Do you know that in Italy, Mickey Mouse is actually more famous than it is in the US? They have had an entire editorial independent line for years. Decades. And it’s so incredibly popular and independent that in 1990, Mickey Mouse, the always perfect, showed us the one weakness he might have ever had. If you were born in the US, Mickey Mouse is mostly present in some shows for kids. His comics were not as hot as in Italy, and not even close. In the 80s and 90s, the word ‘comic’, in Italy, meant ‘Mickey Mouse’ and the other famous Disney characters like Donald Duck. It was that weirdly dominating position that spawned the dark hero Paperinik, or better known as the ‘duck avenger’ by the world outside Italy. But, unlike ‘the duck avenger’, Paperinik was a complex psychological portrait of a misguided hero.

Anyway, my point was that there was this magnificent comic that my mother managed to get for me. And oh boy, I remember crying so much when I finished reading it. I don’t think it’s so random that I found myself thinking of it. In this number, the weirdest of things happened. Mickey, faithful to Minnie for more than sixty years, had a massive fight with the woman. And guess what, the not-so-perfect-anymore mouse fell in love with another woman, GASP! Samantha was a witch, daughter of a powerful wizard. To avoid upsetting the main relationship too much, the story went that her powerful father put both Mickey and Samantha in an alternative reality where they got married; the idea was that they needed time to understand that their relationship would not have worked.

Why?

Well, at first, they were absolutely perfect for each other. But then, allegedly, their relationship would have certainly failed. We all know that the authors did that because they couldn’t just separate Mickey and Minnie. But for one glorious number, the famous mouse lived a different story. It was a story that didn’t belong to him, with a different woman, in a different world. It was doomed to fail, obviously. But, for once in his enslaved life, for the first time even, Mickey lived through one real failure, one thing that he was not perfect at.

Love.

God, I still remember my mother almost tore apart the comic when she found me crying so hard that I looked sick. I was feverish, could barely articulate a word. I don’t know why. I don’t know what exactly possessed me at that point in time. I liked reading, a lot. And sometimes I cried. But before that day, such an outburst was unknown to me. I didn’t know I could have so many tears to shed for a simple silly comic. And the truth was that it had struck a deeper cord in the young me, it had touched something that had always hidden from the external world.

Hell, I wrote on hell of a summer book report. After begging my mother day and night for several days, she gave me the comic back. And I remember analyzing every single detail of it, every single consideration. I rarely brag and I really don’t care about boasting about my capabilities, intellect, or whatever. But that time, I guarantee you that you would have lost your pants if you had read my summer book report. I must have had twelve years max. The comic was several years old already. I don’t remember exactly, but yes, I was extremely young. I don’t recall which exact grade I was attending, but I recall that I was already way ahead of my age, probably close to graudating yet another year in advance because of my credits. When I brought my summer book report to my teacher, she laughed at the title and dismissed it.

This woman didn’t read what could have possibly have been the most important thing I have ever written. That was the first time in my life I really tried. It was several pages long, and it had taken me more than any other assignment. I think I spent almost a month on it, writing and rewriting it. I even went to the public library to consult other books as references. A kid. Consulting references.

But when she put it aside, laughing it off, I simply ignored it. I didn’t tell her that it was the most special thing I had ever done. I looked at the woman, at her spite of my masterpiece, and just went back to my normal life. In my memory, that was the one time I really tried, that I really tried hard.

One time.

While I look at the assignment for our History of Epretos I midterm, I wonder how much of that episode is still relevant. Mickey lived in a different dimension and learned how to love a different woman. What would have happened if the wizard had helped them, instead of working against them? Well, you could find the answer in my summer book report. Wait, not the answer. A bunch of ‘ifs’ that go deeper than whatever that fat German of ‘Hegel’ ever wrote on reality—yeah, again, that is the one thing I like to boast in my life.

I found myself wondering, recently, whether my different dimension is this costume I’m wearing to attend the academy, or maybe this entire world. I’ve obviously pondered the chance that this could all be a dream, a figment of my imagination. It’s not. But you find yourself wondering in the samy way people believe that Earth might be a simulation.

“He’s been like that for more than ten minutes,” I hear a female voice whispering.

Then, I feel a hand softly grabbing my wrist.

“Gioei? How long has it been since you last slept?”

Huh?

I look up and find Amelia staring at me. We are all sitting in a park inside the academy, waiting for the next lesson to come along.

“What?”

“Wait. [Read Pulse],” Amelia frowns, “your body feels like it’s going to fall apart at any moment! How long have you been up?”

Unlike her usually loud voice, the Elf woman is now employing a softer tone.

“I don’t know, a couple of days, maybe?” I say. I’m really not entirely sure. My mind feels numb, at this point.

Amelia looks at me with a frown.

