We walked.
The cacophony of the cafeteria, that vibrant colosseum of social warfare, seemed to fade into a dull roar. My focus was entirely on the three of us. Aurélie, to my left, was a beacon of nervous excitement, her eyes wide as she took in the sheer scale of the place. She was seeing a cafeteria. Miss. Curie, to my right, was seeing a living spreadsheet, her mind still humming from the high of her successful anomaly scan.
"That was..." Aurélie said, her voice a soft murmur. "He's something else, isn't he?"
"That," Miss. Curie replied, licking a phantom trace of tomato sauce from her finger, "is the understatement of the century."
They were talking about me, of course. About the deduction, about the invitation from James. They saw the 'me' I presented: the serene magician, the insightful acquaintance. It was a simple, clean reflection, of course that is how I saw myself as well, but of course the mirror will always be indifferent, even if one lies to themselves.
And then, we were there.
The sunken VIP area was roped off, not with velvet, but with a simple, tasteful barrier that screamed exclusivity more effectively than any velvet rope could.
James Mosley, bless his earnest heart, was already standing, waving us over with a smile that was entirely too genuine for this environment.
"Isaac! You made it! And you brought friends, wonderful!"
I nodded, stepping forward as James unhooked the rope. "James. Thank you for your hospitality. Allow me to introduce my friends, Aurélie Louise and Marie Curie."
Aurélie gave a small, polite wave. Miss. Curie just nodded, her sharp eyes already sweeping the table, cataloging, assessing.
And I... I did the same.
My gaze moved past James. The Villanueva brothers, Jose(Rank 19) and Alejandro(Rank 22), were already grinning, nudging each other as if preparing a joke. Sae Ishida(Rank 24), the Japanese princess, offered a playful, curious smile. Freja Svensson(Rank 16), the Nordic skater, looked up with a reserved but kind expression. Jin Hai(Rank 2), the future leader of China, was still, his face a mask of calm neutrality, while the girl beside him, Bai Xiu(Rank 7), was even stiller, her eyes missing nothing, it was surprising to see her though. Arwa Ethereal(Rank 23), the Syrian prodigy, winked at me, a charming, disarming gesture. And a blonde-haired, impossibly elegant girl was the one and only Nikke Georgiadis(Rank 9), the Greek model, who appraised us with a look of bored, subtle arrogance.
It was a collection of power, a living tableau of the world's future elite. My mind processed them, filed them, began constructing their psychological frameworks from their posture, their expressions, their micro-reactions to our arrival. To a mentalist or a detective this would be a cognitive workout for them that would exhaust them to near death, but it just feels like a normal Tuesday for me.
Then my eyes landed on the last person.
She sat at the head of the table, though not in the center. A position of quiet, unassuming authority. She had long, brilliant red hair and was bright to the point someone could mistake her hair color as white but in reality it is just the brightest shade, or shall I say highlight of red, piercingly blue eyes. She wore the standard uniform, but it seemed tailored to a different standard, and her smile was a perfect, serene crescent. It was a smile that held the same depth, the same calm, the same... weight... as my own.
Scarlett Rivera. Rank 5. Daughter of the President of the United States.
And the world ended.
It didn't shatter.
It didn't explode.
It dissolved.
The vibrant colors of the cafeteria, the scent of fourteen different food halls, the symphony of chatter, it all collapsed into a single point of roaring, monochrome static. The sound was deafening, a shriek that existed only inside my skull. I wasn't in a cafeteria. I was nowhere. I was in the grey void, the space between realities, the place I buried the things that even I couldn't bear to reflect.
No.
The static intensified, twisting, coalescing. Her face remained, floating in the void. That same serene smile. The one that had watched a civilization burn. The one that had bastardized every concept I had ever created. The one that had held a spear, slick with...
No.
A parasite. A parasitic emotion. Hatred. It was ancient, cold, and infinite, and it rose from the depths of my being, threatening to erupt, to harden me. I felt its claws sink into my heart, trying to turn it to stone, to make me like her.
I met its gaze within my mind. And with a simple, cold exertion of will, I killed it. I snuffed it out of existence. It was just an emotion. It was not me.
