Malcolm's first glimpse of Lumina City proper took his breath away. After weeks confined to the Academy grounds, the sprawling capital of Kagetsu seemed impossibly vibrant and chaotic. The narrow streets twisted between buildings of white plaster and dark wood, their elegantly curved tile roofs in deep blues and greens creating a rolling ocean above the bustling crowds. Market stalls spilled into alleyways, their colorful awnings fluttering in the autumn breeze, while vendors called out their wares in the musical cadence of Kagetsu that Malcolm was slowly beginning to understand.

  "Stay close," Mira instructed, guiding him through the crowd with practiced efficiency. "First-years often become disoriented in the city markets."

  "I'm not going to get lost," Malcolm protested, though he had to quicken his pace to keep up with her. "We had markets back home too, you know."

  "Redoak markets," Mira replied, as if that explained everything. "Kagetsu commerce follows specific cultural patterns. The most valuable vendors are rarely the loudest or most visible."

  Malcolm wasn't really listening. His attention was caught by everything around him—the smell of grilled seafood skewers from a nearby food stall, the glint of sunlight on brass pendants hanging from a jeweler's display, the animated haggling between a portly merchant and an elderly woman over what looked like a basket of dried mushrooms. After weeks of Academy discipline and rigid routines, the city's energy felt like a gulp of fresh air after being underwater.

  "Hey, what's in there?" he asked, pointing to a narrow doorway hung with strands of tiny copper bells that chimed softly in the breeze. The entrance was barely visible between two larger shops, and the interior was hidden in shadow.

  "Herbologist Wei's shop," Mira said. "Specializing in imported varieties. Not on our approved vendor list for today's excursion."

  "Wait, Daru Wei? The guy from the Exchange who hates my guts?"

  "His father," Mira corrected. "And 'hate' is an exaggeration. He merely considers your methods... questionable."

  "Same difference." Malcolm eyed the shop with new interest. "So he works in his dad's store and sells at the Exchange? No wonder he's pissed about my prices."

  "The Wei family has supplied herbal materials to the Academy for three generations," Mira explained. "Their reputation is built on consistency and tradition."

  "And high prices," Malcolm muttered, remembering the cost listings he'd seen at the Exchange.

  "Quality commands appropriate compensation," Mira replied primly. "Now, we should continue to the Artisan Quarter. Your free day permission expires at sunset."

  The Academy's monthly free day was a coveted privilege, allowing students a brief escape from the grounds to visit the city. For first-years, these excursions were supervised—Malcolm had been assigned to Mira's guidance, which wasn't actually the worst outcome. Despite her rigid adherence to rules, she knew the city well and seemed less bothered by his Western directness than most Kagetsu students.

  As they continued through the crowded marketplace, Malcolm noticed something odd. Several vendors would catch sight of Mira, then subtly adjust their displays or quickly replace certain items beneath their counters. It happened too consistently to be coincidence.

  "Why do shopkeepers keep hiding stuff when they see you coming?" he asked after the third occurrence.

  Mira's expression remained carefully neutral. "Perhaps they wish to present their best merchandise to Academy students."

  "Or they're hiding the stuff that breaks Academy rules," Malcolm countered with a grin. "I bet you've got quite the reputation as an enforcer."

  "I merely observe," she said, but Malcolm caught the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth that he'd come to recognize as her version of amusement.

  They turned down a wider street lined with more permanent shops—establishments with proper signage and assistant clerks sweeping the entrances. The Artisan Quarter, according to Mira, where master craftspeople maintained workshops and showrooms.

  "Here," she said, stopping before a modest storefront. A wooden sign hung above the door, displaying a mortar and pestle intertwined with flowering vines. "Tamura Apothecary. An acceptable supplier for student purchases."

  The shop's interior was cool and dim after the bright sunshine outside. The air carried the complex aromas of dozens of herbs and preparations—sharp mint mingling with earthy mushrooms, floral essences drifting beneath hints of astringent bark extracts. Rows of neatly labeled drawers lined the walls, while glass-fronted cabinets displayed finished preparations in bottles of various shapes and sizes. Unlike the chaotic marketplace stalls, everything here was meticulously organized.

  Behind a polished wooden counter stood a middle-aged woman in simple but finely made robes. Her hair was pulled back in a practical knot, and she wore no ornaments except a single jade pin holding her collar closed. She nodded to Mira in recognition.

