Chapter 3. Don't Piss off the Headmaster

The first day in the Academy was always special for the students. After the long summer months, they were happy to reunite with their friends, catch up on old memories, and plan new adventures for the year.

The morning was filled with a cacophony of sounds as students arrived with their luggage, excitedly greeting each other and exchanging stories from the summer. Some adepts were dragging their suitcases along the pavement, while others carried their belongings on their backs.

Lyra woke up to the sounds outside her window. It seemed like a caring spirit had tucked her into bed and drawn the curtains at night, so it was hard to determine the time of day in the darkened room. But a bright strip of light under the floors hinted that the day was already in full swing.

Hastily dressed, Lyra went to the Academy gates, waiting for her faithful friend, Rosie. In the distance, she saw a chariot drawn by three horses racing along the country road toward the Academy gates. The horses were powerful and quickly pulled the carriage crowned with innumerable luggage. "Rosie, how many dresses did you bring this year?" Lyra thought with a smile in her heart.

As the chariot drew closer, it slowed down and stopped before Lyra. The coachman had not yet dismounted when the door swung open, and Rosie emerged from the carriage. She wore a bright tunic, a jacket, tight rider pants, and high boots. Her blond hair was woven into a pigtail with fresh flowers. Her long, sharp ears fluttered in the autumn wind as she stepped onto the first step. The elf cringed but, noticing her friend, blossomed into a welcoming smile.

"Lyra, how many moons have passed? I'm so glad to see you," Rosie exclaimed, rushing into her friend's arms. "I have so much to tell you. You won't believe it; my mother broke all the records to get me married."

Lyra asked, "How many poor souls did you leave with broken hearts?"

"Fifteen and a half," Rosie said proudly.

"Why the half?" Lyra asked, perplexed.

"One admirer turned out to be too persistent," Rosie said sadly. "He gave me his heart and refused to take it back. During the summer, I managed to disappoint only one of his parts of the heart."

"And with the second part, what? "

"I still work on her," Rosie grinned slyly.

Ahh, Rosie, how many boyfriends has she got with this smile? And how many left broken hearts? She could lead the army behind her just with one smile.

Lyra chuckled, knowing full well that Rosie had many boyfriends. She was a Professor at balancing marriage and freedom on a thin blade. Someday, her mother's tireless efforts to find her a husband would end, and she would have to marry a noble lord. But that day was far off, and for now, they were happy to catch up and enjoy each other's company.

The friends talked sweetly while carrying their belongings on the residential campus. Rosie also was a headman of the class on the Faculty of Elemental Magic. Lyra knew how skillfully Rosie controlled the air, making it enchanting and terrifying.

After dropping off their things, the girls rushed to the main building. There they faced an uphill battle with the secretariat.

"I'm telling you calmly," the secretary yelled in anger. "I won't give you a magazine without written permission from the Headmaster."

"But that year, they were issued without the Headmaster's signature," retorted Lyra.

"But that year, students didn't complete their grades in the diary alone," Ms. Tahim splashed with saliva. "And I had to double-check all the grades manually. Do you know how long it took?! - taking the highest chord squeaked a lizard.

"Probably a day," Rosie suggested, suppressing a smile.

"A month!" The secretary slammed her hand on the table. "The entire month of my well-deserved summer wasted," she added, indicating that the argument was over. "You'll have to come back with written permission from the Headmaster," Ms. Tahim said, relishing each word. The middle-aged woman with a low magical reserve could not open a tin jar and had worked in the secretariat since creating the worlds, so she was so angry.

Lyra suspected that their mischief from last year would haunt them. But she had to save the group. Their History of Creation professor had refused to provide them with their annual assessments. This threatened to leave empty pages in the reporting journal. It meant the whole group must spend the entire summer working in the hot sun, searching for the remnants of forgotten civilizations - something that was not part of their plans for the summer.

So, they needed an operational solution. The idea was to enter their grades. Lyra was chosen as the head, as she was the headman.

The meeting with the Headmaster did not bode well. He was disturbed only in the most challenging moments: for example, when someone gets death. Now it's payback time.

Lyra hesitated before knocking on the Headmaster's door. Rosie had left halfway, claiming urgent business in the library. Now Lyra was alone with the door.

"If you're planning to pick me again with your nail, I'll send you to peel potatoes in the dining room," the dragon-shaped door warned. And he blew steam from his nostrils.

"Maybe once in a lifetime, adherents receive mashed potatoes without skins," Lyra muttered. The Academy's dining room food had a distinctively disgusting taste and a long aftertaste. Therefore, everyone preferred homemade food.

"Do not be rude to me." After examining the girl again, the door knocker gave out. "And what is your name?"

"I am Lyra," the girl said.

"Lyra, is that all? "The door knocker did not let up. "Where will you be from? "

"From the Faculty of Household Magic," the girl answered reluctantly.

"Ah, so you're the same Lyra," the door knocker said. "This summer, we all heard about you. Miss Tahim went to the Headmaster's office every day, waving the reporting journal of your class and shouting, 'Let her be expelled, let her be expelled! Thirty subjects and everyone's grades in all subjects to be checked!'"

"Why everyone? We rewrite only one subject" Lyra was genuinely surprised.

