It Took Me 5 Years Of Fixating Everything.

it took me 5 years of fixating everything.

“omg you’re so creative. how do you get your ideas” i hallucinate a single scene in the taco bell drive thru and then spend 13 months trying to write it

Tags

giggles random post

Chapter 5: Of fights, Farewells, and Fools

I woke to the sharp chime of the bell, the sound pulling me abruptly from my daze and dragging me back into reality.

"Time's up," the proctor announced, his voice cutting through the lingering haze in my mind. Right — the gymnasium. I was still here.

I turned my head, only to find Ezra sprawled unconscious on the floor. Instinctively, I reached out to shake him awake, but before my hand could make contact, a voice interrupted me.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." I glanced up, finding one of my classmates watching me with thinly veiled amusement. "And why not?" I asked. He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed.

"Are you seriously asking that?" Something about his tone scratched at my nerves. Still, I forced myself to remain calm.

"If you can't answer a simple question, perhaps you shouldn't waste your breath."

"A sharp tongue won't save you from your own ignorance."

"And your refusal to clarify only proves your own." I frowned, though he only responded with a careless scoff.

"Enough, Maverick," Clarence cut in, stepping between us with the practiced ease of someone used to extinguish petty conflicts. Maverick shrugged, utterly unbothered, and walked away without another word.

"What's his problem?" I muttered to Clarence. Clarence let out a tired sigh. "He's always like that. Not the brightest socially, but quick to mock anyone who's even slightly out of the loop. Let's just say he finds entertainment in other people's confusion."

"Charming," I said dryly.

"Anyway, what do we do about Ezra?"

"I'll notify the proctor," Clarence said, adjusting his glasses. "And for future reference, you should avoid touching him directly. His abilities are highly contagious — you did learn that from the time-travel session, didn't you?"

"No," I admitted. "I didn't get that far. The bell rang before I could see anything else." "I see." Clarence gave a thoughtful nod before heading off to inform the proctor, leaving me alone with Ezra's motionless form and the unsettling realization that there's far more to this boy than I ever imagined. I watched as Ezra was hurried off to the infirmary, and with his absence came a flood of questions swirling in my mind. Why is he contagious? The thought looped over and over, each repetition tightening like a knot behind my eyes.

Before I could stop it, my head began to ache — a slow, creeping pulse that warned me something was coming.

A vision, maybe. My magic stirring to life. Panic shot through me, and I bolted toward the bench where I'd left my mask, my hands shaking as I slipped it back on. Just in time, too — a fragmented memory was already clawing its way to the surface, blurring my vision and distorting reality. If I hadn't covered my face, I'd probably be the next one dragged off to the infirmary. A sigh of relief slipped from my lips as I sank onto the bench.

Honestly, I can't even overthink without overthinking the fact that overthinking might actually make me pass out. And somehow, just by trying to figure everything out, I end up drained by my own powers. Truly, fate has a twisted sense of humor.

"Hagarin~" Clara's sing-song voice rang out as she skipped over and settled beside me. I noticed her monocle wasn't on her face but dangling between her fingers.

"I saw your face earlier! You're really pretty, you know that?" she said with a bright smile.

"Oh... thank you?" I replied, caught somewhere between confusion and gratitude. She only giggled in response.

"Wait—why aren't you wearing your monocle? Wouldn't that give you a headache if your power activates?" I asked, tilting my head slightly.

She shook her head with a proud grin. "I've managed to control about ten percent of my power now. It's not much, but it's a lot better than having no control at all."

"That ten percent lets me shut down a small part of my ability. It only kicks in randomly if I'm feeling really anxious or overwhelmed," she explained, and I nodded along.

"What about the rest of your power? What can you do at full strength?"

"Well..." She tapped her chin playfully. "The best part is feeling almost normal—for once. No headaches, no sudden visions of doom. It's peaceful."

"But why a monocle? Wouldn't it make more sense to cover both eyes if seeing the future is such a problem?" I asked. She laughed softly. "I only have time magic in one eye—my left. The right eye? That one's all nature. Back when I was a kid, I used to keep my mom's plants alive with a flick of my fingers."

"Speaking of my mom, want to come visit her with me sometime? She's dead, by the way.""...What—oh! I'm so sorry for your loss," I stammered, completely thrown off by her delivery. Clara only smiled, unbothered as always.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When class hours ended, Clara insisted that Clarence join us, but he politely declined, mentioning he already had other plans. So, in the end, it was just me and Clara. We strolled along the stone pavement, the crisp air mingling with the rustling of trees lining the path.

I found myself enjoying the peacefulness, a rare moment of tranquility. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Clara hopping along the stepping stones, entertaining herself like a carefree child. "Y'know, Hagarin, I have a feeling you'll end up acing the entire class," she said suddenly, her voice light and confident.

"I'm not sure if I should believe that, considering we both have the ability to see the future," I hummed, keeping my gaze forward.

"I'm saying this from instinct, not sight." She spun to face me, sliding her monocle back into place—a clear sign she wasn't using her powers to peek ahead.

"Right," I scoffed softly. "Why won't you believe me?" she pouted. "You're already better than half our classmates, and most of them barely have two functioning brain cells to rub together. Plus, they're just mean for no reason." "Are they?" I raised a brow. "I guess I never really paid much attention to anyone." The scenery was far more interesting, in my opinion.

Clara hopped off the last stepping stone and walked beside me. "Have you not noticed Maverick? Or even Liviya? They're not full-blown bullies or anything, but the mess in their heads is loud enough to drown out whatever kindness they might have had. Honestly, they're so chaotic, it's hard to even see them as normal."

"I suppose they do give me some unpleasant looks now and then," I admitted after a brief pause. "What about the blind girl? I haven't seen her face either. Everyone took off their... stuff during class, but I never caught a glimpse of her," I said, curiously.

"Oh, Alain? She's sweet, just incredibly quiet. But if you ever get the chance to talk to her, you'll like her," Clara said with a fond smile.

"She's blind, yes, but her powers let her see everything—every possibility, every shift in time. That's why she wears a blindfold. Without it, her mind gets overwhelmed. Though, from what I've seen, she's making progress."

"That's... actually fascinating. It's like a blessing wrapped in a curse." I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. "Imagine being born without sight, unable to witness the beauty of the world—only to be gifted the power to see everything at once. Still, I'm guessing that's nothing compared to ordinary vision."

I glanced at Clara, my thoughts drifting. "Seeing through the eyes of a time traveler is so strange. For me, it's all washed-out shades of blue, with a slight distortion. Like looking through fogged glass."

