Chương 42: The First Brush

In a PC cafe in New Bangalore, a man who considered himself William Doe's greatest fan sat at a public computer. His name was Aarav. He'd been born with no ability, and after thirty years the same was true. To him, William Doe's writing was like no other author's - in its mastery, in the empathy it snuck into your heart. Maybe it was because he was such a fan, because he wanted to contribute to something large, or because of other reasons he didn't like to think about…

Whatever the reason, he was taking a risk upon himself. The risk of posting Unordinary to a novel website. To that end, William's instructions for posting made everything very clear. They even included explicit countermeasures for circumventing information-gathering abilities. One of the measures was for Aarav to hide his identity, which was why he wore a facemask, justified by the smog of the city and traffic. Another countermeasure was to avoid being the person who actually posted the book.

So he waited, waited at the computer until a blue-haired waitress came to deliver him his drink. When she set down his tea, he smiled up at her and asked:"Excuse me… could you do me the one favor of pressing this mouse?" He spoke with an almost subservient politeness. The waitress blinked and hesitated, apprehending him oddly, but still obliged by reaching for the mouse and clicking. Simultaneously, the cursor on the public computer screen clicked the 'Post First Chapter' button.

Aarav had already input chapter one of Unordinary into the novel website's drafting box - so, ultimately, chapter one of Unordinary was posted by the blue-haired waitress. This was what a powerful origin tracing ability would find. The teenage college student who worked part-time at a PC Cafe in New Bangalore was significantly responsible for chapter one of Unordinary. She looked at him, perhaps wanting an explanation, but Aarav simply thanked her. She walked away without knowing what he was thanking her for.

Through the next eight hours, Aarav sat there in front of the computer, repeating what he'd done with the waitress. He periodically and politely asked random passerbys to click his mouse. Among them were all types of people: low-tiers, mid-tiers, elite-tiers - potentially even high-tiers. Each chapter was posted by one of these people, all of whom were false leads, all of whom weren't the slightest bit involved in Unordinary's creation. Aarav smiled to himself once the chapters ran out.

In a dozen other PC cafes, around the world, people very similar to him were posting Unordinary in exactly the same way. * Beautiful"So you would rather have the fried scorpion taco?" John asked.

"Over, I don't know, Carne Asada?"

"If it's a Carne Asada I've had before, then absolutely yes," said Seraphina.

"…Okay, but what does that even mean, 'a Carne Asada I've had before?'""Exactly what I've been explaining. If it's the same cut of steak, prepared in the same way, with the same seasoning as what I have already tried, then I would choose the scorpion I've yet to try."

"You're not being serious." John grimaced.

"Did I search up the right picture? Look - there's little bits of fried fuzz on the claws, and you're saying you would eat that." He was holding up his phone.

"It would be an interesting texture." Seraphina leaned closer.

"I've heard that there are sectors where scorpion is a delicacy." John's face looked like he was withstanding a psychic ability. He took back his phone and swiped the scorpion taco away in seeming disgust. My lunch table didn't know quite what to do with themselves, Seraphina's table seemed utterly confused… and Vaughn was probably as happy as I was, watching his two top students finally talking. (Yes, really. Vaughn's office had one-way windows overlooking the cafeteria so he could watch us.) Our group and Seraphina's 'group' were right next to each other, but for ten weeks Seraphina had sat at the farthest-away side of her circular table. Now she was suddenly sitting where our two tables were the closest, right next to me and John. Seraphina's minor movement of approximately ten feet had apparently sent reality-bending shockwaves through the students' collective universe - although, to be fair, the change was more than just a difference in seating.

"Great. I guess eating bugs is high-tier sophistication now." John managed to recover from the psychic shock.

"Why's it so important that you haven't tried something before, anyway? I don't think newness is that big a thing with food."

"It's the opposite." Seraphina shook her head.

"I value unfamiliarity over nearly anything else."

"But that seems insane to me," he said.