  "Kazai-san. Another Academy expedition?"

  "Yes, Tamura-san. This is Sinclair Malcolm, a first-year student with interest in herbal applications."

  The apothecary studied Malcolm with sharp eyes. "The Redoak student? I've heard mention of you."

  Malcolm couldn't tell if that was good or bad. "Nice shop you've got here," he offered, falling back on the generic pleasantry his mother had taught him for meeting new shopkeepers.

  "Three generations of service to Lumina's households," she replied, her tone matter-of-fact rather than boastful. "How may I assist your studies today?"

  Malcolm glanced at Mira, who nodded encouragingly. This visit had been his request—a chance to see how city apothecaries operated compared to the family shop back in Redoak.

  "I'm interested in your processing methods," Malcolm said. "Back home, we have different approaches, and I'm trying to understand the Kagetsu techniques better."

  Tamura considered him for a moment. "An academic interest?"

  "More practical, really. I've been experimenting with some alternative extraction techniques."

  At this, the apothecary's eyes sharpened with interest. "Indeed? And what results have you observed?"

  For the next half hour, Malcolm found himself engaged in a surprisingly technical discussion. Tamura was clearly knowledgeable, asking pointed questions about his methods—which forced Malcolm to carefully navigate between honest explanations and concealing his void pool's abilities. He described a version of his fabricated "Redoak essence extraction" technique, watching closely for her reaction.

  "Fascinating approach," she said when he finished. "Though it contradicts established principles of energy conductivity."

  "Different but effective," Malcolm replied with a shrug. "Results speak for themselves."

  "In commerce, perhaps," Tamura acknowledged. "In academia, theoretical consistency often outweighs practical outcomes." She turned to retrieve something from a drawer behind her. "You might find this interesting—an extraction from the southern provinces using a method somewhat similar to what you describe."

  She placed a small vial of amber liquid on the counter. The clarity was exceptional, the color rich and even without the cloudiness Malcolm had seen in standard preparations.

  "May I?" he asked, reaching for the vial.

  Tamura nodded. Malcolm unstoppered it and caught a complex aroma—sweetness layered over something sharp and medicinal.

  "Golden sageroot," he identified immediately, recognizing the distinctive scent from his cousin's apothecary. "But there's something else... winterberry?"

  Tamura's eyebrows rose slightly. "A good nose. Yes, winterberry oil as a stabilizing agent. Uncommon in Academy preparations due to the extraction difficulty."

  "We used it all the time back home," Malcolm said, carefully restoppering the vial. "Not as fancy as this, though. Our extractions were more... rustic." He thought of his void pool's perfect essence orbs and felt a twinge of guilt at the half-truth.

  "Methods adapt to available resources," Tamura said, taking back the vial. "The southern provinces lack the Academy's refined equipment but compensate with innovative techniques." She studied him thoughtfully. "Would you be interested in examining more such alternatives?"

  "Definitely," Malcolm replied eagerly.

  Tamura nodded. "I occasionally receive samples from various regional suppliers. Some employ methods the Academy might consider... unorthodox."

  Malcolm caught her meaning immediately. She was offering access to techniques outside the Academy's approved methodologies.

  "I'd be really interested in learning about those," he said carefully.

  "Perhaps on your next free day visit," Tamura suggested, her eyes flicking briefly to Mira. "With fewer official obligations."

  "Sinclair-san's schedule is closely monitored," Mira interjected smoothly. "As befits a first-year student."

  "Of course," Tamura agreed. "Academic foundation must come first."

  The conversation shifted to more conventional topics—standard herbs and their preparations, pricing for student purchases, Academy-approved study materials. But Malcolm couldn't stop thinking about the amber vial and its implications. Here was an established city merchant openly acknowledging alternative methods, even if discreetly. Maybe Elder Mozu was right about finding allies beyond the Academy walls.

  As they left the shop, Malcolm couldn't contain his excitement. "She's using non-standard techniques too! And she didn't seem bothered by my methods at all."

  "Tamura-san is a businesswoman," Mira cautioned. "Commercial viability outweighs methodological purity in the city markets."

  "Exactly! That's how it should be," Malcolm insisted. "If it works better and doesn't hurt anyone, who cares about 'methodological purity'?"

