winding myself up in anger at him.

But I still haven't been able to forgive Kano, that big guy. I seem to understand his anger and motivation, but I can't accept or forgive him. The rage and malice have already passed, evaporated over these five days; only an icy, cold desire remains to give him a worthy answer. True, I haven't figured out how to do it yet. But it's okay. I'll figure it out, I have no doubt about it.

On Friday, after literature class, the curator Uramo gave me a list of things I had to buy and bring with me to the first Shatano class. The list was short, with only two items: high hiking boots and a set of work clothes designed for a general worker. Okay, boots, theoretically understandable. They might be needed, but why would I need a robe?

I thought that sports classes were held in the school's many gyms or on sports grounds. That was basically the case, but it turned out there was an exception to this rule - Shatano.

Following the plan, I turned around the eighth building and walked along the path of the school park. Warehouse number three should be somewhere around here. Why the sword club was assigned to the warehouse, not like everything else in the gym, I still had to figure that out.

"Cough!" Kano stood at the entrance to the warehouse, leaning casually against the wall.

The boxer had a happy smile on his face. And if it weren't for the way his eyes narrowed, one could say that the smile was kind.

"Come in, don't be shy." The school bully opened the door for me.

"Thank you." Keeping a straight face, I squeezed past him.

This feigned calmness did not come easily to me. I was expecting a blow all the time, but tensing my muscles meant admitting that I was afraid of him, and that was a loss of face in the local version of "etiquette". However, I know from my own memory that if you show your fear, it will come back to haunt you. The worst thing is that I was really afraid of him. I was not afraid, I was not terrified of him, but I did not want to get his fist in my stomach or nose again.

The fears turned out to be false. The boxer didn't lay a finger on me. If it weren't for the anticipatory grin on his face, it would have seemed that the president had explained everything to him, he understood everything, and didn't hold a grudge against me. But that smile...

Sport club. I have certain stereotypes in my mind for such a phrase. Well, today they were smashed to pieces by Mr. Lancer.

First, who gathers their students for their first lesson in a gardening equipment warehouse?

Second, how can a teacher greet newcomers with the words:

"I am Master Lancer." Pointing a finger at himself. "You are nobody." Already at us. The six guys, frozen in complete shock from what we heard. "Change into robes!"

As I had not had time to get acquainted with anyone in the group before the teacher came and knew only Kano, I did not know the name of the boy who opened his mouth and apparently was going to object to something. So, no sooner had the skinny kid, second year of study, something to say, as the master made an unnaturally smooth, outwardly slow, dragging, but in reality very fast step forward and poked the young man in the solar plexus with a shovel handle, which appeared in teacher's hand out of nowhere.

"Speaking in my classes is forbidden!" Lancer commented on his actions, sitting down next to the schoolboy, who was doubled over in pain, and patting him on the shoulder.

Third, who in their right mind would trust a sadist to teach children? But they did!

"Remember... Complaining about me is useless. Shatano training is regulated by the Code. The main postulates of the Code were approved more than eight thousand years ago and have hardly changed. Since Shatano is recognized in our country as an important element of historical heritage, training according to the Code is approved in secondary and other educational institutions from the age of sixteen. I remind for the stupid, approved according to the Code. That is, if training in my section does not affect your health irreversibly, I will not bear any responsibility before the law of our country. Put this on!"

As soon as we changed into our work clothes, the foreman pushed heavy bags at our feet, each with a name tag sewn on it. In the bag was something like a hockey uniform, or rather not the uniform itself, but the protection. Shields, helmet, breastplate, and so on, all made of thick plastic.

"Showing the first and last time." With these words, the master unsealed the bag at his feet and began to put on the same protection, commenting on what to put on first, what to put on afterwards, and how it all fastened.

In addition to this, he managed to give us his own unique introductory lecture.

"Previously, during the time of the Divided Provinces, first-year recruits took a vow of silence. Alas, in our time, this is unachievable in principle, so you are obliged to remain silent only during these classes. The rest of the time, this ban does not apply to you." Having said this, the teacher sighed with obvious regret. "You can leave the club at any time if you do not agree with the fact that I adhere to the classical, and not the newfangled and considered progressive school of Shatano teaching."

At these words of the master, I surreptitiously looked at the other students. Three of them, Kano and two other athletic-looking young men, for some reason, cast angry glances at me, not at Lancer. The other two clearly were not athletes. One tall as a watchtower and thin, the other the complete opposite, short and plump. Just like the classic pair of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Unlike the "athletes", these two, despite the fact that the tall one had already managed to get it from the teacher, looked at Lancer without anger or fear. And no one was going to leave and abandon the club. Bad.

"By the way, regarding 'leaving the club', this does not apply to you, students Kano, Bruso, and Khorin. You all signed up here in exchange for my leniency with your grades now." A look at the boxer. "Or next year." This already applies to the sports pair from the third year of study. "So if you decide to leave this club, you can not count on my leniency." All those listed by Lancer immediately changed their faces. "The rest can do it right now."

I don't understand. Okay Code. The specifics of the training really can be like that, and since the club was allowed, it's within the law. I don't think Lancer's training methodology is the norm, but judging by the looks of the guy I mentally nicknamed Sancho Panza, he knew exactly what he was getting into and wasn't surprised. I do not understand the other. Why is the master now pressurising the three of not bound by the promise to leave the club? He does it hard and clearly on the edge, but he wants exactly that one of us decides to leave, and the club is closed. But why does his student and my class mentor so insistently push me into this club and describe how Master Lancer sleeps and sees, how he would start training schoolchildren? There's some kind of disconnect that I don't understand yet.

At first glance, putting on sports armor for the first time without mistakes is a non-trivial task. It is not possible to do without mistakes the first time. But, either Master Lancer is a genius of education and explanations, or motivation in the form of a shovel handle in his hands, but everyone got dressed, and it seems like no one messed up anything.

"Since there are no people willing to leave the club yet, let's get down to training." With these words, the teacher turned around and headed for the exit. "Follow me. Run!"

It was pouring a fine, nasty, cold rain outside, but that didn't stop the master. Following him, we ran out into the street and started to run laps around the warehouse. Running in hockey uniforms was not so easy. After three laps, Lancer wondered aloud that six dorks like us hadn't fallen once, which made him incredibly upset! I mean, he wasn't happy that everyone had done so well; he was a weird teacher.

"Follow me!"

Having given this command, the master changed the route, and now we were running along a narrow sandy path, going deeper into the school park. The run was not long, less than five minutes. We stopped at a small clearing surrounded by low but very 'fluffy' fir trees.

There were seven flat, large stones on the clearing, one in the center, the other six in a semicircle. The master approached the central one, picked up a board lying nearby, and, placing it on the stone, sat down on top. He simply sat on the board, in armor, in the rain!

"Sit down!"

He'll put us all on sick leave in no time with such methods! I don't know why I didn't leave at that moment spitting on the displeasure of the mentor Uramo. Apparently, the herd instinct prevailed over self-preservation, and I can't explain the fact that I, like everyone else, picked up the board, put it on a rock, and stayed wet under the weather that was gaining strength.

"I always conduct my Shatano classes outdoors. Rain, snow, wind, or heat, it doesn't matter. Unlike sports, Shatano is the art of combat, and real fighters who fought in real battles rarely walked on parquet or tiled floors! I don't intend to deviate from the Code in this. If any of you are weak in spirit and start to get sick, then first of all, I will check if he is really sick and not faking it." The teacher's gaze ran over the athletes, literally smearing them. It seemed to me that I really felt the pressure coming from the master. Pressure that somehow reminded me of the "gaze" of Smesharik! "And secondly, if someone starts to get sick, it means his spirit is weak and he has no place here. Shatano is not for the weak." Here, Lancer saw a grin in Bruso's eyes, who glanced sideways with pity at the frail first-year student. "Not for the weak in spirit, not in body! Bruso, any idiot can build up muscles, but training the spirit is many times more difficult!"

'Training the spirit' and the feeling of 'pressure' from the gaze. I now realise that I would stay in this club even if I were hung upside down for training and used as a makiwara. I think I have really found what I was looking for. Meanwhile, Lancer started some sort of introductory lecture.

"Shatano is understood by many to be a common sword art. But this is fundamentally wrong. Because armour is as important to a fighter as his sword. Shatano is a symbiosis of body, mind, and skill. The combination and unity of sword and armour. And each of these elements is equally important. You're wearing hockey equipment, based on the armour of the age of division. You can't trust the real armour yet, but this one, as a surrogate, is suitable for initial training." At these words, he unbuckled his armour and showed it to us. "In real armour, the outer part of this armour is forged from two millimeters of steel. It is impossible to penetrate it with a sword blow or a rapier jab..If you take the blow correctly. Nor can it be chopped with an axe or halberd. All other armour, in the danger zones, is covered with the same strong steel. Those places where the enemy cannot strike hard are covered with thinner steel. Alas, our ancestors never managed to create protection on mobile joints and make the armour complete. Technologically, they could not achieve that the whole body of the fighter was protected equally well. Unlike other people who compromised, our ancestors were wiser. They concentrated on protecting vital areas, making them virtually impenetrable. But since it was impossible to protect everything with steel, the art of fighting in heavy armour was born -- Shatano. Shatano is the art of unity between the fighter and his armour. A mastery of combat in which the fighter exposes only the indestructible metal to the enemy's blows, and parries blows to vulnerable points."

While the teacher continued his lecture, I looked at the outfit I was wearing. I have to admit, it's a good defence. Correction, for hockey, good. The puck won't hit my solar plexus or neck from the side. But how to protect these holes in the armour from a sword, sabre, or rapier, I can't imagine. Good, at least the belt and everything below was protected reliably, something like a skirt, but from the blow from below, such 'armour' will not protect. In addition, elbows, knees, inner thighs, armpits, and almost the whole neck were unprotected, except for the frontal view. The longer I looked, the more gaps I found. It would seem that something was worn under the metal of the armour, some variant of an underarmour. But nevertheless. It seems that all these loud words, 'the art of fighting in armour', are nothing more than an attempt to cover up the stupidity of the creators of this 'miracle', the armour of the times of Divaded Province. Apparently, in this world simply no one has thought of Gothic or Milanese armour. Because if they had, no Shatano would never have been born, banally for lack of necessity.

Lancer spoke for another ten minutes, but more about history and deep traditions than telling anything really necessary and interesting. I listened inattentively, getting used to the protection I was wearing. After all, I had never played hockey, and wearing something like that was new to me.

"The introductory lecture is over." Having risen from the stone, the master bent down and took out several strange-looking sticks from the grass. "These are your bokken*."
/*a training sword in this case/

Passing by the student, Lancer threw a training sword onto his lap. And he did it without any piety or respect, just threw it like a football coach throws a ball. What I caught from the teacher was anything but a sword in the usual sense of the word. A long handle on which three of my fists could easily fit, that's all from the swords I was familiar with. The blade of this training weapon was a bundle of hollow, bamboo-like rods, tied with a strong rope every five centimeters, and the tip was "humanized" with a cork attachment. The weight of this "sword" impressed me, like three or even four kilograms, with a "blade" length of just over a meter!

"These are your bokkens. Alas, but recently the world has become kinder, and these weapons have been introduced into the Code." The master pronounces this word as if he were spitting. "But every cloud has a silver lining. These toys weigh almost one and a half times more than a real sword, so they can be useful too."

The teacher himself did not take the bokken in his hands but picked up a two-meter bamboo pole from the grass. And how will he teach us? Without showing us by example?

"Divide into pairs." When everyone had looked at their "swords" enough, the master gave the command.

Here, my sixth sense literally screamed about danger, and I tried to get up from the stone to take the plump boy as a partner. But I didn't succeed. Before I could get up, a heavy palm landed on my shoulder. Looking around, I already knew what I would see. Well, yes, that's it, Kano's satisfied and smiling face. It's clear that my partner was chosen for me. And he holds me so tightly that I can't break free. Where did he get so pumped up? His palms are like a hydraulic press! I wasn't the only one who was unlucky. Bruso was lightly holding Don Quixote by the elbow, and Khorin put his palm on Sancho's neck. If there was to be sparring now, it would be a beating... And anyway, what the hell kind of sparring was there if he didn't show us a single technique? But no, this teacher can't be that sick, can he? It turned out he can.

"So. In this part of the clearing, there are three paths laid out with stones. It is forbidden to leave these paths. It is forbidden to hit with anything other than a bokken. Only hits to the cuirass are allowed." Here, Lancer winced. "More precisely, to the chest plate. Leaving the path means defeat. Falling on the path or touching it with a hand or knee means defeat. Missing a hit to the cuirass means defeat. Losing the bokken means defeat. A hit not to the cuirass means defeat. A training fight lasts until ten defeats."

There is an irresistible desire to grab this trainer by the lapels and shake him well. Has he gone mad? Okay, I am against Kano. After all, Dan is very physically developed, the boxer is certainly stronger, but not by many times. But the other pairs, this will be a beating. A one-sided fight.

The master led us along the paths. The paths were six meters long, a step wide. When Kano stood in front of me and raised his bokken over his head, it immediately seemed to me that six meters of distance between us was too short. The boxer, dressed in hockey protection, looked like an angry, just-awakened bear who had crawled out of his den.

"Coi*!"

/*Started/forward -- an obsolete word that has gone out of circulation, in its original sense, a military command/

As soon as the command sounded, Kano roared like a bull seeing a hated matador and rushed to attack. All I had time to do was tuck my knees in as a cushion and block. Boken against boken is loud! I'm not used to it; my ears even popped. As the boxer acted fast, but too straight, I had time to reflect on his blow. But my palms shook a lot, but I withstood it! Withstood, which is not the case with the results on other tracks.

"Defeat!"

"Defeat!"

I couldn't see what was happening from the sides, but it was clear from the words.

Once in a film, I heard the memorable phrase 'if you want to win, don't chop, but slash!'. Having beaten off the first blow, I tried to implement this instruction. But I didn't have time.

Instead of raising the bokken above his head and swinging wide again, Kano did not break the distance. Instead, he bound my sword with his own and turned the fight into a power fight, where he had an overwhelming advantage.

If the fight had taken place on the court, not on the track, it would have been enough to make a wide step to the side, but here I was deprived of the opportunity to make such a manoeuvre. So I lost. And what's more frustrating, feeling his superiority, Kano was in no hurry. He just pressed me from top to bottom, like a heavy press, although I felt that if he wanted to, then a sharp movement easily knocked me down. But no, the boxer was not interested; he looked me in the eye and smirked.

"Defeat!" The sharp strike of the bamboo pole broke the contact of our swords.

Damn! Before I knew it, I was down on my knee. How strong is he?

Once back on his feet and Kano had taken up his starting position, the command followed again:

"Coi!"

The boxer repeated the beginning of his attack. A sword was raised high with the prospect of a powerful downward strike. This time, I decided not to wait for his attack. Despite the fact that fencing had never been engaged in, I still watched films and sports programmes, so I decided to repeat what I saw in them. Namely, a deep lunge, hoping to strike a jab in the chest of the attacker before his wide blow reaches the target. In sports and cinema, this was common, and according to the laws of physics, a straight punch should be faster than a chopping blow.

When we were five paces apart, I stepped forward and, clutching the bokken in one hand, threw the fastest jab I could. Alas, Kano refused to play the blunt, breaking hog. Before my sword could hit him, he took his left hand off the hilt of his bokken and, with a downward motion of his palm, knocked my bamboo blade aside with his wrist. At the same time, his sword, clutched in his right hand, continued its fall right on my head. What about what they show in the cinema?

I clenched my eyes, expecting a powerful overhead kick that I had absolutely no time to block. But instead, Kano did something different. He didn't strike, but took a step forward and put his left palm on my helmet and pressed lightly. And since I was still in a deep lunge position, the pressure made my left knee immediately touch the ground. It happened so fast that I didn't realise for a second that I had already lost.

"Defeat!" The teacher's bamboo pole rests against my chest.

The humiliation...

Losing like that?! It's good I'm in a helmet, or I'd be as red as a boiled cancer. How could I fall for this?! After all, the master had said that the blows were only on the cuirass, so the boxer's swing to threaten my head was a bluff I fell for like a child.

How wrong I was to think of Kano as a clumsy heavyweight. Not only is this guy taller, heavier, and stronger. He's also faster than I. How can that be? Was I so unlucky that I managed to cross a real talent?

"Coi!" The master's command interrupted my musings.

This time, I did not wait for the attack, but roared like a wounded moose, encouraging myself with that cry, and lunged at the boxer, bringing the bokken in a broad side-strike. Kano, with obvious pleasure, roared in response to my roar and took off like a rocket coming off the launching table. We collided with a resounding thud. I withstand the exchange of a couple of blows!

"Defeat!" And for the third time, Lancer's stick is stuck in my chest!

What? Why?! He didn't get me once! But then, as if in response to my unspoken outrage, the teacher's pole slapped me on my right foot. I lowered my eyes...

