”Welcome to my feet massage course. I’m EEE-Class ’Masseur’ Renault L’Arioste, and today you’ll learn how to restore the serenity of the body.” In a cramped apartment on Prison Island, two men sat on rotting wooden chairs, while their teacher casually perched on a massage table that seemed to occupy half the narrow room. ”This lesson is free, so my main goal today is to explain why you should invest in this often-overlooked art.” A few rays of light filtered through the tight curtains of a small window, creating golden stripes in the air that illuminated countless dust particles, which danced as erratically as ghosts. ”However, in my job, human connection is key, so how about you two introduce yourselves before we start?”
”I’m Mr. Thirty-f—”
”Are you stupid?!” Hissed the man beside him, interrupting the speaker mid-sentence with a quick nudge in the ribs. ”You can’t use our codenames in public! Use your real name, or just make one up!”
”Okay, okay.” He shoved his companion aside and cleared his throat. ”I’m F-Class ’Courier’ Rhys Ap Brynmarwolaethbrenindraigareimarch, third-year student at Miraval Academy, and even though I’m only here because my colleague threatened to dump his dirtiest tasks on me, I’m open to listening and learning.” Rhys and Renault exchanged a friendly handshake, all while the other man stared at them in shock.
”My brother in Adam, your hair is more golden than a Von Sternenstaub’s. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable!” That wasn’t the only gold adorning the ‘Courier.’ His eyes and goatee shimmered like that precious metal, all paired with a straight nose and teeth so white they practically glowed—the living stereotype of a Starfolk.
”Shut up, Thirty-Seven! My ancestor Rhodri was a general at the Battle of the Three Dragons, halted Mandrake’s Valkyries at the Battle of the Thirty-Seven Bridges, and died alongside his king at the Battle of the Short Hill!” Rhys proudly listed just a few of his legendary ancestor’s achievements.
”Whatever,” he shrugged. ”I’m FFF-Class ’Javelinist’ Jacques Dreux, a freshman at the Academy, and I’m here to learn the noble discipline of feet massage—Sensei!” Jacques joined his palms and bowed, mimicking the exaggerated gestures he’d seen in Lawfullian comics.
”Your enthusiasm is greatly appreciated.” Renault scratched his head, a little embarrassed. ”But first, we’ll have to wait for a generous volunteer who has decided to offer his body for your education. Until then, let’s discuss something that might seem nonessential at first, but is, in fact, the most important part of my job—presentation.” He opened some of the many rotten wooden wardrobes lining both sides of the room, retrieving numerous boxes filled with colorful objects.
”Oh, are these Naturian Scented Candles?” Jacques picked one up. It was red, carved into the shape of an exotic flower, and released an overwhelming aroma that immediately bewitched him. ”I heard they cost a fortune.”
”Yes, and as you can probably tell from a quick glance at this place, I can’t afford the real ones.” The ’Masseur’ opened a closet near the window, and a loud buzzing engulfed the room. The two Class F students stepped closer, witnessing several cages filled with oversized insects within. ”They’re all sculptures of mine, carved from the dung of the Giant Locusts I personally breed—much cheaper than the real ones, but the scent is basically the same.” Jacques hastily returned the candle to its box and wiped his hands on Rhys’s overcoat.
Renault then pulled out two more boxes filled with sheets, decorations, and intricate drawings, all marked with esoteric symbols. ”I believe a massage must restore the dilapidated souls of my clients just as it does with their tired bodies, and to do that, we must, firstly, create the right atmosphere.” He dumped the contents onto the massage table. ”Your first lesson will be to decorate this room—cover all the furniture with the sheets, then place the candles, pictures, and other ornaments on top.”
Reluctantly, both Jacques and Rhys got to work, and once finished, the ’Masseur’ flipped a switch. The Magicbulbs began to glow in alternating colors, casting their light onto the now-black sheets and forming colorful and intricate mandalas that rotated counter-clockwise—each displaying a different floral pattern that blossomed and faded as he closed off one living space for new flowers to bloom. That artistic show, combined with the mystifying aroma of the candles, transformed the room into something that resembled a pagan temple more than a cheap apartment.
