The tower clock chimed three times, its deep, authoritative tone traveling across the sleeping academy campus, piercing the glass of Arian's window and stabbing directly into his restless consciousness. Three in the morning. The deadline for his meeting with Nyx had passed an hour ago.
Failure was not an option in Kayze's world. Failure meant risk, exposure, and death. Now, the mission was no longer about a rendezvous, but about damage control. He had to go to the old library alone, at least to ensure the location was secure and to leave an encrypted message for Nyx that the operation was postponed. Going alone was far more dangerous, but doing nothing was worse.
He glanced towards the bed. The girl, the blonde-haired monster who had commandeered his bed and blanket, looked peaceful. But Arian knew better. Behind that serene appearance was a working mind, alert senses, and an infuriating intelligence. She was a living fortress, and Arian had to find a way to breach it.
Re-analyze, commanded Kayze's voice in his mind. Physical stealth failed. Aether manipulation failed. She can sense movement, intent, and magical energy. She also has extensive knowledge of security protocols and history. A direct plan won't work. I have to be more subtle. I will change the environment itself, forcing her to react.
And so, Plan D was born: Operation 'Sudden Winter'.
On the wall across from the bed was a small, faintly engraved silver rune. It was a temperature-regulating rune, a standard comfort magic in high-tier dorms. Arian's plan was clever: he wouldn't cast a spell, which would be detected. Instead, he would very carefully manipulate the ambient Aether flow in the room, directing it to 'overfeed' the rune on its cooling aspect. This would lower the room's temperature slowly and naturally. In theory, as a wounded and weakened person, the girl's body would react to the biting cold. Perhaps she would pull the blanket tighter and fall into a deeper, less-aware sleep. It was an elegant, indirect attack.
Arian closed his eyes, concentrating. He felt the Aether around him, invisible threads of energy. He began to weave them, not with his hands, but with his mind, pushing a gentle current towards the silver rune on the wall. This was an incredibly difficult technique, requiring perfect control. He could feel the air temperature begin to drop by a fraction of a degree. A little more...
"The temperature-regulating rune in this room is connected to a biological sensor in the mattress to prevent hypothermia in the occupant."
The girl's voice, tired yet sharp as a razor, cut through Arian's concentration like lightning.
"If the temperature drops below fifteen degrees Celsius," she continued, her eyes still closed, "a silent alarm will be sent directly to Headmaster Nerro's office. Do you really want to explain to a Name 3 Mage why you were trying to freeze your injured roommate in the middle of the night?"
Arian pulled back his mental control as if he had just touched fire. His entire body tensed. He hadn't just failed; he had almost triggered the highest-level alarm in the entire academy. This girl didn't just know magic; she knew the most secret intricacies of Avero's infrastructure. Such knowledge should only belong to top-level staff or perhaps the Imperial Family. The tension in the room ratcheted up. This was no longer a cute cat-and-mouse game. This was a chess game with a mysterious grandmaster.
Frustration gnawed at Kayze's composure. Magic failed. Physical attempts failed. Even indirect attacks failed. Maybe... maybe he had to attack her mind.
Plan E: Operation 'Lethal Lecture'.
If he couldn't put her to sleep with cold, he would put her to sleep with boredom.
Arian sat up straight, clearing his throat. "Since we're both awake," he said in a voice made to sound academic, "how about I share some interesting knowledge to pass the time?"
Without waiting for a reply, he began. "The History of Feudal Taxation in the Western Provinces of the Venotetra Empire, Volume Four, Chapter Three: Inter-Baronial Salt Trade Regulations..."
He spoke in a flat, emotionless monotone, without pause. He detailed import tariffs, gate taxes, caravan licensing fees, and the percentage of profit that had to be submitted to the imperial coffers. He explained in painful detail the difference between rock salt from the northern mines and sea salt from the southern coasts. It was a topic so dry and boring it could put a golem to sleep.
He spoke nonstop for fifteen minutes. He himself was starting to feel dizzy. His eyelids felt heavy. He was certain his plan was working. He paused for a moment to take a breath, ready to hear the sound of soft snores from the bed.
Instead, he heard the girl's voice.
"You're wrong," she said flatly.
Arian blinked. "What?"
