I awakened in an infirmary bed. The sterile whiteness of the walls and the harsh, bright light streaming through the window blinded me—a jarring contrast to the night I had just spent in the dark. As my vision cleared, I noticed a young man sitting in a chair not far from me. He wore a thin, polite smile as he greeted me.
"Congratulations on conquering your first Nightmare, Dreamer... uh, what is your name?"
"I'm Sandu. Nice to meet you," I responded.
Internally, I was annoyed. Why was this guy so good-looking? It was infuriating. For a split second, I wondered if I should take my anger at the Spell out on him.
The man looked down suddenly. I followed his gaze and witnessed my shadow—my own damn shadow—brutally murdering his in the dim light of the ward. This was beyond awkward.
He turned back to me, his face pale and strained. "I am Awakened Roland. I work for the government. Upon completing your First Nightmare, the government has two proposals: therapy or the Awakened Academy."
The Awakened Academy was legendary. It was the setting for every drama in the popular magazines—a place where people of all ages went to prepare for the Spell's trials and learn to navigate their new lives. Therapy, on the other hand, sounded useless for someone like me.
"Therapy? No thanks. I'll take the Academy," I said.
Roland nodded. "Very well. Change into this standard-issue police tracksuit, and we'll be on our way."
I blinked and looked down. For some reason, I was only in my underwear. Embarrassing.
Once we left the station, we boarded a private transport. It was my first time riding in one; they were luxury vehicles, usually reserved for the elite. As a lower-class citizen, I'd spent my life on cramped public transit. Roland started the engine, and we began at a crawl before the speed ramped up exponentially.
My motion sickness kicked in instantly. We were moving at breakneck speed, and the force made it feel like the air was being sucked out of my lungs. I looked down; even my shadow was gasping for air.
The ride lasted either ten minutes or a decade—I couldn't tell. It was pure torture. I suspect my [Spiteful] attribute played a role, keeping me painfully conscious when the sweet embrace of a faint would have been a mercy.
Roland eventually dropped me off, handed me my papers and some vague instructions, and drove away. The problem was that I was so dizzy I couldn't remember a word he'd said. I found myself standing in a massive campus protected by thick, impenetrable alloy walls. Inside, it was stunning—lush trees and relaxation areas that looked exactly like the photos in magazines.
I proceeded to wander aimlessly for an hour before finally finding the main entrance and the information desk. The receptionist gave me a room number, but I immediately got lost in the labyrinthine corridors. After twenty minutes of traversing the maze, I found myself right back where I started: the main hall.
I walked back to the desk to ask what floor I was supposed to be on. My shadow cowered on the floor in shame.
Finally, I reached the correct door and knocked lightly. A melodic voice came from within. "Come in, it's open."
I entered a neat office equipped with a coffee machine, a refrigerator, and even cake. But the highlight was the woman sitting at the desk. She was, without exaggeration, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
God damn. I could see my shadow drooling out of the corner of my eye. Pure thoughts, Sandu. Pure thoughts!
"I am Dreamer Sandu. I was told to come here for an interview."
"Yes, but we expected you two hours ago," she said, looking up. "Where were you?"
Crap. I couldn't exactly admit I had been hopelessly lost in a circle.
"I was... admiring the campus," I said resolutely, keeping my face a mask of stoic calm.
She gave me a curious look and gestured for me to sit. "I am Awakened Astra. Nice to meet you. Let's begin with the standard questions. Tell me about your First Nightmare. Any detail helps us gather data on the Dream Realm."
I could have lied or refused, but I decided to tell her the truth—mostly. I conveniently omitted the part where I slaughtered the carriage passengers.
"And what was your appraisal, Sandu?" she asked.
"Right. It was... Abysmal."
She froze, looking at me in genuine surprise. "Abysmal ratings are incredibly rare. They usually only occur when a Dreamer does something grave or heinous. Your story sounds standard. Are you sure you aren't keeping something from me?"
"O-Of course not. I told you everything. The beast died, the Nightmare ended, and I returned," I stammered.
"Right... tell me about your Aspect next."
"It's combat-related, Dormant rank. My ability grants me physical augmentation, but at the cost of my body breaking down under the strain."
She looked at me with pity as she wrote the data down. It bothered me. Why was she so pretty? She belonged in an art museum—or better yet, my bedroom.
Astra suddenly stopped writing and looked at the floor. I followed her gaze and nearly choked. My shadow was currently groping hers.
No, no, no! Dark thoughts! Destruction! Murder! Think about anything else!
My shadow looked sorrowful for a moment, but then it stopped groping and started stabbing her shadow instead. I looked at Astra with sheer terror. She returned my gaze with a look that clearly said: 'You're a pervert, aren't you?'
"Wait! I didn't want to do that! I wasn't even thinking it! This is my Flaw! I just... I just thought you were beautiful!"
She gave me an icy glare. "I see."
Well, that could have gone better. I was eventually led to my room, where I crawled into a ball on the bed, dying of shame. Life truly hates me.