I barely had time to open my eyes when a message popped up in front of me.
Incoming message: V. Novak
Subject: Date
Content: Don’t be late. Your new girlfriend will be waiting for you at “Mandarin” at 9:15.
Geolocation attached.
Wonderful! Bloody hell. Just bloody brilliant.
My mood instantly hit rock bottom and kept digging.
As if I didn’t have enough problems already. This wasn’t a date — it was a full-blown operation: “Romantic Trap”, complete with a paranoia bonus pack and the risk of picking up a demonic hitchhiker for my brain.
At least they gave me time to have breakfast and mentally prepare.
The four of us dragged ourselves to breakfast along with the crowd of first-years, grabbed trays and sat wherever there was space. I ended up across from Marlon, and Denis sat across from Bao, chatting away cheerfully. I honestly didn’t think those two would get along. Incidentally, Bao swapped plates with Marlon again today. Looks like our spoiled rich brat was undergoing a miraculous transformation, slowly emerging from his reclusive phase — though he was still clinging with all limbs to his broody silence. Which, to be fair, I liked much better than his pompous self-importance and endless complaints. Especially today, when I wasn’t in the mood to talk either. I didn’t even bother taking part in the food exchange ritual.
Denis noticed.
“Why the long face?” he asked, without looking up from his tray, where something vaguely resembling cabbage lasagne and questionable meat substitute was sitting.
“Flowers,” I lied. “It’s starting to get on my nerves. An hour and a half with drones zipping around dropping baskets at you, and you have to pack them. And only half an hour of training with the Fist Qi. That’s if the person you’re watching doesn’t tell you to sod off.”
“Does that happen a lot?” Bao asked.
“Sometimes,” I said.
“And what do you do?”
“I leave,” I replied. “Then I look for another victim.”
After breakfast, Bao looked a bit surprised that I didn’t follow him to the Armour Hall, but he didn’t ask any questions. I headed off towards the café at the second-periods’ dorm, following the location Novak had sent me.
The café caught me off guard — it wasn’t like the one where we had coffee with Kate. Much less presentable. No thinhorn barista and no grand panoramic window. In fact, there weren’t any real windows at all — they’d been replaced with screens displaying various Earth landscapes. One monitor showed a nighttime city, another — a morning garden.
This café felt more like the first-years’ cafeteria — just tidied up a bit, slightly civilised, and with buttons on the vending machines! No bloody lottery involved!
Rahman was already waiting for me at one of the tables. Her posture was deliberately relaxed, but her fingers were gripping the cup so hard that the tips had lost their natural colour. On one of the fingers, by the way, was an exact copy of my ring.
I glanced around the room, trying to guess who might be here to watch us, but I didn’t dwell on it. I waved at Nur and made my way over to the vending machine to grab a coffee. The prices were encouraging — the taste, not so much. Definitely couldn’t compare to what I’d had before at the fancy place. After taking a sip, I sat down next to Rahman.
“Hey,” I said. “Hope the migraine’s gone?”
She opened her mouth and winced from a sudden spasm, which made her let go of the cup and clutch her head.
“While you were gone...”
“Better get used to it,” I sympathised. “Not like you’ve got much of a choice. Same here.”
“They told me the decision to keep me...”
“Shhh,” I hissed and looked around. “I’m on order maintenance duty in the block from 14:30 to 17:00. Let’s talk in my room. No one else should be there.”
“Those two,” Nur nodded towards a table where two cadets were sitting, “told me we could speak freely here and now.”
“Seriously?” I glanced back, and one of them pulled a face — like, what the hell are you doing, mate?
I looked at Nur, then closed my eyes and activated my sixth sense. After thirty, maybe forty seconds, I felt something under my hands — a faint pulsing of qi in the tabletop.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Wow. Guess I really am turning into a proper cultivator if I’m noticing things like this.
“What are you smiling at?” Nur asked, still clutching her head.
“They did something to the table. Don’t you feel it? It’s like a formation.”
Rahman placed her palm on the table, and after a few seconds, she pulled it back sharply, her eyes darting to the observers.
“I don’t think we should be messing with this.”
“I think we actually can talk,” I said. “They told me we’re supposed to play a couple in love...”
“They told me you chose to save my life. Otherwise, I’d be buried in the Wastelands.”
“A joke from the one who actually calls the shots in our little club,” I replied.
“What club?” she asked seriously.
“Demon hunters,” I said with a grin. “Don’t ask me anything. I don’t know myself. My role in this club isn’t much different from yours. He,” I pointed at her forehead, “was supposed to end up here,” I tapped mine. “And our great leader first thought I was him — planned to bury me, then figured it out and decided to put me to work — as bait. Same thing happened to you.”
I took a sip of coffee and gave her a minute to process everything.
“They told me you’re in charge. I’m supposed to stick close to you most of the day and do what you say. If I want to stay alive. And I do… So, go ahead. Command.”
“Alright,” I nodded. “Looks like we’ve got that in common. A wish to stay alive. Have you started sensing the Fist Qi yet?”
“No. My fist is four.”
“Excuse me?!”
