I can't believe I'm actually seeing this.
Plants. With mouths!
Actual, fleshy mouths. They opened and closed without stop. Chewing at the air like they're offended to be shown like that.
And laid out beside them? Organs. Not metaphorical ones. Not symbolic ones. Slimy, glistening, very-real-looking monster organs.
Man, can't they just use normal plants to make potions? Like, what the hell???
If anyone's wondering whether I've finally managed to distance myself from the male leads…
"Lord Atlas, you have to squeeze it tighter."
Of course I did. Who do you take me for?
Unfortunately, my pride isn't reflected in my current situation. I'm standing at a polished table, holding what looks like a pale, swollen cloud with tiny puckered mouths scattered across its surface. It's soft and warm.
But no offence, the way it twitches is disgusting.
When I squeeze it, a viscous, pearly liquid drips into the mortar with a wet plop and the smell just intensified even more.
It's like burnt sugar married something that died heroically.
"Yes, Professor Lysander."
And yes. Of course. The veiled man turned out to be my potions professor.
Professor Lysander stands at the front, face hidden behind a black-threaded veil, hands folded neatly behind his back like he's attending a funeral instead of supervising first-years mutilating flora.
We're making the most basic beginner potion.
Aknhis tonic.
As far as I understand, it increases the endurance of any living creature. It sounds convenient. No kinetic energy required to brew it, either.
Which, obviously, does not mean it's easy.
"You got it wrong again, Lord Atlas," Professor Lysander says smoothly. "You must mix before adding drenski. Not just after."
My spine straightens.
This is so embarrassing.
"Want me to help you?" someone says quietly to my right. "It'll be easier if I guide you."
…Huh?
I blink.
Someone is speaking to me.
And that someone is not fated to murder me.
Miracles do happen.
"Ah, yes, of course. Thanks! What's your name? I'm Atlas Vale."
"I'm Esso Expr," he says, grinning.
I stare at him.
Esso Expr.
That is literally "expresso" scrambled.
I press my lips together.
I failed, I deeply apologize in advance.
"Pff—haha—!"
Oh my goodness. Did the developers run out of ideas? Were they on a caffeine binge when they wrote this world? How cruel can one be?
'Okay. Stop. Stop laughing. He might abandon you and let your potion explode.'
I cough lightly. "I'm glad for your help, Lord Esso."
The "cloud" organ twitches again in my grip, its tiny mouths opening in silent protest as I squeeze harder. Pearly fluid oozes into the bowl.
"Now stir counterclockwise three times," Esso says gently, stepping closer. "Slowly. Trankarianice is a liquid reacts strongly to impatient additions."
"I'm not impatient," I mutter.
The liquid shimmers faintly as I stir.
From across the room, Professor Lysander's voice glides toward us. "If it turns gray, discard it. If it explodes, you overmixed."
That is not comforting.
I crush the drenski properly this time and sprinkle it in before stirring. The powder sinks into the cloudy base and fizzles softly, turning the mixture pale amber.
"Good," Esso murmurs. "Now breathe out and tap the rim twice."
"…Why?"
"It stabilizes it."
Of course it does.
I exhale, tap twice.
The liquid calms. The fizzing settles into a steady glow. The smell shifts, it feels less corpse, more herbs.
Professor Lysander appears beside me without sound.
He leans slightly.
"…Acceptable."
Acceptable.
That's practically a standing ovation from him.
I pour the potion into a glass vial. It gleams warm amber.
I at least did this one thing right today.
"See?" Esso grins. "Not so hard."
Maybe surviving this class won't be impossible after all.
After taking a second look at everyone's potions, professor Lysander flicked his fingers. "Now drink it."
What?
What?!
'There is no way I'm drinking this extraterrestrial beverage.'
It looks like liquified shit filtered through regret.
But before I can object, Esso tips his vial back and swallows it in one smooth motion. He even licks his lips.
He's not exactly normal either.
Fine.
"One. Two. Three—"
I throw it back and immediately cover my mouth.
It tastes like concentrated trash.
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
I think I'm about to ascend. Or vomit. Possibly both.
"Are you alright, Lord Atlas?"
What does it look like? That I'm savoring this?!
But…wait.
There's a strange warmth settling in my limbs. My breathing feels deeper. My body lighter, steadier.
It's working.
Before I can process that properly, someone steps up behind me and hands me a glass of water.
My savior.
I down it in seconds and turn—
—and nearly choke.
"Thank you so much, Lord Rowan…"
Rowan looks at me.
And keeps looking.
No expression. No blink. No visible emotion.
Just those green eyes fixed on me.
"Haha…you know, the taste was particularly weird."
Silence.
'Was the water poisoned? Or is he waiting for the tonic to kill me?'
"The lesson is finished," Professor Lysander announces. "You may go."
Bless him.
I grab my bag and flee.
Lunch. I deserve lunch.
Potatoes. Meat. Salvation.
And...
Why is Rowan following me?
Ignore. Ignore. Ignore.
I sit. He sits across from me.
Ignore. Ignore.
"Lord Rowan, how are you finding it here so far?"
I don't really have a choice. Half the cafeteria is staring.
A gifted commoner and an abnormal noble sitting together? Of course they're whispering. What a pair made in heaven.
"Well," he says.
Which is apparently a full sentence.
"Which class do you like most?"
"Enchantment."
"…We haven't had that yet."
He doesn't react.
Right. He's not cold in the dramatic, brooding sense. He's just…socially unequipped.
'I mean, considering he was thrown into a colosseum as a child, that checks out.'
He started as a cleaner.
Then became a fighter.
I don't know the details after that. But I know enough. His life was simply horrible.
He stares at me again. Not blank this time.
Focused.
Sharp.
"Why do you think there's no kinetic energy within you, Lord Atlas?"
The fork pauses halfway to my mouth.
What?
I never said that though? It's only the first day, man, I wouldn't give up my thoughts that early.
Or did I?
"Well, I mean, I don't know why the ball didn't react," I say carefully. "It's impossible for me not to have kinetic energy. You heard Professor Sylsima."
His gaze drops briefly, to my hands.
Then back to my eyes.
"You're not surprised enough," he says quietly.
A chill crawls down my spine.
"What?"
"When someone is told they lack something everyone is born with," he continues, voice even, "they react more."
I force a laugh. "Are you analyzing me now, Lord Rowan?"
"You're hiding something."
Around us, chatter continues. Plates clatter. No one notices the way the air between us tightens.
"I think you're overthinking, Lord Rowan," I reply lightly. "Maybe I just don't panic easily."
"You did panic," Rowan says. "Just not for long. How are you eating so mindlessly?"
His fingers tighten around his fork.
Excuse me?
"Even if I'm being like this, that doesn't mean I'm not worrying, Lord. Besides, I did nothing wrong, so why should I panic?"
"Because you're weak."
For a second, something flickers across his face.
"You think like someone who expects things to go wrong," he says. "But you act like they never will."
I swallow.
'He's too dangerous. I can't afford to have him suspicious of me. I can't die.'
"I got here, they won't chase me out. My family paid."
"I got here because of a recommendation from my owner," Rowan says flatly.
Owner.
The word lands heavy. Disgust coils in my stomach.
'Owning people. What a grotesque joke.'
He'll be free.
In some routes, but not all.
Then, he stood, plate empty, looking down at me.
For a second, I expect him to say something rude.
Instead...
"Next time," he says, "let's eat together again."
And walks away.
I stare after him.
Hah?
Did I just…get invited?
Or interrogated?
Or both?
…Great.
As if surviving murderous plants wasn't enough.