"Really? Blue?" Clara tilted her head. "For me, it's this pale brown haze, almost sepia." She laughed softly. "Maybe it has something to do with our actual eye color."

"Could be," I said, returning her smile. "Just another strange part of our lives, I guess."

We finally arrived at her mother's tomb. "Hi, Mom. I brought a friend with me today—another new one besides Clarence," Clara said softly as she stepped closer to the grave.

"We learned how to time travel in class today." The tomb itself was well-maintained, adorned with delicate decorations built into the stone. It felt intentional, almost like a tradition that had been passed down through generations. Every small detail seemed to hold a memory.

I stood beside Clara, quietly listening as she rambled on, speaking to her mother as though she were still right there with us.

I'd be like that too if I ever had the chance to bury my mother—to care for her tomb and visit her like this. But no, life gave me something far more cruel. A memory I can never bury, no matter how much I want to.

When it ended, we both lit candles as a gesture of respect, the soft flicker of the flames dancing in the cool air.

As we slowly walked down the stone path, I broke the silence.

"Clara, if life wasn't so cruel, would you actually enjoy living?" I asked as we slowly made our way down the stone path.She gave a soft laugh, but there was a hint of bitterness behind it.

"I'm content with my life—even if the word enjoy doesn't really fit anywhere in it. If life had been kinder, I wouldn't have met Clarence... or you."

"Everything that happened today wouldn't have happened. That's just how fate works—we either accept it or keep fighting something we can't change." She paused, looking up at the floating lanterns that were starting to light our way.

"I know this world of ours is swallowed whole by magic, and sure, anything feels possible—like we're trapped in some cruel fairytale. Hell, reincarnation might even be real for all we know. But even so, I think I like this life. Just... go with the flow. Maybe you'll find a reason to keep going."

"Right," I murmured. "The power to rewrite my past and change the future is right at my fingertips... yet I didn't take it."Clara glanced at me, her expression unreadable.

"Because you know you'd die if you mess up your timeline."

"Time, fate—whatever people want to call it—it's such a tangled mess," she sighed.

"Sometimes, I wish I had something simple. Like the power to grow flowers or control fire. Something that doesn't make my head hurt."

"I get that," I said quietly. Neither of us spoke after that. We just walked, both letting out a long sigh at the same time, letting the silence say the rest.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, Clara and I parted ways to head back to our homes. Tomorrow was another day, and honestly, I was relieved this one had finally come to an end. When I stepped through the door, the soft murmur of the television greeted me.

"I'm home... sorry I'm late," I said quietly, spotting Hanari lounging on the couch.

"Where'd you even go?" she asked, barely glancing my way as I slipped off my shoes and dropped onto the couch beside her. "I, uh... went with a friend to visit her mom's grave."

Hanari just hummed in response, munching lazily on her slice of apple pie.

"I don't have any friends anymore, you know. You're never there. Maybe you could come to the main building and have lunch with me sometime? I saw your schedule—you have way more free periods than I do."

"Can't," I shrugged.

"Too lazy to walk that far, and the main building's practically on the other side of the campus."Hanari groaned dramatically, flopping back against the cushions like her life was ending.

"What if I just come to your building instead?"

"They probably won't let you," I said, stealing a glance at her.

She groaned again, louder this time, like the weight of her tragic social life was too much to bear. "I look like some lonely loser."

"You'll live," I muttered, grabbing her fork and stealing a bite of her apple pie before she could protest.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday — Sparring Day.

Every Friday, our class dedicates the entire day to sparring practice. It's the only time we're allowed to fully use our powers against each other — under supervision, of course.

We were all gathered at the field, the usual spot for these sessions. I stood at the edge, quietly observing my classmates as they clashed, each person using their abilities in creative or chaotic ways.

Some were flashy, showing off like they were performing for an audience. Others fought with precision, wasting no movement. Then, the proctor called out the next pair.

"Hagarin... versus..."There was a brief pause before the proctor continued.

"Oh, Clara." Both of us froze for a second, equally surprised. From across the field, Clara waved nervously.

"Go easy on me, Hagarin!" she called out with a laugh, though there was a flicker of real concern in her voice. We took our places, standing opposite each other in the center of the field.

All eyes were on us now — classmates whispering, some curious, others already making guesses about who would win. We stood across from each other, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the field.

The proctor raised his hand — the signal to begin. Clara didn't waste a second. The ground beneath me trembled as thick roots erupted from the earth, twisting and surging toward me like serpents. I leapt back, narrowly avoiding the first strike, but more followed in its wake, branches splitting off and shooting upward to block my escape.

She's fast. Faster than I expected.

I darted between the branches, my body weaving instinctively to avoid getting caught. From the corner of my eye, I saw Clara raise her hand — this time, a single rosebud bloomed at her fingertips.

With a flick of her wrist, the rose shot toward me like an arrow, its petals sharp like blades. It wasn't aimed at me directly — it was after my mask. I ducked just in time, the flower slicing through the air above my head.

"She's really aiming for my mask?" I muttered to myself. Typical Clara move — clever, but predictable. If my mask comes off, my power will surge uncontrollably, and we both know that could end the match in chaos.

"Trying to cheat already?" I called out, though my tone was lighthearted.

"Not cheating! Just creative strategy!" Clara shouted back, a grin splitting her face as more vines slithered toward my ankles.

I stomped hard, shattering a root just before it wrapped around my foot. If I let her trap me, it's over. The rules are simple — whoever hits the ground and stays down for five seconds loses.

"Alright," I muttered, cracking my knuckles. "My turn." Clara raised a brow, unfazed, as she unleashed another wave of attacks — every flower she could summon sharpened into dart-like projectiles, whistling through the air toward me.

I dodged each one with ease, weaving left and right, but just as I landed, something coiled around my ankle.

A vine. Clara snorted, clearly proud of herself, her confidence radiating as she tugged slightly, tightening the grip on my leg.

"Gotcha." But this was exactly what I wanted. I kept my back turned to her as she broke into a sprint, closing the distance between us. I could feel the anticipation rolling off her — she thought this was her win.

That's when I calmly reached up and removed my mask. For the first time, the power I'd always struggled to control worked with me instead of against me.

Clara's eyes widened in shock as my gaze met hers, the air between us thickening as time itself slowed to a crawl. The vine around my leg twitched, then loosened, retracting inch by inch as Clara's body faltered.

She stumbled, knees hitting the grass with a dull thud, a soft curse slipping from her lips. I could feel her discomfort, the telltale headache caused when her own time vision clashed with the distortion I created.