"Like, I don't want blueberry jam in my spaghetti just because I've never tried it before." Seraphina paused for thought.

"My preference is probably a consequence of the way I enjoy food," she explained.

"When I taste something I enjoy for the first time, I use time rewind on my body so I can eat it repeatedly. I receive a thousand bites of pleasure for a fraction of the calories. The only downside is that it tends to make me overfamiliar with normal flavors." John stared at her.

"... That's really what you use Time Rewind for?"

"No," Seraphina said with a straight face.

"I made that up." There was mysteriously simultaneous coughing, from some dozen students who were 'definitely' engrossed in their own conversations, and 'definitely not' listening to every word. I very nearly joined them. It was clearly a trap Seraphina had set, though I managed to escape by wedging my teeth into my mouthful of pasta and pressing my lips together.

"Damn." John laughed into his hand, keeping bits of his lobster roll from escaping his mouth.

"I feel like you should make jokes more often; you're actually not bad."

"Thank you, I suppose?" Seraphina tilted her head.

"The word 'actually' almost makes it seem like you're criticizing me."

"I mean, kind of. I've never seen you try to be funny before." She huffed and flipped her hair.

"What occasion have I had, to want to be?" Seraphina seemed completely uninterested in talking to anyone other than John. John had made no attempt to include anyone else in their conversation (he understood that monopolization was what we wanted). It was very telling that, even though their chairs faced in exactly opposite directions, they had both adopted odd sitting positions to talk to each other. John was straddling his seat and leaning on the back with his arms.

Seraphina sat with perfect conventional posture, except she'd rotated ninety-something degrees toward him, like a noble lady riding side-saddle on a horse. So their new proximity wasn't the only change. All of this combined to make it feel like they were inhabiting their own private world. And the vast majority of students seemed to share the same sense - unlike the past fifty school days, it was suddenly impossible for anyone to talk to John.

Suppose that you chat with the same neighbor every day while walking through your neighborhood. Then, during one of these walks, you see your neighbor talking and laughing with the multi-billionaire CEO of the company you work for. It turns out the two of them are actually friends. Can you go up to them and converse like you usually do? John was analogous to the neighbor, and here the answer was no, no one had the courage.

Still, I hadn't gone through all the trouble of helping him to an optimal, popular-kid school life just to strand him on the god-tier pedestal of untouchability. I poked him on the arm.

"I don't know why eating bugs is such a big deal, John," I said.

"We had them in New Boston."

"Did we?" He made a disagreeing face.

"I feel like I would've remembered that."

"A lobster is basically the same thing as a scorpion, right? It's the same kind of hard crawly animal with no bones but an exoskeleton." John was opening his mouth for a bite but stopped. A bite of his mostly-eaten lobster roll.

"…That's totally different," he said defensively.

"Lobsters are juicy and fat, and you don't eat the outer shell." (New) Bostonites had managed to stay just as appreciative of lobster in an alternate universe, probably thanks to geography. I smiled.

"So what you're saying is, if I fattened up a scorpion and scratched off the hard parts, you would think it's delicious?"

"That's definitely not what I'm saying." In a decisive move, he finished his lobster roll before I could convince him it was equivalent to scorpion consumption.

"And you don't even know if they taste like lobster or not. Maybe the venom makes it bitter and gross."

"Or maybe leaving the shell on and frying it makes it better," I pointed out.

"Maybe, if you were born in one of the South Pacific sectors instead of the North Atlantic sector, you would think of scorpion tacos as the high-tier delicacy and lobster rolls as the low-tier gross food. It's all subjective, isn't it?" He made a face like I was being ridiculous. And I was, sort of, but not really by that much. I searched for a picture on my phone and turned the screen to him.

"Look, does this lobster look gourmet to you? I can even make the same argument you did against scorpions. There's a whole barnacle growing right on its claw."

"You had to search 'lobster with ugly barnacle' to get that picture," he accused. I shrugged innocently and retreated my phone.

