Vonjo's pen scratched lazily across the thick parchment, the sound quiet yet somehow echoing in the cavernous silence of the principal's office.

The principal, a tall, wiry man with spectacles perched low on the bridge of his nose, sat across from him, hands folded neatly on the desk.

His posture radiated discipline, yet his tone never lost its respectful, almost careful edge—like one speaking to someone they couldn't afford to offend, even if that someone sat slouched in the chair with all the urgency of a cat napping in the sun.

"Here," the principal said, sliding the next set of documents forward. "This is the standard faculty agreement for special appointment staff. Please read the clauses on confidentiality and disciplinary protocol."

Vonjo didn't even glance at them. His half-lidded eyes drifted to the window, where the faint outlines of the academy's sprawling courtyard shimmered under the late afternoon sun. He dipped the pen into the inkpot without hurry, scrawled his name in loose, uneven strokes, and slid the paper back with a casual flick.

The principal cleared his throat softly, as if fighting the urge to remind him of procedure, and instead produced another parchment. "This one concerns your responsibilities regarding the handling of academy resources. As an overseer for certain departments, you will be entrusted with—"

"Yeah, yeah," Vonjo murmured, reaching for the paper without even letting him finish. His hand moved lazily, the signature almost drifting off the edge of the sheet, and then he dropped the pen on the desk with a soft clack.

The principal's expression didn't falter. He pushed his spectacles up, picked up the pen, and placed it back neatly in front of Vonjo. "There will also be a weekly report required, detailing the progress of any assigned students, maintenance of academy property under your care, and—"

"Mm-hm," Vonjo hummed, signing again, his posture unchanged.

He leaned back in the chair, arms dangling off the sides, gaze unfocused. His hair—slightly messy from the morning's walk—fell over his forehead, shadowing his eyes.

The principal, perhaps sensing this pace would continue indefinitely, began stacking the completed papers in a neat pile. Still, he pressed on with the list.

"This document outlines the protocol for emergencies—be they natural disasters, monster incursions, or inter-academy disputes. It's crucial you familiarize yourself with the evacuation signals, shelter zones, and chain of command. You will also—"

"Got it," Vonjo interrupted, taking the paper, signing without hesitation, and handing it back.

If the principal was annoyed, he hid it perfectly behind his professional mask. "This is the authorization form for you to access restricted areas, including the North Wing archives, the alchemical laboratories, and the faculty armory. You will be required to sign in and out when entering these locations."

"Fine," Vonjo said, scribbling once more.

Each paper came like waves on a lazy shore—arriving, signed, sliding back.

The principal continued in the same even tone, never raising his voice, never breaking his measured pace. "This form grants you authority over certain disciplinary actions. Should a student violate core academy rules within your jurisdiction, you are permitted to assign detention, revoke privileges, or in extreme cases, escalate the matter to the disciplinary board."

Vonjo barely even looked up. His pen moved, the ink trailing into the same slightly uneven scrawl.

"This next one concerns the use of academy funds. While your budget will be limited, you may request additional allocations for special projects, repairs, or emergencies. Every request must be documented in—"

"Done," Vonjo said, handing it back before the principal had even finished speaking.

The pile of signed papers grew higher, a leaning tower of parchment.

"This is the magical liability waiver. In the unlikely event that a spell misfires under your supervision and damages academy property or injures students, you must report it immediately and—"

"Sure," Vonjo murmured, signing again.

"This one is the confidentiality agreement regarding any experimental magic you may encounter here. You are not to—"

"Mm," another lazy scrawl.

The principal's desk began to look like a bureaucrat's battlefield—papers stacked, stamps aligned, ink drying. Yet still, more forms appeared from the drawer.

"This is the consent form for you to be summoned to emergency meetings at any hour."

"Fine."

"This one acknowledges you have received the staff handbook and will read it in full."

Vonjo signed it without touching the handbook lying untouched beside him.

"This is—"

"Yeah, just hand it here."

They fell into a rhythm. The principal spoke, Vonjo signed, the papers stacked. It could have gone on for hours, but finally, the principal slid the last sheet forward—a heavy, formal contract with a golden wax seal pressed at the bottom.

"This," the principal said, voice taking on the faintest edge of weight, "is your official appointment as Special Academy Overseer. By signing, you accept all the responsibilities and privileges of the position, as outlined in the prior documents."

Vonjo took the pen, signed with the same lazy flourish, and set it down. "There."

The principal pressed the seal into the wax with deliberate care, letting it cool before sliding the completed contract into the stack.

For a long moment, he simply studied Vonjo, as if trying to reconcile the man's casual indifference with the position he had just taken on. But whatever thoughts lingered, he kept them to himself.

"You are now officially recognized as Special Academy Overseer," he said at last, his tone still respectful, though quieter. "Your duties begin tomorrow morning."

Vonjo gave a faint shrug, leaning back further in his chair. "Got it."

The principal stacked the papers into a leather-bound folder, closed it with a brass clasp, and stood. "Very well. I'll have a staff member deliver your office key and the preliminary student files before nightfall. For now, you are free to explore the grounds—or rest, if you prefer."

Vonjo rose with unhurried movements, stretching slightly, his joints popping. "I'll… figure it out."

And without another word, he turned toward the door, leaving the scent of ink and parchment lingering in the air behind him.

