The Academy's Genius Mage

Lucas activated Perception the moment they stepped into view.

The information settled over the two figures and he read it quickly and quietly.

Then he exhaled through his nose.

’Seriously.’ His grip shifted on the hemisphere, finding a steadier position. ’Out of every pair in this forest, they walked up to us.’ Something almost amused moved through the back of his mind. ’Luck really isn’t with those poor guys today. She’ll destroy them’

The offensive one rolled his shoulders and stepped forward, the specific ease of someone who has done this before and expects it to go a certain way. He raised one hand less aggression, more transaction.

"Look," he said, reasonably, "there’s no need to complicate this. Hand over the hemisphere now and neither of you gets hurt." His eyes moved to Lucas’s hands, to the glass sphere sitting carefully between them. "Cooperate and we walk away. Simple."

Almost instantly the reply came.

"Thanks, but no," Sylvia said.

Flat. The tone of someone who processed an offer and dismissed it before it finished arriving.

Both of them went still.

The defensive cadet’s expression tightened, something shifting behind his eyes that had been casual a moment ago. His grip firmed on his own hemisphere. "Worst choice you could’ve made," he said.

The offensive one’s posture dropped.

He came forward fast — a sharp burst of movement, closing the distance with his blade already glowing yellow as he aimed straight for Sylvia.

She didn’t step back.

Her hand moved the same instant he did, lightning answering before the thought finished forming. The staff materialized in her grip solid and immediate, crackling with restrained energy, and when his blade arrived she put the staff in its way.

The impact rang through the trees.

He pressed into it, using momentum, expecting the force to shift her. Her feet stayed exactly where they were. The staff absorbed and redirected, sliding along his blade before snapping back into position.

The exchange began.

Strike and counter. Blade and lightning. Each collision throwing sparks into the undergrowth, the yellow glow brightening with each swing as he pushed harder. Every single one was answered — met cleanly or redirected or stepped around, Sylvia moving in the tight precise way she moved when she wasn’t performing for anyone.

She didn’t rush. Didn’t overextend. Didn’t give him anything to use.

She just matched him and let the math do its work.

He felt it building — the small arcs from her staff finding the gaps, grazing past his guard and touching his forearms with enough current to sting and keep stinging. Not deep. Just present and accumulating, the way a score keeps itself without announcing it.

After several exchanges he broke distance.

Stepped back. Breathing heavier. Arms burning from the collected hits. His grip on the blade tightened as irritation moved through him and underneath the irritation something colder arrived.

’She’s strong.’

He looked at her across the space between them.

She hadn’t moved from where she started. Posture identical. Breathing steady. The staff resting lightly against her side still crackling like it had just been summoned. Not a trace of strain anywhere on her face.

’No.’ The thought completed itself slowly. ’Stronger than that. This isn’t what first years look like.’

"What’s taking so long?" The defensive one’s voice came from behind him, impatient and not bothering to hide it. "Don’t tell me you’re actually struggling against a first year."

The offensive cadet shot a look back that could have cut glass. "Then come take over if it’s so easy." He turned forward again, jaw set. "Stay on the hemisphere and let me work."

"Or," Sylvia said.

Both of them looked at her.

She had tilted her head slightly. The expression on her face wasn’t harder or colder — if anything it had settled into something almost relaxed, the look of someone watching a situation confirm what they already knew and finding it mildly interesting. The staff spun once in her hand, lazy and deliberate, arcs of lightning trailing around it before she let it come to rest against her shoulder.

"Why don’t you try listening to me instead," she said.

Neither of them spoke.

"Leave your hemisphere here." Her voice stayed level, the offer delivered with the same ease as passing someone directions. "Do that and I stop where I am." The small smile arrived at its conclusion — not warm, not unkind, just certain. "So be good boys and hand it over nicely."

"Good boys," the defensive cadet repeated.

The words landed somewhere that didn’t sit well. His jaw tightened visibly, fingers curling harder around the hemisphere. "Do you have any idea who you’re addressing?" His voice rose, irritation breaking fully through the surface. "We’re your seniors. Watch your mouth before you actually regret it."

Sylvia didn’t flinch.

She shrugged once, small and unbothered, the motion of someone who expected this response and has already accounted for it. "I’m not mocking you," she said, her tone exactly as smooth as before. The lightning along the staff flickered faintly. "I’m offering friendly advice." Her eyes held theirs, steady and clear. "Take it. Or regret it."

Silence.

The offensive cadet didn’t respond immediately this time.

Something had changed in him, a small shift in his posture, his grip on the blade loosening by a fraction as his mind went somewhere his expression wasn’t showing yet. He was looking at her but his thoughts had moved somewhere else.

’She’s not bluffing.’ He knew that now. The exchange had made it clear. ’I can keep pushing and it won’t land. She reads every motion before it finishes and I’ll just burn through mana for nothing.’

A quiet frustration built in his chest and he held it still.

’There has to be another angle.’

His eyes moved.

Past Sylvia to Lucas.

To the hemisphere held carefully in both his hands.

Something clicked.

A slow thought arrived, quiet and certain, and with it came the beginning of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

’I don’t have to beat her.’