"I'm just saying, there's probably a version of you from New Puebla or something who thinks the exact opposite." John narrowed his eyes at me, but he still considered it for a moment. I didn't think this was serious enough to need so much thought, but then again he was a lifelong New Bostonite, a New Bostonite who had been denied expensive lobster through fifteen years of life. I was pretty sure that he'd specifically asked the lunch staff to serve lobster rolls for a while, making use of his new god-tier status.

"…Fine," he said.

"I'll try some scorpion one day. But you need to try it, too, just so you have to take back what you said today." I agreed, rolling my eyes. In a sense, I was denigrating the food that represented his rise to the top, comparing it to something that seemed low-tier and undesirable - not that he actually seemed offended. I knew that he'd caught the point I was making.

"Back to what we were talking about before…" He turned back in the other direction.

"Since you're not using Time Manipulation to binge eat, Seraphina, why do you care so much about whether something tastes familiar or not?" I pretended to be on my phone, but I was observing. Seraphina pursed her lips and hesitated.

"Some of it is due to the typical restrictions on my diet," she said.

"Newness is rare. My household is slightly… strict about anything that might affect my ability development." My eyes flickered down to the packed lunch she brought every day. Every day, I'd noticed the same pattern of nutritional balance: the same optimal ratio of meats, whole carbohydrates and vegetables. Alicia had actually noted this pattern in literally every single one of Seraphina's meals, which exactly matched one of the 'optimized ability growth' diets described in a consensus practical aurology paper.

We also had other, less benign theories. About Seraphina's parents.

"In any case," she went on, "I know you transferred this year, John, but you and Meili clearly met long before that. Did you attend the same middle school?" She's asking him a personal question? With no 'practical justification' whatsoever? I raised my eyebrows mentally, though on the surface I simply raised my eyes from my phone, accepting the conversational inroad.

"We met in a training park during my summer internship," I explained. She paused.

"As a coincidence?"

"Completely," I said.

"I got really lucky, actually, because all the other interns were way older than me. I would have had zero friends in New Boston." All the other interns were way older than me - or, in other words: I got into the program despite being way younger than them. One objective was to make me seem impressive, without seeming like I was trying to seem impressive.

"She was doing aurology research at NxGen," John added, saving me from doing the name-drop.

"It's a massive corporate headache."

"It wasn't that bad," I said.

"Really? I swear I remember you mumbling about pencil skirts and formal blouses in your sleep. You were stressing out."

"Well…"

"I remember days," John said to Seraphina, "Where I would see Meili in the evening, and she would be fully impersonating an adult to the point I could barely recognize her. Full face of makeup. Stuff a thirty-year-old would wear."

"He's completely exaggerating." My embarrassed flush was majority-fake.

"John - do you think I should have tried to look as young and out of place as possible, instead?" He smiled.

"I'm just giving you props for how good you are at pretending." John and I had gone over this rough sequence, in case we could get my internship to come up. It was a few days earlier than I'd planned. The crux was essentially to focus on all the less important life details, leave out the actual work details, and hope Seraphina would be provoked into asking.

"I've heard of the company before," she said.

"My mother and father send me their research quite often."

"That's an amazing coincidence," I said, though we'd already inferred this from Alicia's spying.

"I might have been involved in one of the papers you've read if it's recent. What sub-fields?"

"There have been a variety of subjects," she said.

"But some of the articles on ability evolution-" Right as she said the term ability evolution, three very different streams of thought ran through my mind in quick succession. One was: Okay. We're very likely right that Seraphina's whole family wants to evolve her ability to Time Control. Perfect. Which means that big parts of her training and routine are in service to that goal. Two was: This is going exactly, perfectly right. Things should never go this right.

All I have to do is mention that I evolved my ability and that I worked on a few related papers in my internship. Then I mention offhand that I have my own private theories for how ability evolutions occur, which is totally true, and she's probably hooked. This is going way too well. How is this going so damn well? We're already grabbing for the victory, it's actually right there- Three was: What's that ringing sound? Seraphina had stopped midway through her sentence. I realized that the ringing was my phone.