“No. It has to be closer to six or seven. Maybe an entire week. Gioeius, you need to sleep. If you don’t, you might fall sick—”

“It’s fine,” I say trying to get up from the benches we are sitting on. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just sleep tonight.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she says, not letting go of my wrist.

“[Sleeping Touch], [Threefold Rest].”

My world goes dark.

…

When I open my eyes again, I find Amelia watching over me. We are at my place and Marcellus and another Elf—Sabina, is here. Outside is almost dark, meaning I slept at least eight solid hours.

“Gioei? Can you hear me?” Amelia asks, worriedly.

“Yes? Woah, I feel—rested. This is nice,” I say, revelling in the feeling of finally having slept for a while.

“Nice? You just slept the equivalent of twenty-four hours. We fed you some potions that Sabina kindly provided for us. I used a skill called [Threefold Rest]. It’s supposed to give you three times as much rest compared to how long you sleep. I thought you would be out for two or three hours at best. It’s been almost eleven hours since you fell asleep. And my skill is not exactly three times. It works on only one person at a time, but it’s even stronger than its name suggests. You were supposed to sleep much, much less. The fact that you slept so long means that your body was on the verge of collapse.”

I look inside my head, finding that some of the enchantments I had used to keep myself functioning properly are now not working anymore. Because my body has finally had the rest it needed.

Ah.

Maybe I was going a bit too far, wasn’t I?

“Thanks, Amelia,” I say with a smile. “But did we miss the classes?”

“Yep,” Marcellus says. “But the others have took some notes and brought them here. Anneus went to a [Scribe] who made copies for all three of us.”

“Wait, what lessons were we supposed to attend today?”

“Advanced Cantrips I and Fundamentals of Enchanting,” Sabina says from the side.

“Oh, that’s good, then,” I sigh. “I can probably help you all with those two. I’m very good at Cantrips.”

“Everyone here is very good at Cantrips,” Sabina deadpans, “that’s why we are in the academy. Advanced Cantrips means that there are Cantrips of old and harder versions we are supposed to practice. And we just missed the direct instructions because you collapsed in the middle of the day. I gave you some tonics that would have worked on a person three times your size. Have you been drinking things or wearing enchantments to keep yourself awake?”

I materialize five spinning, color-changing, football-sized [Lights].

“If our teacher knows more than me about Cantrips, I will literally throw myself from the highest tower.”

Everyone looks at the [Lights] with their mouth open.

“Anyway, thank you all. Really. I needed some rest.”

…

After some talks, Sabina and Amelia went back home. Amelia made me promise that I will take better care of my sleep, saying that she’s going to check if I slept or not tomorrow morning during lessons.

AS I’m chilling on the couch with Marcellus, talking about some possible baking compositions, I hear a knock.

Huh.

“Marcy, do me a favor, go upstairs,” I say with a relaxed smile. “I suspect that some gentlemen I’m doing business with might have finally brought the stuff I paid for. But it’s private.”

Marcellus does as said after saying some weird noble-like stuff.

As soon as he disappears upstairs, I double check my wards and the amulet I’m wearing under the robes. I look at the walls where I invisibly inscribed catalyzers for [Gamma-Knife]. If worse comes to worst, I can cast the spell much faster than in any other place. I’ll explain the theory of it at another time.

I take one last look around and cast a [Silence] spell on the floor.

I open the door with a shield already on top of my fingers, ready to be casted, matrix half-completed.

“Let me in,” a non-descript man with a short beard looks at me. He’s not an Elf and he has an irritated look on his face.

“Fellow?” I ask.

“Did you just—whatever. Murray said that we a kid brought out all that money. They are a bunch of idiots. Let me in, Joey Luciani.”

Holy shit.

I make way for the man who’s rubbing his forehead with a hand and taking out a napkin with the other. Now, he dabs at his sweaty neck.

“Do you have any idea how many people I had to pull from jobs? Do you have any idea the risk that you just created for my organization, you idiot?”

“What?”

The man takes a seat on the couch, but then he eyes some of the food laying around and gets up to take some.

“The Fellows risked attracting the wrong kind of attention without even knowing. But guess who’s the idiot paying with Royally Marked coin? I mean, who could it ever be? A person backed by a legendary [Princess] that supposedly died centuries ago, so strong that it could flip Epretos with a flick of her fingers? Who could ever be some brazen to steal half the Royal Treasury’s gold?”

The man stops, panting, and chomps down on one of my pastries filled with a personal knock-off of Nutella.

“Oh, this is good. I wish it was poisoned, though.”

“What?”

“Poisoned, Joey Luciani—”

“Why?”

“Why? Do you have any idea of how much work it was to cover your tracks? Your backstory barely checked out. And guess what, I had to call in my favors with the [Dean]. Oh, and expect to be called in his office very soon. He already knew your identity, by the way.”

What?

What’s happening here?

“I’m sorry, who are you?”