The Spy in the Next Seat
“Kim Han-sol.”
“Yes.”
“Na Ye-ji.”
“Yes.”
“NoName.”
“...”
“NoName? Isn't there a NoName student in this class?”
“Ha Ji-won.”
“Yes.”
Why isn't she calling my name?
All twenty names had been called, but mine still hadn't come up. I counted the kids sitting in the classroom—including me, there were twenty-one, but only twenty had been accounted for. Since there were classes from A to D, I'd guessed the one with the fewest people visible from the hallway was statistically likely to be mine and slipped in. But I hadn't accounted for kids coming back from the bathroom, so my hunch fell flat.
I raised my hand and decided to ask the D-class homeroom teacher straight up.
“I think I came to the wrong class. Could you tell me which one I'm supposed to be in?”
“What's your name?”
“NoName.”
“Let me check.”
The teacher scrolled through the entire grade's roster on the electronic device linked to her desk.
“Not in A... not B either. C maybe... nope? Student, what was your name again?”
“No.Name.”
I spelled it out letter by letter, nice and clear, but she just tilted her head.
“That's weird... system glitch? I can't find you anywhere. Do you remember your exam number from the entrance test, Nami student?”
“Entrance exam? I transferred in.”
What the hell was an exam number?
“What year are you in?”
“Second year... isn't this a classroom?”
“This is first-year D-class.”
Silence fell.
I glanced at the girl next to me, who'd just been sniffling snot moments ago. Then at the boy behind me, who'd been happily erasing eraser shavings into his mouth like it was a game. Yeah, something hadn't added up. These kids in second year with me...? I nearly missed Professor Cheon, who'd been debating the consistency of Peano axioms and Zermelo-Fraenkel set theory with me just yesterday.
They must have gone through some rigorous screening to get picked as elites, but at least the nation's future wasn't on their shoulders. Small mercies.
I slung my bag over my shoulder and asked which class I was actually assigned to.
“Second-year A-class. It's in the building across the way—you'll need to cross the skybridge. Can you make it on your own?”
“Just point me in the right direction.”
My stamina wasn't great to begin with, and climbing stairs, darting between buildings—it was only natural I'd be winded. I plopped down on the stairs for a sec and took a swig from the potion I'd stashed carefully in my bag to wet my throat.
“Ha.”
Si-hu, was it? He'd pegged me as a first-year. I appreciated the help, but I hadn't imagined it'd backfire like this.
[Second-Year A-Class]
After what felt like trials and tribulations, the sign marking my destination dangled and swayed in the breeze. A chill March wind whipped through the hallway, so I shut the window. At least this time, please let it be right.
Creak, rattle.
Grind, scrape.
Why were electronic devices and transport cutting-edge, but classroom doors still sliding wood? The finicky door jammed halfway open with a jolt. My plan to sneak in quietly and grab an empty seat went up in smoke—all eyes snapped to me in an instant.
“NoName student?”
“Yes.”
“You're quite late.”
“Sorry.”
“Go sit in an empty seat for now.”
I was already fifteen minutes late, so I didn't bother with excuses. Though it wasn't entirely unrelated to the first-year class taking forever on roll call.
From a window seat, a familiar figure waved at me.
“Hey hey! Nami, hi!”
Se-ri blinked her big, doe-like blue eyes. She must've been thrilled to see me again after so long. But her seat next to her was already taken, so I scanned for another empty one.
“Hi?”
“Oh... yeah, hi.”
Si-hu answered Nami's greeting a bit awkwardly. He'd arrived on time and even helped a underclassman without ignoring her plight—he figured he'd done his duty as a model upperclassman.
But when the homeroom teacher said her name, he realized his mistake. She wasn't a first-year—she was in second year, same as him. By the time she showed up fifteen minutes later, she looked even more disheveled than before.
“Can you fill me in on the announcements?”
“Uh, here, I wrote them down...”
“Thanks.”
Si-hu showed her his notebook with the notes. While Nami copied them down, he snuck a curious glance at her.
Before spring break started, he'd been one of the kids who'd heard rumors from Se-ri about the transfer student. Stuff like taking down all the upperclassmen with a flick of her wrist, or casting 4th Circle magic on the spot—not with a pre-written transmutation circle, but direct invocation. He wondered how much of that wild talk was true.
She looks so small and fragile.
Given Se-ri's personality, he figured it was 90%—no, 95%—bluffing. A second-grader casting 4th Circle magic? It was as ridiculous as the rumors that the transfer was a spy raised by an anti-government crime syndicate. What era did they think this was?
“There, done.”
Nami finished copying the lengthy notes in no time and handed the notebook back.
“You write really fast.”
“Shorthand's a mage's lifeline. Slow hands get you killed first on the battlefield.”
“Isn't that a bit extreme?”
Dying because your hands were slow? That'd be an unfair epitaph.
“You really think so? I've seen it plenty.”
“...?”
“Mages usually draw circles with their fingers, right? Human field of vision's only about 140 degrees. It narrows even more when you're focused, like drawing a magic circle.”
“So?”
“Before you finish casting, someone sneaks up from behind and garrotes you. Like this.”
She let out a cute gack and stuck out her tongue. Si-hu dismissed it as absurd fantasy.
“If they sense an attack, even a mage would stop casting.”
“Then you detonate the incomplete circle. Anything 3rd Circle or higher gives at least second-degree burns.”
Face melting off with a pop. What creepy shit.
Si-hu decided to tune her out. Battle magic talk was the emptiest thing going—theory and practice diverged most there, so yapping about it gained nothing.
The homeroom teacher was enthusiastically announcing the second-year schedule. Textbook distribution, locker locations, midterms, finals—all stuff he already knew. Second-year curriculum didn't go beyond elementary level anyway, so it wouldn't differ much from first year. Real magic practice only happened in special classes or clubs.
But the general academy life rundown must've bored Nami, because the tap-tap of her pencil on her notebook grated on his ears.
Doodling to pass the time?
Curiosity drew his eyes to her notebook, and he couldn't believe what he saw.
“Why?”
“N-nothing! Sorry.”
Si-hu hurriedly averted his eyes from Nami's.
For real? It's actually true?
This kid a spy for a crime group? How else do you explain that? Invading the academy, kidnapping someone. Maybe her frail look was a disguise—suspicion bubbled up.
“Also, we have a transfer student in second-year A-class today. Nami, come up front?”
Nami casually closed her doodle-filled notebook and stood. Her steps were light. No—her footsteps made no sound at all. Weird, since she wore dress shoes, not sneakers—no creaks or clicks.
“Can you introduce yourself to your A-class friends?”
The homeroom teacher beamed at Nami. The girl spoke up.
“Hello, I'm NoName, transferring from Arabyeol Elementary.”
She scanned the class coolly, then added plainly,
“Hope we have a fun school life together.”
Do I have to solo it next time?
Playing Laura and World of Arceria, the story suddenly stalled. Turns out, entering Nightmare difficulty triggered a 15-and-over age restriction. My account wasn't officially registered from way back, so I dodged it, but Laura got flat-out blocked from the story.
Meaning we'd have to start over from scratch.
Maybe I just bulldoze the main quests solo, and we do side stuff together?
We hadn't started for clears anyway—it was to teach Laura magic. But the story hooked us, so we'd poked around everywhere... and hit this wall.
“Guess solo's better after all.”