  Mira sighed. "The Academy cares, Sinclair-san. And if you wish to graduate with proper certification, you must at least appear to care as well."

  The reminder of his precarious position dampened Malcolm's enthusiasm somewhat. No matter how well his void pool worked, he still needed Academy approval to have any legitimate standing in this world.

  Their final stop was at a small teahouse tucked into a quiet corner of the Artisan Quarter. Mira had allowed Malcolm to choose their lunch location from a short list of approved establishments, and he'd picked this one based purely on the delicious smells wafting from its doorway.

  The interior was simple but elegant—well-worn wooden tables polished to a soft glow, paper screens filtering the sunlight into a gentle wash. A small garden visible through the rear windows provided a peaceful backdrop of bamboo and carefully arranged stones. It wasn't crowded, just a few tables occupied by what looked like local craftspeople taking their midday meal.

  "This is nice," Malcolm commented as they were shown to a corner table. "Way more relaxed than the Academy dining hall."

  "The Pine Needle specializes in comfort rather than formality," Mira explained. "Many artisans prefer it for business discussions."

  A server brought them tea without being asked, the ceramic cups warming Malcolm's hands pleasantly as he cupped them. The bitter-sweet aroma was becoming familiar after weeks at the Academy, though he still secretly missed the sweet, fruity teas of Redoak.

  "So," Malcolm said after taking a sip, "not to sound ungrateful for the guided tour, but why did you actually agree to accompany me today? I figured you'd pawn off first-year babysitting duty on someone else."

  Mira's expression remained neutral as she lowered her cup with deliberate precision. "Your cultural integration progress requires assessment in varied contexts."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "Right, because 'monitoring' me is your job," Malcolm said, making exaggerated air quotes around the word. "But seriously, you could have filed a report without spending your whole free day playing tour guide."

  For a moment, Mira said nothing, her dark eyes studying him over the rim of her teacup. Then, surprisingly, she set it down with a small sigh.

  "Your methods are attracting increasing attention," she said, her voice lower than before. "Not all of it beneficial to your academic standing."

  Malcolm tensed. "What do you mean?"

  "Grandmaster Kaiven has requested a formal evaluation of your extraction techniques," she said. "He rarely involves himself with first-year assessments."

  "Let me guess—Lian's been talking to him."

  Mira nodded. "His analysis of your materials from the Exchange raised questions the Grandmaster feels warrant investigation."

  "Great," Malcolm muttered, slouching in his seat. "So I'm about to get interrogated by the Academy's chief traditionalist."

  "Not necessarily," Mira said carefully. "The evaluation process has various stages. Initial documentation review, followed by controlled demonstration, then theoretical examination." She hesitated. "The quality of your initial documentation could... influence subsequent requirements."

  Malcolm stared at her. "Are you... giving me advance warning? So I can prepare better documentation?"

  "I am stating procedural facts," Mira replied, but there was something in her tone that belied the neutral words. "As your assigned guide, ensuring your understanding of Academy processes falls within my responsibilities."

  "Right." Malcolm fought back a grin. "So hypothetically, if someone wanted their documentation to look proper for this evaluation, what would they need to include?"

  "Hypothetically," Mira said, placing slight emphasis on the word, "detailed process descriptions, theoretical framework references, material response patterns, and quantifiable result metrics would form a comprehensive submission." She took another sip of tea. "The Academy library's eastern wing contains reference templates in the regulatory archives section."

  Malcolm was genuinely touched. Mira was actually helping him navigate the system, bending her rigid rule-following just enough to give him a fighting chance.

  "Thanks," he said simply.

  She inclined her head slightly, neither acknowledging nor denying the gratitude.

  Their food arrived—simple but beautifully presented dishes of grilled fish, pickled vegetables, and steamed rice. As they ate, the conversation shifted to safer topics, but Malcolm's mind kept returning to his upcoming challenges. His soul space remained frustratingly small, barely a meter in diameter, which severely limited how much he could store at once. The void pool took up a significant portion of that limited space, occupying a small bowl-sized depression that hadn't grown since his discovery of its decomposition abilities. He needed to find a way to expand his space if he was going to develop his techniques further.

  As they were finishing their meal, the teahouse door slid open, admitting a group of men in merchants' robes. Malcolm paid little attention until a familiar voice caught his ear.

