What happens when you become more powerful? Wait. Let’s say, ‘when you become rich.’ That’s probably a better comparison for people who can’t wield magic, levels, or powers. What happens when you start getting ahead of others? What happens when the game you are playing starts getting easy? Maybe too easy? Maybe because you have kind of cheated a bit too much, right? What do you do then? Do you go back and try to do a run without cheating? But don’t you know all the secrets already? Where’s the pleasure of discovery, of getting more powerful, of becoming something, someone else, step by step?

I’ll never understand people who read guides when they play games. I mean, if you are stuck, buddy, go ahead. But why do you play something—or why do you go to school if it’s just to cheat? I mean, I am assuming that school is actually useful, which might not be the case; but the point stands, doesn’t it? What happens to your brain when you play a game, and it’s too easy? What happens, then, when you try to go back to how you should have played it, huh?

Yeah.

Clarity of mind does me good, doesn’t it?

So, the question here shall be:

Am I playing a game in this academy where I have already cheated? Am I doing something wrong? Am I wrong? Is Lucinda right about not wanting anything to do with me anymore?

What?

Oh, right. You didn’t know about that, did you?

Well.

Stuff happens.

She thinks I’m going mental. Lord Juler and Princess Valarith, instead, just didn’t comment much. They are already mental, it seems. But Lucinda said something about me wanting to hurt myself, to give myself – and others, apparently – the illusion that everything is going well. Meh, Lucinda. I know that stuff is not ideal at the moment. But what else am I supposed to do? Should I have accepted Lord Juler’s proposal to live on another continent? Why? Or should I have become Valarith’s student just to learn more magic? Why?

Why can’t I just stay here, enjoy the people I’m meeting, and have fun?

‘Because you are lying to everyone, including yourself.’

That was Lucinda’s response. She told me to go back to her if I were to regain my sanity.

She might be right; I find myself thinking at times. Hell, she might be very right. But what’s the alternative to this? Close myself off in a tower until I become powerful enough? Oh, but that is not absolutely mental, is it?

Whatever.

My head is not really in the best of places, is it? I think that I have not slept for more than a week or so. But do you know what knowing that you are sick does to improve your life? Nothing if you don’t act on it. And act I did not, sadly. It took Amelia to shake things up.

Spiraling. And spiraling. And spiraling.

That’s what happens, I guess. That’s what happens when you spend too much time acting chill, then jumping into magic and adventures, and then jumping back into being someone chill. But with another identity. I mean, I’m not even that chill now. I’m dealing with the underworld and whatnot. Can’t define that as chill, can I? But I’m also a student, and students are mostly clueless. Maybe the two things negate each other? Mm.

Anyway, do you know what really, pardon my French, fucked with me?

Stan.

I don’t understand what went down there.

I mean, Laura? Yeah. That sucked. But she is a psycho, and I did not get too invested or had too many dreams about that, alright?

But Stan?

What the hell happened? Why was he holding back? Why couldn’t he just save my sorry ass?

I helped the man, for Christ’s sake. I don’t like thinking in terms of debt, but for all that’s good in this damned world, didn’t I deserve something more? Didn’t I deserve someone by my side? Why, then, has no one stepped up beside Valarith?

One thing that’s really messing with my head is a simple thought that maybe, I can’t help but make the same mistakes over and over. That’s one of the thoughts that has kept me up at night—wait. Not literally, obviously. I’ve been trying not to think about it by keeping myself busy. But I kept myself so busy with useless stuff that I might have as well killed myself, huh.

And we go round and round with thoughts. But what about the mistakes? Will the next girl I fall in love with be another mistake? And sure, I’m smart enough to know that mistakes can be made. But does that knowledge do me any good at this point? Wouldn’t it be better just to be a tad more ignorant?

I think I might have told you this already. But do you know that some athletes cannot replicate some complex movements if they start actively thinking about them too much? It’s a fascinating phenomenon. Sometimes, our bodies just fall into perfect motion if we are talented enough, have good genetics, are in the right environment, and so on. But if we try too hard and overthink – boom, the magic is gone.

But how do you just learn to go with the flow when the flow goes down the Niagara-fucking-Falls, huh? What happens if you think your flow is self-destructive, wrong, spiraling, hell, maybe even evil? What? You don’t think I might be evil. Well, it depends on the points of view, I guess. From mine, I could have killed a thousand more idiots who were trying to get my hide during those duels and still not feel that bad about it. Is that good? You tell me, pal. Why shouldn’t I think that this is all messed up, that I am not messed up?

What if there’s a clock ticking, and when the clock reaches midnight, I’m not human anymore. Maybe, I’ll get one of those cursed classes that Stan and Lord Juler mentioned once. They mentioned them separately. Obviously. The two have never spoken to each other.

But this stuff really gets to me.

What if I’m the villain?

Do you ever ask yourself that question?

Do you ever stop for a moment and think, ‘maybe I am a piece of shit?’