”Are your souls already healing?” Renault asked, but he immediately got his answer from their bewtched expression. ”Think of these trinkets as a placebo for the spirit.” In that moment, his rough appearance—untrimmed beard, tangled hair, patchy clothes—freed him from the image of a homeless man and instead gave him an aura of wisdom, like that of the famous Naturian Gurus.
”What kind of bulbs and sheets are you using? I want the same for my room,” Rhys pleaded.
”Complete the course, and you’ll learn everything I know.”
After that, since the volunteer had yet to arrive, the three decided to chat. ”People call me an Honorary Class F,” Renault began. ”But I’ve always been curious—what’s life like for a real one?”
”I’m in my third year, and honestly, my only bad memories are from when I was a freshman,” Rhys revealed. ”Once I accepted that I’d never be the hero of this story, things went pretty smoothly—I’ve got a decent job now, too.”
”He’s absolutely right,” Jacques added. ”People forget that the weakest Class F is still better than the strongest Soulful. We’re full of opportunities, and thankfully, I figured that out before wasting my time training all day like someone else I know.” He recalled the image of a lone fool striking trees for hours in the rain.
“That’s the problem with me.” Renault’s tone dropped, and his expression darkened. “I’m still in Class E. So, I can evolve at any moment…and my hope has become…my own cage.” For just a second, Jacques caught a glimpse of something that oddly suited the man’s temperament—in Renault’s eyes, Hell itself burned.
*Knock!* *Knock!* *Knock!*
The sound shattered the awkward silence, mercifully saving everyone from an awkward conversation. The door creaked open, and a tall woman stepped into the room, wearing the Academy uniform—although her blazer was tied around her waist, and half of her shirt was unbuttoned, leaving her belly button exposed for everyone to see.
”What the fuck is she doing here?” Jacques’s eyes widened in horror, recoiling instinctively. ”Is she the volunteer?” He blurted.
Renault quickly raised his hands. “I have no idea who she is.”
”Lower your tone, Thirty-Seven,” the lady said as she pinched Jacques’s cheek. ”You better apologize for all the trouble I went through trying to find you.” She pinched him again before pushing a black envelope into his hands. “Mr. Siege asked me to deliver this. I said—‘Sure, easy job, he’s probably at the Future Assignment.’ But nooope—you vanished. Care to explain?”
”Oh yeah. I was at the hospital for a little brain surgery. Sorry about tha—ACK!” Without warning, she wrapped her arms around his neck, tightening until the ’Javelinist’ showed the early symptoms of [Malus.OxygenDeficit].
”The only apology I’ll accept is dinner at Kartofel’nyy Domik—all-you-can-eat, drinks included!” After the ’Javelinist’ nodded his approval, she released him from her overly friendly embrace. Then she proceeded toward the door. “But not today. I’ve already wasted enough ti—” She paused, the door half-open, suddenly noticing someone else. “Oh, hello, Thirty-Five. Were you here the whole time?”
”Good afternoon, Thirty-Six,” Rhys replied, casually stroking his goatee. “Shall I remind you that Class F students are forbidden from wearing the Academy uniform?”
At first, she whistled nonchalantly, then beamed at him. “And who’s going to stop me?” With a final guffaw, she vanished beyond the door.
”Your friend seems…interesting,” Renault commented after a chuckle.
”Never call her my friend again—she’s just a colleague!” Jacques loudly clarified before opening the envelope.
(
https://pastebin.com/vEXWqM65
In case you can't read the letter.)
Meh…in this economy? It could be worse.
Jacques thought, crumpling the letter into a ball. ”Any good news?” Rhys asked, watching him toss the ball into his [Inventory].
