Page 48 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

Pausing for dramatic effect, I glance between Damien, Nikolai, and Cassius.

"Speaking of which, is there anything that needs my utmost attention? Or can I return to my thoroughly enjoyable pastime of flirting with the female scorekeepers through their computer screens?"

Lord Bartholomew's expression tightens at the mention of females, but I press on, feigning obliviousness to his growing irritation.

If I was an “imposter” I shouldn’t know about this tidbit. Lucky for me, I make sure my research is extremely detailed before diving into unknown territory.

Or in this case, an unpredictable academic institution of merciless psychotic paranormal elites with shitty attitudes and overflowing male dominance.

"Which, I must say, is a fascinating approach. Wicked Academy may be known for its strictly male population, but at least they've had the wisdom to employ women as bookkeepers." I tap my chin thoughtfully. "That has to be related to our male ineptitude at maintaining proper records, wouldn't you agree?"

The reactions around the room are a study in contrasts.

Cassius maintains his usual stoic silence, though I swear I catch a flicker of something in those silver eyes.

Nikolai looks like he's watching a particularly complex chess match where all the pieces have suddenly started moving on their own.

Damien's scowl deepens with each word as if my very existence has become a personal affront to his sensibilities.

It's Mortimer who breaks first, a low chuckle escaping him.

"Indeed," he says, amusement clear in his voice. "After numerous...incidents involving the organizational attempts of twenty-five thousand male students, it was deemed prudent to incorporate female involvement in a more 'distant' format. One that wouldn't result in any premature loss of life."

"Brilliant thinking," I declare, nodding sagely. "Perhaps this will help dispel those nasty rumors about Wicked Academy being sexist pricks in the institutional department."

Lord Bartholomew's face flushes an interesting shade of purple.

"Who dares spread such slander?"

I shrug, the gesture deliberately casual.

"What? You don't follow the daily gossip surrounding Wicked Academy?" Arching an eyebrow, I give him a look that borders on pitying. "As an administrator, which I'm assuming from your rather unwelcome presence, shouldn't you keep up with the 'times'?"

The temperature in the room drops several degrees as Lord Bartholomew processes my words. I can practically see the veins throbbing in his temples.

"Of course," I add quickly, though my tone suggests anything but contrition, "my sincerest apologies for making assumptions. How terribly presumptuous of me."

The words drip with such perfectly crafted insincerity that I catch Mortimer hiding another smile behind his hand. Even Damien's scowl has shifted slightly, taking on an edge of reluctant appreciation for the sheer audacity of my performance.

Lord Bartholomew's magic ripples through the air – a clear warning, but I find myself distinctly unimpressed. After facing down death itself in the form of Cassius's shadows, this display feels like a child throwing a tantrum.

My own magic hums beneath my skin, ready to respond if needed, but I keep my expression pleasantly neutral. There's something deeply satisfying about watching this man's carefully constructed authority crumble in the face of simple, relentless irreverence.

The uniform feels like armor, each perfectly tailored seam reinforcing my right to stand here, challenging this man's assumptions and authority with nothing but wit and audacity.

The mark on my neck pulses faintly as if appreciating the chaos I'm sowing.

This is what I do best – create such perfectly reasonable disorder that no one stops to question how impossible my presence should be. Every word, and every gesture is calculated to draw attention away from the fundamental impossibility of my existence and toward the immediate drama I'm creating.

And judging by the varying expressions around me, it's working beautifully.

Many believe to survive Wicked Academy, it’s all flashes of power and might, but I know better. It’s about turning the tables in your favor in any situation. The faster and smoother the transition is, the longer you’ll last against those who think they’re supreme in this environment where showing off is second nature and using your mind is…not an essential skill.

Taking a glance at my apparent “comrades” I can see they’re letting me go along with my intuitive plan.

Nikolai has recovered enough to play along, though his eyes still hold questions. Damien's hostility has evolved into something more like begrudging interest. Cassius remains unreadable, but there's a tension in his shoulders that suggests he's ready to act if needed.

And Mortimer... Well, Mortimer looks like he's watching the most entertaining performance he's seen in centuries.

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