"What if you falsified your grades in others subjects?" Dragon suggested.

"We don't need other grades," Lyra frowned.

"Well, now it's not for you to decide what's necessary and what's not," the door knocker retorted. It abruptly opened the door and announced, "Sir, Miss Lyra Valeski, a 4th-year Faculty of Household Magic student, is here to see you. " Keep it down so only the girl can hear. "That's for now, student."

At the far wall of the office, a tall man was reading a scroll at a massive oak table. He had a strong chin, wide cheekbones, large blue eyes, a high forehead, and long, ashy hair that, like its owner, were tough and massive. His broad shoulders were hidden under a black tunic with a V-shaped neckline that emphasized his enormous neck.

Lyra stood numb on the threshold, still looking for the slightly chubby Basilisk Academy of Magic Headmaster, who loved to sit in a tweed rocking chair by the far window. But now, there was only a big Dracaena there, as if hinting there would be no more plump man.

A sharp wave of the stranger's hand drew Lyra's attention. He leaned closer to the desktop candle so the light spilled on his face. And Lyra recognized him as Marcus Everson - the First Sword of the Empire, a member of the Order of Merlin, and the First Bachelor of Chaos.

She recently saw his face in the yellow press. Marcus was featured on the front page with a headline, "The country's most eligible bachelor spotted with a mysterious stranger." But here's the question: what is Marcus doing here at her Academy? It's unlikely that their Academy would be so fortunate to have the Empire's first sword become their Headmaster.

He glanced at Lyra, waved his hand again, urging her to come closer, and plunged back into reading the pieces of paper on the table. Lyra took the first step, and her leg treacherously turned. "Get it together; you can't be nervous, remember," her subconscious reminded her. Taking a deep breath, she approached the table and sat in the guest chair. Minutes she stretched one after another. Waiting was the worst torture.

"Tell me, please, did you imagine yourself as a professor?" the newly made Headmaster asked quietly.

Lyra didn't even realize at first that she was being asked. His voice was quiet, like the rustle of pages.

"No," the girl replied.

"Maybe you graduated from another Academy, but they forgot to notify me?" the Headmaster asked pointedly.

"No," Lyra mumbled.

"Lyra, what's with the monotonous answers?" the inner voice muttered.

"I'm so sorry," Lyra began to make excuses hoarsely.

In a chaotic story, Lyra told about the Professor of History who extorted money and issued other ultimatums not to give good grades. Ultimately, she asked for forgiveness, but she couldn't do otherwise. The Headmaster's eyebrow arched.

As the story continued, the pencil in the Headmaster's hand crunched and crumbled finely, and at the end of the conversation, only chips remained from it.

"Why didn't you tell the curator?! " He asked angrily.

"My word meant nothing," Lyra said modestly, lowering her eyes.

Lyra had nothing to add. The act was stupid, but it could not be otherwise.

"What should I do with you, Lyra?" Judging by his tone, it was a rhetorical question.

"Your act does not characterize you from the best side," he continued after a pause. "You undermined the trust," he withstood another dramatic pause.

"From that moment on, you are on a test period and under my supervision. One more mistake: filling out the shape of the wrong paste, being late on the subject, even for a second to class, or just looking not smile at the Professor. Give me even the slightest reason, Lyra, and you will be deprived of the title of the headman, demoted to the first year of housewives, and you can forget about the prestigious work under the Emperor," he spoke in one breath. And then added, "I will deal with the professor alone. You are free, Lyra," pointing to the door with his eyes, he again plunged into reading the papers.

Like an arrow, Lyra quickly flew out the door; she could not believe her luck. Threats about the future were nasty, but she was still a class monitor, and everything was already behind.

At that moment, her stomach rumbled, reminding her that it was time to eat.

A rumble reigned in the dining room. It seemed like a hive. Everyone fussed, discussed something, shouted, and at the same time, chomped.

"Well, how did everything go?" asked Rosie while they stood in line with a tray.

"I'm still an elder," Lyra began, "they won't expel me, but I'm on probation."

"Well, not everything is so bad," said Rosie. "Probation is also good."

"Here I am about the same," she looked at her meal: burnt oatmeal with an egg. The girl sharply turned away.

"You know, I'll probably run home and have a bite there," Lyra said.

"Well, just remember, the secretariat will close in an hour. Will you have time to pick up the journal?"

"The journal," Lyra moaned, "I didn't receive written permission."

"Oh," Rosie widened her eyes. "So, you have a meeting with the Headmaster again," she made her lips into a bow and quickly fluttered her eyes.

"Do you know that we have a new Headmaster?" She asked, offended.

"Yeah, but I'll tell you in defense that I found out ten minutes ago," the elf occupied a defensive pose, "it's in the same line, but only at the entrance to the dining room. So now the whole female half of the Academy dreams of coming to the Headmaster to exchange a few with him, hoping to advance and become the lady who will hold the first sword of the Empire. And you already have two meetings with him today," she grunted enviously.

"I didn't deliberately forget," Lyra said, drowning in guilt.

"Yeah," the elf continued to have fun. "Whether it was deliberate or not, you still have time."

Hungry and tired, Lyra again made her way to the eastern tower.