  "Absolutely unacceptable quality. I've already filed a complaint with the Guild."

  Malcolm glanced up to see Herbologist Wei—the father of his Exchange rival—taking a seat with three other men at a table across the room. The elder Wei hadn't noticed them yet, his attention focused on his companions.

  "The Academy standards grow more restrictive each year," one of the other merchants complained. "Soon they'll refuse anything less than celestial-grade materials for basic student exercises."

  "And yet they balk at paying appropriate prices," another added with a scoff.

  "The real problem," Wei said, lowering his voice enough that Malcolm had to strain to hear, "is their waste. Do you know how much viable material ends up in their dumping ground? Perfectly usable components discarded because of minor imperfections."

  Malcolm froze mid-bite. Were they talking about the very materials he salvaged for his void pool processing?

  "Academy's trash, market's treasure," the third merchant chuckled, patting his coin purse. "Those rejects fill my shelves and my pockets."

  "Watch your tongue," Wei cautioned, lowering his voice further. "Guild inspectors don't appreciate such... creative sourcing."

  Another merchant cleared his throat, nodding subtly toward Malcolm and Mira. "Speaking of watchful eyes..."

  Wei turned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he recognized Mira. His gaze shifted to Malcolm, and a flicker of recognition crossed his face—clearly connecting him to his son's descriptions.

  "Kazai-san," he acknowledged with a formal nod to Mira. "And the foreign student, I presume. My son has mentioned your... innovative approaches."

  Malcolm resisted the urge to squirm under the merchant's calculating gaze. "Just trying to learn your traditions while sharing some of mine," he said with forced casualness.

  "Indeed." Wei's tone was polite but cool. "Cultural exchange has its place, though fundamentals should not be... compromised."

  "We were just leaving," Mira interjected smoothly, placing coins on the table for their meal. "A pleasure to see you, Herbologist Wei."

  As they exited the teahouse, Malcolm couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just encountered yet another potential complication to his already precarious situation.

  "That guy definitely has it out for me," he muttered as they walked back toward the main avenue.

  "The Wei family values tradition and established hierarchies," Mira replied. "Your rapid advancement through alternative methods represents a potential threat to their business model."

  "I'm just a first-year student! How am I threatening anyone's business?"

  Mira gave him a sideways glance. "Your materials at the Exchange undercut standard pricing while maintaining superior quality. If your methods became widespread, traditional suppliers would face significant market pressure."

  Malcolm hadn't considered the broader implications of his void pool abilities. He'd been so focused on his immediate academic challenges and small-scale trading that the potential economic impact hadn't occurred to him.

  "So I'm making enemies just by being efficient," he said, frustrated. "Perfect."

  "Or making potential allies among those who would benefit from innovation," Mira countered. "Tamura-san seemed quite interested in your approach."

  That was true. The apothecary had practically invited him to return for a more private discussion of alternative techniques. Perhaps the city markets offered opportunities the Academy did not—connections with those who valued results over tradition.

  As they made their way back through the crowded streets toward the Academy, Malcolm's mind whirled with new possibilities. The city contained potential allies, resources, and information that might help him navigate the increasing scrutiny he faced. If he could establish connections with merchants like Tamura who appreciated innovation, he might find support outside the rigid Academy hierarchy.

  But he would need to be careful. Between Grandmaster Kaiven's impending evaluation, the Wei family's apparent animosity, and the ongoing challenge of concealing his void pool's true capabilities, the path ahead was fraught with complications.

  The Twilight Exchange was unusually crowded when Malcolm arrived that evening. Word had apparently spread about his premium materials, and students from various departments were lined up before he'd even finished setting up his table.

  "I heard you have purified copper dust," a nervous-looking second-year said, clutching a small pouch that clinked with coins. "Is it true it's free of iron contamination?"

  "Absolutely," Malcolm confirmed, retrieving a carefully labeled vial from his display. "Tested with standard resonance crystals. No red flare whatsoever."

  The student's eyes widened. "That's... that should be impossible with student-grade equipment."

  "I have specialized extraction methods," Malcolm said with what he hoped was the right balance of confidence and discretion. "Redoak techniques work differently."