Another rose. Despair. A crushing weight. The memory of 20,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 voices screaming and then going silent.
The feeling of being the last one…
Utterly alone…
I killed it…
Rage. Vengeance. Sorrow. They came one by one, a swarm of parasitic thoughts born from a past that wasn't supposed to exist, a past I had meticulously rewritten in my own head. But the mirror doesn't lie. And she...
She was the one who broke it…
I killed them all. One by one.
I am Isaac Mahoka… I am kind. I am warm. I am a magician who brings joy… I am the son of Moon Mahoka… the mother who was crucified by the Azrael killer… and with another mother of an intricate past in Japan that helped me utilize my empathy and to make me clear and had no choice but to move to Europe with my mother… And someone that has been thrown into the bottom barrel of the world's cruel society of the caste system... I had to learn all Latin languages to communicate with my mother's side of the family… I am the friend of Lucico, Aurelíe, and Sister Claire…
I am...
The static receded. The sound returned. It felt like an hour had passed. An eternity of internal warfare, of slaughtering my own ghosts to keep my heart pure.
I blinked.
It would seem I would have to postpone my plans to learn Serbian due to wanting to help understand Milicia, and now I have to talk to Lucico and Isidora… more privately… of a change of plans…
"...Isaac? Are you alright?"
It was Aurélie. Her face was pale, her voice laced with genuine concern. I looked around. Everyone at the table was staring at me. James looked like he'd just seen a ghost. Miss. Curie's analytical gaze had been replaced by one of profound, sharp confusion. Even Mr. Hai's neutral mask had slipped; his eyes were narrowed in assessment.
Miss. Rivera's serene smile hadn't wavered. Not even an inch.
Seven seconds. That's all it had been for them.
I felt the last vestiges of the void cling to me. I had let something slip, not just the pause, but the feeling. I had consciously released a fraction of that ancient cold, that pressure that came from... before… A test..
She had felt it. I knew she had.
I let my own smile return, serene and warm. "My apologies," I said, my voice perfectly calm. "I was just... captivated. It's not every day one finds oneself in such esteemed company. The sheer concentration of talent is... rather overwhelming."
My left pupil, I knew, was still slightly dilated from the shock. A small, physical tell.
James laughed nervously, relaxing. "Ah! Well, yes, I suppose it is! Please, please, sit!"
The seating arrangement was, as Lucico would say, a jest of fate. The only open seat that made sense, the one James guided me toward, was directly across from him.
And directly next to Miss. Rivera.
"A pleasure to finally meet you all," I said, taking my seat. Miss. Rivera turned to me, her blue eyes holding an angelic kindness that felt like the sharpest, coldest blade I had ever encountered.
"The pleasure is all ours, Mr. Mahoka," she said, her voice like velvet. "James has told us... quite a bit about you."
"Oh, he has?" I glanced at James, who flushed slightly.
"Only good things!" James hurried to say. "I... might have mentioned that Isaac was very keen to meet all of you! He mentioned he was a big fan."
An internal sigh.
I have never once spoken those words out of my mouth in my entire life, James.
But a magician must work with the cards he's dealt. I turned to the table, my smile becoming one of modest, academic enthusiasm.
"A 'fan' might be a strong word, James," I corrected gently. "'Deeply interested' is perhaps more accurate. My pursuits require me to understand... exceptional people."
I looked at Mr. Hai. "Mr. Hai, your treatise on strategic economic stabilization for developing nations was required reading for anyone interested in real-world macroeconomics."
I turned to Miss. Ethereal, who was leaning forward, her chin in her hands, looking thoroughly amused. "Miss. Ethereal, your essays on asymmetric geopolitical pressure are, frankly, revolutionary. The 'soft-power-through-resource-control' doctrine is... elegant."
My gaze finally rested on Miss. Rivera. "And Miss. Rivera. Your book, The Patriot Act II: The New American Syndicalism, was a masterful thesis. The way you argued for national syndicalism as a tool for rapid economic and social mobilization, all while framing it as an evolution of democratic principles... It was truly fascinating. I've read it twice."
Miss. Rivera tilted her head, her serene smile unwavering. "Why, thank you, Mr. Mahoka. It's always lovely to meet a reader who appreciates the... nuance."