My surprise didn’t last long. A moment later, my interface chimed with a new notification:
Incoming call: V. Novak
Accept / Decline
“Go ahead,” I said, tapping the invisible ‘Accept’.
Rahman caught my gesture as I pointed at the air, and correctly interpreted it, tilting her head with interest.
“Since you decided to skip the pleasantries and get straight to business,” Novak said, “don’t worry — I’ll supply her with essence. Today, take her to the Garden and show her your work. Let her get used to it.”
“How are you listening to us?!” I asked.
“Through the formation. You guessed right — well done. And you scanned it carefully. Unlike Rahman. I nearly went deaf when she barged in.”
“And how do you always know where I am?”
“I monitor your activity on the school server with admin privileges. Don’t worry, that’ll stop once you’re officially promoted to second period.”
“Yeah, right,” I muttered, not buying it.
“Right!” Vaclav stressed. “She’s been briefed on the story — the meeting, her motives, the whole act. Just make sure you’re on the same page before you take her to the Garden.”
The cover story — Nur and I met thanks to our rings. The ring I supposedly found in the metro? According to the story, it belonged to her. And it wasn’t just any ring, but a pair. Now we were meant to wear them like we were engaged. No, Vaclav wasn’t being romantic — he was simply maximising the chances the bait would work. Two rings with demonic script showing up side by side? Impossible not to notice.
And the entire backstory reeked of suspicion. The pair of rings supposedly belonged to her great-great-great-grandparents, who fought demons during the last invasion and passed the rings down through the generations — until Nur had the genius idea to lose one of them in the metro.
And then it all got even more suspicious. Rahman received a gift from a mysterious stranger who just happened to know that very same ancestor of hers — the great-grandma who battled demons over 400 years ago — a gift of forty vials of Fist Essence M1.
So that’s how Vaclav explained her jump from Wood — which, by the way, she’d had at 27 — to Fist.
The whole story was stitched together so roughly it barely held up at all. The only historical fact in it was the famous ancestor — the great-grandmother who really had fought demons and was revered by the entire family like some sort of saint. For Nur specifically, she was a heroine and role model — hence the tattoo. The grandma had apparently fought with her parents at sixteen and covered her whole body in low-grade dragons, which earned her the nickname Green Dragon in her district. Thank God Nur had approached body decoration a bit more creatively.
Anyway, her grandma, as a Golden Core cultivator — that’s fourth stage — had lived a long life, but she died two hundred and seventy years ago. That’s practically the natural limit for that level. Golden Core cultivators rarely live beyond 270. Hers had actually died earlier. So for this mysterious cultivator — the one who supposedly sent Nur the gift — to have known the legendary grandma and been mates with her for at least ten years, he’d have to be over 270 himself. Meaning he’d have to be at least fifth stage!
The irony? Vaclav, who arranged this whole “gift,” really was a fifth stage.
Still, the story didn’t add up.
I called him.
“Got a suggestion?” Novak asked.
“I do! Along with the Fist essence, add some tea, maybe a quick Fist technique, plus Ogre’s Fist — first stage — and Wooden Ogre Fist — second stage. "That’ll make it sound more believable. It still doesn’t explain why your mysterious cultivator would even bother with some random teenager, but at least he’ll stop looking like an..." I didn’t say 'idiot', just in case Vaclav thinks I’m talking about him, "...'unwise' person, and start looking like someone who thinks ahead."
“Well, it’s not the last gift,” Vaclav replied. “He’s bait too, remember? So the gifts will keep coming.”
“She needs something to explain the shift in her focus now.”
“Let it be a letter. Old-school. Handwritten, on paper. Hmmm…” Vaclav paused. “Tell her: raise your Fist to fifty, and I’ll reward you with a red technique. That’s what the note says.”
“You only gave her forty,” I reminded him.
“She can make an effort. The mysterious master isn’t meant to help for free. Right, off to the Garden you go.”
Rahman stared at me wide-eyed when I passed the message on.
“He’ll really give me a red technique?”
“First stage? For him, that’s pocket change. Sometimes being the bait pays off,” I shrugged. “Come on. Time to introduce you to Diego.” I meant the ninety-eighth, not the fifteenth.
We dashed into the Armour Hall and got suited up.
Rahman’s armour was a bit blockier than mine — with harsher lines and a few visible dents on the shoulders and helmet, probably left by the previous user. Or maybe more than one — it was a standard school-issue model in black and green. Her servomotors whined audibly with every move, but the mechanics swore that was normal.
The introduction to Diego was a proper circus. First of all — the demon didn’t like his kind. Nur immediately got a migraine, obvious even through her armour. And Diego just couldn’t believe a girl with a Fist Root of four had come to the Garden without the intention to cultivate it. In the end, he gave in, ran through the instructions, assigned me a dozen drones, her six, and handed over a few beds of violets.
After that, we watched some other people’s techniques together and got told off once.
We took the “told off” quite literally and legged it to the cafeteria to grab an early lunch. I wasn’t quite ready to introduce Rahman to my roommates yet, so twenty minutes later, when Denis messaged me, I replied that I was busy and wouldn’t be joining for lunch.