The principal watched him go, the faintest crease forming between his brows. There was something about Vonjo's complete lack of urgency that felt… unsettling. Not careless, exactly. More like a deep, immovable stillness, the kind that either crumbled under pressure—or became unshakable in the face of it.

Either way, the academy would soon find out.

Vonjo pushed the heavy wooden door open, the muted creak swallowed almost instantly by the vast silence of the corridor outside. The principal's office, with its faint scent of old paper and tea, was now behind him, and the taste of that long, tedious meeting still lingered like stale air in his mouth. The documents he'd been made to sign were neatly folded under his arm, though to him they felt more like weights than papers.

The corridor stretched ahead, lined with framed photographs of past principals, each face frozen in self-importance. Their eyes seemed to follow him, but Vonjo didn't care. His steps were unhurried, almost lazy, the kind of gait that made it seem like the world could burn around him and he'd only stop to sigh about the smoke. Yet beneath the veneer of disinterest, his mind ticked over the principal's every word, dissecting tone, intent, and the small, telling hesitations.

The responsibilities handed to him weren't small. In fact, they were the kind that could shift the entire balance of how this academy functioned. Most people would have left the office either elated or crushed under the weight of expectation. Vonjo simply adjusted the papers under his arm, as though they were a loaf of bread, and kept moving.

His destination wasn't his dorm. Not yet. He drifted past the stairwell, down another hall where sunlight bled through tall arched windows, spilling golden light across the stone floor. Students milled about outside on the training grounds, their shouts and laughter muted by the thick glass. From here, they looked like toy figures, oblivious to the kind of undercurrents swirling just beyond their sight.

Vonjo reached the far end of the hall and stopped before a closed door, not grand like the principal's, but solid, unassuming. He knocked once—sharp, deliberate—then let himself in without waiting for a reply.

Inside was a cramped storage-like room, lit by a single hanging lamp. Two figures were already there: one leaning casually against the wall, the other hunched over a desk stacked high with papers, maps, and diagrams. The air smelled faintly of chalk and metal polish.

"You're late," said the man at the desk without looking up. His voice was curt, but not hostile—more like someone used to precision and irritated when it wasn't met.

Vonjo shrugged, dropped the principal's papers onto the desk with a quiet slap, and wandered over to a rickety chair in the corner. He sat, sprawling as if the chair belonged to him. "Got caught up in the… formalities."

The man against the wall chuckled, arms crossed. "Formalities, huh? That's one way to describe being handed the keys to the castle."

Vonjo didn't answer immediately. His gaze swept over the maps on the desk—routes, supply chains, training schedules, all marked in tidy ink. The principal had been careful, almost delicate, in how she framed the responsibilities to him. But here, in this room, there was no sugarcoating. This was the machinery behind the academy's polished facade, and now he was expected to run a sizable part of it.

"Keys to the castle," Vonjo repeated lazily, finally glancing at the man on the wall. "Funny thing about keys. They open doors… but they also mean you're the first one blamed when something gets in."

That earned him a smirk.

The man at the desk—Kellen, the logistics overseer—finally looked up, eyes sharp. "Blame's part of the job. So is making sure the academy doesn't fall apart from the inside. You're not here because you volunteered. You're here because the principal thinks you can handle it. Personally, I'm not convinced."

Vonjo leaned back further in his chair, letting the tension hang. "That's fine. I'm not here to convince you. I'll do the job. But I'm doing it my way."

"And what's your way?" Kellen asked.

Vonjo didn't answer right away. He simply took the top sheet from the pile of principal's documents, scanned it once, then set it back down. "Efficient. Quiet. And without wasting breath on things that don't matter."

The man against the wall whistled low. "Guess that's our new boss, then."

"Not your boss," Vonjo said without looking up. "Just the guy who'll make sure you don't drown."

That ended the exchange. Kellen went back to sorting papers, and Vonjo sat in the chair a moment longer, memorizing the layout of the maps. Every line, every note, every red mark of priority—it all slotted into place in his head. He rose without another word, collected the principal's folder, and left the room.

Once outside, he cut straight through the courtyard toward the training grounds. The afternoon sun was high now, heat pressing against his skin. As he approached, a few students noticed him, their conversations faltering. They'd heard rumors, no doubt—news traveled fast here—but no one knew exactly what had happened in the principal's office.

Vonjo didn't stop. He moved past them, stepping onto the packed dirt of the sparring area, where the sound of wooden swords clashing rang through the air. His eyes flicked from one bout to another, assessing footwork, grip, posture. Without warning, he stepped into the nearest circle, catching a student's sword mid-swing with two fingers and a twist of the wrist that made the boy stumble back.

"Form's sloppy," Vonjo said flatly. "Fix your stance or get knocked down in a real fight."

The instructor—an older knight—opened his mouth to protest but stopped when Vonjo met his eyes. There was no aggression there, no arrogance. Just a quiet authority that made argument feel pointless.

Vonjo released the sword, stepped back, and scanned the field again. This was his new responsibility—these students, this training, the quiet threads that kept the academy from crumbling under its own weight.

And though he moved with the same lazy composure as always, somewhere deep inside, a faint ember of something sharper stirred.

The principal had given him the keys to the castle.

He intended to make sure no one even thought about breaking in.

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