Wednesday

Finally.

My long-awaited subject had arrived like a blessing from the academic gods:

Contemporary Carving: Modern Techniques & Creative Expression

The room itself felt different from the usual lecture halls—long wooden tables stretched across the space, neatly lined with carving tools that gleamed with dangerous potential. Chisels, knives, polishing kits... ah, the sweet promise of controlled destruction.

’Now this was my kind of class.’

Gawain, unfortunately, did not share my refined taste in artistic violence, so he was off somewhere else suffering through a different subject.

Which meant, I have peace, freedom, no chaos, no main characters, no—

"I didn’t know you’re into carving."

I slowly turned my head to see Silvano seated beside me, hand resting on his chin while staring at me.

"That’s because we don’t know each other," I replied flatly. "Also, can you sit somewhere else? That seat’s reserved."

"For who?" he asked, glancing around. "The guy you’re always with? I don’t see him. You two are practically glued together, so why isn’t he here?"

"He has a name," I said, rolling my eyes. "And Gawain isn’t the one I’m waiting for."

Silvano raised a brow. "You have other friends? That’s surprising. As far as I know, your only friend is Gawain—and even he has an actual group."

"..."

My eye twitched.

Who is this man and why is he speaking?

Wasn’t he supposed to be the quiet, brooding type? The kind that stares out windows and says one word per semester?

Why is he suddenly a full-time commentator on my social life?

"You may sit there," I said, forcing patience I did not feel, "but don’t talk to me anymore."

"I don’t need your permission," he replied calmly. "I sit wherever I want."

"..."

I see.

Today is another test for valuing my peace.

I stood up, ready to abandon the seat entirely and preserve what remained of my sanity, when—

"Good morning, everyone!" a bright voice chimed.

I turned towards the front to see a woman practically glowing with energy walked in like she had personally invented happiness.

"I’m Bumble Belle," she announced brightly, "but you can call me Miss Belle! I’ll be your professor for this class!"

The entire room burst into enthusiastic applause which was honestly valid.

Compared to our usual professors—who looked like they hadn’t smiled since the Cataclysm—Miss Belle radiated pure sunshine.

The kind that made you feel like you could learn something and enjoy it.

I slowly sat back down.

Maybe this class would go smoothly.

...As long as Silvano didn’t open his mouth again.

Miss Belle clapped her hands once—bright, cheerful, and slightly threatening—like a kindergarten teacher who could absolutely bench press you.

"Alright, class! Before we start carving masterpieces and accidentally losing fingers, let’s go over the basics first!"

’Ah. Safety. How comforting.’

All the students groaned.

"I know. I know. You already learned it but let’s make sure that some of you hasn’t forgotten it yet," she chuckled upon seeing our reactions.

She moved gracefully to the front table, picking up a carving knife like it was a paintbrush instead of something that could end friendships.

"Carving," she began, "is not about strength. It’s about control, patience, and understanding your material. If you try to force it—" she pressed the blade too hard against a block of wood—

Crack.

The wood split in half.

The entire class flinched.

Miss Belle smiled brightly. "—you get heartbreak."

’Noted.’

"Step one," she continued, holding up a fresh block, "always check your grain. Wood has direction, just like people. If you go against it—"

She demonstrated again, gently this time, guiding the blade smoothly.

Thin curls of wood peeled away.

"—you’ll struggle but if you go with it, everything flows."

A few students nodded, pretending they understood. Others looked like they were reconsidering their life choices.

"Next," Miss Belle said, walking between the tables, "your grip. Relax your hands. If you’re tense, your cuts will be stiff—and trust me, it will show."

She stopped beside a student gripping their knife like they were about to duel someone.

"...Are you carving," she asked gently, "or avenging someone?"

The class snickered.

The student loosened their grip immediately.

Miss Belle beamed. "Good! We choose peace today!"

I almost smiled.

"Now," she continued, "I want all of you to start with something simple. Shapes first. Lines, curves, basic forms. Don’t try to impress me—impress your fingers."

That... was oddly profound.

Tools began clinking softly as everyone reached for their materials.

I also picked up my carving knife, turning it slightly, and testing the balance.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could feel Silvano glance at me.

If he says anything, I will certainly—

"I’m starting with a fox," he muttered.

I paused.

"...Good for you," I said flatly, not even looking at him as I looked down at my block of wood.

For a brief moment, Silvano’s face flashed in my mind.

I immediately stabbed the wood, harder than necessary as a chunk flew off.

The student across from me flinched like I had just declared war.

Miss Belle passed by at that exact moment. "...That’s a very... passionate cut," she commented.

"I’m expressing myself," I replied calmly, continuing to carve with the emotional stability of someone who definitely wasn’t imagining strangling Silvano with a measuring tape.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Channel those feelings into your work!"

I glanced down at my carving.