Her powers were fighting mine, and neither of us could fully stop it. Still, all I had to do was keep her down — and slowed — long enough.

"5... 4... 3... 2... 1!"The entire class counted down, their voices echoing across the field.

I took a deep breath, lowering my mask back over my face just as the proctor raised his hand.

"Winner — Hagarin."

---------------------

"It's fine, really. You don't have to apologize." Clara reassured me, still comfortably seated on the hospital bed.

"Clara! I'm really sorry." I showed up at the infirmary, holding an apple pie as my peace offering. She just smiled, waving off my concern.

"You really did well back there, but didn't I already tell you to go easy on me?" She chuckled softly.

I sat at the edge of the bed, carefully cutting the apple pie. "Well, I'm glad I lost though. Thanks for the food, I guess." Clara added with a light laugh.

The laughter and chatter from earlier had long faded, replaced by the quiet hum of the evening settling in. The sky outside was painted in soft hues of sunset as I walked down the hall, my steps slow and hesitant.

Part of me didn't want to leave Clara alone in the infirmary, but she had insisted I go home, saying her dad would be there to pick her up soon anyway. The halls were practically deserted now — most students had already gone home, leaving only a few teachers and staff lingering somewhere in the building.

Or so I thought.

That was until I heard soft giggles echoing behind me — the unmistakable sound of someone laughing to themselves. And who else could it be but Ezra?

"Don't touch me," I said immediately, spinning around to face him.

He raised both hands in mock surrender, a grin plastered on his face. "I haven't even done anything!"

"You always tense up when I'm around, don't you? Dove, you gotta ease up a little," he cackled, his voice echoing faintly through the empty hall.

I crossed my arms, trying not to let his antics get to me. "What do you even want? And why are you still here this late?"

Ezra clasped his hands together, his smile never fading. "Oh, I got detention — something about almost killing a classmate earlier!" he said, far too casually for my liking.

I raised a brow, equal parts concerned and confused. "Almost killing someone? How did you even come to that conclusion?"

"Easy! That classmate was Maverick — y'know, the guy who acts like he's the smartest person in the universe but actually reeks of arrogance." Ezra rolled his eyes dramatically before clasping his hands together, voice brimming with exaggerated enthusiasm. "So, to help him fully experience my sincere, heartfelt, emotionally touching anger, I pulled out a pistol when I got close to him."

He even pointed upward like some self-proclaimed intellectual giving a lecture.

I blinked, trying to process the sheer absurdity of what he just said. "Wait—hold on. A pistol? How did you even... What?"

Ezra gasped, clutching his chest like I'd just shattered his heart. "You didn't watch me? Oh, dove, I'm hurt! Absolutely heartbroken!"

I just stared at him, my silence practically speaking for itself. Ezra, on the other hand, stared back at me like a giant question mark had just popped out of his head.

Oh. Right. I forgot — he couldn't even see my face. The mask was still on.

"So...uh, just don't do it again." I finally broke the awkward silence.

"I like whatever is wrong with you — it's fascinating. I'm following you home." Ezra grinned, that usual chaotic glint in his eyes.

"Don't—"

"Too late! Let's go!" Before I could even finish, he grabbed my wrist and practically dragged me along.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

3,429 words

Tags

wow self rb

7 notes View Post

chen-nn

1 month ago

I feel so funny after posting this,

Chapter 9: Totally a Normal Day

warnings: None, just humor and a normal day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three days have passed since that day, yet I don’t feel any better. In those three days, Liviya never missed a chance to shoot me dirty looks, her face barely concealing the rage simmering beneath the surface. But to her credit, she kept it at bay—perhaps the only thing about her I could actually appreciate.

Today, Prince returned to collect our consent forms for the offer he made. I watched as he moved through the room, gathering the papers one by one. When he reached me, I handed mine over without hesitation.

Leaving this place has been on my mind for a long time—an idea I’ve weighed, dissected, and planned for. I may not be in the best shape to explore the world beyond, but something deep inside tells me that if I take this chance, something will shift. A moment of risk, a chance at change. It’s not that I hate this place—not entirely. Maybe it’s just preference. I don’t want to be caged here while everyone else gets to be free.

But this is the reality of my power. Isolation is the safest choice until I can truly stand on my own. So I endure. I find ways to appreciate this place—though appreciate is hardly the right word for a place that feels more like a prison than a home.

The clock ticked away until it was finally break time. Clara approached me, inviting me to eat lunch with her. As we sat down, our conversation drifted to my plans for joining the journalism team.

“I want to use this as a way to get involved in activities outside the campus,” I said, opening my lunch box. “I suppose it’s a good way to clear my mind, too.”

Clara nodded, chewing thoughtfully before speaking. “I guess that makes sense for you. But… I think you might end up like one of those exhausted, overworked students.” Her words came out slightly muffled by the food in her mouth.

“Why?” I asked, raising a brow.

“Well, journalism can be both fun and tiring. Instead of resting, you’ll have a ton of things to balance,” she replied.

“I expected as much—maybe even worse.” I shrugged.

Clara let out a sigh. “Just don’t do too well, or they might send you off on some big assignment. Who knows? You might never come back.” She tried to sound playful, but there was a hint of something else beneath her words. “I suppose it fits your goals, but… I’d miss you, Hagarin.”

I chuckled. “I get it. But won’t we all go our separate ways eventually? Everyone has their own dreams to chase.”

“You don’t have to rush yours, though,” Clara murmured. “Enjoy things with us while you still can.”

I scoffed. “You make it sound like I’m good enough to just leave everything behind without a second thought.”

“Because you are,” Clara said simply.

I shook my head. “No. I’m not perfect. I have my fair share of mistakes.” I set my lunch box on my lap, my gaze drifting toward the track and field. From here, I could see the open space stretching beyond the school buildings, a distant world that felt both inviting and unreachable.

“Still,” Clara insisted, “you’re more than qualified for it.”

I let out a sigh, irritation creeping in. “You put me on too much of a pedestal.” Such a glazer.

Clara didn’t respond, and I quietly finished my food, the weight of her words lingering in the air between us.

“Sup, guys? Why so quiet?” Ezra strolled over, eyeing my food like a starving stray. I sighed and handed it to him without a word.

“Just fussing over the fact that Hagarin is gonna leave us,” Clara exaggerated with a dramatic sigh.

“Leave? You mean the journalism thing? I signed up too,” Ezra said between bites.

Clara’s eyes widened. “No way you’re gonna be a reporter! You look more like a criminal!”