How? My right foot is off the track. Kano outplayed me here, too. He used my wide strikes against myself, blocking them so that I turned across the lane, and then forced me to take a step back with a powerful block. He's smarter than I, too! That thought made my teeth chatter.

We gotta do something about this. I can't lose to a schoolboy, can I?! He is faster, stronger, and in a combat situation, he thinks more calmly and farsightedly, because he is used to the ring and the fight. That's true, but that's no reason to give up or get hysterical.

'Pendulum.' Calm down. Breathe evenly. According to the terms of the task, I need to protect only my chest, so I should concentrate on that, ignoring all the enemy's attacks on other parts of my body. I'll try that tactic.

"Coi!"

We met again in the middle of the trail. This time, I watched my feet carefully and tried to throw as many punches as I could. Speed was the only element I had to compete with this monster. A couple of times, I almost fell for his false attacks, first to the knee and then to the neck, but in time, I covered only his chest. On the fifth strike, I was lucky, his bokken sliding just below me.

'Boom!' My sword hits Kano's helmet.

On the helmet?

"Defeat!" Once again that master's stick is poking me.

I've been outplayed again. I watch Kano smile and realise he let me get hit on purpose and put my helmet under him. He's playing me like a cat and mouse, outclassing me in absolutely everything. If I were a normal high school student, I'd just accept what's happening. Because that's what happens in life, when you meet people who are just stronger, faster, more gifted than you. It's happened. It's better to get out of their way or try to learn something from such people. But I was jammed, how can I lose with my life experience?

"Coi!"

This time our fight lasted only a few seconds. Kano's broad swing of his sword is met with a counter-strike, but his swing is just a deception. As our swords clash, the boxer relaxes his palm, his blade makes a half-turn, and mine falls into a deep skid, sliding helplessly into his opponent's side, meeting no resistance. His sword swung round, the hilt now looking forward, and his blade rested on his elbow and covered his body from my weapon. But that wasn't all, the hilt of Kano's bokken continued its movement, hitting my breastplate with full swing. A blow of such force that I was carried off the track. And if I hadn't been protected, a couple of ribs would have been cracked at least.

"Defeat!"

Teacher Lancer, I really hope that you are not a bigot or an idiot, and that students come back from your classes alive and well.

"Coi!"

Apparently, Kano was tired of playing with me. From the look on his face, which I could see under the mesh of his helmet, he was simply bored. In this and the next fights, he fought the same way. Punching with all his might, without any frills, pressurising me with his physical superiority. If I'd watched it from the sidelines, I probably would have laughed. But now it was not funny, I did not have enough reaction to counterattack, and I could not always defend myself, even from such primitive attacks. He had won the last five sparring sessions in the same style.

"Finished! Sit down!"

Returning to his seat, he looked round at the other students. The two athletes looked so happy that a cat that found spilled cream would have looked sad. But, surprisingly, the nerds, although they looked wrinkled and dirty, didn't look humiliated or beaten at all. Only Kano and I had a disgruntled look. And on the boxer's face, there was a certain regret mixed with boredom, but I was not bored; I felt crushed. I felt crushed not physically, but rather morally.

"Shatano is the path of affinity between body, spirit, and armor of a warrior. The sword is secondary, an experienced warrior is able to kill an opponent with a blow of his fist, elbow, or knee." Sitting down in the center of the clearing, the teacher spoke. "After the sparring you have conducted, you probably decided Shatano is the path of physical strength. But this is not so. The longer you follow the path of mastery, the less you will care about the strength of the enemy." These words encouraged me a little. "And even his speed." Did it seem to me, or were these words said personally for me? "Understanding the fight, the feeling of affinity between the body and armor will come to the fore. Because it does not matter how fast the enemy strikes, you will have time to move your body a couple of centimeters to the side and take his attack on the armor, no matter how fast he is ... If, of course, you lead the pattern of the duel, and do not allow the enemy to weave your movements into his tapestry ..."

An interesting school of combat. Something similar was born on Earth in Japan, also by the way, due to the imperfection of defensive weapons. But in Japan, the steel for swords was generally bad, so the samurai avoided using straight blocks. Here, judging by everything, there were no problems with the quality of the blades, and the local style turned out to be tougher and perhaps more straightforward. Although it is too early for me to judge such nuances.

The more I listened to the master, the more I doubted my desire to study here. After all, this world is industrially developed. No one here has used swords for a long time, preferring guns or other firearms. And Shikuno, the country I ended up in, is quite peaceful with well-functioning law enforcement services. In Ristol, police officers walk around without weapons, they don't even carry batons. The same boxing or wrestling in local realities would bring much more benefit. Although as a sport, fencing is dozens of times more popular here than on Earth. Tournaments in various styles gather spectators, no less than we used to go to hockey.

This lesson clearly shows that there is no sign of spiritual development here. Perhaps the humiliation I recently suffered is speaking in me now, and not wanting to be subjected to something like that again, I am simply looking for an excuse to run away. On the other hand, they teach you how to wield a sword, armor, or even a stick here, it doesn't matter. I clearly felt the spiritual pressure coming from Master Lancer. This means that he can do something and knows something from the skills I need so much. So, no matter how stupid it seems to study such an outdated and outdated martial art, I will not give up my studies with this teacher.

For a couple of minutes, I was lost in thought, ignoring Lancer's story about how cool Shatano is. However, you can hear similar stories in any cheap movie about martial arts, just change the names of schools and styles, but the meaning will not change.

"A master of Shatano who has achieved full affinity with armor may not even wear it, he is able to take a blow from a steel blade on his bare hand without harm to himself. That is how developed his spirit is!"

These words almost made my jaw drop! A sword strike with a bare hand? It seems this world is a bit different from the familiar Earth than I initially thought. I wonder if there are people here who catch bullets with their hands? But the master's next words almost made me smile:

"However, such mastery in our time was achieved only by the great teacher Kabarugo, who devoted more than half a century to Shatano. I tried five times to persuade the great master to take me as a student, but five times I was refused..."

Phe-e-e... I thought it was really "a sword with a hand", and here it's something like "a living legend". Or maybe this Teacher Kabarugo is a talented scammer. And even if he is not a rogue, five decades of studying for such a thing is not something I would like to spend my entire life on.

Apparently, Kabarugo was Lancer's idol, because he spent almost half an hour telling us about this great master and his life's journey. By the way, this journey was not uninteresting, but our teacher turned out to be a completely untalented storyteller. I was not the only one who could hardly keep from yawning.

Finally, this torment was over. The master stood up from the stone and took the bokken in his hands. He winced as if he had swallowed a bitter pill, and then stood in a stance.

"A true master does not limit himself to stances or a certain manner of movement. But! You are not masters. You are only at the very beginning of the path of shatano, so let's start with the basics. Stand like me! Canyo position*."

/* - stone, obsolete/

Having risen to their feet, they repeated the master's pose.

"Bruso! Straighten your back! Khorin! Don't bend your elbows so much! Tanko! Don't stand on straight legs." Aha, so the thin and tall one's name is Tanko. "Dan! Turn your body!" And with a jab of his bokken into my side, he "told" me which way to turn my body. "Farlo! Hold the sword tighter, relax your legs!" Now I know the name of the plump one.

Lancer walked around us for about ten minutes, trying to get the stance right. As far as I could tell, he didn't like what he saw. And yet, having received at least something similar, he immediately gave the order.

"Sit!"

And just as we relaxed, we literally fell onto the grass, immediately:

"Stand up! Canyo position!"

What? Again?! But why did we sit down then?

"Khorin! Are you clenching your elbows again?! Bruso! Did you break your spine?! Farlo! Legs! Legs! Legs!" Judging by the sound, the teacher supported his words with light blows of bamboo on the shin guards. "Tanko! Knees! Legs not piles! Dan! Who holds the sword like that? Raise the blade!"

And again, for a few minutes, he hit us with a stick on the defense and yelled right in our ears.

"Sit!"

I barely have time to straighten my numb legs when:

"Stand up! Canyo position!"

It's customary in clubs to train for three hours after school. So, changing clothes, jogging, sparring, introductory lecture all took no more than an hour. The other two hours, for me, were an endless series of repetitions. 'Sit down!.... Stand up!... Canyo position!' And on and on. My legs stopped listening to me at about the seventh repetition. The only reason I kept going was because Farlo was to my left. He's a first-timer like Dan, except he's never been in the sport before. Nevertheless, every time he got up and put his bokken in the stance. The kid was taking the teacher's poking and prodding. It was hard for him, I could see sweat literally running down his skin. His knees were shaking, and his palms were struggling to hold the sword, yet he got up every time. He got up when I thought I would never get up again, that this was my limit. But looking at this chubby kid with the appearance of a typical nerd, I couldn't afford to give up before he did. Clenching my teeth, over and over again.

"Stand up! Canyo position! Dan! Feet not so wide!... Canyo position! Dan! Turn your feet out!... Canyo position! Dan!!! Feet! Feet! Feet!!. Canyo position! Dan! Who's holding the sword like that?!" A sharp blow to the bokken, and it flies into the bushes. "Raise it!.. Canyo position! Dan! Sword! Sword! Hold it! Run after the bokken!.. Dan!..."

I did not hear what the master was saying to the others. I barely had time to correct what he was demanding of me. In this damn ''canyo stance'' I was straining muscles that I had never even realised I had in my body before. As soon as I concentrated on my legs, my torso went sideways. As soon as I started to get something, my palms could barely hold the bokken. If I squeezed the grip harder, my feet would move!

"Finished! Bokkens on your shoulder! Follow me, run!"

Is this practice really over?! Running around the school park in my hockey defence now seemed like a heavenly holiday.

When we got to the garden warehouse, we made five laps around it, and only after that, Lancer let us take off our protection. Then, without letting us change, the master told us to take all our things and sent us to the sports centre. There we took hot showers, and the master took us to the sauna. The local dry baths were different from what I was used to. There was a common changing room, but individual steam rooms, which was not rational to me, but that was the way it was done here.

But we were not allowed to stay warm for a long time, a quarter of an hour, and then we went out.

"Training is over. Your vow of silence has been lifted." When everyone came out of their booths, the master appeared and cheered with this message.

"But before everyone leaves, please listen to me." The master closed the door to the locker room and turned round to loom over Farlo.

"You! Yes you! Do you really think I'm interested in training a slug like that?!" At the sudden change in the master's demeanour, we all froze. "If you want to make yourself look like a man, then do it at my expense. You've been tailing me for a month, trying to get me to start training, and what do I see?! You didn't get your opponent once! Did you even exercise in the morning?! I don't need a student like that! I can't stop you from practising, but you can quit!" It hurts to look at Farlo, the boy doesn't know where to hide his eyes after such a rant.

"Now you!" Lancer sharply switches to the long sophomore. "Just because your idol was doing Shatano doesn't mean you have to do it too. What makes you think I'm interested in training someone who just wants to be like his idol? Shatano is a warrior's path, not a wannabe. Yes, you have the physical gifts, but even if you build muscle, you'll never achieve mastery. Not with that kind of motivation! I don't want that kind of student! I can't stop you from practising, but you can leave!" After crushing the second one, the teacher took another breath of air into his chest. And I think I know who's next in his rant.

"Dan! You!" Wow, I wasn't wrong. "If you've done swimming before, you should do it. What do you want in a Shatano? To teach someone whose face says: 'The main thing is not to be worse than the others!', who's interested in that kind of student? Not to be the best, not to achieve something, but just 'not to be worse'?! People like you make me sick. Unlike Farlo and Tanko, nature has given you a much more generous gift. But you have the spirit of a commoner, not a warrior. Even Farlo, if you beat the laziness out of him, might, very unlikely, but still might, turn out a warrior, but you do not! Shatano classes are useless to you! I don't want such a student! I can't stop you from studying, but you can leave! Kano, Horin, Bruso, no complaints about you, well done."

After saying so, the teacher turned in a military manner and walked out the door. There was silence in the locker room. But it didn't last long.

"Y-y-y-y-y-y!!!" Bruso laughed like a horse. "Losers!!!"

"Ha-ha-ha..." Khorin echoes him. "Losers!"

Only Kano is silent. The truth of his gaze speaks far more eloquently than any words or laughter.

"Kano! We're going to the boxing gym on Wednesday! Apparently, there won't be any more classes here!" Bruso smirks.

"Too bad, I was beginning to like it here!" Khorin exclaimed in feigned regret. "It was fun, beating that thing with a stick!"

Farlo dressed quickly, and at those words, he dashed out of the locker room door, his face flaming and clearly struggling to hold back tears. It didn't take a second for Tanko to follow him out, and the lanky guy didn't look any better.

I put on my jacket and quickly laced up my boots, ignoring the jokes of the athletes and their unconcealed mockery. I couldn't help thinking that what Lancer had said was true, but I'd never considered myself a warrior, and 'commoner' wasn't a swear word for me. I think there's a second bottom to what he said. Now we just had to catch up with the escaped boys before they left the school grounds.

"See you Wednesday!" With an obvious hint, I said goodbye to the athletes and hurried outside.

Catching up with the escaped boys turned out easier than I thought. Each of them, having run out of the building at full speed, did not run any further. They trudged dejectedly towards the exit from the School District. There were only ten steps between the boys, but they seemed not to see each other, perhaps they did not even see the road, moving their legs automatically. Having caught up with Tanko, I realized that the boy was somewhere far away in the clouds.

I ran ahead of the boys and stood in the centre of the alley, arms out to the sides. Farlo was the first one to hit me.

"Eh-eh-eh?!" Focusing his gaze on me, the first-year tried to collect his thoughts. "Your name is Dan, right?"

While he was saying this, Tanko passed by us. I didn't waste time and grabbed the skinny boy by the sleeve.

"So! Midshipmen!" I wanted to say "musketeers", but there was no such type of military unit in this world. "Don't hang your head!"

Smiling broadly, I grabbed the guys by the shoulders and shook them well.

"Who among you guessed how lucky we were?!" Turning the boys around, I led them along the alley, along the school fence. Apparently, my onslaught was so unexpected that none of them resisted, obediently following me. "You are silent. Did you really guess it yourselves? Then why are you so sad? Are you afraid of not justifying the teacher's high trust?"

At that moment, I reminded myself of the character from the cartoon "Treasure Island," Dr. Livesey. The same smile and laughter broke through the words. It looks idiotic from the outside, but at that moment, nothing else came to my mind to shake up the morally crushed guys.

"Trust?" Farlo babbled, walking obediently alongside.

"Stop! Guys, did you really not understand anything?" I stood rooted to the spot, feigning complete bewilderment.

"What understand?" Tanko finally spoke.

"Everything is so neglected!" I howled theatrically. "Have you forgotten how to think?"

"Did Kano hit you hard on the head today?" Farlo tried to move away from me, but I was stronger and he couldn't.

"Stop!" Turning the guys around, I sat them down on the nearest bench, while I remained standing. "Did you really not understand anything the master said?"

"I realized that no one wants to teach me!" Straightening his back, Tanko stretched out like a jumping pole."

"And I was humiliated in front of the seniors!" Folding his hands into a lock, Farlo stared at the pavement."

"How did they get you into high school?" I feigned surprise. "How did you pass the tests? You look smart!"

"Stop humiliating me for today!" The freshman tried to get up from the bench. But my hand, which fell on his shoulder, prevented him from carrying out this plan.

"And who humiliated you? You were told that you lost all the fights, that's all. But it's logical, they put an athlete used to fighting against you, none of us had any chance of winning by definition."

"But why..."

"Do you think Master Lancer is an idiot?"

"No."

"No."

These "no's" sounded in sync and with some degree of surprise.

"Remember what he said: Shatano is the path of the spirit!" Remembering how Uramo lectured, I tried to copy his manner of speech. "And what development of the spirit without difficulties and obstacles? This rebuke of the master is the first obstacle in our training. I understood it right away! If such a trifle as the displeasure of the master at the first lesson scares someone away, then such a weakling is not worth teaching!"

"But... I did exercises, and the result..." Farlo tensed his biceps. "No result, I'm fat..."

"How that?! At the end of the class, I could barely get into position, my legs were shaking, my arms were shaking, and you jumped up like a freshman. And I've been swimming for years, and can push up a hundred times." It actually surprised me, so I hardly ever played here.

"Really?"

"Why would I lie? You're much stronger than you seem, and you have willpower! Ask Tanko if that exercise was easy for him."

"My knees are still shaking." To confirm his words, the lanky man stretches out his legs. Despite the fact that I do not notice any shaking, I nevertheless continue in the same way.

"There! So you're no wuss, Farlo!" That got the chubby kid thinking.

"But the Master is right with me. I dream of being like Admiral Fiance, and he learnt Shatano!" I don't know who that admiral is, but it doesn't matter now. "And that's where Master Lancer got it right, I'm not going to learn anything by trying to be like anyone else." As Tanko finishes his rant, he looks me straight in the eye.

"Wasn't it Teacher Lancer himself who told us today that he wanted to achieve the same results as Master Kabarugo?" I brazenly substituted 'being like' for 'the same,' hoping the sophomore wouldn't notice.

"But... Why, then...?" It seems my switch went unnoticed.

