Kyle had spent days watching the academy's supply deliveries like a hawk.
He knew the routine by now.
Every Monday at dawn, a courier from the Blackfire Trading Company arrived at the academy's rear gate, carrying a small burlap sack stamped with their signature black flame logo.
The package was always the same—two pounds of Blackfire Roast beans, reserved exclusively for Professor Veylan Mourncrest.
And every Monday, like clockwork, Veylan himself would stroll down to the pantry at 7:00 AM to collect it.
Which gave Kyle a very small window of opportunity.
Kyle's poisoned beans were ready—meticulously prepared, lightly coated with moonflower-infused oil, and repacked into an identical burlap sack.
All he needed was five minutes between the delivery and Veylan's arrival so he waited.
On Monday morning, he was already positioned near the gate before the sun rose, hidden behind a pillar where the courier wouldn't spot him.
Right on time, the deliveryman arrived—a lanky man with a bored expression, carrying a satchel of parcels. He handed the academy's supply clerk a clipboard to sign, then rummaged through his bag.
"Blackfire Roast, two pounds," the courier muttered, pulling out the familiar sack.
The clerk took it without much interest and set it on the counter with the other deliveries.
Kyle's pulse quickened.
'Now.'
As soon as the courier left, Kyle made his move.
He walked up to the counter, flashing a distracted smile at the clerk.
"Morning. Did my order of Frostbloom herbs come in yet?"
The clerk—an overworked elf named Jorin—scowled. "Do I look like a damn apothecary? Check the back shelves."
Kyle nodded, ducking behind the counter as if searching.
His fingers brushed against the Blackfire Roast sack.
In one smooth motion, he swapped it with his own poisoned batch, tucking the original into his sleeve.
The entire exchange took less than three seconds.
"Must've been delayed," Kyle said with a shrug, straightening up. "Thanks anyway."
Jorin barely glanced up from his ledger.
"Whatever. Come back tomorrow."
Kyle walked away, his steps unhurried, his expression neutral.
"Done."
Twenty minutes later, Veylan arrived, collected his "usual order," and left without suspicion.
Kyle watched from a distance as the professor ground the beans in his office, brewed his first cup, and took a long, satisfied sip.
No hesitation.
No suspicion.
Just another Monday morning.
Kyle exhaled slowly.
'Now we wait.'
****
The next two weeks passed in a carefully orchestrated symphony of small sabotages and whispered rumors.
Kyle moved like a shadow through the academy halls, never too obvious, never too eager—just another student going about his business. But beneath the surface, every action had purpose.
The coffee beans were the easiest part.
Every Monday, like clockwork, he slipped into the supply room just after dawn, swapping out Veylan's precious Blackfire Roast with his own poisoned batch.
The moonflower oil was subtle—not enough to kill, not even enough to make him violently ill.
Just enough to wear him down.
Slow.
Invisible.
By the second week, the effects were starting to show.
Veylan's hands, already unsteady, now trembled noticeably when he wrote on the whiteboard.
His temper, always short, had become downright explosive.
Students whispered about how he would snap at the smallest mistakes, how his lectures had started to ramble, how sometimes he would pause mid-sentence, blinking like he had forgotten where he was.
Kyle watched it all unfold with quiet satisfaction.
But the coffee was only part of the plan.
He needed chaos.
That's where the academic credits came in.
As a top-ranking student, Kyle had more than enough to spare—access to private training rooms, premium ingredients from the alchemy stores, even extra meals at the cafeteria.
Most students hoarded them like gold. But Kyle? He had better uses for them.
A few credits slipped into the right hands could buy a lot of trouble.
He started with the gossipmongers—students who thrived on drama, the ones who couldn't keep their mouths shut if their lives depended on it.
A casual conversation here, a leading question there.
"Hey, did you hear Veylan got demoted because he stole research?"
"I heard he can't even pass Gold rank. Pathetic, right?"
"Someone told me he's been taking bribes to pass nobles' kids."
The rumors spread like wildfire.
Then came the sabotage.
Kyle didn't do it all himself—that would've been too obvious.
Instead, he found the right people.
A nervous first-year who needed extra credits for potion ingredients?
A struggling third-year who'd do anything to get ahead?
Easy.
He paid them in anonymous notes, slipped under doors or left in lockers. No names, no traces.
Just instructions.
"Change the measurements in your notes. Wrong by just a little. See if he notices."
"Ask him why his last research paper was retracted. Play dumb."
"Drop your flask. Accidentally, of course."
Emily Williams was one of them.
Kyle had watched her that first day, seen how Veylan had torn into her for a simple mistake.
She was the perfect target—smart enough to know better, but anxious enough to second-guess herself.
One night, while she was in the library, he slipped into the alchemy lab and swapped her meticulously organized notes with a slightly altered version.
The changes were small—a decimal point moved, an ingredient mislabeled.
Just enough to guarantee a mistake.
The next day, when Veylan screamed at her for "carelessness," Kyle didn't even flinch.
By the end of the second week, the man was unraveling.
His lectures had devolved into incoherent rants. Dark circles carved deep under his eyes. His hands shook constantly now, his voice hoarse and uneven.
Students avoided his class when they could, and those who couldn't sat in tense silence, waiting for the next outburst.
And then, finally—the breaking point.
Kyle leaned back in his seat, watching as Veylan stumbled over his own words mid-lecture, his face twitching like he was fighting off a headache.
'Almost there.'
One more push.
And then the real fun would begin.
****
Kyle leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Aurelia flip through a stack of papers with her usual scowl.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee—normal coffee, not the poisoned batch he had been slipping into Veylan's supply—filled the air.
He needed her in that alchemy lab tomorrow.
But asking outright? Too suspicious.
So he played it casual.
"You free tomorrow around third bell?" he asked, tossing an apple in the air and catching it.
Aurelia didn't even look up.
"No."
Straight to the point.
Typical.
Kyle took a bite of the apple, chewing slowly. "Not even if I really needed you to swing by the alchemy lab?"
That got her attention. Her blue eyes flicked up, sharp. "Why?"
He shrugged. "Just thought you might wanna see something interesting."
Aurelia snorted, returning to her papers.
"Try again."
Kyle sighed.
Time for Plan B.
He reached into the cupboard and pulled out a jar of imported Firepepper flakes—the stupidly expensive kind Aurelia hoarded like gold.
"What if I made you that spicy braised dragonfish you like?"
Her pen froze mid-scribble.
Kyle smirked.
Got her.
Aurelia narrowed her eyes.
"With the caramelized onions?"
"Obviously."
"And the crispy garlic chips on top?"
"Do I ever skip the garlic chips?"
She stared at him for a long moment, weighing her dignity against the promise of her favorite meal.
Then—
"Fine." She pointed her pen at him like a dagger.
"But if this is some stupid prank, you are going to pay for it."
Kyle grinned.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Aurelia muttered something under her breath—probably about ungrateful little brother—but the way her fingers twitched toward the Firepepper jar told him everything he needed to know.
Deal sealed.
Tomorrow, when all hell broke loose in the alchemy lab, Aurelia would be there.
And that was worth a plate of dragonfish.
****