Ezra gasped, clutching his chest as if she had just stabbed him. “That’s so mean, Clara!” The laughter slowly faded as we settled into a comfortable silence, eating in peace—until Ezra, as usual, broke it.

“I heard we’ve got a returning student,” he said, casually between bites.

That caught my attention. I glanced up, listening closely.

“Oh? Sebastian? Yeah, he actually went on an adventure,” Clara said with a chuckle. “For real this time.”

“What did he do?” I asked, curious.

“He was chosen for the Rite of Astralis,” Clara explained. “It’s kind of a tradition here. You get to go through these... I don’t know, adventurous arcs? Trials? Either way, it’s a big deal. A dream, honestly. You could be chosen next year!”

I nodded slowly. “How was he chosen?”

Clara tilted her head, thinking. “Mmm… maybe it’s ‘cause he’s always so composed? Honestly, no clue. But he’s good. Performs really well. Probably a little like Ezra—just, you know, less chaotic.”

Ezra tugged her hair in retaliation, and the two immediately broke into their usual squabble, bickering like cats and dogs. I just watched them, quietly amused. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

During the grace period our professor gave us, some students were cramming last-minute tasks, while others just chatted idly. Nothing unusual—there weren’t many of us to begin with, so the room always felt quiet, almost predictable.

That is, until someone new walked in.

He had fair skin that seemed to catch the light in just the right way—almost glowing, though that sounds dramatic. Still, there was something undeniably striking about him. Maybe it was how healthy he looked, or how all his features came together so effortlessly, giving him this… natural charm.

That must be Sebastian.

His chestnut hair fell just right, giving him a charismatic air that somehow lit up the room. Almost instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Students cheered and greeted him like an old friend.

It was...nice.

When the professor finally returned, he paused at the door, his expression softening the moment he saw Sebastian.

“Ah, welcome back,” he said with a nod, then gestured toward the back of the room. “You’ll be seated with Clarence.”

So that’s why that seat was always empty.

As Sebastian made his way to the back, Clarence looked up—and for the first time in a while, his usually unreadable face broke into a genuine smile.

The two exchanged a brief look, one that spoke volumes. No words were needed. It was the kind of silent understanding only close friends shared—like they hadn’t seen each other in months but had picked up right where they left off.

Sebastian slid into the seat beside him, and just like that, the energy in the room shifted again—familiar, but different.

During our free time—while the professor was still present—we were allowed to work on tasks from other subjects. The only condition? No noise, no distractions, no chaos.

But... yeah.

I watched as Ezra strutted around like he owned the place, talking loudly with Clarence and Sebastian at the back of the room. Honestly, Sebastian wasn’t much quieter either.

“Boys at the back! Silence!” the professor snapped.

Clarence immediately facepalmed, clearly regretting his life choices.

“And you,” the professor turned his glare toward Ezra, who froze mid-sentence.

Ezra gulped and quickly dropped into his seat.

“Three days ago was your fifth visit to the counselor. Are you planning to make it a sixth?”

All three of them winced at the same time as the professor launched into a scolding loud enough for the whole class to hear. Wow, what a normal day today.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the final hour before dismissal, I found myself zoning out. The discussion had become unbearably dull—like a lullaby disguised as a lecture. It was as if whispers of mischief snuck into my head, gently urging me to just give in and sleep.

I closed my eyes for a second… and that second stretched into what felt like eternity.

And just like that—I was out.

Faint whispers stirred around me, then slowly faded into an eerie silence. Only the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the room, its cold breath brushing against my skin. For a moment, the stillness was oddly peaceful.

Until—

“Okay! Class dismissed!”

The professor’s voice exploded through the quiet like a bomb. I jolted awake with a flinch—only to be met with the blinding flash of a phone camera aimed right at me.

Ezra.

“Hey!” I shouted, glaring as he grinned behind his phone.

Laughter erupted around the room, and I could only groan, hiding my face in my hands.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1,415 words

Tags

lol haha self rb

8 notes View Post

chen-nn

1 month ago

Chapter 8: Blades and Rivalries

Tw: Mild language

Days had begun to settle into a quiet rhythm once I got the hang of everything—by trying everything. But that didn’t make it any less exhausting.

Now, I find myself walking through the library, where the soft patter of rain against the windows casts a monochrome hue over the space. The dull light filtering in makes everything feel muted, as if the world outside had drained all its color and left only shades of gray behind.

The library is vast, its towering shelves stretching endlessly, yet it holds only a handful of students scattered between aisles. Their presence is barely noticeable beneath the heavy silence.

I wander deeper, trailing my fingers along the spines of old books, savoring the rare tranquility—until it's broken.

A voice rises from the other side of the shelf.

"I still can't believe Hagarin has returned," Liviya mutters, her words laced with something sharp, something bitter.

"Why? Does she bother you?" Another voice responds. Sashenka.

I freeze in place, my ears tuning in despite myself.

"Yeah, she does. I suppose you could say she’s stealing my spotlight." Liviya scoffs, the sound grating against the hush of the library.

My brow arches as I process her words. Stealing her spotlight? I comb through my memories, trying to recall a moment where I had even tried to get involved with her. But I had barely interacted with Liviya—let alone threatened her place in anything.

"What do you even mean by spotlight?" Sashenka asked, her tone laced with curiosity.

"She’s taking the valedictorian spot," Liviya replied, and I nearly choked on my own saliva. Woah. Valedictorian? That was the last thing I expected of myself.

"How are you even so sure?" Sashenka asked, skepticism thick in her voice.

"Because I’ve seen her perform in all aspects, and I must admit—she’s no ordinary student," Liviya said, irritation creeping into her words.

Sashenka sighed. "She’s ordinary. What are you even talking about?"

I heard the faint rustle of pages as she reached for a book, and my stomach twisted in panic. If she pulled that book from the shelf, she’d see me standing right here. Too close. Too risky.

Instinct kicked in—I grabbed the book before she could.

For a second, Sashenka tugged at it, confused, as if sensing an unseen resistance. Then, after a brief pause, she let go with a quiet, puzzled huh.

"You don't get me, Sashenka," Liviya said, irritation creeping into her tone. She was too caught up in her own thoughts to notice Sashenka’s growing confusion as she stared at the book.

"I really don’t," Sashenka scoffed. "You make it sound like she’s some all-powerful, high-and-mighty Hagarin, when really, she’s just doing what any student would do."

"You don’t get me," Liviya repeated, her voice firm.