I grabbed it, apologizing for the interruption, reflexively ready to swipe the call away. Until I saw that it was Headmaster Vaughn.

"Hello?" I had no choice but to answer.

"Hello, Meili." I felt my face tense. There was a displeasure in his voice.

"Apologies for the short notice," he said, "but I need you in my office within the next ten minutes. An agent is here to have a talk with you." The optimism crawled out of my body with a whimper. An agent is here to have a talk with you. I muttered an agreement and hung up. Now the three thoughts from before were gone, replaced by a new series that jumbled in a hot panic – all trying to figure out what my mistake had been, what error it was that had gotten me caught....

We only posted Unordinary in North America a day ago, I thought rapidly as I arrived. We tested author-matching abilities and the text doesn't link back to William. It's different enough in style and genre from all his previous books. When it comes to source-finding abilities, we also have a counter. Our indirect posting strategy was tested to work. A golden-eyed woman with a clipboard stood in the corner of the office, eyes glowing. Lie detection was already active.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. So maybe it's not Unordinary. Maybe it was sneaking John into his mother's facility. Did I miss an aura-sensing camera in the building plans? Most likely not. This would have come sooner if that was true. So what is it? Did they recently read Jane's mind and see that she communicated with someone? But that doesn't work either.

We know Jane is using her aura control to falsify the results of abilities that scan her brain. Vaughn was at his desk in the back. A blue-haired man in a black suit sat on the large couch near the door, and he gestured for me to sit beside him once I stepped in.

"Hello." The agent gave a mild smile.

"I assume you're Meili Strauss?" I couldn't help but stare him in the face, hoping far too fervently for the tiny chance that he was only here to recruit me.

"I am, sir."

"Agent Ingo," he said, and shook my limp hand as I sat down.

"To be brief: you are being suspected of rank falsification." I blinked at him.

"Rank falsification?"

"Yes." He nodded.

"Specifically, we have reason to believe you exploited the Lingard clan's status as your own, in an improper way.." So it's the Arlo lie. I somehow felt a small wave of relief, but that didn't mean the situation was good, not at all. It was only more manageable than the worst alternatives. In the months since the internship, I'd realized that my lie about being engaged to Arlo Lingard had been far too reckless - the risks had far outweighed the benefits. But who reported me, and why now? Why do it months later? …

No, first remember what your defense was. I felt a surprising clarity, from knowing exactly what I had to overcome.

"So," the blue-haired agent continued.

"I'm going to ask you some questions, to which I expect a simple confirmation or denial. Can you recall doing anything that may fit the description I've laid out?"

"I can," I made myself say. Now expressionless, the authority agent flickered his eyes to the lie-detecting woman in the corner. I saw her nod on the edge of my vision.

"Alright, and did you falsely claim a marriage engagement to a member of the Lingard clan?"

"I did," I said to another nod in the corner.

"Was this member Arlo Lingard?"

"Yes."

"Did you claim this multiple times to NxGen coworkers?"

"Yes."

"Was this an attempt to benefit from the Lingard clan's higher status?"

"…It was." The lie detector woman's nod was heavier than before. At his desk in the back of the room, Vaughn breathed deeply and rubbed his eyebrows with his hand.

"Understood," Agent Ingo said.

"Now: was this an attempt to imply, or otherwise make our coworkers believe, that your projected level ceiling is higher than the 6. 3 listed on your profile?"

"It wasn't," I answered. His head twitched. I noticed his limbs stiffening. It was clearly an involuntary reflex, a sign of surprise that hadn't existed for any of my other answers… which made me think that he'd expected to get a 'yes' for every question. The lie detector woman hesitated but ultimately nodded. The agent frowned at me.

"Let me put the question differently," he said.

"I'm sure you understand the implication that would come from an engagement to Arlo Lingard, considering his parents are both level 7. 3. A false implication that your potential is in the sevens. This is the impression an NxGen coworker would gain - surely this is something you considered?"