My father – may he rest in peace – once told me something like that. He had just gotten super angry about some shit I had done, and then while screaming – almost foaming, Christ – he switched to another persona. He suddenly became calm and told me something I’ll never forget.

He said: “Joey, do you have any idea how many times I have wonder if I’m wrong? Do you have any idea how many times I wonder if I’m a monster?”

And so, I have to ask myself the same cursed questions now.

Am I wrong?

Am I the monster of this story?

Don’t we all inherit the sins of our fathers in some way?

The fact that I went up and learned some killer magic, some goddamn radiation stuff, makes you wonder if maybe I just went a bit crazy. Maybe this is a dark story. Maybe I’m a dark knight, like Batman. But instead, I turn into Joker. Bleah. No, not Joker. Two-faced, maybe. Less cringe.

And one may think, ‘well, why are you wasting all this time thinking about it, then?’

I don’t know.

Speaking to myself like this makes me feel still Human. It lets me know that at least I have not completely degenerated because of this world.

Fuck.

Now, I’m thinking about Lucinda again.

I’ll say something hypocritical; brace yourself.

Why does she think she should have great power? What in her head makes it so that she thinks, ‘I should have a power so great I could blast off half a city?’ How does that work? And sure, maybe it’s more like ‘Oh, I could heal half a city.’ Or whatever. Why don’t we just spend more time sleeping and resting? Why do we have to do this insane shit? Why did I have to create [Gamma-Knife]?

I’ll tell you what, the only reason I’m still sane is because of Antoninus’s mother. The fact that I cured her with that weapon of destruction. But what if one day I have to deal with some other stupid fucking duels, or maybe the Vanedeni war, and I’ll think, ‘you know what, let’s try and make Archimedes’s lens work and fry all their enemies.’

What happens then? What happens when you develop a fucking weapon of mass destruction just because? What happens when you are living a story just because, when you are doing something just because?

Have you ever read a book and just thought, ‘man, maybe this thing could have been eight hundred pages shorter?’ But we Humans stop thinking at some point. We lean into the motion, into the movements. Into the narrative. And if we are winning, it’s good. If we are losing, it’s bad. If we are doing good and better, it’s good. If we are doing bad and worse, it’s bad.

It’s that simple.

But now, assuming I’ve not done the best so far, what happens next? Will it just snowball? Will it just go lower and lower? What if something is working out for you, given that you are the main character, but is hurting everyone else? How does that work now? Do you stop? Do you buy a black cape and practice your cackling laughter in front of a mirror?

I look at my schedule for the day. It’s still very early. It’s around 6.30 in the morning. Not that early, you’d think. Well, it is when there are 27 hours. I’d say that 6.30 here is like 5 AM on Earth.

Advanced Cantrips I and Fundamentals of Magic Theory today. Cool. I missed the first lesson of Advanced Cantrips I, even though I was mightily curious to see it.

I look around the house, trying to ground myself. I think I spent the last hour brooding over my life and my choices; and that’s good. Some soul-searching can’t be wrong. Unless it’s a [Necromancer] doing it, I guess. But the point is that shit happens. I’m not at my best, but there are other people here going through a lot of shit.

I’m not the only person in the world suffering.

I look at the files and start putting them away in my bag of holding before Marcellus wakes up. There’s also the matter of the secret classes that I have yet to check out. Meh. I’ll do that later. I finish putting away all the stuff, grab a cup of hot coffee, and I’m tempted to doze off a little.

But then, looking inside the coffee cup, I feel bad for the two people I left behind. Ok, maybe three. Domitilla as well. But Domitilla got my farewell and my proposal. She just wants a normal life: and respect for that, girl. But no. There are two people I left behind that I kind of miss. Not too much, obviously. But in a way, a bit. Just enough not to cross into the realm of gay – that’s it.

I take a piece of paper and start writing:

To Quintus and Tiberius,

One, stop shouting at each other.

Two, I’m almost out of coffee, leave some in my room. I’ll magically move it to my new place. I’m learning some space magic. Don’t let anyone stay in the room. I might kill someone if they are in there while I try to do it.

Three, I just remembered a few recipes that might be interesting to reproduce. Especially if you have not caught the gay for each other yet. Where my parents come from, there’s this day entirely dedicated to women – yeah, I know, aren’t all days dedicated to women? If you laughed, you failed the sexist test, I’m afraid. You are both canceled now. But whatever. There’s this holiday that actually exists in the whole world – the point is that where they come from, they give these fluffy yellow flowers to women. The flower is called ‘Mimosa,’ singular, or ‘Mimose,’ plural. Where I come from, that’s a drink. However, where my parents come from, it’s a cake. So, I’ll explain how to make a Mimosa cake; listen up—

It takes me three pages of a detailed explanation to carefully arrange the recipe. It’s more about what they must not do than the other way around. The cake is very delicate and fluffy, and I’m trying to prevent every possible error they might make while baking.

When I finish writing, I just stare at the pages. Then, I add a little note at the end.

Four, I miss you guys. Please, behave. And tell the others I said hi.