"Again, Sinclair-san. And this time, focus on the essence point before extraction."

  Malcolm suppressed a sigh as Master Seiran's critical gaze bore into him from across the private study room. The walls were lined with faded scrolls, their edges curling with age, and the air smelled of ink, parchment, and the faint herbal tang of preservation oils. Afternoon sunlight slanted through narrow windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air each time either of them moved.

  For the past hour, he'd been attempting to demonstrate his fabricated "Redoak essence extraction technique" without revealing that he was actually using his void pool. The result had been a frustrating dance of half-truths and vague explanations that left both of them dissatisfied.

  "Right. The essence point." Malcolm picked up another wilting herb stem, pretending to examine it closely while surreptitiously accessing his soul space. The void pool waited, almost eager for new material, while his collection of essence orbs hovered in their organized constellation. He mentally selected one that matched the herb in his hand and prepared to draw it out.

  "You're not focusing," Master Seiran observed. "Your energy is scattered. Show me the proper hand position again."

  Malcolm adjusted his fingers into the completely made-up configuration he'd invented for this demonstration, trying to look confident. "In Redoak, we believe the essence flows more freely when guided by the three primary meridians," he explained, using terminology he'd picked up from Jirou. He had no idea if it made any sense in this context, but it sounded impressive.

  Technically, he wasn't lying. His family's herb shop in Redoak had used finger positions when measuring certain delicate materials—just not for magical extraction.

  Master Seiran's eyes narrowed, and Malcolm could practically see the skepticism radiating from him. "Interesting. This contradicts traditional meridian theory, which holds that essence flows through five primary channels, not three."

  "Western methods differ," Malcolm replied with a casual shrug, while internally panicking. He needed to change the subject before his ignorance became too obvious. "Shall I continue with the demonstration?"

  Before Master Seiran could respond, Malcolm closed his eyes and focused intensely, making a show of deep concentration while actually reaching into his soul space. He retrieved the essence orb and channeled it into his palm, feeling that now-familiar tingle as it materialized. With a practiced motion, he released it over the mortar on the table.

  The essence dissolved into the mortar, transforming into a shimmering liquid that gave off a pleasant herbal fragrance—far more potent than the withered stem should have produced through traditional methods.

  "Most remarkable," Master Seiran said, inspecting the result. "The potency exceeds even master-grade extractions, yet you've used what appears to be a student-grade material."

  "Quality isn't everything," Malcolm said, echoing something his father used to say about their suppliers. "It's understanding the material's true nature that matters."

  Master Seiran tested the extraction with a small crystal rod, which immediately glowed a vibrant green. "The resonance is exceptional." He set down the rod and fixed Malcolm with an inscrutable look. "You claim this is a common technique in Redoak?"

  "Among certain specialized herbalists," Malcolm hedged. "My family has worked with plants for generations."

  It wasn't technically a lie. His family had worked with plants for generations—just not with magical extraction methods.

  "I see." Master Seiran made a note on a small scroll. "And this technique—it has limitations, I presume? Conditions where it proves less effective?"

  Malcolm nodded, grateful for the opportunity to set some boundaries. "It doesn't work well on highly processed materials," he said, thinking quickly. "And the practitioner needs a... specific sensitivity that takes years to develop." This would help explain why he couldn't teach the technique to others.

  "Fascinating." Master Seiran rolled up his scroll with deliberate precision. "I would be interested in discussing this further with Grandmaster Kaiven. Such alternative methodologies, while unorthodox, may hold valuable insights."

  Malcolm's heart skipped a beat. Grandmaster Kaiven was the head of Traditional Methodology and notoriously resistant to innovation. The last thing Malcolm wanted was more high-level scrutiny.

  "I'd be honored," he lied, forcing a smile. "Though I'm still refining my understanding of how the technique translates to Kagetsu materials."

  "Indeed." Master Seiran rose, signaling the end of their session. "Continue your practical applications, but document your processes more thoroughly. I expect detailed notes on your next three extractions, including precise observations of the essence points you identify."

  "Yes, Master Seiran." Malcolm bowed, inwardly groaning at the additional homework. Creating believable documentation for a nonexistent technique would be challenging, to say the least.

  As he left Master Seiran's study, Malcolm's mind raced. His fake "Redoak technique" explanation had bought him some time, but it wouldn't hold up under serious investigation. He needed a more comprehensive theoretical framework to explain his results without revealing the void pool.