"Isn't it clear by now?" I threw up my hands in a gesture of utter despair. "Teacher Lancer is a good master, and his time is valuable. He'll only teach someone who really wants to study Shatano! Those who won't quit at the first difficulty, who won't run away when things go wrong. And if one of us three ever leaves the club, it will be closed! Look, he's got three seniors in his pocket. If they leave, they won't pass his exams. Lancer doesn't want to start teaching a club that could close at any moment. What's the point of training six people if that training can be stopped at any moment because of one person who slips up? So he's just wasting his time. So he pushed us. He sees the three of us as the weakest link in the club! At first, he did not mind after such a distribution of pairs for sparring, then he wore us out with training, and at the end, he finished us with his reprimand. What did he say about me? That I have the spirit of a 'commoner', not a 'warrior'! And he's right, mind you, the master never once lied. Not to me, not to you. But he didn't tell the whole truth, not to either of us. For Farlo, he left out the fact that his will is stronger than most. For you, Tanko, it's not a bad thing to aspire to be like someone else, if you don't aspire to be a complete copy of your ideal, but to replicate their achievements. He called me a 'philistine' without mentioning that the best warriors are those who have lived a peaceful life and then, as a result of events, were forced to stand up in defence of that peaceful life. Lancer is testing us. It was not for nothing that he repeated the same phrase three times during his speech: 'I cannot forbid you to study...'. Am I the only one who got the hint?"

"No... If you look at it that way..." Tanko's hesitating. "Then."

Well, I don't know what to tell them next! My enthusiasm has gone, and I'm out of ideas. I need to finish this impromptu lecture.

"Okay, guys! Decide for yourselves, I'm not your nanny! If you don't want to go, don't go. If you really are weak, then don't waste your time. I know one thing. On Wednesday, I will personally come to class. And whether this class will take place or not depends on each of you. Bye!"

Waving to the guys sitting on the bench, speechless from such a situation, I threw the bag with things on my shoulders and quickly walked towards the exit of the School District without looking back.

In fact, I didn't believe what I had said to those boys. There were many logical gaps in my speech. My only hope was that the boys, being in such a state, would not notice these gaps.

In fact, I was inclined to think that what Teacher Lancer had done today was only for one thing. To close the club. Why would he do it? There could be a lot of reasons. For example, he teaches people for money outside of school, and these classes probably bring him much more money than the school bonus for running the club. That is, he has no reason to waste his time on school kids who study for free. The plus of this theory was that the Shatano section had not worked at the school for many years. Everyone knew Lancer conducted his classes as harshly as possible, and no one wanted to sign up for the "sadist's" club.

Yes, for the sake of appearances, the master "wanted" to train a school group. Apparently, he needs, for some reason, for everyone would think that he wants to teach, but the group is not formed due to circumstances beyond his control. A primitive scheme, but apparently Lancer is talentedly playing out his desire to teach schoolchildren in front of everyone, and everyone bought into it, even his student Uramo believes him.

In principle, as soon as I came to this conclusion, it was a great excuse to skip these classes without losing face. If I hadn't caught up with the boys, one of them would definitely not have come to the next class on Wednesday. That way, I would have been free from the club, and Uramo would have had no reason to hold a grudge against me.

Walking down the pavement towards home, I twitched in doubt. Why had I caught up with the boys and reprimanded them? Do I need to learn so badly, exactly Shatano? Just because I haven't found any other alternative for spirit development yet doesn't mean there are no alternatives in principle. Maybe it's easier to look for something else? If my plan works and Wednesday's class is held, all hell will break loose for me. Lancer's going to try to wear us down, and today's training will seem like a walk in the park compared to the pressure he's going to put on us to leave. Is it such a good idea to learn from someone who has no desire to teach you?

The truth is, it's a really lame idea. But somehow I think Lancer is a real master and teacher. Which means, if he sees some really promising students who won't break under the intense pressure of the first class, there's a very good chance he'll teach us. Seriously teach us, much more seriously than he teaches even paid groups.

I may have done something stupid, but I just need to understand how Lancer does it. The very spiritual pressure that I clearly felt. And I need to learn how to resist that pressure. I don't ever want to be as helpless as I was when I met the brownie again. Besides, if something goes wrong, I can always stop supporting Farlo and Tanko, which would cause them to break under Lancer's pressure, and the class to stop.

This thought cheered me up quite a bit, and I opened the door to the apartment with a smile and whistling something.

While the food was cooking, I went to the laundry and threw the dirty robe in the washing machine. Apparently, all Shatano classes will really be held outdoors. It would be good to buy another set of work clothes, as a spare, especially since they are not that expensive.

Stirring the soup on the stove, I read history so as not to waste time. On Sunday, I noticed that combined memorization, first in the physical body and then repetition in the astral, brings a much better effect.

In the real world, it was not necessary to memorise. It was enough to read the text thoughtfully. In this case, its memorisation in the astral was faster and more complete. The only restriction is that memorisation in spiritual form should be done no later than an hour and a half after reading the text in physical reality.

Today has thrown me off my game. This is not at all how I imagined the sports club at school. As they say, 'life did not prepare me for this'. The master's behaviour, I must admit, shocked me. To be honest, I never fully understood his motives. How would the teacher behave if Wednesday's lesson took place? Was I right to bet on the fact that Lancer is primarily a fanatic of Shatano, rather than prioritising money, which is more profitable to earn from private training? However, in vain I puzzle over it, because if the second option is true, the master will simply increase the load to an unacceptable level. Plus will increase moral pressure even more. I don't think he'd humiliate himself with threats or direct pressure. That is, persuading the boys to continue classes, I basically risk nothing. But the benefit of having such a master teaching me, if successful, is hard to overestimate.

Until eight o'clock in the evening, I repeated what I had learned at school, memorizing everything, and also ran through the subjects for tomorrow. It seems I am gradually getting into the rhythm of school life. The astral memorization gives me something that most local schoolchildren probably don't have - free time.

More precisely, schoolchildren may have free time, but I am not going to give myself such a luxury as lying on the bed or watching local TV shows, merciless in their senselessness. I have many more interesting activities...

Here I froze in surprise, I never thought that training, classes, and all that stuff would ever be called interesting!

In my past life, I was a big fan of computer games in the role-playing genre. I was immensely fascinated by the possibility of developing and improving my character. The plot, quests, and game atmosphere - all this was secondary for me. The so-called pumping came first. And now, as a result of the transfer of my soul, I have the opportunity to develop myself. Of course, if I admit to myself honestly, then on Earth it is possible to engage in self-development. Nobody forbade me from going to gyms, swimming pools, getting a second higher education, or studying what I like. Nobody forbade me - yes, it was just boring to do it. In the game, the result of your efforts is almost instantaneous, and in life, for example, to increase the volume of the biceps at least by a centimeter, you need to work hard for weeks. That's the whole truth, it was more fun and interesting for me: to play, drink beer with friends, walk with a beautiful girl along the embankment, than to do something that does not bring visible and quickly tangible benefits.

How many times have I tried to force myself to do the same exercises in the morning? I can't count, but the maximum I could do was a week. And I wouldn't say it was laziness, no, I was just bored. It's boring to do anything useful, and this boredom easily defeated my weak willpower.

Here, in this new life, everything is completely different. There is no boredom. Astral paths, a new world, demons, magic, I have not been so interested in life, probably since my earliest childhood. Today, seeing how the almost extinguished fire flares up in the eyes of the boys, as a result of my speech, I understood this in full. Previously, this feeling was shaded by fear, but now, apparently, I have already gotten used to the very idea that demons live next to me and magic exists. I got used to it and stopped trembling from every rustle. Of course, this does not mean that I have become very brave. No, I still get scared sometimes, but only the attitude to this fear, it has somehow changed, transformed into something that pushes forward, and does not paralyze to the point of trembling ...

Until ten o'clock in the evening, I was studying according to a self-study guide. "Ray of Attention" is an incredibly difficult lesson. The initial stage, focusing my attention on an arbitrary point of the body, was easy. But the second step of the exercise, making it so that absolutely all my attention was concentrated on the chosen place. That was a big problem. Nevertheless, I was not going to quit the exercises, as before, because something was not working out, this time. If it doesn't work out today, then it will work out tomorrow or in a week. If I don't give up, then someday there will be a breakthrough and the exercise will work out as it should. As soon as the desire to quit the exercise became almost irresistible, as I remembered Farlo and how he got to his feet, covered in dirt and on shaking legs. I may be physically weaker than such a unique person as Kano, but if I lose in strength of spirit to a sixteen-year-old boy, then I am not worth a dime, as someone who thinks of himself as a man.

Because of my experiments and thanks to the self-study guide, in order to get enough sleep and feel energetic and full of energy in the morning, it was enough for me to sleep six hours. Usually, after sunset, I did not risk performing the separation, since the demons are still somewhere nearby. But today, I decided to break this rule.

Having flown over the body lying on the couch, I looked around and then moved to the center of the room. Having stood on my "feet", I tried to take the kanyo position. It was not as easy as it seemed, since I could not see myself from the outside and could not accurately judge whether my position was correct or not. And the spirit is not reflected in the mirror. In addition, I did not have a bokken in my hands, but I decided not to pay attention to this element of the position for now.

I experimented for more than half an hour, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that my pose wasn't quite right. Was it really impossible for me to use my astral skills in my shatano classes? This was very bad news, because if it really didn't work out, then in order to achieve at least some results, I would have to practice for years. I was not at all happy with this arrangement.

Once again, having taken the position, I began to recall the words of the master: "pull up your leg", "turn your toe out", "straighten your back". This method moved the training from a dead point, but still, I clearly felt that I was not doing it quite right, and there was no one to correct me.

Despite the fact that I did not achieve the "ideal stance", the classes were useful. Three times I returned to the body and consolidated the result obtained in the astral plane in the muscle memory of the physical component. As with memorizing information, this method worked now. If everything goes without any surprises in the future, then I will be able to significantly reduce the time of my training.

Having completed everything planned for today, already lying in bed and wrapped in a blanket, I thought about Lancer's words about my main motive being "not to be worse." Remembering the lesson, and that's how it is. I was more worried about not doing everything right and not giving in to others. First Kano in sparring, then the main task became not to give in before Farlo. And it would be okay if there was some kind of sports, competitive motivation in this, but no. If I admit to myself honestly, my motive was much more petty; I was simply infuriated by the very possibility of losing to a schoolboy.

It's stupid to get mad over such a trifle. I can't be better at everything and everyone, even if we're talking about school students. Someone will be stronger, someone will be smarter, someone will know more in some area than me. From a logical point of view, my desire "to be no worse" is irrational in its essence. And the fact that I'm so worried about my loss to Kano, there's something unhealthy about it.

The truth was in plain sight, but I still didn't want to look it in the eye. Because, as often happens, the truth is a nasty thing and not nearly as pleasant. My complex stems from the fact that I am a simple, ordinary, average person, an ordinary philistine. Each of us considers ourselves extraordinary, but life gradually knocks this "exceptionality" out of us, showing us our place through examples. After all, who was I on Earth? Yes, an ordinary, completely gray person. What have I achieved at twenty-eight? Graduated from university? Changed two dozen jobs before finding the one where I could stay for more than a year? Went to the bar with friends every Friday? Yes, I didn't even get married and didn't have children. Half of St. Petersburg was like me. Biomass that burning up the planet's resources. And even my hobby, which I thought allowed me to realize myself as a person, turned out to be a useless, talentless empty shit.

Like many others, when reading fantasy books, I imagined myself in the heroes' place, dreaming about what I would do in their place. One of my favorite dreams was to go back in time and live my life over again. It seemed to me that with my experience, I could live a completely different, more interesting, and exciting life, avoid many of the mistakes I made earlier, and so on. At the heart of this dream, again, is the same desire to stand out and be different from everyone else. The dream is understandable, and even in it, I am not unique; every second person dreams of this. And so I actually got what I wanted, a second life, started in a young, healthy body.

And what happens?

If I admit it to myself...

Exclude the astral travel skill I acquired...

That conclusion would be deplorable for me. Even with my knowledge and experience as an adult man, I would quickly fall into the middle of the class in my local school. The only thing I could have used to get by was Dan's appearance and his many years of swimming, but again, there was not a single gram of my personal merit in that.

They say that accepting yourself as you are, without illusions and self-deception, cleanses the soul and opens the way to self-improvement. Perhaps so, but that night, as I lay wrapped in a blanket, I felt incredibly sick, to the point of nausea.

What is even more surprising is that in the morning, I opened my eyes in a wonderful mood. It seemed that for the first time in my life, I was breathing deeply. What difference did it make who I was? What's wrong with someone being better than me at something, even if that someone is a schoolboy? All this is a trifle, not worth attention. The main thing is who I can become. And I really can become someone much greater than I was, even if a series of coincidences or someone else's will is to blame for this opportunity. What difference does it make what the root cause is? The main thing is how I utilize this second attempt granted to me.

At school, on the wave of this mood, I not only managed to write down everything the teachers said, but also thought about my own. I finally got into the rhythm of local life, which means that everything should go a little easier from now on...
* * *

 

[RiP]

* * *
Shikuno, Ristol City -- Tessa Sublunar, Silver 4th Rank
* * *

The young girl dropped tiredly into a chair and, barely hiding her irritation, threw a couple of sugar cubes into her mug of tea. Disappointment, that's what she felt now. Usually, the Dance brought enlightenment and gave new ideas, but this time, even after dancing until she collapsed, she felt nothing. Maybe it was her barely flickering Spark, or it was because the Dance helped to choose from already visible paths, and so far, she had only seen dead ends? Both of these options were equally likely.

Having stretched her slender legs and taken her mug, Tessa got up from the chair, went to the window, and sat on the windowsill. She loved to sit like this, with her knees drawn up and her cheek pressed against them, looking out onto the street, especially if, like now, it was pouring rain.

All her searches have been in vain so far. She has found nothing. Neither in the region, nor in her city, nothing at all. Besides, as soon as she weakened, problems with the city's governance began to appear. The vassals felt the weakness of the Mistress, no, they did not allow themselves anything inappropriate, but that was for now... The weak cannot rule. Such is the immutable law of this world. If it were not for the faithful Churef, who voluntarily became her vassal and guard for two centuries now, who knows, maybe there would have been some brave souls among the small Masters who would have claimed their rights to Ristol.

She needs to recover, to gather strength, but instead she prowls the countryside like a hunting dog that has lost its scent. Instead of at least looking strong, she runs around like a very small and ignorant spirit, causing more fuss than achieving results.

And the cherry on the cake. The issue with the High School of Ristol. The main treasure of her city, after the death of Elir, is now left almost unattended. Because Orolius cannot be called the caretaker of such a valuable place, because despite his third rank, he is only a Lower Red, it is hardly possible to call him intelligent. What kind of caretaker is he...

The worst thing is that Tessa didn't have a worthy replacement for Elir. Putting a Black as the school caretaker would ensure order, but at the same time reduce the Tribute, because the Black cannot reap the harvest among schoolchildren as effectively as Silver. And there were no other higher spirits in her city except the Blacks...

Other Silver ones preferred to serve more powerful overlords. Steel does not give vassal oaths. Pale ones, they do not serve anyone at all. She herself will not let the Bloody Ones into her city. They are more trouble than they are worth. It is sickening to even think about other higher ones...

And she can't give up her search for Power now. She is Silver, and she feels with all her being that she is right and Power is near. And like a gambler who has already bet a lot and lost, Sublunar made increasingly crazy bets, hoping not only to win back but also to hit the jackpot.

Once again, her thoughts made a spiral and returned to the Gray Giant. His image and the Source looming behind him had become a fetish for the Silver Maiden in recent days. This time, the spiral of thoughts went a little further than before. Perhaps the dance helped after all, because it is not for nothing that they say "in the Dance is the Power of Silver and its Authority."

Over the last few days, she had become firmly convinced that Gray had received his power almost instantly. This was the only way to explain why no patrolman in her city or the surrounding area had noticed the Giant before. This happens when a spirit receives a lot of Power at once. A lot. Then it pupates, stops growing, rebuilds its aura to suit its new capabilities, and changes at once. For Silver, Steel, Black, or other higher beings, this would have resulted in a sharp jump in rank, but for such a lowly creature as a slug, it simply resulted in an increase in size and astral Power, without changing the quality of the aura.

This could have happened if Gray had found a small fragment of the Elder Spark and eaten it right away. This thought almost physically hurt Tess, such a talentless waste of a priceless artifact! But then she remembered that the slug did not reveal his secret even before his death, and shouted, "I will not give it up!" And since he was protecting something, this "something" still existed, and did not disappear without a trace, eaten by one of the lower ones.

Having finished her tea, the girl tousled her hair and pressed her forehead against the cool window glass.

If this was not a Spark Shard, she knew of only two more ways for a spirit to gain a lot of Power at once, in one go. The first was to devour a Gifted human soul. However, the maiden sincerely doubted that a lower one could do this. She had never met a Gifted, and had never seen anyone who had met one. According to the stories of her former master, the last Mage of the human race appeared more than three thousand years ago. And then this Mage destroyed almost all the spirits of the not small country of Dorira, which is in the southern hemisphere, before he was stopped by the united armies of the three first-ranked Higher ones. That is, eating a Gifted is not such an easy task that some slug could handle it.