”Unfortunately, no. The Big Boss cut my salary over a mistake I made on my last job. Said my lack of experience isn’t a valid excuse.”
”Don’t sweat it, bro—shit happens,” Rhys said, giving him a thumbs-up. ”After we’re done here, let’s call Thirty-Six and grab some Lobster Potato. Don’t worry, I’ll pay everything.” Jacques covered his mouth to hide the sneer now creeping across his face.
***
”Mr. Fritz, what a surprise!” After ten long minutes, the door finally opened to reveal their guest—a fat, bald, middle-aged man with a renowned horseshoe mustache—and Jacques immediately rushed over to hug his teammates’ employer. They exchanged warm greetings and a few words about Casimir and Derserk before Renault joined in, thanking Mr. Fritz for generously lending his time.
”Who’s he?” Rhys muttered, feeling a little out of the loop.
”He owns a cozy spot on Prison Island. We really need to grab a coffee there someday, it’s not even that far from here. Oh, if you’re ever there at night, do me a favor—make sure to mess with the waiter who wears red-round glasses.” The ’Courier’ nodded, and then the two Class F faced a challenge that few men in history could claim to have survived—Mr. Fritz’s bare feet and their characteristic stench that could put to shame even the ripest Auxerine blue cheese.
”A thousand apologies,” Mr. Fritz said, a little embarrassed. ”This week has been dreadful for my work, my back, and…my feet.”
”No need to worry. We’re not fussy nobles who’ve never lifted a finger in their lives. We understand how exhausted the common man feels after a day of honest work, and it’s our duty to improve your well-being to the best of our abilities. Am I right, guys?” Both disciples saluted their sensei, breathing heavily through their mouths.
”Just one thing…do I have to touch that with my bare hands?” The ’Masseur’ snorted, giving him a look that reminded Emperor Mandrake I in the famous painting—’Sir, I don’t think marching straight onto the open steppe against an army of Vywern Riders is a good idea.’ Still, he understood it was their first lesson, and, reluctantly, handed to each of them a pair of gloves.
”Thanks,” Jacques said as he began palpating the right foot.
”Now that all preparations are complete, let’s begin the lesson,” Renault announced as he lit all the candles, releasing a symphony of scents that enveloped Mr. Fritz and gently separated his consciousness from the stressful reality. ”Also known as Reflexology, foot massage is the only thing I might realistically be able to teach you two in six hours a week for the next two months. Other types of acupressure would require too much effort for something clearly meant to be entertaining—am I right?” The ’Masseur’ raised his eyebrows a couple of times, implying something not really appropriate for the age Jacques was trying to fake. ”As you both know, Mana flows through the body via the nervous system, and most of these nerves end in the feet. Therefore, by applying pressure to specific areas, we can impact the Mana Pressure and bring relief to our clients.” He handed them a diagram of a foot with its pressure points distinctly labeled. ”Today, you’re going to memorize which parts of the body are connected to each of these nerve endings.” And so, the lesson began.
***
The next two hours passed in the blink of an eye. Renault’s lessons were a surprising mix of strict discipline—unexpected, given his disheveled appearance—and creative challenges that kept his two students constantly engaged. This approach aligned with his philosophy—nothing could be truly memorized unless the logic behind it was understood. It was a teaching style that was well-suited to someone like Jacques and managed to intrigue even someone like Rhys, and both performed admirably—although the pleasure-filled moans from Mr. Fritz weren’t exactly the most gratifying form of feedback.
Towards the end, the ’Masseur’ decided to slow things down, engaging in casual conversation with his disciples. ”By the way, I wanted to ask this earlier—what’s up with your hair?” It was impossible to ignore the half-pruned bush atop the Javelinist’s head.
”You’re the hundredth person to ask me that!” Jacques complained. ”I had a little issue during my last job, took a drug to fix it, but had some side effects, and I haven’t had time to visit the barber.”
