Professor Orin continued, but this time in a calmer voice; it was less conversational and more direct.
"Students who are in Prestige Electives often end up with strong academic tenures. Recommendations from the faculty occur more naturally. Opportunities to be a scholar open earlier, and, not to mention, student council seats in the later years tend to favour those in Prestige Electives. Of course, employability after graduation is a guarantee. Your whole prospects widen."
'Of course it worked like that. Even though I'm in a different world, the structure is still the same. The names have changed, and so the setting, but the mechanisms have certainly not.'
Elite opportunities fed elite outcomes. Prestigious internal groups produced assumed leadership. Student councils became career launchpads. Those who entered early networks of trust and visibility had smoother access to the next stages of life.
'What a joke, this is exactly what it was like back in my old world.'
For one absurd moment, I was reminded of the post-school job hunt process and the way entire industries would smile warmly while requiring three years of experience for roles titled "entry-level."
The thought was so ridiculous in context that it slipped out of me before I could stop it.
"So it's still the same, then," I muttered.
Professor Orin tilted his head. "What is?"
I almost shrugged, realising that I said my inner thoughts out loud.
"The job market."
He stared at me.
I realised how useless that sounded in this world and added, "It's nothing. Just an inside joke."
That got me a longer look. Not suspicious. Just interested in the way he seemed interested in anything that didn't fit where it was supposed to.
"Right," he said, in a tone that made it clear he had not understood the joke and did not intend to pretend otherwise.
Not long after, the atmosphere in the room shifted.
The small talk had ended.
And the real conversation began.
Professor Orin crossed his arms loosely over his chest and said, "I can see that you have your fair share to think about."
I said nothing.
He nodded once, as if confirming a thought to himself.
"Before I leave you to your thoughts," he said, "I wanted you to know that I decided to use my invitation on you."
That sentence landed abruptly.
The words had hit me.
I stared at him.
And simply said.
"Huh."
A moment of silence.
Then, while trying to recover some of my dignity that had apparently left the room.
"Me?"
"Yes."
"Kael Arin?"
"Yes. You, Kael Arin."
"..."
"..."
"Why?"
My response came out faster than I intended. I wasn't offended or defensive.
I was... genuinely confused.
Once my question was out, every other thought I had soon followed with more force than I expected.
"I'm sorry, Professor Orin," I said. "I don't understand."
The scarred man didn't interrupt.
This made the situation even more tense than it already was.
"It doesn't make sense. Why me?" I said again. "I'm not— I don't see how I fit the criteria needed to be in this secret society. I'm not ranked close to the top. I'm not from any prestigious noble House. I haven't even done anything remarkable or anything that should— this all feels random and out of the blue."
Professor Orin remained still, expressionless, as usual.
This slightly irritated me, so I kept going.
"I can't understand how you made this decision; it doesn't feel justified," I said, quicker this time. "I don't think I've done anything to warrant that kind of invitation. Especially if there's some specific threshold, I can't see how I meet it.
Still nothing.
'Really? Even after all that complaining, he still doesn't respond?'
Professor Orin's silence was not due to uncertainty.
It was due to patience.
And that irritated me enough to make words sharper.
"Seriously, Professor Orin. I'm not saying no— well, to be honest, I don't really know what to say— I'm trying to say that I don't understand how this decision is—"
"I think being able to wield dual affinities is enough to meet the criteria, don't you?"
He said it so simply.
There was no buildup.
No theatrical reveal.
Just a clean sentence that cut through all the noise I was making, and inflicted the most damage it could.
'What? How does he know?? He shouldn't be able to know???"
Everything in and around me went still.
Except for my thoughts.
They shattered.
The room became small.
The light from the window seemed suddenly hotter, the office felt narrower, and the silence was more aggressive than before. My pulse hit hard enough that I could feel it throbbing in my throat. Somewhere beneath the collar of my uniform, a line of cold sweat broke across my skin.
'How.'
That was the constant thought.
It wasn't denial.
It wasn't even fear... at first.
Just a raw, unexplainable question.
'How.'
My mind moved too fast after that to stay orderly.
'When had he noticed?'
'What had he seen?'
'What, exactly, did he know?'
'Was it the maze?'
'The entrance exams?'
'Was it then that he saw something?'
'Did the Codex miss something? No. The Codex doesn't just "miss" things... unless this was something it had chosen not to take note of.'
Professor Orin was watching me carefully now.
Not with triumph.
He watched me the same way someone watches a blade that they've just tested with their thumb and found it to be very, very sharp.
My breathing had changed. I knew it. I could hear the difference in it, and I bet Professor Orin could as well.
The room felt heavier by the second.
I forced myself not to look away.
Not because I was calm.
But, because looking away would have almost certainly given Professor Orin the answer he wanted.
Inside my head, all the thoughts I had collided too quickly to form a clean sequence.
'Dual affinities.'
'He said it too cleanly.'
'Not as a guess.'
'Not as a bluff.'
'He said it like it was a statement.'
'He knew something, but probably not everything. If he did know everything, then the room would've definitely felt different from what it is now.'
The Academy itself would probably feel different.
But he knew enough.
And I had no idea how.
'It doesn't help that the Codex isn't saying anything. Hello? Mr Codex? Care to provide some input?'
Silence.
'Anything? Please?
Still nothing.
'Great, thanks for all the help, Codex.'
For one brief moment, I wondered if it had gone silent on purpose. If it was waiting. Watching. Measuring my reaction the way Professor Orin was.
I became aware of my hands and found that one of them had tightened against the chair arm hard enough to hurt.
Thankfully, the sudden jolt of pain allowed me to narrow my thoughts and speak clearly.
I forced my voice to work.
"Professor," I said.
The tone of my voice came out more controlled than I had expected; it wasn't steady, but it was usable.
"I have to apologise, but I don't understand what you mean."
Professor Orin's gaze did not move.
When he answered, his voice lost the casual looseness it had worn before his statement.
It sharpened.
Not louder, but sharper.
"Kael," he said, "you can stop with the theatrics. You think I wouldn't notice?"