  Lost in thought, he nearly collided with a tall figure rounding the corner.

  "Watch your step, Sinclair," came a familiar voice, tinged with deliberate formality.

  Malcolm looked up to find Riven Tairo regarding him with cool assessment. The third-year student wore the distinctive silver-trimmed robes of an academic mentor, his posture perfect as always.

  "Sorry about that, Tairo-san," Malcolm replied, remembering to use the proper form of address. He'd learned that much, at least.

  Riven adjusted his sleeve with precise movements. "Master Seiran informed me that I will be overseeing your supplementary theoretical studies moving forward."

  "My what now?" Malcolm blinked, caught off guard.

  "Your unique methodological approach," Riven said, emphasizing 'unique' in a way that suggested skepticism, "requires complementary theoretical framing to be properly evaluated within Academy standards. I have been assigned to assist you in developing this framework."

  Great. Another complication. "That's...really not necessary," Malcolm tried. "I'm still just experimenting with basic applications."

  "It is not optional," Riven stated flatly. "We begin tomorrow during evening study period. Bring your documentation and be prepared to discuss foundational principles." With a slight bow that somehow managed to seem both proper and dismissive, he continued down the hallway.

  Malcolm groaned softly. An academic mentor meant more questions, more scrutiny, and more chances to expose the truth about his abilities. The walls seemed to be closing in around his secret.

  The Twilight Exchange hummed with subdued activity as Malcolm navigated between makeshift stalls in the northeastern section of the dumping ground. Lanterns cast warm pools of light through the evening mist, illuminating the faces of students and a few trusted craftspeople from the city as they conducted their semi-sanctioned trading. The night air carried a complex mixture of scents—herb dust, metal filings, the smoke from the lanterns, and the faint sweetness of snacks some vendors were discreetly selling alongside their main wares.

  Malcolm had been shocked when Elder Mozu first mentioned the bi-monthly market that operated within the Academy's own dumping ground. Apparently, the unofficial economy had existed for generations—tacitly permitted by the administration as a practical learning experience for students and a way to recycle materials that would otherwise go to waste.

  "Fresh extraction, only five commons," called a second-year student from behind a table of herb preparations. "Perfect for respiratory support during autumn studies!"

  Nearby, an older student with the serious demeanor of the enchantment department quietly negotiated over a small box of focusing crystals, their voices hushed as they discussed quality and price.

  Malcolm's own modest stall consisted of a salvaged table covered with a relatively clean cloth. On it, he had arranged small vials of refined base materials—pure metals, crystal dust, herb extracts—all processed through his void pool and labeled with their properties. Nothing too flashy or obviously enhanced, just clean, high-quality base components that any alchemist would find useful.

  "Sinclair-san." A heavyset boy from the second year approached, examining Malcolm's offerings with obvious interest. "I heard you had reclaimed silver dust?"

  Malcolm nodded, reaching beneath his table for a small jar. "Highest purity," he said, uncapping it to reveal the gleaming metallic powder inside. "Completely free of copper contamination, unlike the student-grade stock from the supply office."

  The boy raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Testing methods?"

  "Applied a standard resonance crystal. No green tinge, just pure blue illumination," Malcolm explained, using terminology he'd picked up from his theoretical readings. "Five commons for a small vial, twelve for the large."

  "I'll take the large," the boy decided, counting out copper coins. "My focusing frame project requires absolute purity."

  Malcolm packaged the silver dust carefully, pleased with another successful transaction. Over the past few weeks, he'd built a modest but growing customer base—mostly students looking for better materials than they could afford from official suppliers, or those needing to replace components they'd wasted through mistakes.

  His void pool made it possible to extract pure components from even damaged or contaminated sources, creating materials that rivaled professional grade at student prices. The profits weren't huge, but they provided a steady stream of income beyond his limited scholarship funds.

  "Quite the entrepreneur," came a soft voice behind him.

  Malcolm turned to find Mira watching his transaction, her face a careful mask as always, but her eyes betraying curiosity.

  "Just making the most of my resource management duties," he replied with a grin. "Waste not, want not, right?"

  "Hmm." Mira stepped closer, examining his arranged vials. "The administration might have different opinions about private commerce using Academy materials."

  Malcolm's stomach tightened. "Are you here to shut me down?"

  To his surprise, Mira shook her head. "If I were, I would have brought administrative staff, not come alone." She picked up a vial of purified herb extract, studying its clarity. "Your processing techniques are... impressive."