"On the Salt Decree of 284, Paragraph Seven," the girl explained, still with her eyes closed. "The tax for a caravan carrying more than five hundred catties of salt was two full silver coins per wagon, not one silver and thirty copper coins. The copper-to-silver exchange rate was unstable at the time due to a minor rebellion at the copper mines. Your calculation is off by about four percent. That was only changed in the Agricultural Tax Amendment of 291."
Arian stared into the darkness, his mouth agape. Utter defeat. Not only had he failed to bore her, but he had also been corrected on the most obscure feudal tax history. Who in the world knew that? Was she a historian? An imperial auditor? Or did she just know everything?
Desperation began to creep in. He was never going to get out. His mission was a failure. His reputation as Kayze, the perfect planner, was being shattered by a blonde-haired girl who wouldn't even open her eyes. He leaned his head back against the wall with a soft thud, giving up.
And it was at that moment, at the lowest point of his despair, that something completely unstrategic happened. Something purely biological.
His nose began to itch. A familiar, unavoidable sensation. A sneeze was on its way. As Kayze, he could suppress pain and emotion. But suppressing a sneeze already at the gate was impossible.
He tried to hold it back, a reflex action to maintain the silence. He pinched his nose. His face contorted. His eyes watered.
"Ahh... ahh..."
It was no use. It was coming out.
"HAAATCHOOO!!!"
The sneeze exploded from him with the force of a hurricane. It was a completely ungraceful, impolite, and incredibly loud sneeze, enough to wake any ghosts that might reside in the academy.
The sneeze was so powerful that his head was thrown forward violently and—Thud!—it hit the oak floor with a painful sound.
"Ouch..." Arian groaned, more from shock and pain than from acting. The world was spinning. His nose was running, and now there was a throbbing, painful lump on his forehead. He lay on the floor, dazed and confused, defeated by his own respiratory system.
Then he realized something. Silence.
Total silence from the bed. No cynical comments. No corrections. No threats.
Very carefully, rubbing his sore forehead, he lifted his head and peeked. What he saw made him freeze.
The girl was no longer lying peacefully. She was halfway sitting up, her body tense, her eyes now wide open and staring straight at the ceiling with an expression of pure shock. And on the pillow, right next to her head, was a small, coin-sized hole, neat and round, its edges still smoking with a faint pink vapor.
Arian's heart stopped. He understood instantly.
All his clever plans had one thing in common: they were plans. They were intentional actions. The girl, with her incredible perception, could read intent and predict the outcome of a planned action. But a sneeze... a sneeze wasn't a plan. It was pure chaos. It was an unpredictable biological act.
The explosive sound of his sneeze, followed by the thud of his head hitting the floor, must have sounded like a sudden attack within the room—a small explosion, or a spell being fired. In that split second, the girl's instincts overrode her logic. She reacted to a perceived threat near her head and reflexively fired a defensive spell—a focused, concentrated beam of energy—at the source of the "attack," which turned out to be her own pillow.
She had outsmarted herself. Her perfect logic had been defeated by Arian's unintentional stupidity.
Arian saw the girl was now breathing heavily. That reflexive attack, though small, had clearly cost her the last of her precious energy. She was vulnerable. Shocked. And her psychological equilibrium was shattered.
This was his only chance. The window would only be open for a few seconds.
Continuing to groan in pain from the lump on his forehead (it was important to maintain the cover, even in victory), Arian got to his feet. He staggered towards the door, no longer trying to be stealthy. He walked like someone whose head had just made intimate acquaintance with a wooden floor.
He reached the doorknob. He turned it. The door opened.
Just before he slipped out, he glanced back. Their eyes met. In the girl's pink irises, Arian saw a new emotion directed at him, one that went beyond dominance or amusement. It was absolute and profound confusion. As if she were trying to understand how a supercomputer could be defeated by a broken calculator.
Arian gave her a small, weak, and "pained" smile, then slipped out into the silent corridor, closing the door softly behind him.
He leaned against the door, the darkness of the corridor feeling like a comforting embrace. His forehead was throbbing, but a disbelieving smile of victory spread across his face. He had succeeded. Not with Kayze's brilliant stratagems, but with Arian's colossal, idiotic sneeze.
He wasted no time. Chuckling softly to himself, he began to run silently down the corridor, towards the waiting night. A new legend had been born in his mind tonight. Plans A through E may have failed, but Plan H—Operation Hatchoo—had been a resounding success.