"LQCT DT—"
His forearms pushed him up from the bed of sweat he believed to be the abyss trying to swallow him. He checked his chest and neck; nothing was out of the ordinary except for the dampness of his skin.
If an anomaly occurs consistently over a thirty-day period, does it mathematically transition into the established baseline?
The receiver of these nighttime visits would certainly answer "No" by default, for he denied their very existence. Still, he picked himself up from his sloth and trudged to fulfill the social contract he had set for himself.
He was a man dressed meticulously in brown, smooth and without scratches. His hair had mostly grayed, but vigor remained present in his amber eyes. Good for a man in his sixties.
He stood in a room similar to the one in his first semester: seats and desks arranged on rising steps. Yet, the scale was vastly different. The chamber itself was physically larger, and with the roster halved to thirty students, the available space for each individual had expanded exponentially.
The desks were rounded, handcrafted by artisans, a meter across and a half-meter deep. Another half-meter separated desk from desk, creating ample empty space for movement.
"Welcome to Semester Two of the Honor Class. Acknowledging the new additions, I shall reintroduce myself. I am Ludolf Clive, Head Instructor. I serve as your primary instructor for all non-academic courses for the ensuing four years," the man announced.
"We will commence with introductions. We start with you, the highest-ranking student."
Identify the target. He employs zero physical indicators—no digit extension, no ocular focus.
Instructor Vigo's operational methodology contrasts sharply with this…
Five hundred milliseconds passed, and Clive's eyes made it a quarter around the room.
Placing an open palm onto the polished table at the front, Arthur stood straight and finished the scan of the room that Clive began.
"Cedric Drevayne. Continuing Student, Rank One. I genuinely look forward to the four years we'll all be sharing together."
Is this within Cedric's established parameters? The assertion of hierarchy is necessary, but injecting fabricated depth via false empathy optimizes the manipulation.
As he lowered himself back into his cushioned seat, all watched as he displayed a false weakness of sorrow—or at least what he believed to be false. That motion somehow made the room fall quieter. Those who witnessed death themselves were touched at their heart; the nobles that made up the majority of the room even felt their own sort of empathy.
There were two, however, who were not affected in the way he had hoped: one of great familiarity with this trick, and another who seemed to not have heard him at all, buried deep in her limbo between dreams and reality.
"Proceed, Continuing Students," Clive ordered.
"Vicktor Vulivar. Continuing student. Rank Nine. Remember it," the boy declared, emphasizing the last word with a spiteful look.
And they continued, stating their family names, exam status, and class rank. The contents of their speech were so meaningless and repetitive that little would change if it was not said at all. The wise man seemed to know this as well, and his eyes did not leave the book whose page he turned every twenty-or-so seconds.