Hero: Part One
"Destiny is neither an imposition nor a curse, but an opportunity to seize in order to realize our dreams.
Thanks to you Jacques, my first and only friend, I’ve learned to stop worrying and accept myself for who I am."
The last words of the ’Hero.’
???, ???, 1999.
“Very problematic,” commented a man sitting atop a high hill as he admired the dawn of a new day and a new era for Miraval City. “Our home has been liberated, but how long will it take to fix the cracks on its walls?” On the roof of the Miraval Educational Center, S-Class ‘Infinitesimal Etymologist’ Principal Narcís De Miraval nervously caressed his bird-shaped mustache.
The absence of smoke columns had indeed improved the scenery since the last time he had dared to stick his head outside, and his heart was soothed by the Southern Demicircle, as the sight of cranes, scaffolding, and boats overcrowded with construction materials fueled his hope for a swift reconstruction. However, the new crystal eggshell above the city gave him mixed feelings, and the Principal got shivers each time he glanced toward Port Island, still plagued by explosions, the result of the last pockets of Sphinxes still roaming free. It would take time and much patience to hunt them down because behind enemy lines, these oversized beasts could hide for years in the most secluded recesses, waiting for new orders or the perfect moment to launch a kamikaze attack. That being said, one thing was certain—for the inhabitants of Miraval City’s poorest districts, the siege would never truly be over because, unlike their wealthier compatriots, they had lost something that no amount of money could ever restore.
“Perhaps I might be able to use this chaos to my advantage…yes, it’s time for the jackal to get the most from this rotten corpse.” After taking such an important decision, Principal Miraval decided to clear his mind before making any hasty error, retreating into the place he was most proud of—his botanical garden.
The open-sky attic of the MEC was donut-shaped, a consequence of the crystal system illuminating the floors within, resulting in an oval, circuit-like structure. There, a paved path ran along its length, allowing visitors to enjoy a healthy walk while admiring the majestic plants that stood on both sides, collected by the many Principals of Miraval throughout the centuries.
*Bzzzzzzzzzz!*
For the first time in a week, the ‘Infinitesimal Etymologist’ released the Bio-Wasps from their nest, letting them deal with the parasitic species now feasting on the unattended green treasures. Next, he picked up a watering can he had personally carved from the wood of a thousand-year-old oak—its surface etched with his family’s sigil—and a pair of shears, wandering through the garden in search of specimens to prune.
“My apologies, my beautiful lady. Food has been scarce for a while, but today I’ll make it up to you.” Reaching the carnivorous plants section, the Principal paused to give all his attention to his rarest specimen—the Queen of the Desert. The plant that had required millions of marini and dozens of lives to be taken from the Great Dune was placed inside a crystal cage of three times his height—somehow, still inadequate for such a divine creature. “Daddy has a surprise for you today—your favorite meal.” He pressed a switch, and the platform at the center of the cage began to descend.
*Gnnnnhrrr–waah!*
When the elevator rose again, it carried a guest—a gnu. The confused animal froze as the petals of the magnificent plant slowly opened, revealing the shimmering treasure hidden within. A golden light washed over the beast, hypnotizing it to the point that the gnu willingly stepped forward—toward the only thing it believed it had ever wanted.
*NYYAAAARRR– HHRRRAAAHHH!*
The ’Infinitesimal Etymologist’ rejoiced at the scream of a fool struggling to escape a destiny he himself had chosen. “Could I…” That moment of pleasure was shattered as a grim realization struck the Principal—he was no different from that gnu, pointlessly resisting while being slowly drawn toward consumption by his own responsibilities. If he did not act quickly, he would be crushed beneath the weight of his position, and with that thought in mind, Principal Miraval turned away from the garden and moved toward his office.
Hidden among the plants of such a biodiverse forest, three buildings stood atop the attic of the Miraval Educational Center. The first was a small altar, a relic from a bygone era when professors also served as priests—the place where all students recited their daily prayer to the ’Original Seeker’ before being blessed by the knowledge he had granted them. The second was a Dark Century–era stone mill, once vital to student nutrition and now repurposed as his penthouse—a spacious dwelling by the standards of Miraval City, although its layout was a little too rustic for modern tastes. And lastly, the third building was his office, tucked deep within the garden and completely surrounded by a bamboo wall. Inside, majestic bonsai trees, colorful stones, and a tank filled with Koi Piranhas mirrored the ’Wisdom Eden’ he had fallen in love with during a business trip to Lawfullia.
*Klop!*
The rhythmic sound of the bamboo ornamen, called shishi-odoshi, resonated in harmony with the flowing water, creating an imperfect silence, necessary for reaching the peak of wisdom.
Principal Miraval slid the door open, revealing a small room and seating on a cushion atop the tatami. The man swallowed hard as he stared at the low table before him, upon which his secretary had left several letters. ”…Ahhhh…let’s begin.” The envelopes were sorted by color, a division his secretary had devised to facilitate his work.