"Not at the time, sir," I answered. I made sure to bow my head slightly.

"Right now, after you've said it, I understand why it might seem that way. But that's not what I was trying-" He squeezed my wrist.

"Confirmation or denial, only, please." Then he repeated the question from the beginning. I made my voice shake as I answered "No." The lie detector woman still nodded.

"Fine," agent Ingo scoffed.

"Regardless of whether you intended it at the time, this is the effect of your lie: many high level individuals believe that you are of a higher stature than you truly are. A large convenience and benefit to you. Do you at least agree to this, Meili?"

"I… I- I truly don't, sir." He didn't believe me. He stood and looked, expectantly, at the lie-detecting woman in the corner.

"The girl is telling the truth," she said, obviously afraid. Ingo's face contorted.

"Let me make this clear," he said to me.

"Now is not the time for tricks. You mean to tell me, Meili, that you don't understand? You've ranked at the front of your grade for five consecutive years. You made it into NxGen at age fifteen. You are clearly not a stupid person, so surely you understand basic implications, simple cause and effect?" I let my eyes start watering.

"If… If I could just have a chance to explain-" The agent opened his mouth, about to say something, but stopped as a bright green light flashed from the headmaster's desk. It weighed on me like an omnidirectional anvil, on the whole room, on seemingly all of space. Vaughn's voice thundered quietly.

"I don't recall that leading questions were ever a part of protocol, Ingo."

"With all due respect, headmaster, given what was written in the report of Meili's behavior-""The anonymous report, from a nameless and reputationless source," Vaughn said.

"A report your team still seems to place as pure fact. I've read it just like you asked."

"If you're implying foul play-""I'm doing no such thing," Vaughn replied.

"Still, let me remind you that at this moment we have Meili under lie detection. What reason is there to keep her from speaking? Better than any 'report,' the truth of the matter is here in this room." Ingo pursed his lips but said nothing. The office was silent. A factor beyond my knowledge was likely at play, given what he seemed to think of me, but there was no time to think.

Sweat soaked through the back of my uniform, down into the sofa cushion, and I felt immense pressure to deliver a convincing performance as three pairs of eyes came to rest on me.

"I told another intern that my potential was 6. 3," I breathed.

"I knew she was a gossip. I wanted the whole research team to know the exact number, and they all learned." It was the truth. Vaughn's lips twitched upward.

"... The name 'Arlo' is a traditional Lingard boys' name," I continued.

"It means 'fortified hill' in a prehistoric European language, which represents the Lingard clan's spherical barrier. If… If any of the interns searched for Arlo Lingard online, they would find multiple people, including branch clan members. They're in the lower sixes. They match me." Again, it was all strictly true. Agent Ingo's face wasn't unilateral anger, not anymore, but something more complex. Realization and possibly regret. I capitalized, and made myself start crying.

Crying like a child who felt unfairly persecuted. Like I loved and respected The Authorities, and an agent's disappointment hurt me in the same way as my father's scorn. In my past life, the advice for crying on command was to think about sad moments. It hadn't worked for me then. Now, I could control my tears simply by recalling the disgusting actions in my past, all those things I wished I hadn't done. Painful violence, things I'd said. Different acts that weren't me.

Acts like this one, infantilizing myself for pity and soft treatment, becoming someone else just to survive. Behind me, pen scratched against clipboard; the lie-detector woman was taking notes. I assumed that she was high-level enough to detect more than basic truth. Strong users also detected if a statement matched the emotions behind it - they knew if their target was being deceptive in a subtler way. It was my chance to spin a favorable narrative.

My two added points had earned me an implicit right to 'tell my side of the story.' For this, the most difficult hurdle would be tricking the lie detection. Thankfully, there was an ocean within me, filled with all the correct emotions of a repenting girl. * Beautiful" I was so scared," the girl hiccupped." I was so, so scared. Everyone was so much older and stronger than me, and I didn't know anyone, and I thought I might be left alone.