But there was a second option, which she accidentally learned about. A powerful surge of Power can occur during the initiation of a Gifted. If some spirit is nearby, it will be able to absorb the Power of his Gift while it has not yet been fully revealed. While the Gift is just being born, it cannot protect either itself or the soul of its owner. The chance that one of the spirits will be near the initiate is one in a trillion. But, apparently, that is what happened. If we discard all the impossible, then the most incredible will be the truth. Tessa does not know any other way to get Power so quickly. And that means that is how it was.

Some small Gray got lucky and found himself next to the awakening Gifted, so close that he was able to start devouring him at the moment when he was completely defenseless and could not fight back.

This conclusion gave Tess hope. If the slug fought for what gave him strength, then that Gifted One was alive. Yes, after his initiation was "broken", his Power was tens of times less, but even this fragment would be enough for her not only to regain her former power, but also to rise at least a rank, or even two!

In anticipation of a guess, the girl jumped off the windowsill and began to walk around the room.

Tess concentrated and ran the logical chain through her head:

A certain small Gray accidentally witnesses the initiation of the Gifted.

This initiation most likely takes place somewhere far away, where there are few other spirits, because otherwise it is difficult to explain that no one except that Gray noticed a Flash of such power.

The slug, by its nature, generally eats everything it comes across, and here is such a treasure trove of food! Of course, it did not pass by, and he rushed to the feast. But most likely, there was so much food that the slug almost burst. Having eaten as much as it could, it pupated.

Stop. No. First, he doused the Gifted with his slime to continue to draw strength from his victim. This slime not only nourishes its host, but also soaks into the astral component, dimming the light of the aura, and then it is almost impossible to see it unless you look specifically and know that it is there. And only then did he pupate. Yes, most likely, that is how it was.

But she found this Gray in her city, which means the Gifted survived and moved from his "backwater" to Ristol. Wait, it doesn't add up. No matter how stupid and primitive the slug was, he would never leave such delicious food unattended. Because even if he ate everyone in Ristol High School, it wouldn't give even a percent of what he got from Spark with Gift! And anyway, why was Gray on school grounds at night? It would be more logical for him to be near his main victim.

Something was wrong here, but Tessa felt she was on the right track; she was just not noticing something, missing something obvious.

Standing still in the center of the room, the Silver Maiden rose on her toes, spread her arms out to the sides, and performed a pirouette. Outlining an almost perfect circle in the air with the toe of her left foot.

Circle...

Circle?

Circle!

That's it! That's why Gray left his food. He was simply not allowed to get to it! Apparently, the Gifted One settled in the Four Alleys area, in one of the houses protected by spherical lichens. And of course, the brownie didn't let the slug on the threshold. After all, these furry spirits have plenty of strength when they protect their home.

The longer Silver thought about it, the more she came to the conclusion that this was exactly how it had been.

The Gift awakens, the Gray attacks, and the slime-shrouded Gifted moves to Ristol. Then, the Gifted spends the night in the house under the protection of the Green, and the slime crawls to the school, where it kills Elir and is killed by Tess's sword.

A chain of events that could have happened. There's just one discrepancy... Why did the slug crawl into the school at night? There's no food there at that time of day. What was he doing there?

Having brewed a new teapot, Silver Maiden climbed onto the windowsill again.

What was Gray doing on school grounds at night? She thought about this question from different angles until she came to what seemed to her the most logical conclusion. Gray was at the school because he was waiting for his treasure there. And he was waiting there because he was sure his victim would definitely come there. And that meant...

If we remember that:

A new school year has recently begun.

Ristol High School is the only one not only in the city, but also in the entire region.

According to legends, the Gift awakens in humans at about sixteen years of age.

Many parents, sending their children to high school, rent them rooms and apartments in the Four Alleys area...

There can be only one conclusion...

Gifted - a student from the provinces, a first-year student, who only entered high school this year!

Apparently, the slug devoured him pretty much, and the Spark barely flickers, and does not shine like a hundred stars, attracting all the spirits for thousands of kilometers around. And while his Gift has not been restored, she can find him. Find and devour him! Of course, it would be more profitable not to eat him right away, but to milk him for many years, so the benefit would be many times greater. But who will give it to her, who will allow some four-rank to own such a treasure as a Gifted with a smoldering, not flaming Gift? The Gift that does not burn, but is suitable for food?! No one!!! They will immediately kill her and take away such a treasure. So, the choice is simple: find and immediately devour, restore, and rise a couple of ranks. After which it will be possible to change this backwater for something more befitting of the mistress of Silver of the second rank!

If someone had looked into the window of her apartment, they would never have guessed that the young girl twirling in a carefree dance only looked sixteen years old.

She will solve two problems at once! She will continue the search and take control of the high school. Yes, this will make the city less protected from the lower creatures, but she will strengthen the patrols, and the balance will last for some time without her participation.

How will she do it? Very simple! She will enroll in the school herself under the guise of a new student. To do this, she will have to change her identity, pull some levers, and take care of the documents, but it is possible.

The Silver Maiden sang and laughed, anticipating her imminent ascension. She was still very young by the standards of spirits, young and did not know that the world had once been much richer and more diverse. She had no idea that the Gifts of Man could be completely different from the Gift of Magic. That something more ancient than Magic had come into the world. What the ones like her had destroyed seemed irrevocable. Destroyed without even thinking that they were killing themselves, it was just that this destruction was so drawn out over time that it was almost unnoticeable...

* * *

 

[RiP]

* *
Shikuno, Ristol City - Dan Lier, the human being
* * *

"No stretching!" Master Lancer's yell made Fargo pick up the pace.

Today's class started strangely. After we changed into our robes, the teacher threw us outside, and we were ordered to run after the master. It didn't look like a normal jog before sparring, as we didn't wear any protection this time. I was even more surprised when our small group ran out of the school gates and headed down one of the central alleys to the west side of town.

Many classes in clubs take place outside the walls of school complexes. Gardeners often go out into nature, the Astronomy club is taken to the planetarium, and so on. But Master Lancer had never taken us anywhere before, so today's training really did start out somehow unusually.

However, I was even glad of such changes, because the only thing we did in the Shatano classes for the two weeks that the club worked was practice our stances. More precisely, it all began with a run, then sparring until ten defeats, a short moralizing lecture from the master, and then two hours of excruciating and monotonous repetitions of "Position Canyo! Position Waryo* (fire)! Position Tashyo* (wind)! Position Dakyo* (water)!

Because we were not taught any sword techniques, I never managed to win against Kano in a sparring. I tried everything, but the guy turned out to be unusually easy to teach and never fell into the same trap twice. So, for now, my best result was a score of ten to three in the boxer's favor. I remember how, during the third lesson, I got him with a thrusting blow for the first time. I was happy! But the joy was short-lived, the master did not count the defeat, since, according to him, "A blow should sound! But I heard nothing!" Then I learned that according to the rules of "tournament Shatano", only a defeat is counted if the blow produced a clear and distinct sound. That is, my then expectation of light, fast, thrusting blows did not justify itself; the teacher "did not hear" them on purpose.

In addition, Lancer made sure that these two weeks in the club turned into a real purgatory for me, Fargo, and Tanko. Firstly, the teacher set the bar for physical activity, focusing on athletes. This led to the fact that the nerds got exhausted much earlier, and if it were not for the guys' great desire and incredible willpower, they would not have been able to cope with these loads. Secondly, the master continued to put obviously unequal pairs in sparring. And thirdly, he tacitly encouraged the cruelty of the trio of athletes in training fights. No, he did not allow bone-breaking and serious injuries, but bruises and contusions became familiar decorations for me, Fargo, and Tanko.

And, in general, the boys are great! Both the overweight first-year student and the second-year student seemed awkward because of his height. Both of them not only decided to stay in the club, despite the trashing from the master, but also continued to hold on. During these two weeks, I only had to support them after classes a couple of times. Basically, they managed on their own, although I must admit, it was much harder for them than for me. After all, they were physically much weaker than Dan.

It was not easy for me either. Apparently, the teacher guessed who was to blame for the club continuing its work. This was shown in the fact that the master was picking on me for any, even the most trivial reason. If we judge objectively, my progress in mastering the initial, elemental positions of Shatano was much more significant than that of anyone else in the group. Even Kano, despite his talent, was inferior to me in the clarity of execution and the canonical correctness of the stances. My training in the astral form bore fruit. True, an unforeseen aspect arose here. My spending on food became simply ruinous. Because at the end of such astral classes, my appetite was brutal. I even had to switch to a diet based on sea beans. This is a local sea plant, very nutritious, rich in various microelements and vitamins, but to put it mildly, not very tasty, but cheap. According to Dan's recollections, these beans, the fruit of algae growing in shallow waters, can grow ten meters in a year and yield up to two hundred centners of harvest per hectare of seabed. True, this food was considered the food of workers, but I didn't care about that nuance. It's filling, healthy, and costs pennies, so in my situation, it was the best choice.

Running past a bookstore, I once again thought about the fact that I should refuse to participate in the Library club. Because, like many other things in this world, it turned out to be completely different from what I imagined. On the one hand, everything seems to be without deception. You calmly come to the school library, you can take books and read them in the reading room. There is even something like your own room at the club, where you can discuss what you have read. But there is one nuance. You can only read the books recommended by the Ministry of Education for your class. A first-year student cannot take a book on the list, for example, of the third year! Not to mention the fact that for first years, although the list consisted of almost a hundred titles of texts, nothing was interesting for me there. History of the World, excuse me, this is the third year, the first and second years study the History of Shikuno. The same with Geography.

I tried to get acquainted with the local classics of World Literature and Poetry. But what was considered a masterpiece here, it is simply impossible to convey in words how flat, primitive, and cardboard it was. Not a single local author, of those whom I tried to force myself to read, shone with anything, neither the idea, nor the plot, nor the heroes. The only exception to this rule is the memoirs of great people. The language of presentation is also extremely poor, but at least sometimes, there was intrigue.

During my two weeks of visiting the library, I caught myself thinking many times that even I would write a better book than what the local classics had scribbled down. The most original things I had read were perhaps the myths of the Ancient World, and even then, there was too much in them that was similar to the adventures of Hercules, Odysseus, Gilgamesh, and similar heroes of earthly epics. Except that the names of the protagonists were, of course, different, and the pantheon of gods was slightly different from the Greek, Roman, or Sumerian. However, if you compare the local pantheon with the Greek, the differences will be even smaller than when comparing the Greek with, for example, the pantheon of the Inca gods. The only striking difference was that the main god was Wiltem, the ruler of the sea elements, which, remembering geography, did not seem strange.

The first few days, I was even interested in digging into these myths, looking for differences and building various theories. But when I realized that none of them mentioned red chameleons, green smeshariks, life-sucking slime, or anything like that, I quickly lost interest in such research. In general, it's strange. I have never come across any mention of demons in any book or newspaper article. Any tabloid newspaper was full of mutant rats living in the capital's sewers, aliens abducting people, ancient gods walking among us - such nonsense was all over the place. But even the tabloid press was silent about otherworldly phenomena that were even remotely similar to those I had seen. And this fact very eloquently told me that I was right in my paranoia, and someone was ruling this world from behind the scenes. Someone who has supernatural powers, someone who erases even gossip about the real state of affairs.

It took me a few visits to the Library club to understand that it couldn't give me anything useful yet. If I want, I can go to the reading room in my free time, but I don't see the point in sitting there as if it were mandatory for several hours after classes. On the other hand, I can bury my nose in a book and think about my own things, that is, at least use this time usefully. In any other club, there might not be such a plus. And nevertheless, I have already read everything more or less interesting from the free access, and reading the next memoirs of the hundredth admiral of some country is beyond my strength, because it is monotonous to the point of impossibility! Besides, the masters of literature were far from even the same Sabatini with his "Adventures of Captain Blood". What is the fact that in literature lessons, what we write down under dictation is the best of all works on such a subject?

Sometimes it seems to me that the magical order that has taken control of the progress of this world also eradicates any manifestation of creativity. Although no, I am most likely mistaken here. Classical music here is not bad, although I do not have perfect pitch, but to my taste, it is no worse than Mozart or Bach. True, the classics I liked were written almost eight thousand years ago, during the Age of Geographical Discoveries, but nevertheless, there is talented art. Maybe the pop music played on the radio is talented in its own way? I just do not understand this at all and cannot judge objectively. But in terms of books, there is a complete mess here; even in ancient times, there is no one even close to such pillars as Shakespeare.

But, in general, yes... In this world, it is not only bad with technology, but also with creativity, and this is a fact no matter how you look at it. I even have a theory that the gift of magic in this world develops only in people with creative talent. But the development of magic takes away all of people's strength and time, because I do not think secretly ruling the world is easy. I did not suffer from such youthful delusions. Moreover, I am sure that magicians here work harder than even dock workers could dream of. Controlling a world inhabited by people is an insanely difficult task, I am one hundred percent sure of this. As a result, magicians simply do not have enough time for creativity. I had other theories on this matter, but this one seemed the most complete and beautiful.

We had already run about a kilometer and a half when the master turned onto one of the side streets leading to the Fifth City Park. From his gesture, I understood we did not have long to run. And in general, today, Lancer is acting strangely, unusually calm. He does not attack anyone with his screams, does not press, does not look at me or Fargo with Tanko with disdain. It seems that such a change should please me, but I have already gotten used to the fact that in this world, if it seems to you that everything is fine, then most likely you do not notice the problem that is already waiting for you around the next corner.

Like with school, for example. Just fifteen days ago, it seemed to me that I was getting into studying and that now it would become easier, when the class teacher called me and puzzled me... Since I missed more than a month and a half due to illness, I needed to catch up with the rest of the class on what they missed. It would be fine if they gave me some kind of exam, gave me time to prepare, and tested me on my knowledge of the missed topics. Alas, but what seems logical to me does not work in this world. Instead of an exam, teacher Uramo told me to take all the notes on all subjects from the class president and rewrite them. Rewrite!!! Completely! All of them! Considering that for any subject here, teachers dictate textbooks during lessons... I struggled with this until yesterday, it is not so easy to rewrite so much text by hand. In addition, my skills in entering the astral plane were of no help at all in such work. Every day I spent two hours on this rewriting, and that's not counting what I had to write down after teachers during school classes. But this hell seems to be over, I really hope that such surprises won't be waiting for me in the future.

"Stop!" The master's command interrupted my thoughts. "Come in."

Our run ended at a two-story mansion on the edge of a city park. Lancer stood on the high porch, holding the front door open, gesturing for us all to come inside.

What I took for a mansion turned out to be a sports complex. I was confused by the old-fashioned architecture of the building, but it was just an adaptation of the facade to the park complex. Many sports sections rented premises in this complex. In addition to Shatano, I noticed an announcement about recruitment for a "school of boarding sabre", the same fencing, only more widespread and officially recognized sport, even world championships are held there.

It was here, as it turned out, that Lancer was conducting his paid Shatano classes. Following the master, we found ourselves in a small hall where six adult men were waiting for us. As it turned out later, Master Lancer was leading four Shatano groups, eight people in each. In one of the groups, there were employees from the power plant who worked two on and two off, and today they had a day off. And the teacher asked them to help with our training.

"Dan, this is Mr. Erino." The Master introduced me to a man very similar to Dan in build. -"Do whatever he says, he is your trainer today."

In the same way, Lancer introduced the rest of the students to their mentors for this lesson.

"Aloha!" The temporary coach clapped me on the shoulder. "Let's not waste time. Let's go get you dressed."

Get dressed? However, my silent question was soon answered in full. Approaching the outermost of the full-length wardrobes, a row of which occupied one of the walls of the gym, Erino opened it and took out something that looked like a long, thick robe that was put on over the head.

"Here you go. Put it on right over the robe you're wearing. We're the same height and weight, so it should fit you. This is a replica of a classic pre-Gunpowder-era underarmor. Made from several layers of canvas."

While I was putting on the surprisingly heavy robe that replaced a quilted jacket in this world, Erino was giving me something like a lecture. The temporary teacher clearly liked this role and enjoyed teaching someone.

"Yes. Heavy! It's many layers of canvas, that's why it weighs four kilograms, seven hundred grams! But a light blow from a sword, spear, or sabre to a spot not protected by steel will most likely be dampened. And it's good protection against arrows. Besides, without this quilting, any heavy blow to the armor would almost certainly result in a bruise, fracture, or damage to internal organs.

Even though I had never worn such clothes before, there were no difficulties.