”Oh, right! You still haven’t told me about yesterday. Is that related? Did a shark mistake your head for a seal while you were hunting for the VIP?” The ’Courier’ chuckled. ”Now that letter makes way more sense.”
”What happened yesterday was a pure tragedy. I had to close my café over the weekend…filthy pirates…I hope they got what they deserved,” Mr. Fritz growled through clenched teeth.
”Calm down, Otto. How many times have I told you that hatred only mutilates your soul,” After hearing Renault’s words, the middle-aged man lowered his head, asking for forgiveness.
”It seems you two have known each other for a while,” Rhys deduced, noticing the mutual respect they shared.
”I started this job after the Academy kicked me out for being the only Class E in my year who failed to evolve, and in less than a day, I had no money in my pockets, no hope for the future, not even a place to sleep.” Renault exhaled, nostalgic. ”Thus, I had to survive on my own and, naively, I thought—’why not use my [Skills] for profit?’ But healthcare is a serious thing, and few are willing to trust a license-less homeless man to touch their body, forcing me, during those first terrible weeks, to sleep in the same dark alley every single night. That’s where Otto found me, completely blanketed in snow, but, unlike all the others who passed by, this angel decided to feed me, give me a roof, and offer me a new life.” Mr. Fritz’s eyes filled with tears remembering all of that.
”Things are better now. I can afford food and rent this space…but I still sleep on the massage table.” Renault gave a tired smile. “And that’s why I started this course—to increase my income enough to afford a bed all to myself. Honestly, I’m just happy someone showed up. So, thank you, my dear disciples.” The two Class F blushed.
***
”Thirty-seven Marini per lesson for thirty-six sessions equals to one-thousand-three-hundred-thirty-two Marini in total.” After the lesson ended and Mr. Fritz gave his farewell, it was time for Jacques and Rhys to purchase the course. ”But there’s more. If you pay upfront, two lessons are free!” Renault proposed as he began putting his things back on the boxes.
”Nah, I’d rather pay lesson by lesson. I admit your techniques really fascinate me, but I shouldn’t trust anyone that easily,” The ’Courier’ replied.
”Pfft, Thirty-Five, are you stupid or what?” The ’Javelinist’ pulled out thirty-four thirty-seven-Marini banknotes from his [Inventory], pushing the stack on the table. ”He’s a student like us. It’s forbidden for him to leave this city—it’s illegal.” Jacques’s words had a strange effect on the ’Masseur,’ who shifted his expression into something more enigmatic.
Could I?
***
A tired eye moved left and right behind a segment of the vertical blinds covering a recently repaired small and circular window, spying on the vast array of students enjoying their free time in the Relax Area. Although most of them were innocently enjoying their youth, that eye could only focus on a few missing tiles, and none of them could escape its gaze due to—despite not being as powerful as the one of the ’Wicked Heresiarch’—his [OmniscientEye].
Never again!
He thought, watching a group of Class B students gang up on a Class C, pushing him to the ground just to test their [Skills].
Never again!
He thought, witnessing a colleague discreetly selling the answers to an upcoming test.
Never again!
He thought, witnessing a girl accept a vile proposition just to pay for her artificial source of happiness.
Despite having spent two years at the Academy as a student, he had never noticed any of these sins, firmly believing in the glorious narrative his family had proselytized to him. But since his first day as a professor, that illusion had begun to crumble, piece by piece, and every day, he asked himself the same question—’Why has no one done anything to stop the cancer spreading right before their eyes?’ The answer was disturbingly simple—those behaviors were tolerated by someone.
”Could I save my family’s heirloom?” He whispered. ”Probably not, but…” Then, a viscous smirk twisted across his face. ”At least trying will be fun.”
*Knock!* *Knock!* *Knock!*
The sound hastily prompted him to return to his desk, awkwardly fixing himself before inviting the unexpected guest to enter. The student slowly opened the door and hesitantly forced himself to sit in front of the man.
“I don’t believe you have an appointment.”