I haven't been the weakest before, not once in my life, and I didn't know what to do, didn't know how to get them to give me any work." Truth. Ingo's assistant nodded at him." Because I wanted to do work," she sniffed.

"I wanted to do real research, make real findings, not the kiddy bullshit I ended up getting. What did I work so hard for, study for, if it was just to sit around like decoration once I finally made it in the door? I was a potted plant! For a month I never worked on anything real." Truth." But how was I supposed to ask for more?" Meili cried." How? I was behind in age, behind in education, behind in level, behind in everything. What reason did they have not to treat me like a lesser? At…

At the same time, none of them were god-tiers. They don't have potential like me. But I couldn't just announce one day, 'oh, I'm gonna be a god-tier one day so you should give me more priority.' Not when they could snap all my bones on a whim. That's not how it works!" Truth.

"So I came up with this," she admitted bitterly.

"A way to make them aware of the difference between us. It made them conscious that I'm going to end up a tier above them. Because I am high-ranking enough for a clan engagement, definitely to a lower-six branch. I am. My potential is real, sir. I fought seriously a single time this summer and grew by 0. 3." Truth. Fat globules of the girl's tears kept striking the couch.

"And… I know it was stupid, lying, doing what I did. I know. It was disrespectful to Arlo and his family, to do this without telling them. It was wrong to use his name for myself. I know I shouldn't have done it. But was I wrong to feel how I did, sir? Is it so wrong, that I didn't want to get sidelined and pushed down by a bunch of fives who I'll be above in a few years?" A final truth, and Ingo shook his head, acknowledging that his assessment had been incorrect.

"I understand what you're saying, Meili," the agent said.

"You were not in the right, to lie like you did, but this is a far milder case of Rank Falsification than we assumed initially." The girl nodded and let out a shuddering, gasping breath. Rank Falsification. It was a catch-all term that described many behaviors: the most extreme was the act of pretending to be a higher level than you truly were. But there were other, less severe cases – such as faking an alliance with a higher-ranking entity, or pretending affiliation with a clan when there was no connection.

Or exaggerating one's connection, as Meili had done. For children, in cases of purposeful level forgery, school expulsion and even re-education were potential options. That had been his personal stance on the case after reading the report. But if it was something more minor, like a junior clan affiliate puffing themself up…

"Sir," said his assistant.

"Just to be clear, I did not detect a falsehood on any level - Miss Strauss has been perfectly honest."

"I see," the agent acknowledged. It was clear that the anonymous reporting had led them astray. He met Meili Strauss' eyes.

"We received a misleading report," he told her.

"Now that everything has been made clear, it seems that any punishment would be best handled on the level of clan and individual - that will be my official conclusion."

"And Meili's record?" Vaughn's voice pressed.

"…As well," Ingo went along, having no leg to stand on.

"This incident is unlikely to stay long-term on your disciplinary record. I apologize for the misunderstanding." The girl smiled shakily at him.

"Thank you." She wiped her tears.

"I - I really appreciate that you heard me out, sir." * Beautiful Cecile Arbor stood in the hallway outside Vaughn's office, listening as the muffled noises of Meili's crying died down. It seemed like the questioning was over; they would be leaving the office in a moment. Cecile was eager to see the results, in particular Meili's defeated face, and whether the irritating girl would receive suspension or a permanent expulsion. She hoped and predicted it would be an expulsion.

Tearing your rivals down was rarely worthwhile, according to her grandfather, as it was effort not spent on growing and bettering yourself. She tended to agree with him. But Meili Strauss was a special case, the kind of opponent that Cecile would gladly sacrifice her stance to destroy. … She hadn't always felt this way. At the start of freshman year, Meili had been just a bit stronger. This was fine at the time, she'd accepted it, and simply increased the amount of training and fighting she did to catch up.

