The Last Priestess

Chapter 2: Arcane

Psyche's POV

Yesterday was not fun at all. T'was a day filled with mystery in which my mind went topsy-turvy after witnessing an unfathomable occurrence. Feeling unsure if everything was a mere illusion or if it was out of my deluded hallucination from fantasizing things. But no, it was real. The lone feather in my pocket was proof that yesterday's wonder was real.

"Cana, have you seen a phoenix?"

We are now on the rooftop taking our time for the lunch break. Lying underneath the shed made of cartoons and broken chairs. The weather was nice, it was neither hot nor cold—just temperate.

"Phoenix? Does that even exist?" her brows furrowed.

They exist, I'm convinced. It was a bizarre experience, though, how the phoenix yesterday sprang out of nowhere and vanished in a matter of minutes, leaving me utterly mystified. Never have I expected to see an ancient tale come into reality. It was like some sort of magic. Unbelievably lucid.

"Maybe in the parallel universe they do," she added.

"But what if I tell you that I have already seen one?"

Cana only looked at me, unconvinced. "Stop daydreaming, Psy. It's still daylight," she laughed.

As expected, she did not believe it. Perhaps believing would be difficult as well if I hadn't witnessed it myself. A case like this is merely an impossible quiddity. It's understandable that she wouldn't buy such nonsense.

Canary rose to her feet as the bell rang, dusting herself and trying to straighten the curl in her skirt. "Let's go."

I followed her all the way down, eyes on the ground, until someone crashed into me, almost making me trip.

"I'm sorry," the man apologized.

He was wearing a hooded jacket and a mask, so it was hard for me to see his face except for his deep-set eyes and his familiar scent. The man gave me an unfathomable stare, we locked contact for a brief moment until Canary cut us off. He apologized once again before leaving.

"We'll be late for our sub," Cana noted.

My gaze was fixed on the man's back until he faded into the background. "Do you know who that man is, Cana?"

She looked at me, confused. "What man are you talking about?"

"The one I accidentally ran into," I explained.

Canary pinches my cheeks and asks, "Are you going to skip Prof Limesworth's class again? You don't have to make up stories, just tell me."

My forehead creased, puzzled at her answer. "I'm not making up stories, Cana; there is a man, and you even interrupted us."

She pinned her focus on me, shaking her head and hands crossed over her chest. "What are you talking about, Psy? You were spacing out in the hallway, which is why I called you out. There's no man!" Then she gravely inspects the corridor.

Did she really not see the man? Chills rushed down my spine and goosebumps rose all over my body. Cana and I looked at each other, probably thinking the same thing. It must be a...ghost.

"What are you two doing in the corridor? It's already time for..."

We both trembled and froze after hearing a voice, shouted in horror, and dashed to our room without looking back. We ended up gasping for air, sweat dripping on our foreheads, and with weakened knees, we settled down on our chairs.

"What happened to you two?" Josh, our class president, inquisitively asked.

Cana fanned herself while drinking water. "Psyche saw a ghost in the hallway," she babbled, pointing her index finger at me.

"A ghost?" he reiterated.

I shrugged my shoulders, wiping off my sweat. The man doesn't look like a ghost. He seemed like an ordinary, mysterious high school student.

"The hearsay about this school might be true, don't you think?" Cana asked.

"It could be," Josh agreed.

There have been rumors going around before, claiming that this school was originally a cemetery turned into a school and that it is normal for souls to wander around. Reminiscing on that old tale was creepy, as was mentioning that there are some students who have seen a phantom in the restroom.

According to superstition, ghosts are commonly laden with blood, scars, and whatever other frightening description there is to name. But that man...he looks normal.

Our private talk was cut short when the door opened and our Biology professor walked in. Josh returned to his seat. While Cana and I sit appropriately.

"Good afternoon, are Stellar and Davis around?" Prof Limesworth asked, eyes raking the room.

Cana raised her hand and answered, "Present, Sir."

"What were you two doing earlier in the corridor with such loud voices? You didn't even pay respect to the Dean when he spoke to both of you and ran around like a duck—quacking." he sternly lectured and in a mocking tone.

So it was the dean who asked us earlier?