"Oh, I get you," Sashenka shot back, a grin breaking through. "You’re just as crazy as the rest of them." She let out a hearty laugh, and I stood there, utterly lost.

Crazy? Competing? Me?

I hadn't done anything to rival anyone—I could barely keep up with my own inner turmoil. And yet, somehow, I had ended up in the middle of something I never even signed up for.

Without thinking, I turned and walked away.

I didn’t stop until I was back in the main building. Unlike the quiet halls I had left behind, this place buzzed with life—students moving in all directions, their voices blending into an endless hum.

"You’re here?"

I turned at the sound of Hanari’s voice as she appeared behind me, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"I was bored," I admitted.

Hanari beamed before looping her arm through mine. "Perfect. Come on!"

Before I could protest, she was already dragging me toward the cafeteria.

She pulled me toward the cafeteria, where the hum of conversation and clatter of trays filled the air. The place was alive—brimming with energy in a way that felt almost foreign after spending so much time in the other department.

I glanced around, taking in the familiar scene. It was nice. Comfortable, even. I hadn’t realized how much I missed this until now. Maybe that other place had drained more life out of me than I thought.

Hanari and I grabbed our food before settling at an empty table just outside the cafeteria.

"I kinda doubt that the only reason you're here is because you’re bored," Hanari said, poking at her food before taking a bite.

I sighed. "It’s the truth. Don’t overthink it." I focused on my own meal, hoping she'd drop it.

"Ironic, coming from someone who overthinks everything," she shot back, giving me a knowing look. "Just tell me. I feel like ‘boredom’ is just the tip of the iceberg."

I hesitated but eventually let out another sigh. Fine.

"Someone doesn’t like me," I admitted.

Hanari paused—then burst into laughter. Loudly.

"I can't believe people over there have the time and energy to hate someone when there aren’t even that many of you!" she cackled. "Like, seriously? They had to go out of their way to despise you?"

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

"So? Are you not gonna share the context?" She eagerly waited for me as I sighed. "She said that I have the potential to take the

"The valedictorian spot? I’m clearly just an average student," I said, rubbing my chin before letting out a sigh. "If I were going to compete, it’d only be if I actually had confidence. And honestly? I just hope she won’t be mean to me."

Hanari scoffed. "You can handle yourself in any situation. I doubt you wouldn’t find a way to shut her up the moment she starts spouting nonsense." She nodded, as if already picturing the scene.

"Yeah, but making a big deal out of everything is just a waste of time. For what?" I muttered, shaking my head.

"That’s their problem, not yours," Hanari said simply. "Unless you actually want to take responsibility for something you never even signed up for."

She had a point. I leaned back, mulling over her words before nodding. "I’d only fight back if I have to."

Lunch passed, and I made my way back to the building where I studied, Hanari heading off in her own direction.

While waiting in the elevator, the doors slid open, and as I stepped out, my gaze landed on someone in the hall. He was refilling his water bottle, dressed in an outfit that could only be described as… adventurer-like.

A sun hat—the kind classic explorers wore—sat atop his head, and a camera hung around his neck. His entire attire practically screamed "traveler," though a subtle detail caught my eye. Somewhere on his clothing, a logo of the school was embroidered, almost like a mark of recognition. My eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before walking back to my classroom.

I settled into my seat just as our professor entered the room, their presence immediately commanding attention.

"We have a visitor today," they announced. "Someone will be offering an opportunity to join the media analyst team."

The door opened, and in walked the same guy I had passed by earlier—the one dressed like an adventurer.

"Good afternoon, everyone." His voice was steady, confident.

"I’m Prince, a member of the media analyst team. I’m both a journalist and an adventurer," he introduced himself, adjusting the camera slung around his neck. "Today, I’m here to recruit students to join our team. In this field, we take on activities ranging from real-world adventures—documenting stories from the outside world—to tackling controversies within the city itself. Everything we uncover, we write and publish in the media."

With a flick of his wrist, a stack of brochures scattered through the air, gliding toward us like leaves caught in the wind. One landed on my desk, and I picked it up, scanning the details.

Almost without thinking, I muttered, "What are the pros and cons of this?"

Silence followed. Did I just say that out loud?

I cleared my throat. "Sorry," I mumbled before quickly lowering my head to read the brochure properly.

A scoff echoed from behind me, sharp and unmistakable. Liviya.

Of course. As if my mere existence offended her. I’ll have to find a way to keep her on her toes.

Prince, however, remained unfazed. "To answer your question," he began, adjusting his glasses with a practiced motion, "the biggest pro is experience—real-world exposure in every aspect. You’ll develop literacy in global issues, gain firsthand knowledge, and sharpen your analytical skills."

He paused before continuing, "However, the cons depending on your personal weaknesses. Some might struggle with the risks, the unpredictability. Others might find the weight of knowledge overwhelming."

I let his words settle in my mind. Exploring the world… that does sound nice.

But leaving home? Maybe that’s where the real downside comes in.

"I’ll return in three days to collect the list of those interested in joining. Please stay tuned for further announcements," Prince said before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

Almost immediately, Sashenka turned to Liviya, who sat behind us. "Are you gonna join?"

Liviya scoffed. "I wouldn’t join if she was in the same room as me. Oh, but let’s be real—I’m too smart to even be there to begin with." She flipped her hair, her tone dripping with self-importance. "Joining a team of journalists to refine political stances and views does sound like a decent choice, but I’m going to be a lawyer. Studying law will sharpen my thinking just fine."

I mentally rolled my eyes so hard I might as well have yanked her hair while I was at it.

"I see…" Sashenka simply nodded, though she stole a glance in my direction. "What about you, Hagarin?"

"I’m considering it," I said casually.

"Ain’t no way!" Clara’s voice shot across the room from the other side. "You’re leaving again?"

I blinked, tilting my head. "I get to leave?"

As if I’d just found a loophole—a perfect escape from this place.

"Oh, but of course," Liviya said, her voice dripping with amusement. "I actually suggest you leave, Hagarin. Maybe people there would find you interesting." She chuckled, her words laced with something just short of mockery.

Sashenka glanced at her but said nothing. No backup this time, huh?

I exhaled slowly, finally turning to face Liviya. "Oh? Was that necessary to say?"

For a split second, her composure faltered—just the slightest crack.

The classroom fell silent. Even Clara, who had been outspoken moments ago, had gone quiet, reduced to a spectator along with the rest. The tension in the room thickened, all eyes flickering between us.

Liviya recovered quickly, offering a play-it-safe response. "Of course, I’m just saying you’d meet more people there."