  Coming from Mira, that was practically effusive praise.

  "Thanks," Malcolm said, relaxing slightly. "So what are you doing here, if not busting me?"

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  "Observing." Mira set down the vial with careful precision. "The Twilight Exchange is a valuable educational component, even if unofficially. Student commerce builds practical skills." A hint of amusement crept into her voice. "Did you think this market operated for generations without the administration's awareness?"

  Malcolm shrugged. "I figured they just turned a blind eye."

  "They observe from a distance," Mira corrected. "Rules are enforced—no dangerous materials, no extortion, no stolen goods. Beyond that, the Exchange serves as a practical laboratory for commerce and resource management."

  "And let me guess," Malcolm said, "you're one of the observers?"

  Mira's expression remained neutral, but Malcolm caught the slight upward twitch at the corner of her mouth. "I have various responsibilities."

  "So that's a yes," Malcolm said with a laugh. "You've been spying on me this whole time?"

  Mira's lips tightened. "I prefer 'monitoring,'" she said. "And you're not special, Sinclair-san. All first-years are observed as they find their place at the Academy—in official capacities and otherwise."

  A commotion at the far end of the Exchange caught their attention. A small crowd had gathered around a tall figure in the distinctive robes of the third-year alchemy department.

  "Speaking of monitoring," Mira murmured, "your admirer has arrived."

  "My what?" Malcolm followed her gaze to see Lian Koda moving purposefully through the market. He was examining various stalls with the critical eye of an evaluator rather than a customer. Several traders hastily adjusted their wares as he approached.

  "Great," Malcolm muttered. "Just what I need."

  "He's been asking questions about your 'Redoak techniques,'" Mira informed him, her voice dropping. "Particularly about your unusual extraction results."

  Malcolm's hands stilled over his display. "What kind of questions?"

  "The kind that suggest he doesn't believe your explanations." Mira's dark eyes met his directly. "Whatever methods you're actually using, Sinclair-san, Lian Koda is determined to expose any inconsistencies."

  "I'm not doing anything wrong," Malcolm protested, though he felt a trickle of sweat down his back despite the cool evening air.

  "Wrong' is subjective in academic contexts," Mira replied. "What matters is adherence to established protocols—or proper documentation of divergence."

  Before Malcolm could respond, Lian's tall figure appeared at the end of their row, his sharp gaze scanning the stalls until it landed on Malcolm's. He began walking directly toward them, his purposeful stride parting the crowd like a knife through water.

  "He seems very interested in your operation," Mira observed. "I suggest care in your explanations."

  "Thanks for the warning," Malcolm said, but when he turned back, Mira had already slipped away, vanishing into the milling crowd with surprising agility.

  Lian reached Malcolm's stall, his expression a careful mask of polite interest, though his eyes remained coldly analytical. "Sinclair-san. I was curious to see what enterprise a first-year might establish." He inspected the arranged vials without touching them. "Quite the diverse selection for someone of your...limited experience."

  Malcolm forced a friendly smile. "Just trying to reduce waste by reclaiming useful materials. Isn't that what resource management is all about?"

  "Indeed." Lian picked up a vial of purified herb extract, holding it to the lantern light. "Yet these purity levels exceed what should be possible with student-grade equipment and standard techniques." His eyes locked with Malcolm's. "Unless, of course, one is employing these mysterious 'Redoak methods' you've been so vague about describing."

  Malcolm's heart pounded, but he kept his voice casual. "Different approaches, different results. We're practical in Redoak—focus on what works rather than following every traditional step."

  "Practical," Lian repeated, setting down the vial with exaggerated care. "An interesting euphemism for circumventing foundational principles."

  A few nearby traders had stopped their conversations to listen, drawn by the tension between the two students. From the corner of his eye, Malcolm noticed a heavyset older student watching with particular interest—Daru Wei, who sold herb preparations at a nearby stall and had frowned noticeably when customers began visiting Malcolm's table instead of his.

  "I'm not circumventing anything," Malcolm replied, his Redoak directness pushing through his attempt at Kagetsu propriety. "I'm getting results using techniques I grew up with. Different doesn't mean wrong."

  Lian's eyebrow raised a fraction. "I never said 'wrong,' Sinclair-san." Lian's fingers hovered over the display before selecting a small vial of metal powder. "This one interests me. I'll take it—for personal research, of course."