Our mistake; we didn't look back out of fear. But it was the phrase that he used in his speech that drew my attention. He's a professor, and lecturing us in a pejorative word is both unethical and unconstitutional. A duck? Quacking? And in front of our nosy-ass, mock-licker classmate?

"Isn't it against the teacher's code of ethics to lecture your students in public once they make a mistake, Sir?" I question. "Is your aim to humiliate us rather than to educate?"

The room fell silent, all eyes on me. Cana even pinched my thighs to keep me from talking further. "Psy, let's just apologize; don't complicate things or we'll receive poor grades," she whispered.

"You're still arrogant as ever, Stellar. Do you think being smart is enough to pass my course?" he smirked.

"I think so; you are not teaching values education, therefore you must evaluate me based on my assignment, exam, and performance, and there is no single activity that I did not ace, Sir."

My previous question was harmless, but he deviated from it and attacked my ability. His profession does not permit him to be arrogant and to regard students as inferior to him. Respect is a two-way course. If he gives it, he will receive it.

"Let's see where you can go, Stellar; what I hate the most is an arrogant student who thinks she knows everything," he sneered.

"Likewise, Sir. What I despise the most is having a teacher who does not know how to treat his students right, let alone respect them. In simple terms, you are a teacher, but you don't possess the attitude of a real teacher."

It might be wrong to fight with him. But it's worse to let him bully us. He is capable of instructing without ridiculing. He can educate us by using our names rather than a word intended to mock us.

It would never have gotten this far if he had made us aware of our mistake adequately. I would listen wholeheartedly and admit my fault because that is how it should be.

"Fine! Everyone, get one whole sheet of paper. Let's have a long quiz."

My classmates grumbled, protesting. This is how unreasonable he is as a teacher. It's a pity to be one of his students.

"You should have let his comment slide and just apologized. I haven't even studied the lesson," Cana complained.

It was never a mistake to fight for what is right and there is nothing to be guilty of. Yet watching the consequence of my action, in which not only I but also my classmates were punished, guilt rises in my chest.

The exam was over, and only I received a perfect score, which appears to be the key for Prof. Limesworth to be more annoyed with me. He raced out of the room, pounding on the door fiercely. Unprofessional. That's a perfect term to label him.

"Psyche! Don't bother to fight with the professor next time; we're the pathetic ones," one of my classmates whined.

Shrugging, my gaze settled on the book in my hands. The professors at this institution are uninspiring and old. Far from what is shown in the manhwa or book, which is youthful, attractive, and fresh, in reality, it's always the total opposite.

The classes ended with me barely reading and sleeping. There's not much going on within the classroom, since two out of the four teachers in our afternoon session did not lead a discussion, leaving us with little to do.

"Have you ever asked Miriam about the grand ball?" Cana reminded me.

We're about to head home because our class is over. And, because our room was on the second floor, we had to walk down the stairs before reaching the gate.

"Did you?" she asked again.

My mind had been in a state of disarray since yesterday, and the thoughts regarding the grand ball had not crossed me. All of my attention was focused on something else, which is why I forgot to ask.

"Not yet," I admitted.

Though, even if Miriam agrees, my mind hasn't made up its decision, let alone convinced myself to attend the ball. Chaotic settings and loud noises are not my cup of tea. I'd rather be alone in my room, reading my books.

"Come on, Psy," Cana continued, "we're about to graduate this year, don't be such a party-pooper."

She was whining at my side like a seven-year-old because someone had spoiled the fun. We had different perspectives on what fun is. It may be pleasurable for her, but not for me, and vice versa.

"Fine," I said to capitulate, "I'll ask Miriam once I get home."

Her face brightened up as she heard my response, and then eagerly clung to my arms. As we walked out of the gate, my gaze was unconsciously drawn to someone like some sort of magnet.

My body turned cold after realizing who it was; it was the same guy from earlier, the very reason why we got scolded by Prof. Limesworth. He was still wearing a jacket, but the hood had come off. He gave me the same weird glare as before; there was something about it that I couldn't put my finger on. But what shocked me the most was the tattoo on his neck. It was the same tattoo as the man from the library. Could it be that the man in the library yesterday, and he...is one?

My hair suddenly rises around my neck, and a chilly breeze brushes my hair away.

"Who are you?" I whispered before Cana successfully pulled me out the gate.