"Open to textbook four, which we completed last week, and write a reflection on the last thirty pages. You will have one hour to complete this."
Vicktor's head rested heavily against the back of his chair, exactly as it had since the moment he sat down. His eyes fixed in a vacant, ventral gaze, locked onto the single analog clock mounted at the center of the classroom wall.
He didn't even notice—or rather, completely failed to acknowledge—when the crisp, blank parchment was slid onto his desk.
Let's see. The big hand is the hour, and the little hand is the minute.
His brow furrowed. Is it the other way around? Hmm… He crossed his arms, his biceps pulling tight against his uniform.
The big hand points at the two, and the small hand points at the eight.
If the big hand is the hour, then that means it is 02:00. Hmm… probably not that then.
So that means it is 8:02 right now. Wait. If there are twenty-four points, and sixty minutes every hour, that means each point means sixty seconds. Which means it is 08:02? Hm. Ok. If it is 08:02, then that means there are twelve hours until Magic Combat at 16:00.This is so boring…
"You need to work hard if you want a chance." The memory flashed in his mind, sharp and uninvited.
Hard work? I am working hard.
His eyes drifted from the clock, settling on the boy in the front row. Arthur. He had already filled an entire page with elegant, flowing script, the same excellence he had displayed for the last six months.
Vicktor stared at the boy working so diligently—the boy he had never once bested, neither in the arena nor in the classroom. The gap between them felt like an insurmountable canyon.
After a long, agonizing pause, Vicktor uncrossed his arms and picked up his pen.