"So... Spread your arms out to the sides," Erino ordered. "Tighten this strap. Good. Now put your hands up. Why are you wincing? Is it uncomfortable? Where? Then we'll loosen it here... Remember what I'm doing. Is this better? Excellent. Sit down. Where is it pulling? No? Great, we really do have similar body types. Stand up straight, feet shoulder-width apart, and touch the floor with your palms. Uh-huh. Now... I'll loosen this belt. One more time... Here! Jump up from the spot as far as you can... Now do the same from the spot lengthwise... Fine. Take it off. No, that's not it, first loosen all the straps. Yes. That's it. That's right... Now put it back on... I hope you remembered how to tighten the straps. Why are you shaking your head like a tumbler toy? Didn't remember everything? We'll check now. Did you tighten it, and did you remember what and how? Squat... Jump up... Bend... Palms on the floor... Ten push-ups... You said you didn't remember everything, but you tightened everything up normally. Take off your underarmor..."

I wore it on and took it off until the temporary teacher was satisfied with my results. After the fourth repetition, Erino gestured that he was satisfied and went into his closet.

"This is a cuirass!" Having pulled this object into the light, my mentor stated the obvious. "It is too early for you to learn to put on armor yourself. So, I will help you now."

First, we fastened the cuirass with four hands. This element of armor reminded me very much of what the conquistadors wore on Earth. After Lancer's story, I expected something very heavy, but since the cuirass was not all two and a half millimeters thick, but had such armor only along the central axis. It turned out that its weight was nine kilograms two hundred grams.

Then we secured massive shoulder pads, which looked like they could easily withstand the most powerful blow. Only the bracers, which had a multi-layered structure, needed to absorb the blow received on them without the risk of the hand going numb, could boast the same protection. These bracers reminded me of goalie pancakes, which protect the hands from pucks and opponents' sticks, only made of steel and not so massive. The last large piece of equipment was the gorget, that is, an element of armor for protecting the neck. All other parts of the armor were much thinner and lighter.

The whole dressing took about fifteen minutes. And we were the second in the group to complete this task. What was a little annoying was that Kano got dressed faster than me.

Then we went outside, or rather to the park, and I, following Erino's commands, learned to move in this heavy and very restrictive armor. The main difficulty for me was that the center of gravity shifted greatly, which made it much more difficult to maintain balance.

Almost immediately, as soon as we finished dressing, I realized how inferior this type of protection was in comparison with its earthly counterparts. Judge for yourself: there is no protection for the joints, the helmet is primitive, you can easily miss a stabbing blow from a sword through the large-mesh net covering your face, the places where nothing protects you except the quilted jacket make up almost a third of your body surface. And all this disgrace weighs a quarter of a hundred kilograms, the same as a full Milanese suit of armor, which provides many times better protection.

True, the creators of this "miracle" were justified by the fact that the development of military thought in this world developed somewhat differently from the earthly one. Composite bows were not invented here. And those crossbows that were in use at that time had wooden limbs, which is why they were almost no different in killing power from the same bows. The institution of equestrian knighthood did not develop here, since the local horses were not capable of carrying an armored rider due to their build. And most importantly, as soon as one of the lords united all the provinces into a single state, foreigners arrived on large ships armed with cannons and built everyone according to their own rules. That is, perhaps, if there had been no foreign invasion, after some time, the Shatano armor would have evolved into something similar to Gothic.

Despite the fact that for two hours I simply walked, bent, and squatted, doing nothing more difficult than that, and still tired as if I had run a marathon. Erino turned out to be a more humane and attentive teacher than Lancer. It was obvious that he liked to feel like a mentor, even if it was temporary.

At the end of the training, our group was gathered in the hall, seated in a semicircle, and the master mentor came forward.

"Today, you felt the weight of the armor. You must get used to it, the armor must become as natural to you as your skin." Here, the corners of his lips twitched. "That's what I would tell you if you were studying here and not in a school club. But since none of you can afford to buy armor, I will not make such demands on you. Nevertheless, try to remember this weight. Remember how it restricts your movements, how it complicates seemingly simple actions. And what protection and sense of security it gives. Sit like this, without taking off the armor. Get used to it. Remember how your muscles tense..."

Lancer spoke monotonously, measuredly, which contrasted with his usual manner. From fatigue and to his voice, my eyes began to close, and I felt sleepy. Only with considerable effort did I not switch off and continue listening to the master. And as it turned out, not in vain. He said very interesting things. For others, they may be completely unimportant and seem like outdated junk.

But his words were more interesting to me than all the training I had previously undergone. The mentor told us that ancient warriors had become so attuned to their armor that even when they took it off, they moved as if they were still wearing it. That they had come up with a special training, the name of which immediately drove away all the dreams. The "spiritual armor".

"Despite the fact that this training is something similar to what is called meditation on the Equatorial Islands, my experience shows that this knowledge of our ancestors is not quackery. And those who successfully learn this technique master combat in full armor many times faster." Having stopped pacing, the master sat down in front of us. "Calm your breathing. Close your eyes. Now imagine that you and the armor are one whole. It's weight is your weight. It's armor is your armor..."

Apparently, Lancer had a very vague idea of how to teach meditation techniques. And yet, I listened very carefully, afraid to miss a word. Everyone else, apparently, made titanic efforts not to fall asleep or snore right in the middle of the mentor's speech. And this was understandable, because everything he said was completely useless for a person who had not learned even the simplest breathing. But I immediately saw the sound grain that the knights of Shatano put into this type of training. The essence of this meditation was to create in your imagination an analogue of real armor and constantly wear this mental projection on yourself. Since I already imagine what self-hypnosis is capable of, I understand that the knight who could suggest this to himself learned to wear real armor many times faster than those who found such training unnecessary. Moreover, after the master mentioned that the ancestors also believed that such "spiritual armor" protected against spirits, curses, and demons, my attention to Lancer's words jumped up.

At the end of the lecture, we were allowed to take off our armor. Something I probably wouldn't have been able to handle on my own, without Erino's help. Then, after saying goodbye to our temporary mentors and learning that we would be coming here once every two weeks to repeat today's experience, we were escorted out into the street.

We finished today's lesson with a run to school. The first one was really useful for me. It was precisely because of the opportunity to learn ancient spiritual practices that I decided to stay in this club.

After the usual sauna, I got dressed faster than everyone else and hurried home. I had to write down Lancer's lecture word for word so as not to accidentally forget something important.

This evening, after repeating the basic positions, I tried to imagine myself wearing the Shatano armor. At first, nothing worked, but remembering how the armor restricts movement, I began to move around the apartment in the same way. Connecting the motor memory moved the situation from a dead point. If I had my own set of armor, then putting it on and taking it off, I think it would have been many times more effective. But since "what is not there, is not there", then the matter moved very slowly, I could not maintain this ephemeral feeling of heaviness on my shoulders for long. And most importantly, the feeling of security that the armor gives you. It could not be reproduced in any way.

However, since I had previously managed to achieve interesting results with the help of astral training, I did not despair. On the contrary, I decided to devote at least half an hour a day to such training. In addition, the next time we have a similar lesson with real armor, I will focus on my feelings and not on physical motor skills.
* * *

The next day, during the long break, Nouri sat down at my table, which was quite unexpected, since for a couple of weeks now, he had been pretending that he was a ghost to me.

"You're definitely making progress in your studies." The class president sat down next to me after putting down his tray of food. "Curator Uramo said that on Friday, you turned in all the debts you had accumulated due to your illness at the beginning of the year." Garn continued after taking a sip of compote. "That's impressive."

"You seem a bit too tense and don't look like a class monitor who is happy for his classmate." I don't feel like playing polite.

"Ha!" Didn't I guess right? That laugh didn't sound fake. "Did you think that if someone in the class studied better than I, it would upset me? To be honest..." Garn paused and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, I'm a pretty mediocre student. The exact sciences are easy for me, but the rest is difficult. And there are at least three in the class who will get better grades than I at the end of the semester. If I'm fifth instead of fourth in average grades, it won't change anything for me." I thought he was more ambitious, but now I have a feeling that he's not lying.

"Then why are you so nervous?"

"Never mind." Noury shrugged. "I have good news for you." The president now looked like a parody of the godfather of the mafia. Only he lacked a lot to make this image believable, so it took a lot of effort for me to hold back a smile.

"Good news, that's a rare thing these days." He wants to play grown-up, why not? I lean back in my chair with a glass of juice in my hand.

"I just found out that Kano no longer holds a grudge against you."

It's not that the boxer's anger bothered me at all. The athlete didn't bother me outside of class, and his anger and pressure during Shatano training were even useful in some ways. Although I must admit, sometimes it seemed he would smash my head with his bokken. The only thing that infuriated me in this situation was that the other schoolchildren hurried away from me like a leper, afraid of incurring the boxer's wrath.

"And why such a change?"

"I heard here that Master Tudono, Kano's personal boxing trainer, agreed that Master Lancer would train Kano to withstand punches to the body within the framework of Shatano."

"And how does this affect his anger towards me?"

"He takes everything that benefits his boxing positively."

I look at this sixteen-year-old boy who imagines himself an expert in psychology and an engineer of human souls, and I can hardly restrain myself from laughing. Noury is amazingly funny in this role of the president-godfather.

However, such behavior brings him certain profits. Despite his rather average, by local standards, appearance, as far as I have noticed, he is very popular with girls, not only in our class, but also in parallel classes. Only the guy clearly does not notice these girls' glances. However, perhaps this is for the best.

"So, can I breathe a sigh of relief?" I need to stay in character. That's why I answer like this.

"I think so." Garn acts as if it were all his doing.

"Thank you for the good news." Having thanked the president, I lowered my face to the plate of rice, hinting that the conversation was over.

"Dan..." Ignoring my hint, Nouri leans forward. "There is the case..." I thought he really sat down at my table to congratulate me on my academic success and bring good news. "Could you help Siri?"

What I didn't expect was such a request. How can I help the best student in the class and the president's main assistant? I was so surprised that I almost said it all out loud, but I held back, limiting myself to a puzzled look.

"Siri took an additional foreign language as an elective. Austroa... Could you help her a little?"

Here's the question: do I need it? I have a ton of things to do as it is! Do I need that extra workload to help someone with their studies? If Emri were in Himina's place, I would agree without much thought, but here...

For two weeks, I have been lamenting the fact that my classmates are avoiding me, and now I am thinking about how to get rid of their attention. My usual day is tightly packed with things to do. More precisely, training sessions, which I would prefer no one else to know about. And I don't want to reduce the intensity of my training at all. On the other hand, turning into a loner outcast is not the best option either.

"You left the Library club." Nouri's knowledge amazes me. I wrote my refusal this morning, and he already knows. "Sign up for the Austroi language club for six months, then you won't have to waste your personal time on classes with Siri."

I want to ask: "What is my benefit?" But I feel that this is not the right question. Garn is simply trying to help his friend; at least I do not see any double meaning in his request.

"Dan, you don't care what club you go to. And at our school, the teacher of Austroi speaks with such an accent and such mistakes that how they keep her here and don't fire her is a mystery to many. Help costs you nothing."

"But does Siri really need Austroic?" Since Dan's memory has perfectly preserved the skills of this language, it will not be difficult for me to help the girl with language practice. But do I need it?

"I don't know, I didn't ask." Garn shrugs. "I know that she's upset about learning this language. So I decided to ask you to help her."

I have to weigh the pros and cons. What will I lose if I help? The opportunity to enroll in any other club of my choice. Perhaps that's all the losses. What will I gain? At the very least, the president will owe me, and given how seriously he tries to approach his duties, this debt is not an empty space. And as a bonus to this, the favor of Siri, Emri's friend, which gives me the opportunity to get closer to the girl I definitely like.

"Dan, I approached you with this request only because you don't care which club to join. If you have any plans, just say so. I'll understand."

He doesn't like asking me, but he's asking not for himself. I might even start respecting him. At least he behaves more responsibly and maturely than many thirty-year-olds, and this is at his sixteenth birthday.

"Okay. I'll help." It's really not hard for me. Moreover, close communication with a local, especially an excellent student, will give me more understanding of this world than any club. Besides, Himina seemed interested in history, so there will be someone to ask some of the questions that interest me.

"Good." Putting the plate aside, the president sat back in his chair with satisfaction. "Just a request. Siri doesn't know that I asked you. Let's keep this between us. She doesn't like to be indebted to anyone."

It's not a school, but the court of Louis XV, with conspiracies and intrigues all around.

After finishing the Labor lesson, I went to the administrative complex and signed up for a new club.

On the way home, I was thinking about whether I did the right thing by leaving the library. I was remembering the books I read there. And already opening the front door of my apartment, I came to an unequivocal conclusion, and for good reason. Local literature is wretched. Not even in style or text structure, everything here is more or less up to par, but in ideas, semantic load, and original plots.

On Earth, I had a hobby. If you can call a penchant for graphomania a hobby. I liked to scribble on paper, writing stories or trying to write a novel or a story. Alas, but God did not endow me with talent in this area. I tried to post my imperishable works on the Internet, but those random readers who wandered onto my page in LiveJournal were categorical in their opinion that I write disgustingly. I honestly tried to study, even attended courses: "how to become a writer", but all to no avail.

The most surprising thing is that despite constant failures in this field, I never gave up this occupation. I liked to invent something, and the desire to put this idea down on paper was sometimes simply uncontrollable. The main thing that was offensive was that my ideas were not bad, but the implementation was disgusting.

I remember that as a true graphomaniac, I naturally did not believe the reviews on the Internet. And having finished my first major work, I sent it to a publisher. They rejected it. I sent it to the next one. Again with the same result. I sent it to everyone and everything for a year, not believing that I was truly talentless. In the end, I managed to get several detailed answers from professional editors. And all these answers were like carbon copies.

You come up with interesting worlds and a twisted plot, but that's where all the advantages of your works end. Your heroes are implausible, they are boring, monotonous, and impersonal. The dialogues are at the level of a third-grader in elementary school. The descriptions of nature are primitive and too superficial, and they take up a lot of space. The writing language is dry, reminiscent of the bureaucratic reports of a clerk. The motivation of your heroes does not stand up to criticism... And so on. A complete rout on all counts. In addition, almost exactly the same as what anonymous readers wrote to me online.

I remember, after such a response from a professional editor, I went on a drinking binge for the first and last time in my life. I went into the bottle for a week. Before that, I considered myself someone who was simply not understood, but this letter made me look at my abilities objectively, and I did not like such a look at all. Feeling untalented is not the most pleasant feeling.

The funniest thing is that this did not stop me in the field of graphomania. New ideas continued to be born in my head, and I again tried to write them down and "give them to the world". I reread the classics, downloaded several online courses in literary skill from famous authors, and, having written a new novel, sent it to publishing houses again. It seemed that I had corrected all the mistakes, made the characters alive, worked a lot on the dialogues, tried to write brightly, and not in officialese. Imagine my surprise when the answer was almost identical to the previous one. It seemed like mockery to me. Having created a second account in LiveJournal, I posted my new text under a different name. And again, the readers' reviews completely repeated the editor's answer, only in a ruder form.

Nevertheless, I tried again and again. If I had such persistence in my professional career, I would have founded my own company and achieved success long ago. In five years, I wrote four novels, or rather what I called novels, and readers called them a waste of paper. In the end, I abandoned the idea of publishing and simply posted texts on LiveJournal. In addition, despite the generally negative background of reviews, I gained about two dozen subscribers, and I felt that my graphomania was not in vain, and someone was reading them. What can I do if I have such a weakness - I like to invent. More precisely, the weakness is not in inventing, but in the fact that I try to put my thoughts into text, not having the talent for it.

I literally bombarded one of the editors, who carelessly responded to my letters with questions and requests to evaluate new texts. So, exhausted by my persistence, he gave me some good advice. Find a co-author who would compensate for my weaknesses. Find a fellow loser who can write beautifully, but has trouble with the plot and world-building. I searched for a long time, but after a fair amount of searching on the Internet, I found someone who suited me and even made preliminary arrangements for possible cooperation. I was driving to meet this person when a drunk idiot in the truck...

I remember on the second day of my appearance in this world, I was so inspired by new impressions, and the very fact of my rebirth, that I felt like I could do it now! Having bought a notebook and a pen, I locked myself in my cabin and began to write down what was born in my head. If I believed that feeling, then something really could turn out better than what usually came out. I wrote all night, and in the morning, I came down with a fever. At that time, I did not yet know that I was seriously ill, nor that the cause of my illness was not a virus, but the astral mucus of an otherworldly monster.

So, in comparison with what I read in the reading room of the local library, my texts, hacked to pieces on Earth as complete graphomania, would be nominated for the most prestigious literary awards here! Lately, I have learned to look soberly at the fruits of my creativity, so now, if I exaggerated, then not by much.

Or maybe I should become not a pseudo-inventor, but a famous writer? Of course, there was an option to rewrite the classics of my world to fit the local realities, but the idea of writing my own, which would be recognized by many thousands of people, overwhelmed me. Pride? Who cares, let the pride speak in me.

Pressing the power button on my computer, I barely waited for it to load and immediately launched the text editor. Lately, I have received a lot of new impressions and learned a lot. And now, at this moment, opening a blank text file, I was overwhelmed with ideas. I will write science fiction! About a new world in which the features of the Earth and this planet are intertwined. About people who are not like those who live here, although they look the same. About technologies that are many times more powerful than any magic. About how the light of progress leaves no room for otherworldly forces. About a hero scientist who is persecuted for his new scientific discoveries, but he does not give up and changes the world, despite the powerful lobby of industrialists. A new world, like a bright star, shone in my imagination. I can't do badly. Not this time!