“Good for you, I guess. If our conversation goes as I want, not having my name in your records will save you a lot of trouble.” His voice sounded like a Hydro with a bad signal, as if his throat, not his mouth, was speaking.
“You’re playing with fire. I’m probably the only person in this city who won’t accept any of your dirty business.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
The man chuckled. “So, who am I having the pleasure of speaking with?” The guest’s unkempt appearance seemed more suited to a homeless man than a student of such a prestigious academy.
“EE-Class ’Masseur’ Renault L’Arioste. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Head of Department Miraval.”
“Say what you have to say,” AA-Class ’Eclectic Dirigist’ Gauston De Miraval starkly replied.
“Not yet. You need to understand the full story first—you’re the only one who can.”
“And why is that?”
“I possess a passive ability called [Spoiler]. It lets me see the shapes of people’s Essentia, and yours has always fascinated me the most. You see, normally, the more potential a hollow soul has, the more defined its shape becomes—like the muscles of an athlete. But yours…yours isn’t like that, and at a first glance, your Essentia appears as weak as a Class F’s. However, the more I studied it, the more I realized the truth—your real muscles are concealed beneath a layer of flaccidity. And perhaps I know why—they weren’t trained to look good in a mirror, but for a purpose. Am I wrong?” Gauston’s poker face gave nothing away.
“When I learned that you were once an Honorary Class F during your school years, just like me, I took it as a sign. I told myself—maybe he can understand me.” Renault raised his trembling eyes. “As you should know, watching all the people I spent a year with—the ones I used to call friends—look at me with disdain…I can’t do that anymore…I want to break these chains—just as you did!”
”Please tell me you’re joking.” Gus glanced at his student—he had seen that same expression in the mirror, long ago. ”Hear me out! I’m a Miraval. My family shielded me from all the consequences of dropping out. But you? You’re a filthy plebeian, and no one’s coming to save you. It’s illegal–stop thinking about it.” The ’Masseur’ held his gaze firmly, and Gus began to worry. ”Oh, c’mon, you’ve just got one more year to endure. For your fourth year, I can probably arrange some internships for you. Somewhere far away, maybe in Lawfullia—deal?”
”You already know my answer.”
”Good luck with your execution, then. They’ll find you, no matter where you try to run. And you’re an Essentia, so you can’t even flee to Korinth—you have no place to go.”
”One place does exist.” Gus frowned. ”A place where anyone can find their own paradise.”
”Ahah!” The ’Eclectic Dirigist’ let out a short laugh before his face turned to steel. ”You’re Class E. They are going to kill you as soon as you make a step down there.”
”The Drowned Monks force Hunters to take several low-profit commissions each month. So wouldn’t a weakling willing to handle those be appreciated?”
”Even the simplest job would be a suicide mission for someone like you.”
”Good. Whether I live or die, it’ll be a victory for me—at least this time, it is going to be my choice.”
Gus placed his joined hands over his face, breathing heavily and cursing the stupidity of youth. ”You’re a massive retard…” After a long breath, he picked up an empty photo frame over his desk and stared at it for minutes, thinking about the only woman he had ever loved. ”…but so am I.” He whispered. ”Now listen carefully. Sell all your valuables at different shops, on different days, and at different hours. One week from now, at this exact hour, go to the entry gate and follow the perimeter wall to the left until you reach a pier hidden by vegetation—we use it for delicate situations like yours. There, you’ll find a speedboat and a leather bag with your new identity.” He paused, hardening his tone. ”There’s no turning back. You’ve got one week before your funeral—settle any unfinished business.”
A week later, there was no trace of Renault in Miraval City. However, his disappearance went unnoticed until a month later, when an angry student—armed with a stolen a police-issue Gaussbow—stormed into the Class E training room, claiming the ’Masseur’ had scammed him.
At the same time, in the immigration office of the Submerged City, a young man presented his documents to a Drowned Monk. The name on his ID was—
Jacques Dreux.