  Malcolm hesitated. Refusing would look suspicious, but he knew Lian intended to scrutinize his products for evidence of his methods.

  "Three commons," he said finally. "Same as anyone else."

  Lian placed the coins on the table with precise movements. "Academic integrity requires verification of unusual methodologies. I'm sure you understand the importance of proper documentation and peer review."

  It sounded reasonable, even helpful, but Malcolm didn't miss the underlying threat. Lian was going to pick apart his work, looking for inconsistencies in his fictional "Redoak technique" explanation.

  "Looking forward to your feedback," Malcolm said with false enthusiasm. "Always happy to share cross-cultural perspectives."

  Lian's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Indeed. Knowledge should be transparent, shouldn't it? Available for all to examine and replicate." He pocketed the vial and gave a shallow bow. "Good evening, Sinclair-san. I anticipate our future discussions about your...innovative techniques."

  As Lian walked away, Malcolm exhaled slowly, tension draining from his shoulders. The conversation had felt like navigating a field of hidden traps, each word a potential misstep.

  The problem was growing more complex by the day. Between Master Seiran's interest, Riven's new oversight role, and now Lian's direct investigation, Malcolm's void pool abilities were drawing exactly the kind of attention he'd hoped to avoid.

  "That looked intense," commented a girl from the enchantment department as she approached his stall. "Lian Koda doesn't usually bother with first-year operations."

  "Lucky me," Malcolm muttered. "He seems really interested in my processing methods."

  The girl nodded sympathetically. "He takes his position as junior research assistant to Grandmaster Kaiven very seriously. Any deviation from traditional methodology is treated like a personal offense."

  Malcolm's stomach dropped. "He works directly with Grandmaster Kaiven?"

  "Assistant to the assistant, technically," she clarified. "But he reports everything he finds interesting. And he's been talking about your unusual results since that practical alchemy session."

  Perfect. Just perfect. His secret was being scrutinized from every angle, with Lian acting as a direct pipeline to the most traditionally minded master in the entire Academy.

  By the time the Exchange closed for the evening, Malcolm had made decent sales but couldn't shake the feeling that his precarious situation was about to get much more complicated. He packed his remaining vials carefully into his soul space, organizing them in the shadowy areas away from the small, bowl-sized void pool.

  "That third-year isn't your only problem," came a gruff voice. Malcolm turned to find Daru Wei, the herb seller from three stalls down, watching him with narrowed eyes.

  "Excuse me?" Malcolm said, instantly on guard.

  "You're undercutting everyone with these too-perfect extractions." Daru's thick fingers tightened around the strap of his satchel. "Some of us spent years perfecting our processing techniques, and here you come with products that shouldn't be possible for a first-year."

  "I'm not trying to—"

  "Save it," Daru cut him off. "Just know that Lian Koda isn't the only one watching you." With a final glower, he turned and disappeared into the shadows between lanterns.

  Malcolm sighed heavily. Great—now the other vendors were turning against him too.

  Elder Mozu appeared as Malcolm was folding his table, materializing from the darkness like a weathered ghost.

  "Noticed you had a visitor," the old man commented, leaning on his gnarled staff. "The Kaiven boy's taken quite an interest in your operation."

  "Yeah, and not in a good way," Malcolm sighed. "He's looking for evidence that I'm breaking the rules. Or lying about my methods. Or both."

  Elder Mozu scratched his wispy beard thoughtfully. "Traditionalists fear what they don't understand. And what they fear, they seek to control." His eyes, still sharp despite his age, studied Malcolm carefully. "You're reaching a crossroads, boy. Soon you'll need to decide whether to hide your abilities or defend them openly."

  "I'm not ready for that," Malcolm admitted. "I barely understand how the void pool works myself. If I try to explain it now, they'll just dismiss it as some weird aberration."

  "Then you need allies," Elder Mozu said simply. "Those positioned to validate your work when the time comes." He gestured around the now-emptying Exchange. "You've built commercial connections. Now you need academic ones."

  "Easier said than done," Malcolm grumbled. "The academic types are exactly the ones most skeptical of anything non-traditional."

  "Not all of them." Elder Mozu tapped his staff on the ground for emphasis. "Look for the ones who ask questions out of curiosity rather than judgment. They exist, even here in tradition-bound Enshin."