My palms froze over the keyboard for a minute. Chaotic thoughts calmed down, forming an entertaining and interesting plot. But before my fingers touched the keys, someone hit me hard on the back of the head with something like a sandbag. My head went blank for a moment.

I regained consciousness in no later than a second. It was all the more surprising to find myself lying under the table in astral form. My physical body was still sitting on the chair, frozen in front of the monitor screen...

* * *

 

[RiP]

* * *
Shikuno, Ristol City -- A creature that has forgotten its Name, a former guardian of the Gates, a former keeper of the Hearth, a former spirit of the place, now just a brownie.
* * *

Green habitually hugged the stone fragment hidden in the basement of the house he now guarded. Pressing his furry body against the granite fragment, the last remnant of what had served as the foundation of the Gate thousands of years ago, he tried to merge with this stone. When he succeeded, the constant itch from the spots of lichen caused by the Curse subsided, granting, albeit temporarily, relief.

Once upon a time, many thousands of years ago, before the tribes living here learned that their island was not the only land in the universe, there was a temple dedicated to the spirits of their ancestors. And the Green One at that time had a completely different Purpose, to serve as the guardian of the Door. The Gate that separates the spiritual and real worlds. How long ago it was, sometimes the spherical spirit thought that he had dreamed that time... And if it were not for this fragment, the last surviving part of that ancient temple from those times, he would have long forgotten about those times.

Green had long since come to terms with the fact that he, like the other guards, had once been forced to give up his place to the gods' protégés. Besides, his new job, as a keeper of the hearth or otherwise a brownie, was at first a real rest after a thousand years of guarding. And then, something happened and the world changed, for the second time in his memory. And if the first change was caused by the gods coming into the world, then the second, as Green guessed, could have been caused by their exodus. Only the brownie preferred not to think about this sad topic. And the topic was truly sad, because the second change blocked off natural sources, dried them up, turning the world, once rich in energy, into a spiritual desert. Recently, such thoughts worried Green much less than banal survival.

How not to disappear into oblivion, wasting away from hunger. How not to let yourself be devoured by those who are stronger. How to protect those who live in his house, because if he does not protect the residents from other spirits, Destiny will kill him as surely as the sword of the Black Executioner.

Despite the fact that his existence was almost meaningless and he was aware of his current insignificance, Green was not going to part with his existence. And he clung to life with his sharp astral claws so that the sea crabs with their powerful pincers envied such a grip.

When he almost felt like a stone that couldn't feel an itch, a sharp attack of anxiety, so strong that his paws tingled, interrupted this unity. Jumping to his feet, the brownie closed his eyes and checked the outer protective barrier, it was untouched. Running out of the basement, he, not trusting his feelings, checked the entire perimeter himself, with his hands, but did not notice the intrusion of alien spirits.

When Green was already thinking that his sense of danger had failed him this time, someone dealt such a powerful blow to the carefully constructed defense of the house that it could barely withstand it. And then another blow caused the barrier to become covered in a network of cracks.

The brownie stood there, frozen in bewilderment. No one was attacking the house, the threat was coming from within! But how could that be? Having poured almost all of his strength into maintaining the barrier, the Green One barely held back a new blow. And if the defense fell, a multitude of small spirits would immediately attack the inhabitants. However, this was not something terrible, the brownie could deal with them without any particular problems. The difficulty was that someone higher up could notice the Kavelli in spiritual form, and this already threatened a catastrophe.

As soon as Green remembered his new tenant, the Speaker of Both Worlds, he immediately realized that the attack on the defense of the house was coming from his apartment!

In a panic, the brownie, comically swaying from side to side, literally flew up the stairs. According to ancient rules, he had to stand on the threshold for about a minute, as if asking permission to enter. And only if he did not receive a refusal, could he enter the apartments of residents. Now he ignored this rule, which would undoubtedly add a new spot of lichen to his long-suffering skin, but life was more important. With this thought, the brownie broke into the Kavelli apartment without asking.

The man seemed to be behaving as usual. His body and spirit were one. And if it weren't for the blazing fire in the Kavelli's soul, there would have been nothing dangerous for the spirit in the apartment. Suddenly, the soul's fire contracted, began to pulse in time with the heartbeat, and then exploded, releasing a huge wave of pure energy. From which even the walls reinforced with additional protection trembled in their astral projection.

Green froze in delight. This wave was so pure that it reminded him of the times when the world was still young and youthful. The spirit of the place felt the curse of lichen shrinking, becoming smaller, not much, but smaller, as if an experienced doctor had finally found a cure for an old disease. This delay, this forgotten feeling of purity, almost cost the brownie his life. Because the wave from the next splash scattered the apartment's defenses to pieces, leaving behind the threads of the power circuits torn to shreds. The next splash would have destroyed everything, and all the demons in the area would have flocked here in a few minutes, as if to a feast. And first of all, the Mistress.

"Not only a Kavelli!" Green screamed in fear. Cleanliness, cleanliness, but he wanted to live much more than even to get rid of the lichen. "He's also a Skuld! A Skuld!!"

The brownie's last cry sounded more like crying.

The man's spiritual fire contracted again before exploding into another burst.

Ever since the Higher Ones learned to create physical bodies for themselves, they have taken to eating those under the protection of the spirits of the place. In order to survive, not to perish under the yoke of an unfulfilled purpose, the brownies had to learn to knock the spirit out of the corporeal shell. Those who did not learn did not survive. The One Who Forgot the Name survived, which means he learned.

Never before had he used this skill on people. But this time he struck. He struck because he saw no other way out of the situation. After all, the Kevelli is still in his material body, does not hear or notice the spiritual world. In order for him to gain this ability, the Speaker with Spirits had to go through an old ritual on the border of worlds. But this man had not gone through such a ritual and did not notice the Green jumping around him, screaming "Stop it!!"

When the fire of Kavelli's soul was ready to generate a new wave, Green jumped up and hit the man with all his might on the back of the head with his heel.

Any normal person would have simply passed out from such a blow. But instead, the spirit of the Kavelli flew out of the body, like the spirit of the Higher.

This was the last straw that overwhelmed the brownie's patience!..
* * *
Shikuno, Ristol City - Dan Lier, the human being
* * *

Before I could even comprehend what had actually happened, something jumped on my chest and, crushing me with its weight, settled on my neck. As soon as I finally focused my gaze, I immediately received something soft but weighty on the cheek, and then again and again.

"Don't you dare! Stop it! Stop it!" Smeshariki shouted in my face.

My head was shaking from side to side from the heavy blows. It didn't hurt, but it was offensive because these weren't so much blows as something similar to slaps.

"Don't think! Don't think!"

"What do you mean, not think?" Having exposed my forehead to another slap, I thought, and unexpectedly, I began to speak in the spiritual world.

Hearing my question, the brownie froze with his paw raised to strike.

"Don't think!" Green repeated after a short hesitation.

"I can't not think!" I couldn't shake off this seemingly small and harmless spirit. But there was no pressure like I felt during the last meeting, and I could speak.

"Don't think THAT WAY! THAT WAY, don't think!" The brownie tried to spread his spherical arms as wide as possible, as if showing how not to think. "You can't do THAT WAY. They'll hear you and eat you!" Green almost cried as he said these words.

"Eat?" What is he talking about? And then I remembered the red demon and the feeling of hunger that was read in his gaze. Why should I be eaten? Although I believed right away that they would eat me. There was something in the behavior of the brownie that made me not doubt the sincerity of his words. And what does it mean to "think THAT WAY"?

What happened that made Smesharik come running here and knock my spirit into the astral plane? What prompted this creature to do such things? Judging by the way he is fussing and looks clearly scared, his motive is to save his astral skin. But what does this have to do with me?

I wanted to ask the brownie, but barely tried to open my mouth when I felt the familiar pressure that pressed me to the floor like a multi-ton truck. Green, meanwhile, stopped jumping on me and began running around the room. As I understood, he was leaving traces again.

Calm down, don't panic, calm down...

I'm alive, no one is going to eat me right now, it seems. The main thing is not to do anything stupid and behave sensibly, so as not to provoke the lichen to aggression. But in order to behave sensibly, you first need to understand what is happening. And I have great difficulties with this. Everything happened too unexpectedly.

So, I was just sitting, not bothering anyone, not going into the astral plane, and then something hit me. More precisely, hit me, the brownie. The Green one is scared, and close to the most outright panic. So, his aggression is caused by this fear. And he is afraid that we will be eaten. What nonsense!

Well, I didn't do anything to provoke the spirit and scare it to such an extent. I just sat at the computer, as I had sat down dozens of times before, and it had not led to such results before. And if so, then I need to think about how what happened today is different from other times.

Yes, it's no different. Everything was as usual. Only the motive was different; earlier, I sat down at the computer to search for information or study, and now I turned it on to start writing. But I tried to compose in this world before. And I wasn't eaten.

Then a memory struck me like lightning!

Until today, I have only immersed myself in writing once, on the ship, on the second day of my stay in this world. And then, as I thought, "fell ill", but in fact, most likely, it was on that day that I caught the slime that was eating me.

Eating?

And Smesharik says: "Eat you!"

Coincidence? I don't think so. Of course, two cases are not enough to say for sure, but I have no desire to collect large statistics. Am I right, and if I start inventing something, fantasizing, or, as it may not sound loud, "creating", I will immediately be in danger of being eaten by otherworldly forces?

But what about the magical community that controls progress? Do they really... Stop. Or maybe they do control it, releasing demons like the chameleon I saw, or those that pour slime on people with imagination. Then artificially slowing down progress, putting obstacles in the way of inventors, monitoring everything and everyone, all this becomes unnecessary...

But it's a "beautiful" scheme. Demons eat those who come up with something new, and development slows down accordingly. In addition, if this continues for a long time, then natural selection begins to play a role. People capable of creativity die young, leave fewer offspring, and everything is according to Darwin. Fewer and fewer such people are born in each generation, and scientific and creative stagnation sets in, occasionally interrupted by random outbursts when the system fails. And I was wondering how even a powerful secret magical organization can control the entire world so much that it would restrain progress at all levels. After all, to do this, you need to have your people everywhere, in every editorial office, on the jury of the most provincial competition, in any patent office. But, apparently, everything was made simpler here. They created creatures that devour those who come up with something new.

The only question is, how do these demons distinguish who must be eaten and who doesn't? Smesharik immediately determined that I was in danger, which means there is a clear and unambiguous reference point. Then his gaze fell on my astral hand. In which blue colors predominated. There! Exactly! The color of the aura! Apparently, fantasy changes the color of spiritual energies, just as deep thoughts make the ethereal body blue and fear yellow. It looks very much like that is the case.

It would be preferable, of course, to ask the brownie directly, but this pressure is so strong that I can't open my mouth.

I tried auto-training, hoping to get rid of the spiritual influence of lichen. The result was ambiguous. On the one hand, I couldn't get rid of the pressure this way, but on the other, I did loosen it a little. I still can't move, but my sensitivity is returning.

To increase the effectiveness of the exercises, I began to imagine that my spirit was covered by armor. As Lancer said, I tried to remember and feel the weight of the armor, how it pressed on the astral body, how it protected. With each swing of the imaginary pendulum, I suggested that another millimeter of my spirit was hidden behind the armor. I had tried something similar before, and then there was no result, but now everything was different. I felt that my life depended on whether I mastered this skill or not. This gave me not only additional motivation but also mobilized all my strength.

Unfortunately, I failed to make myself an astral armor. But my efforts were not in vain. I managed to partially throw off the pressure of the brownie. Not completely, but I could already speak.

"Who will eat us?"

My question was so unexpected for the spirit that it fell from the ceiling, where it was renewing its protection at that time. It fell and froze, lying on its back, looking at me with its eyes, disproportionately huge for such a body. In its gaze, one could read boundless surprise.

"Who will eat us and why?" He repeated his question.

The brownie rose to his feet, came up to me, and stood half a meter from my nose.

"Who? The Lowest... The Higher... What difference does it make who?" Shrugging, the green spirit said with deep sadness.

"Lowest? Higher? Who are they?"

"You're in the way." Swaying on his spherical legs, the brownie looked very displeased.

"Why are you saving me?"

"Purpose..." This word was given to him with great difficulty, this is what they say about the heaviest duty, which is harder to bear than spending eternity in hard labor.

"Why will they eat us? Is it because I dreamed? Fantasized?" Lichen had already turned away from me, so I asked these questions to his back.

"You are a Skuld. Kavelli and a Skuld. Once upon a time, there were many skulds. Now there are a few. Very few... I don't remember the last time I saw a Skuld. A long time ago..." The words came with great strain to him."

"And what's wrong with being a Skuld?"

"Nothing..." The brownie's fur stood on end. "Skuld, when he follows his path... He gives light... Light that is food for many..."

"But what should I do?"

"Do not follow the path of the skuld." After a short thought, the brownie answered. "Not in this house..." Did it seem to me, or was it something like a request or even a plea?

"Not in this house?"

"If..." Unexpectedly sharply, the spirit jumped right up to my face and put its paw to my nose. "If they eat you there..." He pointed out the window. "I will live... If they eat you here... I will die too."

As he said this, the seemingly harmless ball of fur now looked much more frightening than the red demon chameleon that had once frightened me.

"But..."

He didn't let me finish speaking and tried to clarify what he meant.

"You're in the way!!!" The brownie hissed furiously right into my ear.

The spiritual pressure immediately increased, making it impossible for me to speak.

The brownie looked me over carefully, sighed with obvious relief, and returned to the task interrupted by my questions. Now, knowing what to look for, I saw that in those places where the green one touched the surface with its paws, a dimly glowing reflection of an astral trace remained for a short time. The reflection remained barely visible for about three seconds, and then seemed to be absorbed into the surface, dissolving in it.

Ten minutes later, the brownie finished his running, stood in the center of the room, and looked around. After that, his fur stopped twitching and smoothed out. After standing motionless for a few seconds, the green one turned around and looked at me with a look that mixed irritation with discontent, as well as pity.

"Die not in this house... Please..."

Having uttered this phrase, the brownie, heavily moving his ridiculous legs, went out into the corridor, leaving me alone.

About five minutes after the brownie left, the pressure eased, and I was able to move. As soon as I felt it, I immediately rose from the floor and returned to my physical body. Unlike previous encounters with the otherworldly, this time I was not shaking with fear. Either I am getting used to it, or the fact is that I have stopped perceiving the lichen smesharik as an immediate threat.

I still understand that the brownie is very dangerous and strong, but as long as I stay within certain limits, it will not harm me. In addition, he even protects me to the best of his ability. Only it seemed to me that this protection is far from a joy to him. Like some kind of painful, unpleasant duty, but one that cannot be avoided.

When I recall his last words, it gets to my gut, how sincerely they were said. What I can be absolutely sure of is that this creature really doesn't like the fact that I live here. Really! He literally tolerates me, and not for my pretty eyes, but apparently, his patience is due to a mysterious "purpose". I want to believe that the purpose of the smesharik is to protect the residents. By the way, if he really is a house spirit and must protect the residents of the house under his control, then this theory describes the behavior of the green spirit well. And his first visit, before helping, the smesharik first found out whether I was a guest in this apartment. Exactly! His cry of "not a guest!!", full of disappointment, I remember very well.

Having replayed the recent dialogue in my head and compared it with the first, I came to certain conclusions. First, the spirit is afraid that something will happen to me on the territory entrusted to it. Of course, this is a controversial statement, but lately I have been learning to trust my intuition, and it tells me that this conclusion is correct. Second, the lichenoid is completely indifferent to me if I die outside the house. He will even be happy with such an outcome, since a tenant like me is a big problem for him. And his protection apparently does not extend beyond the boundaries of the house. Third, something greater pushes him to protect me, a certain "purpose", which is indirectly indicated by the first conclusion. If he used another concept or word, it could be interpreted somehow differently, but here, it seems, there are no options.

That's all that can be said with a high degree of probability. The rest only brings new variables. Who are the "Higher" and "Lower"? If I am right from the start, then the Higher are the magical elite, and the Lower are most likely spirits or demons. A coherent picture. Only one thing ruins it: why would magicians eat me? On the other hand, most likely, the concept of "eat" is different for me and the brownie. Most likely, he meant something like "drink all the energy." But again, all this is speculation based on assumptions.

While I thinking, my palms involuntarily typed two words on the keyboard. Kavelli and Skuld. Okay, I still haven't found an exact definition of the first word, but the second one reminds me very much of the earthly "skald" in its consonance. Of course, the sound may be just a coincidence and nothing more. But I still think that these are really two, if not identical, then at least related concepts. Of course, a skald is more of a poet and storyteller than a graphomaniac who dreams of calling himself a writer, but there is definitely a connection. In Norman myths, skalds often acted as intermediaries with the world of gods and spirits, maybe that's the case here too?