But Meili had accelerated, three months into the year, right as Cecile would have reclaimed her rightful place as the strongest female student in the grade. She'd doubled her efforts once again in response, but it had been of no use. The gap in their levels slowly grew and never shrank. Then it came out that the daughter of two weakling elite-tiers had god-tier potential, as if that could ever make sense.

Somehow, Meili Strauss gained connections with the Lingard clan, gained invitations to top research conferences, and gained a prestigious internship at NxGen without sacrificing ability growth. All of this for a girl who came from nowhere. Who never seemed to lose, who gained everything under the sun. Meili was nauseatingly close to Arlo, though that would thankfully change very soon. Worse, Meili was improperly close to John.

He was a full-fledged god-tier, and she had supposedly recruited him to attend Wellston High. The same John who was Seraphina's best friend, all of a sudden, linking Meili to every powerhouse in the whole damn school. Barring Cecile herself, of course. But according to the school newspaper she was too weak to qualify as such. I rank fifth as a Sophomore! she thought. I'm still just two points behind Meili. But she gets a 'B' rank and I get a D?

'There's a narrative going around that Cecile's Vine Conjuration is just a bargain-brand version of Devil's Hands.' She still felt bitter toward everyone who'd created the article. And that was the worst part: the fact that, somehow, everyone else in the school didn't bat an eye. As though it were perfectly natural for the daughter of two utter nobodies to waltz into Wellston High School and become someone exceptional. So, yes. She had moved from building up to pulling down.

She'd crawled through every source for something to use against Meili - because, surely, an abnormal rise like hers must have involved a level of foul play. And even after all the Wellston-centric investigation revealed nothing, she'd moved on to contacting Meili's former coworkers at NxGen, certain that she would eventually find something punishable. She'd been proven right, of course. Reaching this moment had been a simple matter from there.

The door made a minor gust of wind as it swung open, Agent Ingo and his assistant exiting the office first. The agent gave her a nod of recognition, and Cecile made a slight bow of greeting, acknowledging him as her mother's superior in The Authorities. Meili came out a few minutes later. She dabbed at her reddened eyes with a tissue, her face ugly and bloated, her hair stained and streaked with the fluid results of a pathetic loss of control. Her uniform was a disgraceful mess.

Probably, Cecile thought, this was the worst moment and worst defeat in all of Meili Strauss' life. After multiple title fights there was no need for false gentility, so Cecile made no effort to mask her enjoyment, and smiled with all her honest heart.

"I overheard quite an amount," she said.

"I hope you haven't been expelled." Meili blinked with a glassy expression, slouching, wet splotchy stains spotting her uniform vest and skirt, so defeated that she was speechless. Cecile felt her smile widen, nearly trembling with happiness.

"Well," she went on, "If that's that, then-""I haven't been punished," Meili said. There was a long pause.

"…Excuse me?" The focus in Meili's eyes was suddenly back. She stood perfectly straight, and the redness on her face was worn like decoration.

"I just remembered something important." She held her phone like a mirror and started smoothing out her hair.

"Your mother is a member of The Authorities, Cecile, which is why that agent was so aggressive toward me at first. Everything's clear now." Cecile took a step backward as a reflex.

"You're just trying to scare me," she blurted.

"You obviously are. Don't pretend to be strong here, of all possible moments. I've beaten you." Meili exhaled a deep breath and turned.

"Alright," she said simply.

"I just don't think this was necessary. Even if you don't like me, Cecile, we don't have to be enemies for the next three years." Meili started walking toward the stairwell, and Cecile watched, the few simple sentences settling in her mind for comprehension. They sat there until the humiliation was too much to bear. No, she thought. This can't be how it ends. She activated her ability, eyes gleaming as she conjured her vines.

A floating storm of vine-spears shot forward at full velocity, all sharpened to their finest points, trying to skewer Meili through three-dozen angles. They were all shredded into green ribbons, a moment later, by the wide mesh of rotating crimson swords that sprouted from Meili's hands. The counter-move seemed easier than it had been in their last fight, yet another insult. She tried to press her attack, but cringed with a single step forward.