"As if I’m looking for people to surround me," I shot back, my voice daring her to say what she really meant. "What’s your point, Liviya?"

Before she could answer, the professor’s voice cut through the air.

"That’s enough."

Liviya clicked her tongue. "Tch. Sensitive."

I smirked. "Egotistical.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, we were gathered in the gym for yet another exhausting activity. Physical combat. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Liviya had somehow decided to turn this into a rivalry—one I couldn’t care less about, yet she still managed to irritate me to no end.

"For the next activity," the instructor announced, "we will be exploring weapons. This exercise is meant to sharpen your skills and help you find a weapon you may prefer. Please take your time testing them before we begin sparring."

I glanced at the collection laid out before us. They were all crafted from wood and other harmless materials—blunt enough to prevent injury but still effective for training.

Reaching into a bag, my fingers brushed against the hilt of a katana. I pulled it out, weighing it in my hands. Not bad. Feels comfortable.

A hushed whisper reached my ears.

"Look at her, using a katana. Isn’t that weird?" Liviya murmured to Sashenka.

Sashenka barely reacted, giving me a quick glance before shrugging it off.

I exhaled slowly, rolling my eyes before casually picking up a small rock and tossing it in Liviya’s direction. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, just enough to startle her.

Without waiting for her reaction, I swiftly left my spot, making my way over to Clara and Clarence, who were deep in discussion about their weapon choices.

"I saw what you did, Hagarin," Clara chuckled, shaking her head.

Clarence adjusted his glasses. "Liviya’s just looking for any excuse to talk bad about you. A katana is just as useful as any other weapon."

I sighed. "Is she really like that? I almost feel bad for her—arguing with a wall must be exhausting."

Clara raised a brow. "Well, this is a first. I honestly don’t know why she has it out for you either." She picked up a magic book, flipping through the pages. It was the kind designed for combat, filled with spells that could be cast in an instant.

"I overheard her in the library the other day," I admitted. Both of them turned their full attention to me.

"She said I was stealing her spotlight. That I might take her throne as valedictorian." I rubbed my chin, still baffled. "Which is ridiculous. I took months off just to pull myself together. I’m not even caught up yet."

"She’s just afraid of being outsmarted. That’s it."

Ezra strolled toward us, seamlessly joining the conversation.

"Really?" I asked, eyeing him.

Clarence sighed. "You’re back from detention. What did you do this time?"

Ezra let out an awkward chuckle, rubbing the nape of his neck. "Well… I was supposed to prank that egotistical guy in our class by scaring him—but I scared our professor instead. Dang, almost got him. So… yeah." He sighed dramatically.

Clara stifled a laugh. "You’re impossible.""And yeah, about Liviya—she hates being outsmarted," Ezra continued, shaking his head. "She’s been getting on my nerves, too. As if that pretty face of hers makes up for her problematic ass."

"What’d she do to you?" I asked, curious.

Ezra scoffed. "Laughed at me for being mentally unwell. Man, I should’ve kicked her in the face." He groaned, clearly still bitter about it.

Before I could respond, a sharp whistle cut through the air. The professor called us to gather.

"Now that your five minutes of weapon selection is over, we will proceed to picking opponents."

I straightened, gripping the hilt of my katana. Let it be Liviya. I wanted to see her squirm—just a little, just enough to get under her skin.

"Hagarin and Sashenka."

Oh.

Everyone stepped aside, clearing space for the spar.

"The rules remain the same as last time," the professor announced. "If you stay down for five seconds, it will count as a defeat. However, today, supernatural abilities are strictly forbidden. This will be purely physical combat."

I adjusted my grip on the katana, rolling my shoulders as I settled into my stance. Across from me, Sashenka did the same, raising her sword and small shield. A shield? Nice choice.

"Be ready," the professor warned.

The moment the signal rang out, we lunged at each other.

Steel met steel in a sharp clash. Sparks of friction. A test of strength. I dodged a strike, twisting my body to avoid the blade, only for Sashenka to counter just as quickly. We moved like pieces on a chessboard—attack, dodge, counter, repeat.

Each step, each motion, was calculated.

And neither of us was willing to be the first to fall.

Our blades clashed in a sharp burst of motion. Sashenka struck first, aiming for my side, but I parried with the katana’s blunt edge before twisting away from her shield bash. She was fast. I had to admit that. Each swing came with precision, her balance unwavering.

She wasn't just swinging wildly—she was testing me.

I stepped back, dodging another strike before retaliating, slashing toward her shoulder. She blocked it with her shield, the impact vibrating through the air, and shoved me back with a quick push. I skidded a step before regaining my footing.

Sashenka smirked. She's good.

I exhaled. Fine. Let’s speed this up.

I darted in again, feinting to the right before pivoting left, slashing low. She barely raised her shield in time, but the movement left her sword arm vulnerable. Taking my chance, I twisted my grip and struck toward her wrist.

A clean hit.

She hissed, losing her grip for a split second—long enough. I swung again, forcing her to step back, her defense breaking apart. I pressed forward, relentless, pushing her into a corner.

She raised her sword for one final attempt at striking me down.

But I was already a step ahead.

Ducking under her blade, I swept my leg out, hooking behind her ankle. Her balance wavered. A moment of hesitation—just a moment.

Then she fell.

Her back hit the ground hard, sword slipping from her grasp as I stepped forward, pressing the dull side of my katana against her chest.

"One… two… three…" The professor began counting.

Sashenka groaned, glaring up at me before letting out a small, breathless laugh.

"Four… five! Match over!"

Silence filled the gym for a beat before a few murmurs broke out. I exhaled, stepping back and offering Sashenka my hand. She took it, shaking her head as she got up.

"Damn," she muttered. "Guess you aren't as rusty as people think."

I smirked. Damn right.

I glanced at my friends who were silently cheering then to Liviya with a prose of envy.

That's her problem now.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2,949 words

Tags

self rb

4 notes View Post

chen-nn

1 month ago

multiple updates is insane. Also, I edited the chapters w links for the next chapter so that it wouldn't be a hassle to go back to the navigations over and over :D

Tags

random post

1 note View Post

chen-nn

1 month ago

Chapter 7: Defending the Future

Days passed like trains speeding down endless tracks—too fast to process, too loud to ignore. I could still feel the grip of my past struggles clawing at my throat, as if it all happened just yesterday. But it's not yesterday anymore. It's been five months.

And now, here I am, standing at the edge of a train platform, watching the rails stretch into the unknown. The air smells like rust and rain. My hands clutch the strap of my bag a little tighter, my nerves refusing to settle down.