Of course, it's not every day you meet a high-functioning fascist who used their father, President Theodore Rivera, to successfully transition America from the pinnacle of a neoliberal democratic state to an actual fascist state.
At least that is what you used to frame yourself as.
The air was thick with her charisma. It was a gravitational pull, a warmth that promised acceptance, safety, and power. It was the most perfect, beautiful lie I had ever encountered.
"And you, Miss. Xiu," I said, turning to the silent girl beside Mr. Hai "Your presence was an... unexpected surprise. But I deduce from your positioning and observational focus that you are Mr. Hai's personal security?"
Miss. Xiu didn't speak, but her eyes, for a fraction of a second, widened. Mr. Hai chuckled. "She is my friend, Isaac. But your deduction is quite accurate."
"A fan and a magician, yes?" Miss. Ethereal chimed in, her playful smile widening.
This... this was a genuine surprise.
My composure didn't break, but the internal calculation was immediate. I had only mentioned my ambition in Class H's introduction. "A magician? How did you...?"
She laughed, a bright, charming sound. She pulled out her school-issued phone. "Oh, you're already famous, Isaac. Or should I say... infamous?"
She tapped the screen and turned it around. There, on the school's proprietary social media app, was a video. It was me. Standing awkwardly at my desk in Class H, saying, "I-I'm Isaac Mahoka... And I am also pursuing to be a magician."
The video was shaky, filmed from a low angle, from the right side of the classroom.
Miss. Dolfuss.
Of course.
She wasn't just observing me; she was curating my public image. Creating a narrative. The 'King of Trash' was now also the 'Class H Clown.' An interesting, if crude, psychological operation. I filed it away.
Although I haven't ruled out 'that' possibility yet despite how ludicrous it sounds, after all a magician always pays attention to their audience…
…and a magician most importantly never forgets a face…
"Ah," I said, offering a slightly sheepish smile. "It seems my secrets are out."
"A magician!" James clapped his hands. "That's wonderful! You know," he said, turning to the rest of the table, "Isaac told me this morning that he was an amazing storyteller!"
I didn't even bother with the internal sigh this time.
Thank you, James. You are a true friend, and a terrible liar.
"Oh?" Miss. Georgiadis, the Greek model, spoke for the first time. Her voice was smooth and melodic. "A story? From a magician? This I must hear. Do enlighten us, Isaac."
The entire table was looking at me. Expectant. Miss. Rivera's blue eyes were bright with a serene, patient curiosity that felt like an interrogation. I was utterly hopelessly trapped.
But a trap is just a stage, viewed from a different angle.
I let my smile soften, my voice dropping to a more intimate, serene cadence. A tone I had practiced, one that resonated with warmth and a hint of melancholy. I could see Miss. Ethereal and Miss. Ishida leaned in, captivated already.
"A story, then," I agreed softly. "It is not one of mine. It is a story... a traveling man shared with me, many years ago. He told it to me when I was young, after... after my mother's… passing."
This anchored the story in my known past. It made it a part of the past that I viewed as real, a shield.
"He called it... 'A Reflection Through the Broken Mirror.'"
I paused, letting the silence settle.
"This traveling man," I began, "was a wanderer. He had seen... much of the world. More than most. He told me that in his journeys through sun-scorched lands, in a place long forgotten by history, he stumbled upon an old, ruined temple. It was a place of profound silence. And there, not buried, but... placed... upon an altar, he found something. A child. A baby girl, no more than a few months old."
I looked down at my hands, as if seeing the memory.
"He said she had the most unusual eyes. Not blue, not grey, but the color of a twilight sky, with rings of amber light. And her hair... it was like spun amber. He didn't know who she was, or why she was left there. But he knew he couldn't leave her."
"So, he took her. He raised her as his own. And for ten years, they were... happy. He said they were the best ten years of his life. She was a bright child, full of laughter and a ferocious, controlling sort of love. He taught her to read, to see the wonder in the world he had all but forgotten. She was... his light."
I let my voice fill with the warmth of that memory. It wasn't a lie. That part was true.