It was supposed to be... something elegant. Maybe a simple figure or a clean design.

Instead, it was slowly turning into something with sharp edges, aggressive lines, and what looked suspiciously like a very punchable face.

"..."

No.

Absolutely not.

I am not carving him.

I aggressively shaved off a chunk.

"...You’re carving really fast," Silvano muttered beside me.

I didn’t even look at him. "Mind your own wood."

"...That doesn’t sound right."

"I said what I said."

Miss Belle clapped again from the front. "Remember, class! Your carving reflects your inner state!"

’Oh, I know,’ I thought, almost smugly. ’I didn’t just know—I was practically raised on that principle. After all, Grandpa was the best sculptor in my world.’

I cracked my neck lightly and finally got serious.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

A few hours later

"Okay class, time’s up!" Miss Belle announced brightly. "Put down your tools and present your work in front! Tell us what you carved!"

I, on the other hand, had my head peacefully resting on the table, already passed out.

My work had been finished a long time ago because unlike some people, I didn’t need three hours to reinvent chaos.

I had even covered it neatly with a cloth, like a responsible artist... or someone hiding evidence.

"There’s no shame in presenting!" Miss Belle continued. "You’re all in the Master Class!"

’Mmm... shame exists. I believe in shame.’

I was in the middle of a very important nap when someone poked my cheek.

"Wake up. It’s presentation time," Silvano muttered.

I opened one eye and glared at him like I was deciding whether or not to commit a crime.

I forced myself upright, soul still half-asleep.

The first student went up as he dramatically pulled the cloth off his work. "This is my piece," he said proudly. "The object I wanted to carve was a butterfly."

Miss Belle gasped like she had just seen a masterpiece. "Amazing work!"

The class clapped while I frowned.

’Butterfly?’

I squinted to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

That is a frog... A very confused, slightly inflated frog.

But okay. Art is subjective.

Next.

Another student stepped forward. "I carved a rose."

I leaned slightly to get a better look.

’That rose has seen war. There were no petals. Just emotional damage.’

"...Beautiful interpretation!" Miss Belle beamed.

We were clearly grading based on confidence now.

Then Silvano stood up.

"I carved a fox."

I tilted my head.

...Okay.

That actually looked like a fox.

A slightly aggressive, mildly judgmental fox—but still a fox.

"...Still ugly," I muttered under my breath.

He shot me a look but I ignored him.

One by one, students presented their work—each one more interpretive than the last.

A bird that looked like a potato.

A human figure that looked like a melted candle.

Something that was apparently a "dragon," but spiritually... a rock.

Something that was introduced as a "tree" but emotionally felt like a chair.

Was this... abstract?

Was I the problem?

I slowly glanced at my own piece, still hidden under the cloth.

...I think I misunderstood the assignment.

Or maybe I understood it too well.

I hadn’t realized the theme was abstract suffering. Either way, one thing became very clear.

I slowly leaned back in my chair, eyes drifting toward the door.

It might be best if I just...left.

"It seems that everyone did a good job! There are still a few adjustments, but we can learn that in our next meeting..." Miss Belle said, beaming like a proud mother who had just watched her children collectively reinvent abstract confusion.

Perfect.

That was my cue.

I quietly grabbed my artwork and began inching towards the door, praying to every deity available that nobody would notice me.

One step.

Two steps.

Freedom was right there.

I could taste it.

Naturally, that was when I felt someone’s gaze burning a hole on the back of my head.

I turned my head slightly to see Silvano staring at me.

’Of all people... why him?’

I widened my eyes at him and subtly gestured—don’t you dare. I even added a small head shake for emphasis.

He smiled wider with the kind of expression that only meant trouble and raised his hand.

"Miss Belle," he said, voice perfectly designed to ruin my life, "there’s one more person who hasn’t presented their artwork."

My blood turned cold.

Miss Belle snapped toward him like a sunflower detecting drama. "And who might that be?"

Silvano didn’t even hesitate. "Her," he pointed straight at me, right when half of my body was already making a clean escape.

Miss Belle frowned slightly, scanning the room before landing on me. "Oh, right! Please present your artwork in front. Don’t get embarrassed..." she paused, smiling sweetly, "unless your work is that of a child."

’That was very encouraging.’

I cleared my throat then slowly walked to the front while the whispers started immediately behind me like a swarm of annoying little insects.

"Hey, isn’t she the one who got negative points?"

"Wait, she’s also the one Professor Arcana praised for presenting well."

"Who cares? She still messed up her evaluation test."

"I bet her artwork is a disaster too."

"Pfft, she’s probably embarrassed after seeing everyone else’s."

"Isn’t she new? And she’s already in Master Class?"

I ignored every single one of them, because if I acknowledged even one, I might actually commit a felony with a carving knife and then blame it on "artistic expression."