I'm heading to Ms. Renée's house, a visit I asked for myself. I need her guidance, not just as a teacher, but as someone who's seen what this power can do—to me, to my mind, to my reality. I need to know how to stand my ground without collapsing into it.

I miss Clara. I miss Clarence, and, surprisingly, even Ezra. I've been left behind in ways that aren't just academic. Time doesn't wait for people like me. Time drags us along, whether we're ready or not. I know they're worried about me, and honestly, I'm worried about me too.

The train arrives, and with it, the next step I'm both terrified and desperate to take.

As I stepped inside the train, a quiet sense of surprise flickered through me. The train car was nearly empty, a rare sight in a world that never seems to stop moving. Then it hit me—the holidays. Most people were off work, gathered with their families, or finding comfort in the warmth of their homes.

I found an empty seat by the window and settled in, resting my forehead against the cool glass. The world outside blurred as the train moved forward, passing familiar buildings, slumbering houses, and empty roads. For a fleeting moment, it felt like the whole city was asleep—like I was the only one awake, drifting alone in a sea of quiet.

My gaze flickered upward, landing on a massive billboard that stood out between concrete and sky. It was a hair product ad, featuring a model with flowing, silky hair that danced in the nonexistent wind.

Without thinking, I reached up and ran my fingers through my own hair. My scalp stung faintly at the tug, and when my hand came down, a few loose strands were tangled between my fingers. Stress already leaving its mark.

I sighed softly, brushing the strands onto the floor, watching them fall like broken threads of myself. The train kept moving, but my mind stayed behind—somewhere in those last five months, somewhere in the place where my control slipped, and time itself almost swallowed me whole.

The speaker crackled to life, its metallic voice slicing through the quiet hum of the train. It announced the next station—my stop.

I exhaled, shoulders heavy with a weight I couldn't quite name. Gripping the cold metal pole beside my seat, I pulled myself up, my legs moving before my mind fully caught up. This is it.

The doors slid open with a soft hiss, and the world outside awaited—a familiar station, an unfamiliar version of me stepping out. It's my stop.

It didn't take long before I slipped through the sea of strangers, each step pulling me closer to something familiar. And finally, standing before me—Ms. Renée's house.

I raised my hand, ready to knock, but before my knuckles could meet the wood, the door swung open. Ms. Renée stood there, a trash bag in hand, her expression flickering between surprise and quiet amusement.

"Oh! You're here," she said, brushing stray hair from her face with the back of her wrist.

"Yeah, uh..." I shifted on my feet. "I just wanted to go somewhere—anywhere, honestly. I've been stuck at home and bored out of my mind, but...I'm not ready to go back to school either."

"Feel free to sit in the living room. We have a lot to talk about." Ms. Renée walked past me, the trash bag dragging softly against the ground as she disappeared outside.

When I stepped inside, a soft meow greeted me. A small furball of a cat was sitting by the doorway, its curious eyes staring up at me.

"That's Mimi—my companion through everything," Ms. Renée said as she returned, brushing her hands clean and gesturing toward the couch. I followed her lead and sank into the cushions beside her.

A sigh slipped out of me before I could stop it. "Life's... tough. If I had to sum up how I'm doing right now, that's the word I'd use."

Ms. Renée leaned back into the couch, wearing a relaxed expression that felt too practiced to be real. "You'll be fine. I know it's hard to find the motivation to fight back against everything that's weighing on you—but you're still here, and you have every logical reason to stay."

My gaze wandered to the clock on the wall, the ticking sound strangely louder than before. "But am I really still alive? Or just... mentally dead? I've been wondering if I'm actually going insane."

Ms. Renée didn't flinch at the question. Instead, she simply shrugged. "Maybe you are," she said. "But the real question is—what's bothering you right now?"

"To start with... what I saw in that psychological test—it's still there, lodged into my mind like barbed wire tangled in my veins. No amount of sleep can shake it off. It feels like I'd need to be high just to silence it." I sighed, my fingers tracing patterns into my palm. "But I can't exactly start doing weeds now, can I?"

Ms. Renée didn't laugh, but I could tell she wanted to. Instead, she stayed quiet, letting me spill what was stuck inside.

"And that's why I can't move forward," I continued. "It's the root of all this procrastination—the reason why the thought of going back to that school makes my stomach twist. The trauma clings to me like a second skin."

"You're strong, Hagarin," Ms. Renée said, her voice steady but soft. "I know once you've walked through this, you won't even recognize yourself."

"How can you be so sure?" I asked, my tone sharp with doubt.

"Time will tell."

I frowned. "Or did time already tell you?"

"No," she replied, exhaling like someone who'd had this conversation more times than she could count. "The future shifts with every breath you take. What happens next depends on what you do now. That's why I'm telling you—get a grip, Hagarin. Not because I'm scolding you, but because I know you can. And someday, you'll thank yourself for trying."

"I suppose that makes sense... if I really think about it," I muttered, my fingers curling into the fabric of my sleeve. "Maybe rationality is the only thing keeping me from snapping completely. But still... what else can I do? How do I stop my own powers from eating me alive?"

Ms. Renée's expression softened, but her words carried weight. "Stay calm—no matter what. When the storm rises, you don't fight it head-on. You learn to sail through it. You listen to what it's trying to tell you, and you pull apart every tangled thread at your own pace. One by one."

She placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Only then will you understand the blessing hidden within your power. It's not a curse, Hagarin. It's a privilege—a rare one. To see time itself, to glimpse futures others can't, even if it breaks you a little along the way. One day, you'll realize that seeing everything isn't meant to destroy you. It's meant to teach you how to live."

"To help you feel a little better, let's shift gears and think about the future for a moment," Ms. Renée suggested, her voice softer now. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I blinked at her, caught off guard by the question. "I... I never really thought about that," I admitted, scratching my hair absentmindedly. A few more strands came loose, and I flicked them away. "Honestly, I should probably stop just drifting wherever life pushes me and actually think of something big — something that gives me purpose."

I glanced at her, half-expecting her to have some magical career roadmap just waiting for me. "Any suggestions? Something that might actually fit me?"

Ms. Renée smiled, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Alright. On a scale of one to ten, how curious are you about how this world works — not just the ordinary world, but the parts hidden beneath it? The gears and wires and ancient laws holding up this cruel, magical mess we live in."

I tilted my head, considering it. That itch in my brain, the one that always wanted to know — to pull back curtains and poke at things until they made sense — it flared up again. "Ten," I answered without hesitation. "Or maybe eleven."

