10. Demon in a Bottle (12)
10. Demon in a Bottle (12)
September 6th was the first day of the semester at Rekachev.
The courtyard in front of the Palace of Miracles filled with students in their colorful gym uniforms.
Rekachev assigned each cohort a different uniform color. Eight colors cycled on an eight-year rotation, which exceeded the maximum enrollment period, so no one on campus ever mistook a senior for a junior.
Auditing students got their own color, one not found among the official eight.
Uniforms in a murky, watercolor blue followed the markers toward a corner of the courtyard. A crowd of children in identically colored clothes had already gathered there. All of them were auditors.
They numbered just over thirty. The morning itinerary had them touring the school under the guidance of upperclassmen.
Students in crisply pressed dress uniforms ascended the podium before them.
The dress uniforms were pure white, but each cohort was distinguished by the color of the trim and pendants. By the normal curriculum, these students would be in their final year.
A blue-haired girl stepped forward as their representative and greeted the crowd.
"Good morning, honored guests. Welcome to Rekachev. I'm Clara, a tightrope-walking major, and I'll be your guide today."
Her eyes held a gentle warmth, her voice steady and clear. Soft but crisp enunciation — the voice of an intelligent model student.
A murmur rippled through the auditing students.
"Clara?"
"I've heard of her. The current top senior, right?"
"Whoa, someone like her is guiding us?"
Clara's name was well-known enough.
A Rekachev top senior was a talent without peer among her age group. Naturally, she appeared frequently in magazine interviews and drew attention as a promising newcomer.
Under ordinary circumstances, even Reina wouldn't have overshadowed her. But with the industry's entire focus fixed on the Circus Grand Prix, she drew less notice than usual.
About half the auditors recognized her only once she gave her name.
Outside the school, her reputation might have dimmed, but within these walls, her standing was rock-solid. Her skill was undeniable, and her considerate nature had earned her deep trust.
In a year's time, she was slated to join Rekachev 25 — the small, elite circus troupe.
Rekachev 25 had been founded twenty years ago by five top graduates: the valedictorians of Rekachev's first through fifth cohorts.
Back then it had been called Rekachev 5. The number had expanded as one member after another was added.
The troupe accepted only one new member per year — Rekachev's top graduate, and no one else.
If Clara graduated as expected at the top of her class next year, she would join Rekachev 25.
And that would practically guarantee her a spot in the Circus Grand Prix Finals. As if Rekachev 25 could ever be eliminated in the preliminaries.
The top graduate of the cohort directly above hers, Charlie, had given up his place in Rekachev 25. Thanks to that decision, Clara was the sole student guaranteed a slot in the Grand Prix finals.
She swept a gentle smile over the auditors.
"Don't be too nervous. You're all working professionals already, aren't you? Out in the world, we might be the ones calling you 'senior.'"
The crowd warmed to her approachable manner.
Rekachev was known as a bastion of elitism. The "Rekachev manner" — subtle affectations ingrained in its students that let alumni recognize one another out in society — was legendary.
A top senior from a place like this was expected to be unbearably arrogant. The upperclassmen arrayed behind Clara certainly aimed that condescending air at the auditors.
Yet she greeted them with unassuming kindness. Heads nodded. People murmured that a valedictorian really was different.
She didn't hold the spotlight for long.
A loud commotion erupted at the courtyard entrance. Every student's gaze converged there.
A girl with a frost-cold face strode across the courtyard, sweeping her long, rippling blonde hair back over one shoulder. Her figure, pronounced even through her gym uniform, made the arrogant upperclassmen on the podium swallow hard as they stared.
A cluster of auditing students trailed behind her like an honor guard.
Clara recognized their faces. None were on Reina's level, but each was a teenage acrobat with a name of their own.
Rising stars from the circus troupes gathered in Yeterinpurk. They advanced in formation toward the podium.
The administration already knew their movements — their submitted schedules were all identical. Every one of them had registered for upper-level practical courses.
Clara understood their objective. Just as they had during the entrance exam, they meant to humiliate Rekachev's elite by overwhelming them in practical performance.
The upperclassmen beside her stirred uneasily. Reina was a problem, but the people flanking her were no pushovers either. Unlike the rabble standing before the podium, these newcomers had skills on par with Rekachev's own students.
Clara shot a sharp look at the male students gaping slack-jawed. They flinched and tore their eyes away from Reina.
'Reina. That little bitch...'
Clara watched Reina stride forward, basking alone in envious stares.
Hmph. Acting all untouchable. Pathetic coward wets herself in front of a crowd. What must Charlie think of her now? Must be awkward, now that he's openly admitted his interest in her.
The Clara who had once trembled under the guilt of possibly murdering someone and the fear of being named a suspect was gone.
That had been three weeks ago. People could rationalize anything given enough time. She had spent the intervening days nursing her hatred for the girl who had made her that way.
But she kept the venom locked inside. She went on playing the role of "gentle Clara," soothing the restless crowd with soft words.
The courtyard erupted again moments later. Another entrance-exam star had arrived.