Earlier, judging by the intonation of the brownie, a long time ago, there were many skulds. But he didn't say anything about there being many kavelli. And I am both, in one bottle, so to speak...

What else was there? Skuld, following his path, brings light. No, he doesn't bring, he bestows! And that's probably a big difference. And not just light, but the light that is food for many. That is, I... Hmmm... An electric generator, or what? More precisely, energy, not electro, but that's a trifle. Considering that the disembodied spirit was also interpreted by Smesharik as easy prey and food, then... That's right! When I sit down to write, I start generating prana? Is that so? No, that doesn't work. If I were some kind of magical source, then no one would eat me; on the contrary, they would put me in a cage and milk me, in the worst case. Such a beautiful theory falls apart when tested by logic. Damn.

On the other hand... I don't remember any intelligence in the red demon, and the unreasonable can devour the source, for the sake of satiation here and now. Predators are generally not inclined to postpone their dinner "for later". But no, I'm pulling the owl onto the globe, adjusting the answers to my theory. Because the brownie made it clear that the Higher Ones will eat me, too. Which strongly conflicts with my thoughts about the magicians controlling progress. Magicians can't be unreasonable and stupid, then they wouldn't have achieved anything, if that were the case.

So it turns out that I am back where I was. I don't understand anything about this strange world. It seems like a simple solution: find the brownie and question him. Of course, he may not answer and most likely "press" with his gaze. But you can wear him down, whine and whine, follow him around until he gives in and deigns to answer. But this plan has a significant drawback. I am clearly forbidden to leave the room in astral form. And I won't see him in the physical body.

Can I violate the recommendation? But what if such a violation cancels some point in his duties to protect the tenant? Are the questions that I can ask, without a guarantee of getting an answer to them, worth the possible loss of at least minimal shelter? Curiosity did not fight with instincts for long and eventually lost with a crushing score. Since there is no immediate threat, there is no need to rush. And the answers... First, I need to come up with the right questions, and then we'll see, maybe I'll meet the brownie somehow on my own, without violating his prohibitions.

But there remained one very important question. When do I start generating? At what stage? When do I sit down to write? Then there wouldn't even be memoirs in this world. When do I dream? Definitely not, because people here know how to dream, and their desires are stamped, but no one has taken away the right to dream from the locals. Then, when does this transition happen, from a person to a generator? There are many options, of course, but if we focus specifically on me and discard all thoughts about the skulds and their similarity to skalds. Limit the range of decisions to me personally.

I need to give an answer to this problem as soon as possible, because if I think something "like that", I'll sparkle in the street and the Smeshariki's dream will come true, "die not here!" I'll sparkle... Well, yes, just like a star, three times "ha-ha"! The same luminary of local significance for me to sparkle. If I were in a cartoon, I would imagine an animation of a "light bulb-idea". Oops... Ah... But how stupid, but similar. Exactly, like a light bulb! And exactly like an idea. Then on the ship, and now, the fact that I started writing is secondary. The primary thing is that I was seized by an idea. Like that light bulb. And I started writing only to express this idea. Or it is more complicated. An idea is a flash, perhaps a truly powerful energy release. But this is not quite what the brownie was talking about, "granting light"... Granting, is it an action stretched out in time or an instantaneous one? If we approach the question linguistically, it could be either way, but he definitely meant it stretched out in time, not like an explosion, but like a generation. And that means it's not a sudden idea that is "to blame". What then? Again, in a circle, like a donkey pumping water.

No. Leaving the room without an answer is dangerous, far more dangerous than anything else.

I lie down on the floor.

Pendulum...

Separation.

Green said, "Don't think like that", so let's go the other way. And we'll try to talk his anger down if he comes to swear. I'll try to think exactly "like that" and watch the aura change. The question is, how "like that"? I just need to remember.

But no matter how much I recalled, even going over in my head the thoughts that were before the brownie's blow, my aura remained predominantly blue. I remembered, it seemed, everything, the planned hero, the invented world, and the outline of the plot. But no, it was all wrong. When I ran through my memories of the plot for the tenth time, I noticed a huge logical gap. My main character, at a critical moment, could not act as he should have according to the plan; it would have been completely out of character for him. I was going to write about an idealist scientist, and according to the plot, he had to temporarily abandon his scientific research because of threats to his loved ones. But this character would not have acted like that, for him, science and some abstract "higher good" that progress brings are much more important than anything mundane. And for this, it is necessary to either change the character of the hero or edit the plot so that such a conflict does not arise. That is, for example, if a threat comes, but he ignores it, not taking it seriously, and then a loved one really does die, and then... And this will allow...

I didn't have time to finish the thought.

My entire astral body suddenly began to shine, with a slightly cold light, with a barely noticeable metallic tint. More precisely, it lit up weakly, but in the astral world of my room, it became noticeably "lighter" and traces left by the brownie on the walls, floor, and ceiling became clearly visible. As soon as I lost my focus and began to stare at what was happening, my luminosity immediately faded and returned to the blue "norm".

I think I found the answer. The answer is stupid, smug, and seemingly wrong in its simplicity and self-admiration, but the answer. I am a generator - when I create...

For several years, I burned the very idea into myself that I am something more than a graphomaniac, that all my "creativity" cannot be viewed otherwise. I am a mediocrity who realizes this. And so... What I always considered a waste of paper is in fact a process of creation!!!

Someone will say that I am a fool and an idiot, but my joy at that moment was stronger than the awareness of a second chance and a new life.

Stop! Well... You can't do that. So many people couldn't be wrong. I write shit. That's a damn fact. But writing skills and the ability to come up with something new, aren't they two different things? Yes, I'm a clumsy creator, but... So be it. This is just a reason to study. To learn how to put words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, those into chapters, and so on. This is a craft that can be mastered. Before, I considered myself a completely talentless person, and this understanding did not allow me to devote myself to what I love so much. Drop everything, study to be a journalist, they are taught to write beautifully about anyone, about the same "record milk yields," for example. But in hobby mode, with my truly tongue-tied writing, this barrier turned out to be insurmountable.

If I'm not fooling myself, then the answer has been found. And the safety precautions seem simple. When away from home, try not to fly away in dreams, not to invent plots and heroes. It will be difficult. On Earth, I thought about it constantly, and if it weren't for the workload at school and the dumbfoundedness of the new world, I would have been devoured long ago. And so, immersion in everyday life, I can say, saved my life. But this is a question that can be solved by control, and this control has grown significantly as a result of training.

But, most importantly, I now have a goal.

It's not just to survive and somehow live the second life that chance has given me.

Study at school and enroll in the journalism department. During this time, learn Shatano and forge my spirit in such armor that it will not let my radiance out. What is all this for? To write! Why do I need this? A stupid question. I am a graphomaniac and I simply cannot live without it!
* * 8

 

[RiP]

* * *
Shikuno, Ristol City -- Tessa Sublunar, Silver 4th Rank
* * *

The flash of the signal fire caught the winged maiden by surprise. The call came from the eastern outskirts of the city, from the side of the swamps, from where there are no roads or highways. That territory, two centuries ago, was transferred by her under a treaty to the Ginger Clan. The Foxes are certainly terrible fighters, but as guards and watchers they are priceless, and from the swamps sometimes crawled such things... It is better to meet with readiness and be prepared in advance. Many thousands of years ago, the ruins of ancient temples that sank underground sometimes gave rise to long-forgotten horrors.

The Shadows of the Gone One, the Pale, sometimes sane, sometimes mad, but never weak. A chilly ripple of foreboding ran through Silver's wings. The Mistress did not feel strong enough to fight, especially with such an unpredictable opponent. But she could not fail to react. To show such incompetence would mean trumpeting her weakness to all. Leaving her physical shell at home, under the watchful eye of her faithful Sire, the Maiden hurried to the alarming call.

On the outskirts of the city, she had already been met by Ishibu, the Head of the Ginger House.

"Mistress!" The fox's voice was full of respect and even servility, but on the cunning and impudent face of the Ginger One, something completely different was easily read.

"I have a lot to do, Ishibu." She didn't even have to pretend to be tired and irritated. "What did you notice?"

"Oh, moon-faced one! We would never disturb you for such a trivial reason..."

"Get to the point!" Silver cut her vassal off abruptly. She knew that if Fox was given free rein, he could talk about literally nothing for years. Chatting with a mortal so that he dies of hunger or thirst is one of the Ginger Clan's favorite pastimes.

"A few hours ago, the fruit of my sister's pleasures, the little one-tailed Torris, noticed a maple leaf floating along a forest stream, swirling in small eddies..."

Silver was ready to tear this impudent fellow to pieces for his empty talk, but she held back; the agreement with the Foxes was more important to her now than ever.

"Ishibu..." Crouching down next to Ginger, the Silver maiden scratched Fox behind the ear. Her voice was deceptively kind and gentle. "You will certainly introduce me to your nephew and his story, but a little later." Stopping petting Fox, Tessa gently embraced the ginger spirit's neck and squeezed it, not too hard... "But I really have very little time now."

"Mistress..." The Fox understood the situation perfectly well, but he couldn't go against his nature and put on a whole show as if he was suffocating, and in general, Silver's light squeezing broke his neck. "I am your faithful servant, for what!.."

Tessa watched the show for about three minutes; at any other time, it would have even amused her. It was not for nothing that the Foxes were renowned as the best jesters in the spirit world. Of course, from the point of view of mortals, the Gingers' jokes were not funny at all, but rather terrible or at least dark. But who cares about humans' opinions?

"Ishibu... Call... Time..."

For the first time in all the time of cooperation between her and the Red Clan, the Fox ignored her insistent warning, continuing to clown and pretend to be dying. This meant only one thing: he was not afraid of her. Could it be he sensed her weakness with his supernatural sense of smell? But the Fox could not help but understand that her weakness was temporary, and when her strength returned, she would come here again and remind him of his disrespect. So she would remind him that many trees in the forest would receive new decorations from ginger tails!

But it turned out to be much worse. Once again, turning over in a supposed death convulsion, Red showed his back, and Silver's hand involuntarily rested on the hilt of his sword. Ishibu's fourth tail was beginning to show through, which explained his insolence and irreverence. He had become her equal. In direct combat, the Fox certainly didn't stand a chance against her, but what Fox would fight fair? And his kind had a lot of speckled cards hidden in their fur. How could she miss her vassal growing up? It takes a fox nearly a hundred years to grow a fourth tail. And she overlooked the process. She should have visited the Clan more often and kept an eye on them, but she was so pissed off by the Foxes that she tried to visit this part of her domain as little as possible. And here was the result. In a couple of years, Ishibu's tail would grow fully, and he would challenge her, or rather, the Clan would claim the city. And she would have to leave, because Silver Four couldn't cope with a whole clan, led by a four-tailed leader.

If Tessa were younger and more foolish, she would have tried to kill her would-be opponent before he was at full strength. But she knew whoever thought he could surprise Fox was already a loser. Because surprise, traps, setups, and ambushes are their forte. Perhaps Ishibu's insolence today was a provocation to force her to attack.

"Congratulations are in order." The Silver Maiden rose to her full height and stroked the hilt of her Scourge defiantly. "But I'll refrain from premature congratulations for now. The rank of four-tailed does not apply for such a stump, and to a full tail, you, my little jester, you still need to live...."

Fooling around, deceiving, and pretending a bad strategy when dealing with Gingers. But directness and pressure scare them. As strong as the Foxes are, they're too cowardly to get on the same level as Silver. Besides, it only seems like their Clan is united and monolithic. She's just accentuated her threat, and as her experience tells her, it won't be six months before she receives an unequivocal offer from one of the internal factions of the Gingers in opposition to Ishibu. And unless she could find a mage and rise in rank, she would have to accept the offer, getting involved in a feud of buffoonish spirits. On the other hand, it would be possible to give the city to the Clan and return to the Master, swearing the oath again. In favour of this decision was the fact that it was curious to see what the Foxes would turn Ristol into. But it was a fleeting weakness, and Tessa suppressed it easily.

"The Clan wishes to break the Treaty?" Ishibu's eyes darted from the question, and the fur on the back of his neck stood on end.

"No... Mistress..."

Just as she thought, Ginger proved too cowardly to challenge her now that his fourth tail was still too small.

"What's the reason for the call?"

"Gazing out at the leaf of the maple tree, little Torrice..."

She had strength left for one blow. It was foolish to waste it, especially if she didn't know what was coming from the swamps, but the Fox's insolence left her no choice. It was easier to negotiate with the Pale than with the Gingers, who had lost their fear.

Perhaps the Foxes were preparing for a fight, perhaps the clearing where this conversation was taking place was full of traps. Only the Gingers didn't have time to do anything when their eyes saw the sword swing back into its scabbard. Watching the expression on his muzzle as the Clan leader looked at his moustache falling into the grass, the maiden realised that he had broken down. Yes, he was angry, perhaps furious, but here and now, he was broken and humiliated. And, importantly, without the moustache, his influence in the clan would be considerably less, even with his fourth tail erupting.

"My time is valuable. You paid for my attention." A brief nod to the fox whiskers lying in the grass left no doubt as to what kind of payment Silver had in mind. "You want to continue the game? And are you willing to pay extra for my participation?"

"Black Fifth. Walked through the swamps. Tried to wake up one of the Temples. Didn't have enough strength. Comes here."

"Here we go. You can be brief." Tessa crouched down beside Fox and put her palm on his scruff.

Technically, the Clan had a reason to summon the Mistress. But only technically. Blacks who periodically broke into the cold swamps, hoping to awaken one of the temples, were not a threat to the city. If they were of the second rank, they could be feared, but such powerful Executioners would never expose themselves to such a risk. Rank five, that's not serious. Which means she was called in to test her, and the 'extra' tail was given to her, noticed on purpose, to gauge her reaction. Feeling Ginger's pelt trembling under her hand, Tessa realised that she had passed this unexpected exam, and she should expect no trouble from the Clan in the next six months, or even a year.

"Bring Black under the grey oak tree next to the tram circle."

"Half an hour, Mistress..."

"I'll wait."

Tessa let go of the fox and straightened up majestically, turning gracefully without looking back, she strode towards the place she'd been told to go. It was almost physically pleasing to feel Ishibu's hateful and fearful gaze on her back.

Leaning against the trunk of a mighty tree, Silver replayed the recent conversation in her head. She wondered if she'd done the right thing and should have struck the fatal blow after all. Ishibu had ignored her orders, which meant she had a formal reason to break the Treaty without fearing the consequences of breaking her oath. Except that the behaviour of the head of the Gingers was overly defiant and insolent. What would the cowardly Fox do to set himself up like that without a guaranteed safety net? No, she wasn't such a juvenile fool as to believe such absurdity. And the fact that her blow had severed the impudent man's moustache was probably only because it hadn't posed an immediate threat to life. Even with the very tips of her wings, she could feel the many chants swirling around Ishibu, and it was likely that the entire clearing was entangled in an intricate ligature of ancient runes. Of course, the Lunar Sword wasn't a simple weapon, but even it could be dealt with, especially if you had prepared the place and knew the time. So she was right to trust her intuition, as she always did. Her intuition was as important to her as her speed and agility.

But what a cheeky bastard! No sooner had his fourth tail sprouted than he immediately raised his paw at her, at the Mistress! That's what the old legends say about these 'cheeky, ginger muzzles', that's right. It's their nature, the cheekiness that every Fox is born with, it's one of their fundamentals, it's what makes gingers ginger, along with cunning and black humour. And that insolence must be stopped instantly because if you forgive it, you're in trouble. How much had she taught Fox over the years? Tessa had lost count, but the only thing the Creator had deprived the Gingers of was memory. Two centuries ago, she'd had to almost completely wipe out all the Foxes not only in the city, but in the region as well. She had left only Ishiba and his family, and she would not regret that mercy now. To be more precise, there wasn't an ounce of kindness in that act, only cold calculation. She needed an outpost in the swamps near Her city, and she got it.

However, thoughts of Foxes need to be put out of her mind. After her demonstration, the solution to this problem is 'bearable'. But what about the Executioner who tried to awaken the Pale? On the one hand, the swamps are kind of out of town, and she's not responsible for them. But on the other hand, if she let anyone poke around in the temples, someone would wake them up, and the nearest town to the swamps was Ristol. Which in her memory happened three times, once ended in a fight, the second time she paid off, and the third, it's better not to even remember about it....

So, she has to punish Black, to punish him in an exemplary way, to discourage others from digging in the wrong places. But there's one thing: she doesn't have the strength to carry out the punishment. Apparently, she will have to take the manner of the Gingers as a basis and intimidate the Executioner, force him to punish himself, and she must do it on a pure bluff. You could summon the loyal Sire, though; he, too, is a Black Fifth, and there is no solidarity or mutual aid between Blacks. The maiden weighed the thought for a few minutes, but still decided, wait for the troublemaker alone. Executioners are quite reasonable, but think slowly; they are slow-witted, so the idea of bluffing had the right to be realised. It was as if she'd been given a boost of brazenness and recklessness from the descendant of the jesters of the Gone Ones.

