POV: RENATA SILVEIRA.
The first days of class always had that air of inevitable repetition. It was as if the cycle began anew, year after year, with only subtle variations.
I always started rusty, my body still stuck in the slow rhythm of the holidays, and gradually, as the weeks passed, I would catch my breath. Basically, I was getting back into the swing of things.
The routine settled in with an almost cruel speed, and there we were again, dealing with the same crowded hallways, the same metallic sounds of the chairs, and the same mix of anxiety and expectation that every beginning brought.
And as a bonus, that high volume of conversations among everyone.
Of course, there were differences… Like the familiar faces that disappeared, the new classmates who appeared, teachers changing classrooms and schools.
These changes of scenery were part of the package.
And, besides that, we had the more subtle changes: the advancing age, the responsibilities that weighed more, and that uncomfortable feeling that we were being inevitably pushed into adulthood.
That year, in particular, the weight was different. It wasn't just another start of the year. We were in the last one. Senior year.
Conversations about graduation were already starting to infiltrate the breaks, with the concern of raising money to pay for everything.
There were also extra classes, a careful preparation for us to have a real chance in the school qualifiers for the NLEE.
It was as if everything, even the rhythm of the classes, silently said that this year would be different.
Repetitive, yes, but loaded with a promise: that something important was approaching.
Still, if there was something useful in the routine, it was the reviews. They functioned as a safe harbor, reminding us that, despite the changes, some things remain solid.
That day, Professor Francisco entered the room with his firm posture and an expression of someone already carrying a few hours of fatigue…
He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat, and after looking at each of us, began:
"Today we are going to review something essential: the aspects of interpretation. I want you to understand how each perspective influences the way an enchantment manifests"
His deep voice filled the room.
I picked up my pen, ready to follow along. The professor continued, gesturing calmly:
"Each person attributes their own experiences to the enchantment. Our subconscious is fed by the magical energy born from the synapses of the brain, and these, in turn, are influenced by the information from the books we read"
He picked up the digital whiteboard marker and began to write something as he spoke:
"However, there is a curious detail in this: each core of ideas within a human being has different degrees and quantities of concepts, not only from readings, but from the various styles of communication we absorb"
I scribbled loose words in my notebook, trying to capture the essence of what he was saying. He finished the notation of the four types of interpretation aspects.
"This means that even if several people read the same book, their enchantments can manifest in completely different ways, even within the same Aspect of Interpretation"
He observed, drawing a diagram that showed two stick figures inside a circle.
"Two individuals can derive enchantments from the same text, but the nature and use of these abilities will never be identical. They are always unique"
The explanation made me uneasy. I raised my hand without much thought and asked:
"Professor... if each interpretation is unique and non-transferable, why do the aspects of interpretation exist? If they don't standardize the nature of the enchantments, then what is their use?"
My voice came out curious, but firm. It was a simple, yet interesting question. He smiled slightly, as if he had been expecting that question, but did not answer immediately.
He just gave a contemplative look before continuing with the class.
"Good question... We'll answer it in a bit"
POV: HELENA IVYRA.
Renata's question echoed within me. I had also reflected on this before.
If each enchantment was unique, shaped by the subjectivity and intimate experiences of each reader, what was the real purpose of classifying them?
It was like trying to fit the entire ocean into labeled bottles.
Useless.
'It's like the quirks in Boku no Hero, they are all too individual, so how could they be fitted into general groups?'
I was already feeling more comfortable in the routine of senior year, and Professor Francisco's reviews were a delight for me.
He had an uncommon ability to take concepts that could sound dull and turn them into true stories, loaded with practical examples and almost literary nuances.
The green chairs in the room, creaking from time to time with their metallic squeaks, formed a semicircle in front of the digital whiteboard.
That strange contrast always caught my attention: the cold technology of the screen against the worn and marked scenery from years of use.
The air was warm, and the smell of food was already coming from the cafeteria.
Professor Francisco straightened up, adjusted his round glasses, and with his wise eyes scanning the class, answered the question that hung in the air:
"The aspects of interpretation do not exist to standardize, Renata" he said, alternating his gaze between her and the class.
"They serve as large thought groups. They are categories that simplify the understanding of magical manifestation. This way we can study, organize, and even teach with more clarity"
He turned to the whiteboard, which came to life with four words written in highlight previously: Literal (Physical), Analog (Spiritual), Connotative (Sentient), and Denotative (Absolute).
"Each aspect influences a distinct part of the human being – he explained. – The Literal affects the physical body, the Analog the magical energy, the Connotative emotions and sensations, and the Denotative the very essence of knowledge and experience. They are reference lines. They do not limit, but help to situate"
I felt a shiver run down my spine upon hearing his words. The simplicity of the explanation hid an enormous depth.
I remembered my own essence: my specters, the Cat and the Professor, could never be reduced to simple invocations.
They were fragments of my reading, reflections of how I absorbed the work.
And yet, they made sense within the Analog Aspect.
Francisco then concluded, his voice laden with authority:
"The uniqueness of each enchantment remains inviolable. But the aspects are like compasses. They tell us where to look, without ever dictating exactly what we will find"
There was a heavy silence in the room. Only the sound of notebooks being hastily filled interrupted that moment.
I let myself get lost in thought, fascinated by the idea that each reading was a reflection of who we were, and that our souls shaped magic as much as the books did.
At that instant, I realized that the professor's words were not just theory.
They were a reminder that literary magic was, above all, a mirror of ourselves.
The class ended and I left the room with my mind buzzing.
I went to the break thoughtful.
I felt I was one step closer not only to understanding the enchantments, but to understanding ourselves.
'It's like that old saying: Tell me what you read, and I will tell you who you are…'