She realized that Meili had already snuck a single paper-thin blade to wedge into her shin. Then it shunted deep, burning hot as it split her bone, and with a cry of pain Cecile fell to a kneeling position on the floor.

"…Hey, look." The redhead withdrew her attack.

"I drew first blood, I have a level advantage; the result of this is basically decided. I'm a little exhausted after what you just put me through, so could we end this here?" As Meili asked this, her weepy, teary-eyed, red-faced look began to re-emerge. As if to say that scoring a blow on Cecile wasn't worth celebration. As if she were too weak to be worthwhile. She screamed a denial.

She poured all her energy into a singular vine, the tendril of a verdant kraken, thick enough to blot the whole hallway from view - and sent it hurtling, the five trucks of mass whipping forward with enough speed to splatter flesh and paste bone. Only, there was no feeling of contact as she lashed out, and when her ability deactivated there was no one in the hall. Cecile limped forward, trying to figure out the trick, glancing in every direction.

Vanishing was not a part of Meili's kit, no matter how many nonsensical techniques she pulled from nowhere, flying and whatever else. But flying was the answer, she realized, after finding that one of the windows was broken. Meili had gone through it and flown down to the sidewalk. She was already walking away, not even looking back. Cecile watched from the window, her face hot with rage, and searched Meili's body aggressively for injuries - there were the stains from before and nothing else.

I've received a blow that I'll need treatment for, she thought. While Meili can simply stroll away unscathed. Unscathed. That word was now another thing she hated about Meili Strauss. How did it make any sense that, after so much work, she was the one left nursing her wounds in pain? How had Meili slipped out of such an objectively awful situation without a scratch? The only possible sign of suffering was her posture as she walked away, slightly hunched while her shoulders shuddered up and down.

If Cecile wanted comfort, she could try convincing herself that she'd grazed her enemy's back… but she knew that was wrong, understanding instinctively what those shaking shoulders meant. It was mocking laughter. She couldn't even hear it without her ability, but she was certain of what it was - her face twitched as she wedged her nails into her arms and bled. Fine. Cecile thought, turning away from the broken window's view. Laugh now.

She would crawl through Meili's past, continue going deeper and deeper, until she found a violation that stuck. Beautiful Aarav exited the PC Cafe, finally finished uploading Unordinary, and stepped into the dense New Bangalore street. A mild sun was mostly through its setting pattern, and a lightly dressed crowd milled about in the residual heat. He was prepared to return home. He would count the day as an eventful but ultimately brief episode of his life.

Aarav paused, however, when he saw a man and a woman in black suits pushing their way through the crowd. It was behavior that would have earned protests, if not for the badges they wore, badges of authority. The two came to a stop in front of the PC Cafe - the one Aarav had just exited. The woman was young and violet-haired, the man short and muscular. Aarav tried to observe them without staring, in particular at their expressions, which seemed generally unpleasant.

"God damn it," the woman cursed loudly.

"Again, what a prophecy. What a damn prophecy!" The male agent was also grimacing, and fiddled with something that gleamed silver in his ear.

"They're confirming that this is the address," he said.

"'A world-shaking event will partially occur on November 13, 156-141, Rajgopal road, two doors to the left of the clothes-washer.'" The female agent rolled her eyes.

"Yes," she muttered.

"At a gaming cafe." Without activating her ability, she kicked a roadside trash can, which made a dying sound and burst to twenty pieces.

"I don't understand why we haven't fired him."

"If I may, chief," the man said.

"Harsha has made great contributions."

"Like what?" she demanded.

"Well. It was primarily his Significance Forecasting ability that allowed us to kill the gathering in-""In last year's greatest accomplishment, yes," she said.

"But I need results this year, and this year Harsha has given us nonsense."

"…Chief," the man said, "he's the highest-level precognitive in South Asia."

"In South Asia, he's useless! Half his prophecies tell us to fly to North America!"