She noticed the shadow approaching her about five minutes before the unfamiliar Black approached her, but she didn't let it show. It was hard to admit, though, because she'd never seen such a shabby and even frightened member of the spirit species before. The visitor literally reeked of doom and resignation to fate.

"Ryung." Having approached five steps, as politeness requires, the dark spirit stopped and bowed his head in greeting to the strongest. "Black. Fifth. Not bound by vows. Not burdened by oaths. Seeking service."

"Why were you digging through the ruins, Ryung?"

Without introducing herself, the maiden made it clear that she did not regard him as either a guest or an applicant for service. She needed new vassals more than ever, and had it not been for the conversation with Ishibo, she would have clutched at the offer with both wings, but.... But not now, for she felt, even with the remnants of her feathers, that there was a catch somewhere, the size of the biggest mountain.

"I was looking for protection."

He really isn't smart. Trying to wake up the Pale Ones to protect him is like putting out a fire by pouring lamp oil on it.

"Do you need service or protection?" Having chosen a line of behavior corresponding to the unyielding Lord, Tessa felt herself getting used to the Role.

"Protection. In exchange for service." The Black's head bowed lower, and his voice sounded more like the whisper of a hanged man than the speech of a proud Executioner.

No matter how slow Black thinks, he's not an idiot, and since he made the request, he assumes she can protect him. Which means the threat is not as serious as it would be if she were at full strength, but not now. Right now, she won't be able to defeat even this petitioner, let alone whoever is coming after him and whom he fears. Most likely, this Ryoung has crossed the path of a similarly Black but a rank higher, and the latter is seeking revenge. Theoretically, Silver Four is more powerful than an Executioner of the same rank. But theoretically, even in the best of times, Tessa would be wary of challenging a Black of the same power level as her. She has speed, agility, and foresight on her side, but the former servants of the Lord of the Lower World have their arsenal of abilities.

Here, Tessa caught herself thinking everything was going as well as possible. Yes, she would not get a vassal, but she would be able to punish the offender without spending any effort.

"Denied!" And let his pursuer deal with this Ryung.

"I ask..."

Silver looked at the Black kneeling before her in bewilderment. How scared was he that he was going to such humiliation? He was the Executioner, and by his nature, he should not kneel before anyone except the Judge.

Besides the maiden, at least a couple of dozen of Ishibo's relatives watched the humiliation of the Black, and their eyes literally shone with pleasure. The redheads always liked to watch others being humiliated, especially since they were the ones who brought Ryung to Mistress, and therefore, indirectly, contributed to this. It made this humiliation a hundred times more pleasant for the impudent ones.

She also liked this humiliation of the Executioner. Not because Tessa was greedy for such displays of self-importance. But because she played a Role, and this Role, the unyielding Master, was comfortable with this, and if so, then Silver felt the same way.

Every power has its reverse side. So Silver's gift of internal transformation required literal compliance with the chosen Role, not only in external manifestations, but also in internal content. Therefore, she bathed in this humiliation, feeling as good and easy now as if she were Dancing.

For ten long minutes, she tormented the petitioner with silence. Only then to say again:

"Denied!"

Without saying a word in response, Black rose from his knees, and, barely moving his legs, dragging his Dark Sword along the ground like some kind of peasant rake, wandered towards the forest.

Sublunar was in no hurry to throw off her Role, so she didn't move from her place, contemptuously drilling her gaze into the hunched back of the departing spirit.

In the mortal world, behind her, a tram arrived at the ring and opened its doors. Tessa noticed with a glance that all the Foxes had disappeared. Instantly, there they were, and then they were gone. The tips of the maiden's wings were immediately covered in a frost of slight fear. Had it not been for Role, she would surely have spun on her heels, baring her sword. A useless blade, devoid of Power. But Role had played her part, and she turned slowly and majestically, as befitted an unyielding Lord.

But no Role could prepare her for what she saw. A real metal tower was descending the steps of the arriving tram. Two heads taller than the maiden, clad in ghostly armor that sparkled even in the pale light of the other world, the ghostly figure easily jumped down from the steps onto the grass, revealing a rusty sword.

"Ryung is mine." It thundered like a mountain avalanche from under the lowered visor. "Stop me now, or do not interfere anymore." The protocol phrase, in the mouth of the spirit, sounded not like a Challenge, but like a sentence."

Out of the corner of her eye, Tessa noticed how the broken Black, instead of running or hiding, stopped and raised his blade into a defensive position.

"Where did you come from, so handsome?" Suddenly, a three-tailed fox materialised under Fallen's feet and began to sniff him brazenly. "Is this even legal? Why did you grow so big?"

There is no more favourite pastime of the Gingers than to mock Steel. Not because the Knights are stupid or dull-witted like the Executioners, no, the reason is that the Fallen are too straightforward; there are no undertones for them. And such a worldview opens up a many-tailed, simply immense space for black humour. And now, despite the enormous difference in height and strength, Ishibo's eldest son, Ikiro, almost three hundred years old, could not help himself and gave himself to his favourite pastime of mocking the straightforward warrior.

Tessa had never seen or even heard of Steel being able to reach the fifth rank before. Theoretically, of course, there were no restrictions on it, but in practice, these spirits had always either died before in numerous battles or crumbled into dust, eaten away by internal conflict, expressed in Rust.

During her reign over Ristol, more than nine Knights had been replaced at the city Station, and none of them had even reached the ninth rank of the Powers. The teacher had mentioned a seventh-ranked Steel he had once known, so long ago that even the ancient spirit's memory had not remembered the details. But the Fifth?! And yet, here he was, standing before her, gleaming with the metal of his armour.

"What did your grandmother feed you?" Ikiro kept on jumping the disgruntled Knight, even though he knew perfectly well that Steel had no grandmother at all. "Where do they make them? Tell me!!! I want to grow like that too!!!"

"Go away, you're in the way." Tess expected the Knight to be furious at Fox's behaviour, but his voice was indifferent, without a shadow of irritation or anger.

"I'm not leaving." Ikiro sat down in the Fallen's path and scratched his ear with his hind paw. "I'm against it." The three-tailed fox grinned, opening his mouth wide and revealing teeth as sharp as razor blades. "I'm stopping you." With that phrase, Ginger formally prevented Steel's challenge. "Unless you tell me where they feed like that.... I'm against it." The brazen-faced one's smile turned into a menacing grin.

Foxes are the complete opposite of Steel. They are its antipodes: Lies where there is Honesty, Betrayal where there is Honor, Dexterity instead of Strength, Meanness instead of Directness. Confirming Ikiro's words, more than a dozen Ginger fighters immediately appeared next to the eldest son of the Clan, and as many more behind the Fallen.

In her life, Sublunar had seen many battles between Steel and Gingers, and in none of them had the Knights emerged victorious. And it's not because of a lack of strength or skill on the part of the Fallen. No... It's the Rust that eats away at any Steel. Rust eats huge holes in their defences, sometimes it even eats weapons. Like this Knight's sword, for example. One side of his blade is almost completely useless. It is blunted, literally eaten away by Rust, that curse of the lesser Evil. Now that the initial shock had passed, Tessa had already noticed that the holes in the knight's armour were plentiful. The left shoulderplate was missing, the gorget was half rotted, there was a huge hole in the side of the cuirass on the left, the right shin was open, and many smaller gaps. Who better than a quick Fox to take advantage of such holes? But somehow this Knight had reached his rank, and what the Fallen can do at this level, perhaps no one in the world can remember.

Why do the usually cowardly Gingers get into trouble, provoking a Force that is quite powerful compared to them? Most likely, Ikiro clearly believes that he and his gang are stronger. Apparently, the eldest son has faced the Knights more than once, defeating them, and now thinks there is no reason for things to go differently. But even this does not justify the risk that this buffoon is taking.

Tilting her head as if in a gesture of mild displeasure, Mistress looked around unnoticed by the others. There was no trace of the head of the Ginger Clan anywhere. Could it be Ikiro was playing his game over his father's head? Easy! And it was completely clear why he wanted to do this. To gain as much influence in the clan as possible before challenging his father. And he needed to challenge him as quickly as possible, because once Ishibo's fourth tail grew completely, it would be many times more difficult to displace him.

In the old days, there was a saying, "impudence takes cities". The Foxes elevated it to a motto, and it must be admitted that this principle really works. Very often bluff and bravado brought results to the Gingers, but not this time...

Once the Rusty Sword flew up and fell. And there was no speed or skill in this movement, a simple blow from top to bottom, just right for chopping wood. One swing and the eldest son of the Gibger clan was gone. Ikiro didn't even try to dodge. He just sat and watched, as if glued to the spot, as the rusty blade killed him. Anyone, even the youngest fox, would have easily dodged this blow, but he couldn't...

"No one in this city objects."

Instantly changing her role to a Tired Beauty, said Silver.

"My vassal's arbitrariness has been punished."

No, Tessa wasn't afraid of the Knight. But she could think, and the absurdity of Ikiro's death had given Silver enough data to come to the right conclusion. A black man named Ryung is the Destiny of this Fallen. And there will be no battle between them, but the fulfilment of a sentence that will result in the execution of the Executioner, ridiculous as it may sound.

Yes, the time has passed when the Gone Ones ruled and Destiny was an absolute law. But nevertheless, what once expressed the very will of the Universe cannot disappear without a trace. So it is with the old laws; now it is possible to break them, and even to avoid punishment for this violation. You will indeed have to spend many times more than if you achieve your goal without such violations. In addition, to stand in the way of someone's Purpose, it is necessary to be two ranks higher, otherwise, you will be swept away like a flake. Ikiro didn't realise this and died after failing to avoid the most primitive of blows. Silver wasn't about to make the same mistake. Besides, now she knew for sure, the punishment of the one who tried to awaken the Pale would be executed in its entirety!

"No one is stopping you any longer." Fate, Doom, and Purpouse are high and mighty mysteries, but she was still the Mistress of this city, and she still had her duties under the Treaty with the Ginger Clan. "And I must insist that you, firstly, introduce yourself, and secondly, do not frighten the young of my vassal Clan."

As befitted her Role, her voice was full of fatigue, the echo of an unbearably heavy burden of duty. And the unyielding Steel broke, under Beauty's sad gaze.

"My name is Panf." The armored spirit said, kneeling. "Panf Moroghini. My respects, Lady, and my apologies."

Morogini... Morogini. Something familiar. It was a hundred and fifty years ago. The first experiments with combat, viral mutations, forced infections, vaccinations, and their aftermath were conducted. A young scientist who had condemned himself to death to save others. His death was painful, but he not only achieved the salvation of his group, but also, dying, managed to complete the scientific programme. Bleeding, bending from excruciating pain, the young man lasted almost a week, alone in a closed complex. The International Treaty on the Non-Use and Prohibition of the Development of Bacteriological Weapons is named in his honour. There had been much written about the case at the time, and even in a backwater like Ristol, she had read about Morogini more than once.

Despite all her cynicism and life experience, Tessa barely restrained herself from a surprised exclamation. This spirit had a worthy progenitor. After all, how is Steel born? Knights come into this world when people perform a Feat. Sometimes, a mundane, very small feat is enough. Sometimes... But not in the case of Panf.

"Tessa." With a slight movement of her palm, Silver fleetingly touched Steel's visor. "Tessa Sublunar, Mistress of this city."

She could feel her guest literally melting under her gaze and from her touch, his spiritual staples relaxing; she had clearly guessed her new role...

"Can we finish already? I'm tired of waiting, running, and hiding!"

A hysterical shriek from Black, who had suddenly regained his courage, shattered her whole game. This Fallen was almost entirely in her frail hands, and in a few more minutes, she would have had him twisted as she wished. And so ill-timed was that exclamation that it reminded the Knight of his Duty.

Rising from his knees, Steel lifted the Silver Maiden as if she were a weightless feather and placed her slightly to the side of his path. She did not resist, although she could easily dodge his palms. But it was not proper for a Tired Beauty to run from a Knight, and she did not do so either.

Two forces, whose purpose is to kill, one by necessity, the second by sentence, one was once light, the second remained flesh and blood Darkness, met on the outskirts of the city, just a hundred steps from the tram ring. Both opponents stood at the same level of power, but they were so different.

The Executioner, looking fate in the eye, gained pride from nowhere. The Black Sword fluttered in his hands like a weightless feather. His thrusts were fast and powerful, but they all crashed into the armor of Steel. The Knight did not even think to parry the enemy's blows. His blade only attacked. The Fallen relied entirely on his armor in defense, concentrating only on the attack.

Black tried his best with different tricks. His shadows rose and struck with their weapons. His sword became incredibly flexible as it tried to pierce the rusted gash in Steel's armour. Chains flew out from beneath the folds of his dark cloak and tried to shackle or slow the enemy. All without success. The Knight just seemed to ignore all these tricks, he went straight through. Just as the first dreadnought had dispersed the wooden battleships that had instantly become useless, so the Fallen One met Black's attacks as if not noticing all his efforts.

"Ah, he's good..." Ishibo, who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and rubbed his ear against her chin, said, carelessly climbing into her arms.

Few could notice that this ostentatious indifference to other attacks was just that - ostentatious. Only an experienced eye could discern how the Knight not only met each attack with his chest but also intentionally exposed the most protected part of his armor to the blow. People call a similar style of fighting Shatano. And the Fallen was a true master of it.

Putting her hand on the fox's back, the Maiden did not drive away the impudent fellow, but only whispered.

"Magnificent..." She scratched the soft fur. Holding on grudge against the Gingers is only torturing yourself and wasting your nerves in vain.

Betrayal and lies are the very essence of foxes, and if you decide to deal with them, you should not blame these spirits for following their nature. The agreement limits them strongly enough, and the fear of Silver works even better, guaranteeing her, while she is strong, more or less literal fulfillment of obligations on the part of the Clan. Because cowardice is also an inseparable part of them.

Tessa expected a quick execution, but Black managed to surprise her by holding out for more than five minutes. And this surprise was caused not by the fact that Executioner was no weaker than the Knight, but by how long he was able to resist the Fallen's Destiny. If it were not for this weight that fell on the side of Steel, it is unknown how this fight would have ended. But now, having assessed the capabilities of both sides in the duel, she knows for sure the fifth Steel is no match for the fourth Silver. His martial skill and almost perfect armor cannot compare with her foresight and speed.

"Did you see it?" And after the fox nodded in the affirmative, Tessa picked him up by the scruff of his neck and threw him into the forest, whispering. "Hush out of here..."

Ishiba always became more understanding after trashing, so as he flew over the clearing, the old fox barked briefly, scattering his family.

Having waited until the last of the Gingers disappeared, Silver stepped towards Steel. And having taken a step, she immediately realized that she was too late. Having fulfilled his Purpose, the Knight melted away, ceasing to exist. Sitting in the lotus position, with the sword lying across his hips, this spirit literally radiated waves of calm and peace. He did not care at all that he was dying. And not just dying, but purposefully killing himself.

A Knight cannot live so long without ever taking the path of the least Evil. The most principled ones die as quickly as their initial supply of energy, granted to them at birth, runs out. Panf was clearly not one of them. He had to live and fulfill the Vow he had taken upon himself. All the sins he had taken on this path transformed into the Rust that had eaten through his armor and sword. He thought that he would atone for it with this death. A stupid, straightforward Hero... The True Highest have long since left, and there will be no one to judge him. But he doesn't care, he has long condemned himself, as has any other Knight who has killed a person at least once out of necessity. And those who do not kill, such Fallen do not exist... Not to kill, for example, the one subdued by the Brown, just to pass by, means to take responsibility for all subsequent actions committed by a madman. The path of the least Evil, one death to prevent many, the very Rust that eventually devours any Steel.

"I want to offer you a service." Sitting down next to her, Mistress said.

"Steel does not swear vassal oaths. He did not even shake his head."

"An agreement to protect the territory, not a vassal oath."

"I've lived too long. I've done too much that I regret..." The massive helmet turned towards the maiden. "But I caught up with that creature and killed it. It was his fault the virus broke free, the unsuccessful Execution in his execution, the collateral victims... I kept my Word. I'm leaving... I have no need..."

"No need", "no need"... The key is in this word. The Fallen has almost melted away. Is she really going to miss such a chance, to get such an ally, and almost completely close the issue with the protection of the city?!

There was, of course, a possibility...

But, this is so disgusting...

So nasty...

Fake...

Clichéd...

And primitive...

She almost threw up. And yet, pressing the tips of her wings to the ground with her feet, she placed her palms on Steel's shoulders, knelt in front of him and, looking into his visor, said the banal:

"Would the Knight really refuse the Fair Lady protection when she is in so dire need?"

A ripple of light ran across the nearly melted armor. Steel trembled, and his hands fell on the sword.

"An agreement? Protection?" Came from under the helmet.

She won. Like any mighty Knight, her opponent had no chance against Beauty and her weakness. The fallen spirit regained its density.

From Silver's already stunted wings, four sparkling feathers fell to the ground at once.

Everything must be paid...

* * *