  As Malcolm made his way back to the dormitories, the old man's advice turned in his mind. Allies. He had a few already—Mira, in her careful, reserved way; Sorha, with her perspective as another outsider and her insights during their conversation last week at his workspace; Jirou, whose academic interest occasionally overcame his traditional mindset. But he needed more, particularly someone with academic standing who could vouch for his results when scrutiny inevitably increased.

  He nodded to the dormitory prefect as he entered the building, noting with relief that he was still before curfew. The lantern in his room was still lit—Tsuji was probably studying, as usual. Malcolm braced himself for another evening of uncomfortable silence with his roommate.

  To his surprise, the room was occupied not just by Tsuji but by Riven Tairo as well. The third-year student sat at Tsuji's desk, academic scrolls spread around him in neat arrangement.

  "Ah, Sinclair-san," Riven said, looking up from a thick tome. "I was reviewing the theoretical framework we'll be developing to document your methodologies."

  "Right now?" Malcolm asked, glancing between Riven and Tsuji, who was sitting stiffly on his bed, obviously uncomfortable with the senior student's presence.

  "Preliminary research only," Riven replied. "I've been consulting with Tsuji-san about standard first-year theoretical foundations, to better understand where your alternative approach diverges."

  Great. Now his roommate was being drawn into the web of scrutiny too.

  "I've explained that I have limited insight into Sinclair-san's methods," Tsuji said carefully, his eyes not meeting Malcolm's.

  "Naturally." Riven gathered his scrolls with efficient movements. "But establishing baseline knowledge is essential before examining deviations." He stood, his tall frame making the small dormitory room seem even more cramped. "I'll expect you in study room four tomorrow evening, Sinclair-san. Please bring whatever documentation you have of your extraction techniques, particularly noting points of divergence from traditional methodology."

  After Riven left, an awkward silence filled the room. Tsuji busied himself organizing his already-immaculate desk, clearly uncomfortable.

  "So," Malcolm said finally, dropping onto his bed. "Riven's been interrogating you about me?"

  Tsuji's shoulders tensed slightly. "He asked about standard first-year curriculum coverage. It was a reasonable academic inquiry."

  "Right." Malcolm kicked off his shoes, too tired to maintain proper Kagetsu etiquette. "Look, I know we're not exactly friends, but I'm not trying to cause problems for anyone. I'm just doing things the way I learned them."

  Tsuji was quiet for a moment. "Your methods produce unusually effective results," he finally said, his voice carefully neutral. "That naturally attracts attention in an academic environment."

  "Yeah, well, in Redoak we care more about whether something works than how traditional it is." Malcolm ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't get why everyone's so upset about getting better results more efficiently."

  "It is not about efficiency," Tsuji replied, turning to face Malcolm directly for perhaps the first time in their weeks as roommates. "It is about understanding. A result without proper theoretical foundation lacks reproducibility and context. It becomes merely an anomaly rather than a contribution to knowledge."

  Malcolm blinked, surprised by both the length of Tsuji's response and its insightfulness. "I guess I never thought about it that way."

  "That much is obvious," Tsuji said, but without the usual disdain. He hesitated, then added, "If you truly wish to gain acceptance for your methods, you must develop a theoretical framework that explains not just what you do, but why it works within established alchemical principles."

  "Is that even possible for completely different approaches?"

  "New branches grow from existing trunks," Tsuji replied, the phrase sounding like a quoted proverb. "Even revolutionary ideas must connect to established knowledge to be properly understood."

  Malcolm considered this. Maybe Tsuji had a point. If he could develop a theoretical explanation for the void pool that connected to traditional alchemical principles, his methods might gain acceptance rather than suspicion.

  "Thanks," he said, genuinely meaning it. "That's actually helpful advice."

  Tsuji looked momentarily taken aback by the gratitude, then gave a small, stiff nod before turning back to his studies.

  As Malcolm prepared for bed, his mind whirled with new thoughts. The void pool was drawing increasing scrutiny, but perhaps he could turn that attention to his advantage. If he could develop a coherent theoretical framework—one that explained his results in terms traditionalists could understand—he might gain not just tolerance but actual support for his unique abilities.

  The problem was, he barely understood how the void pool worked himself. He knew what it did, but not why or how. To create a convincing theoretical framework, he would need to deepen his understanding of both his own abilities and traditional alchemical principles.

  Which meant more study, more experimentation, and somehow managing to do both while under the watchful eyes of Riven, Master Seiran, and now Lian Koda.

  Malcolm sighed as he pulled his blanket over himself. Nothing was ever simple at Enshin Academy.