A dark-haired girl stepped through the gates with a confident stride. Ella of the Wonderstein Circus.
She, too, was leading a band of children.
Clara identified them. The ones who had scored high enough on the entrance exam to be drafted into circus troupes.
"Oh, hey! I placed eighth in the exam — remember me?"
"I got eleventh. Felt like a waste to turn down Rekachev admission, but if we make the Grand Prix finals, that trumps everything."
"What's your schedule look like? We'll work around you."
Ella looked a little overwhelmed by the flood of kids. But with her characteristic warmth, she managed the crowd smoothly.
Maybe it was pride in passing a difficult exam, but the draft-picked students bonded quickly out of shared accomplishment. By the time she had walked from the gate to the podium, a group had already coalesced around her.
As a result, the auditors naturally split into three factions.
The elite clique around Reina, the rising-star faction around Ella, and the ones who belonged to neither.
The third group, by Clara's classification, was the "rabble" — in skill and fame alike.
Even while exchanging greetings with the kids swarming around her, Ella kept an eye out for a friend in that third group.
Maya.
She was standing alone, staring blankly up at the towers of the Palace of Miracles.
The two of them had parted ways the moment they reached the school entrance.
The instant Maya stepped off the carriage, she brushed aside Ella's offer to help her navigate school life and strode off alone.
Before Ella could catch her, she'd been surrounded by auditors waiting near the gate.
Even before the memory loss, the two hadn't been close. Their personalities clashed, and they'd had major arguments over matters involving Wonderstein.
Maya bristled at how casually Ella treated the Troupe Leader, yet envied the absolute trust he placed in her.
Ella bristled at Maya's reverent attitude toward Wonderstein, yet found Maya's indifference to the troupe itself aggravating.
The rift had widened after Ella lost her memories. Once, they had shared small moments of genuine honesty. Now a cold draft blew through the space between them.
Ella regretted it. Maya was her only peer in the troupe.
The distance only seemed to grow with time.
Maya had never been the type to care about human relationships in the first place, so Ella's efforts alone couldn't bridge the gap...
Then it happened.
A deafening roar erupted from the school entrance — dozens of voices shouting in unison.
"Papael! Papael!"
"Papael's pretty-girl acrobat!"
"Gorgeous girl! Acrobat!"
"Gorgeous girl!"
"Karen! Karen! Karen!"
"Ka-re-e-en!"
Every student who spun around at the sudden thunder shared a single thought.
'Is there a black gym uniform?'
A mass of people draped head-to-toe in ink-black had linked arms and were swaying, undulating, surging like a wave, chanting the same slogans over and over.
A girl with wild, spiky red hair burst through the human wall they had formed and dashed into the courtyard. The acrobats in black bodysuits behind her showered her with cheers and applause.
Karen wheeled around at the gate, her face twisted into the most ferocious scowl she could muster.
"There's a damn limit to embarrassing crap like this! What the hell is wrong with you people?!"
She stabbed her finger at them and let loose a string of curses. The men in black bodysuits paid no attention. Their chanting only grew louder.
Words like Papael, circus, and acrobat fell away. Only two chants remained.
"Gorgeous girl!"
"Karen!"
"Gorgeous girl!"
"Karen!"
Behind the mob of bodysuits, Hobbs, in his troupe-leader uniform, blew a trumpet.
Mischief was plastered across every Papael Circus acrobat's face, Hobbs included. The troupe members worked rhythmic movements into their chanting, belting out an ode to the gorgeous girl Karen in time with Hobbs's trumpet.
Karen flipped her middle finger at her goddamn brother and coworkers, then bolted deeper into the courtyard.
'Our sponsor asked us to draw attention, sure, but what the hell is this!'
"Hey, is that the one and only female member of Papael Circus?"
"'Gorgeous girl,' pfft."
"I thought Papael was supposed to be all stuffy and boring."
Karen bared her teeth and snarled.
"What're you looking at? Buzz off."
She hurled curses at every kid who whispered about her, deploying her full arsenal of verbal and gestural profanity.
Stomping and fuming, she strode across the courtyard. Then someone called her name.
"Karen."
"What the hell do you want?"
She shot a venomous glare at whoever had spoken.
An instant later she froze solid.
"Uh, uh, Ma- Maya?"
A snow-white girl stood blinking at her with crimson eyes.
Karen's face flared as scarlet as her hair.
The two had spent several days together in Tetromino Square.
Karen had put on an act around her. Held back her boyish speech as much as possible, kept everything sugary sweet.
She'd used a tone so cringeworthy her coworkers in Papael Circus would have doubled over if they'd witnessed it.
All because of an old trauma — being shunned for acting like a tomboy.
Now, thanks to those goddamn idiots, Maya had seen her real self.
"L-Look, that... what I just said back there..."
Karen stammered. She was terrified of what Maya thought of her now.
Maya spoke in her usual expressionless way.
"Hi."
"U-Uh, yeah. H-Hi, Maya..."
Karen gave an awkward wave. Her gaze wandered, unable to find a place to land.