"But... the world is not kind to such things. Shadows began to follow them. The traveler, you see, was... different. And the men who hunted him were not the kind you could reason with. They weren't hunting him, not really. They were hunting what he represented. And they had begun to sense what the child... what she could become."
"He knew he couldn't protect her forever. Not while she was with him. So, he took her on one last journey. To the frozen north, to a city of ice and steel. He had an old friend there. A white-haired huntress, a woman who understood the shadows better than anyone".
Miss. Rivera's smile, I noted from my peripheral vision, had tightened. Just a fraction of a millimeter.
"He... he had to give her away. To leave her with his friend, where she would be safe, where she would be trained. He told me it was the hardest thing he ever had to do."
My voice cracked, just slightly. A genuine emotion, surfacing through the performance.
"He told her he would find her again, when the world was safer. He made her promise to be strong, to keep smiling, and to never let anyone... Harden her heart or control her. And she... she made him promise to return. He said his goodbyes as he turned, and walked away, and did not look back. He said... he said that if he had looked back, he would not have been able to leave."
I stopped. The story was finished. I lifted my head, and I let a single, genuine tear trace a path down my cheek.
The table was utterly silent. Aurélie had tears in her own eyes. Miss. Svensson looked deeply moved. Even the Villanueva brothers were somber.
"Isaac..." Aurélie whispered. "That's... so sad."
"My word," James said, his voice thick.
"Wait." Miss. Curie's voice was sharp, cutting through the emotion. Her eyes were narrowed, not at my face, but at my eye. "Isaac... your eye. Your contact lens... it slipped".
A collective gasp as everyone leaned in.
I dabbed the tear away, my movements were as calm as ever. "Ah, forgive me. It's a sad story. It always... gets to me."
"No, look," Miss. Curie insisted.
I blinked, a deliberate, slow motion, as if adjusting the lens. "A necessity, I'm afraid. My eyes are... rather sensitive to the light. This bright cafeteria, you know."
It was a perfect simple logical deflection.
Everyone relaxed. A shared, nervous chuckle at Miss. Curie intensity. But as I looked up, my gaze met Miss. Rivera's.
Her serene, angelic smile was back in place. But her eyes... she wasn't looking at the lens. She was looking at me. She had seen the slip, but she had also seen the lie. She knew it wasn't about light sensitivity. She knew, with the terrifying certainty of a fellow predator, that I was hiding something fundamental. She was wearing them too.
Although one thing is for certain, James was wrong about when he said I wanted to meet them, it wasn't that he was wrong on who I wanted to meet, since I in fact did want to meet these people, but to say I agreed with James statement means I also requested Miss. Rivera's presence, which is wrong…
And knowing James' excitement, he would say my name before lunch period started and who I wanted to invite to this lunch gathering, and I never once told James to have Miss. Rivera to come as well… which means if James never mentioned my name once, you would have never had come in the first place, but since James did in fact mention my name, you couldn't help yourself but to come now can you?
In fact I anticipated, I was hoping you would give in to that desire to see me, and thank you for confirming that you are the ghost I wanted to see.
But you aren't my main focus for now, hence why I will cross you out of my suspect list on who is behind Miss. Kim.
The silence was broken by Miss. Svensson. Her voice was soft, kind, and a welcome relief from the tension. "That was a beautiful story, Isaac. Thank you for sharing it."
She then gestured to the bouquet of the uniquely colored roses I had placed on the table when I sat down. "Speaking of your talents... you brought these. James mentioned something about... 'Flora Reading'?"
Ah James, it seems you finally said something right, I in fact did tell James about the Flora Reading when we were at the flower shop.
The game was afoot once more. The emotional bait was taken, the deflection successful, and the true purpose of my visit was about to begin.
I smiled, my serene, magician's mask sliding perfectly back into place. "Ah, yes. These aren't just for decoration. 'Flora Reading' is a small trick I've been developing. It's... similar to tarot, but I use the language of flowers to read a person, or a situation. It can be quite... revealing. Would any of you be interested in a demonstration?"
I looked around the table, my gaze lingering on each of them.
Now... let's see which one of you reacts. Miss. Kim is a puppet. It's time to find her master.