Principal Miraval began with the white ones—private correspondence from civilians—and although he usually ignored them, this time he read each carefully, replying in the most formal tone possible. It was a long process, taking nearly three hours in total. “It’s time…” Narcís could no longer delay the inevitable, and after a deep breath, he closed his eyes and clumsily picked one of the colored envelopes—red as blood, the color used for the Marians. “One hundred thousand—WHAT?!” The letter informed him that more than one third of his workforce was gone. Whether they had been killed, wounded, or had emigrated after the chaos was irrelevant because the result was the same—a catastrophic collapse in production output. Worse, Big Max demanded the promised payments. “The board is going to kill me.”
Next, he opened the green letter, allowing himself a small smile of relief. “She signed her resignation without any childish delay—good news, at least.” Finally, he picked up the last remaining envelope—black, bearing a golden Shuraptri numeral I on its back. “It’s here, served on a bamboo plate…” He was referring to the wooden letter tray. “My death sentence.” With a final sigh, he opened the envelope.
Should I escape to Naturia, fight back, or accept my fate? The board might help me if I frame this as a war against our family…no…too absurd to explain and too risky, but most importantly—it’s not my style.
Narcìs placed the letter over a candle and watched it burn. “For now, I’ll cooperate. I’ll be his loyal puppy, only to stab him with the very knife he placed in my heart—I’ll show the bastard who the true ’Original Sinner’ is.” He activated the interphone. “Clarisse, my dear, tell her I’m free now.”
***
“Good morning, Principal Miraval.” A short woman stood at attention, looking far taller than she truly was thanks to her high-heeled, black-leather boots. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you after the recent tragedies—the declaration of war, the siege, and Mr. Anhogi’s death.” Her high-pitched tone sharpened as she scanned the room, but outside that small table, she found nothing of interest. The place had been hastily stripped of everything, and not even the paintings were left hanging on the walls—dust never lies. Aaaah, we were all so worried about the absence of our leader during such troubling times, that I’m truly sorry to inform you that someone—not me, obviously—even began to question your allegiances.” A-Class ‘Loving Sister’ Euphoria von Sinclair’s wide eyes devoured the Principal—two sapphires that could have cut the most cynical of façades. “It’s good to know those were all lies, weren’t they?” she concluded with a warm smile.
“Ahem…directives from above—my protection had to be ensured even against my own will.” Narcís coughed, doing his best to avoid her gaze while feeling its sting penetrating deeper and deeper into his consciousness. “Nevertheless, all the men and women who valiantly placed their lives on the line to defend the innocent lives of their students have every right to criticize my cowardice in accepting those orders.” He straightened his spine, tone resolute. ”That being said, I swear—by Adam, the Holy Trinity, and those who died during the siege—that my mind never found a moment’s rest during such chaos. I rentelessy supported the cause by planning, organizing, and coordinating our defenses from the ’MIMT’ command rooms, using Gauston as my intermediary…ahem…you may ask him.” His hand nervously stroked his bird-shaped mustache.
“I already have, and he has confirmed your account,” the ’Loving Sister’ calmly replied, twirling one index finger against his scarlet-gold hair and the other on her cheek. “Still, Gauston's expression somehow contradicted his words. As if his large stomach were about to explode each time we asked about you.” She clasped her hands together and rested them against her cheek, sweetly beaming. “Ah, but Gus does that with everyone. So, let’s set this matter aside. The siege is over, after all, and we ought to focus our mental strength on rebuilding…oughtn’t we?”
“I fully agree, so let’s move on to why you are here now. Speaking of Head of Department Miraval, do you enjoy working with him or at least find the collaboration comfortable?” The ’Loving Sister’ eagerly nodded. “Perfect, because starting today, you may find yourself meeting him more often than ever before.” The Principal picked up the green letter and showed its contents to her. “Mrs. De Toulouse has signed her resignation—an unsurprising decision following the Phoenix Scandal. As a result, the Miraval Academy currently lacks an Ombudsman, and since no one is likely to accept such a position with a war at our doorstep, I wish to offer it to you. If you accept, Miss Von Sinclair, you will become an official professor of the Miraval Academy.”
Euphoria became euphoric at the news, covering her mouth with both hands to hide her unprofessional reaction while her body moved of its own, almost dancing in place. “Principal Miraval, you won’t regret this. My degree in Abstract Lobotomy, together with my master’s in Social Weaving, gives me all the competencies required to navigate the complexities of teenage life. Furthermore, my young age and youthful appearance should allow me to relate to students far better than anyone else currently in line for the position.” Principal Miraval betrayed a small grin as he placed her contract on the table, his eyes shimmering as Miss von Sinclair eagerly reached for her pen. However, suddenly, she stopped, a hint of guilt crossing her face. “One last thing before I accept. I feel obliged to remind you that I am a member of the Stasi—aren’t you concerned? In such a high-level position, I might gain access to the Academy’s deepest secrets.”
“As I have already told you, the Miraval family has nothing to hide, and, therefore, nothing to fear.” Principal Miraval replied calmly, and for the first time, he met her eyes without flinching. Then, after a brief nod, the ’Loving Sister’ enthusiastically signed the contract.
Let’s fight fire with fire.