"Then maybe, just maybe," she said, "you should consider becoming the kind of person who studies both history and future at once. A timekeeper, a chronicler, or even a seer who isn't just at the mercy of their powers — but someone who understands the story behind them."

I stared at her, heart pounding slightly at the thought. For the first time in months, the future didn't feel like a monster hiding under my bed.

It felt like a question I actually wanted to answer.

"I want my name to be etched into history," I said, my voice steady despite the slight hesitation curling at the edges. "I want to fight for change, to ride the thrill of chaos without letting it consume me. And one day—when it's all over—I want to come home, sit in my own house, and have a story worth telling my little sister."

The words settled in the air between us, heavier than I expected. A part of me wondered if I was just saying what sounded right. But deep in my gut, I knew—this was real. This was what I needed to do.

Ms. Renée studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she smiled—small, knowing, as if she had been waiting for me to realize this myself. "That," she said, "is a future worth chasing."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After that day, I became history.

And I had never felt better.

Every day, I trained—refining my control, steadying the power that once threatened to consume me. Until, finally, I was stable enough to return. The halls of my school no longer felt like a battlefield but a place where I could reclaim what I had lost.

The day eventually came when I no longer needed my mask. But even then, I kept it—an emblem of who I once was, a symbol of the anonymity that once shielded me.

Months passed, and stress hit me like an unforgiving tide. Catching up was brutal, but it was a price I had to pay for being left behind. My nights were a constant battle—sleepiness on one side, and me drowning in school paperwork on the other. Then came the days, where I was left physically drained from relentless training sessions with Ms. Renee.

At night, I’d stumble through the door with bruises blooming across my skin like twisted flowers, every step heavy, every breath shallow. My body ached in places I didn’t even know could hurt, and my throat felt like it had forgotten how to form words. There were nights when I just stood there in the dark, hands trembling, unable to cry, unable to scream—just... silent.

Within every training session, my mind would spiral into chaos. Thoughts clashed and screamed over each other, like a storm trapped in my skull. The pressure built until it became unbearable, and by the time it ended, I was often left with migraines so severe that only a healer’s touch could ease the pain. Would that even be excluded from the toll I was paying? Sigh. I wasn’t just being worn down physically—it was like my soul itself was fraying at the edges.

Sleep didn’t come easy. Sometimes, it didn’t come at all. I’d lie awake staring at the ceiling, muscles twitching from the day’s strain, mind still echoing with the noise it couldn’t shut off. Every second felt like a war between rest and responsibility, and I was always losing to both.

Then the sun would rise. Too early. Too bright. And with it came the cruel reminder that it was time to do it all over again. Wake up. Push through. Train until my body couldn’t take it anymore. Study until my brain went numb. Smile when I had nothing left to give.

And still, I endured. I don’t know if it was strength or just stubbornness. But each day bled into the next, and the cycle kept turning—cold, relentless, unforgiving.

And today, standing before my classmates, I faced another challenge—an academic report.

I wasn’t sure why it was necessary, why it mattered in the grand scheme of things, but I supposed it was all part of the process. Just another task in this department.

The room was silent. All eyes were on me.

I took a deep breath.

Time to begin.

I exhaled slowly, standing before the class, gripping the edge of the podium. The projector behind me flashed the title of my research:

"The Ripple Effect of Inflation: A Meta-Analysis on Economic Strains and Societal Adaptations."

I cleared my throat. “Good day, everyone. Today, I will be presenting a meta-analysis that examines various research studies on inflation and its cascading effects on different socioeconomic groups.”

A few students shifted in their seats, already looking half-bored. I continued anyway.

“Inflation is not just about rising prices—it’s a systemic issue that affects wages, cost of living, and economic stability. By analyzing multiple studies from economists and financial institutions, this research aims to uncover recurring patterns, disparities in impact, and potential mitigation strategies.”

I clicked the remote, shifting to the next slide. A graph appeared, showing inflation trends over the last decade.

"First, let’s discuss its causes." I pointed to the data. “Several factors contribute to inflation: supply chain disruptions, excessive money supply, and demand-pull effects. In recent years, the COVID-19 pandemic and geopolitical tensions have significantly worsened global inflation rates.”

I glanced at my classmates, noting some furrowed brows. Good. They were listening.

“Now, let’s talk about who suffers the most.”

A new slide showed a comparison of income groups. “Low-income households bear the brunt of inflation. Unlike wealthier groups, who can adjust their investments or savings, working-class families struggle with rising costs of essentials. Studies indicate a direct correlation between inflation spikes and increased poverty rates.”

Ezra, sitting at the back, raised a hand. “So, are you saying we’re all doomed?”

I sighed. “Not necessarily. Let’s move on to solutions.”

The final slide appeared: a set of policy recommendations drawn from economic literature.

“To combat inflation, governments and financial institutions implement various strategies—interest rate adjustments, fiscal policies, and market interventions. However, historical data suggests that while these measures provide short-term relief, they do not always prevent future inflations. Instead, a sustainable solution must involve a balance of monetary control, wage adjustments, and investment in local production to reduce dependency on volatile global markets.”

I paused. “In other words, while inflation is inevitable, its impact can be controlled with the right policies.”

The professor nodded in approval. “An insightful analysis, Hagarin. Any questions?”

A hand shot up. I braced myself. Time to defend my research.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I exhaled slowly, standing before the class, gripping the edge of the podium. The projector behind me flashed the title of my research:

"The Ripple Effect of Inflation: A Meta-Analysis on Economic Strains and Societal Adaptations."

A few students shifted in their seats, already looking half-bored. I continued anyway.

I clicked the remote, shifting to the next slide. A graph appeared, showing inflation trends over the last decade.

I glanced at my classmates, noting some furrowed brows. Good. They were listening.

“Now, let’s talk about who suffers the most.”

Ezra, sitting at the back, raised a hand. “So, are you saying we’re all doomed?”

I sighed. “Not necessarily. Let’s move on to solutions.”

The final slide appeared: a set of policy recommendations drawn from economic literature.

I paused. “In other words, while inflation is inevitable, its impact can be controlled with the right policies.”

The professor nodded in approval. “An insightful analysis, Hagarin. Any questions?”

A hand shot up. I braced myself. Time to defend my research.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

3,044 words

Next Chapter

Tags

original story dark fantasy dead dove do not eat fragments of the future: dead dove prophecy magic and violence fiction snippet

5 notes View Post

chen-nn

1 month ago

Maturity is working through your trauma and not using it as a never-ending excuse for poor behavior.

363 notes View Post