  By now, this explanation had become his standard response. Vague enough to avoid revealing the void pool, specific enough to satisfy casual curiosity. Most students didn't press further, simply happy to obtain superior materials at affordable prices.

  As the evening progressed, Malcolm noticed something interesting. Alongside the usual students seeking basic materials, he was attracting a different clientele—upper-year specialists and even a few teaching assistants, all examining his wares with professional scrutiny.

  A thin, scholarly-looking fourth-year lingered after purchasing several vials of herb extracts, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the table.

  "Your processing consistency is remarkable," he said finally. "Particularly for a first-year."

  "Thanks," Malcolm replied, keeping his expression neutral. "I take pride in my work."

  "Indeed." The senior student glanced around before continuing in a lower voice. "Some of us in the advanced research program have been discussing your methods. There's considerable interest in... comparative technique analysis."

  Malcolm tensed slightly. More scrutiny was the last thing he needed. "It's pretty standard where I'm from. Nothing special."

  "Of course," the student said, clearly not believing him. "Should you ever wish to discuss methodology in a less structured environment than formal classes, several of us meet in Study Room Seven on Third-day evenings." He slid a small folded paper across the table. "Academic curiosity only, you understand."

  Before Malcolm could respond, the student had melted back into the crowd, leaving the paper behind. Malcolm tucked it into his pocket, unsure whether to be flattered or concerned by the interest.

  The flow of customers continued steadily, and Malcolm was so busy fulfilling orders that he almost missed the tall figure observing from the shadow of a nearby pile of discarded equipment. When he finally spotted Riven Tairo, the academic mentor was already approaching, his expression unreadable in the flickering lantern light.

  "Sinclair-san," Riven greeted him formally. "Your enterprise appears successful."

  "Just doing some basic trading," Malcolm replied, suddenly conscious of the substantial pile of coins he'd accumulated. "Recycling materials that would otherwise go to waste."

  Riven surveyed the nearly empty display. "Your processing techniques produce remarkably consistent results. Our documentation sessions have yet to fully capture your methodology."

  That was an understatement. Their twice-weekly meetings had been an exercise in creative vagueness on Malcolm's part, as he tried to provide enough detail to satisfy Riven without revealing anything substantive about the void pool.

  "It's hard to explain step-by-step," Malcolm hedged. "A lot of it is intuitive based on years of watching my family work."

  "Intuition derived from observation is still governed by principles," Riven countered. "Principles that should be documentable." He picked up one of Malcolm's few remaining vials—a particularly fine mountain herb extraction with perfect clarity. "This level of purity suggests systematic rather than intuitive processing."

  "Maybe I'm just naturally talented," Malcolm suggested with a grin that faded when Riven didn't return it.

  "Talent without discipline rarely produces consistent results," Riven said, replacing the vial carefully. "Your academic documentation remains incomplete, yet your commercial production shows precision that contradicts your claimed methodology."

  Malcolm's stomach tightened. Riven wasn't buying his vague explanations, and unlike most students, he had the authority and motivation to press further.

  "I'm still working on translating practice into formal documentation," Malcolm said. "It's not easy to describe techniques I've always taken for granted."

  Riven studied him for a long moment. "Grandmaster Kaiven's evaluation will require more than approximate descriptions, Sinclair-san. For your academic standing, I suggest you develop more comprehensive documentation before then."

  With a slight bow, Riven moved away, leaving Malcolm with a familiar sense of walls closing in around him. Between city merchants, senior students, and academic mentors, his void pool abilities were attracting exactly the kind of attention he'd hoped to avoid.

  As he packed up his remaining items, Malcolm fingered the folded note in his pocket. Perhaps the senior students' unofficial study group could provide insights or allies. At this point, he needed all the help he could get to prepare for Grandmaster Kaiven's evaluation.

  Elder Mozu appeared as Malcolm was storing the last of his coins, materializing from the shadows with his usual silent efficiency.

  "Quite the popular vendor tonight," the old man observed, leaning on his gnarled staff.

  "Too popular," Malcolm sighed. "Everyone's suddenly interested in my 'techniques.' Riven's not buying my explanations, and now Grandmaster Kaiven wants a formal evaluation."

  "Ah," Elder Mozu nodded sagely. "The inevitable attention success brings."

  "This kind of attention I don't need," Malcolm groaned. "I'm not ready to explain the void pool when I barely understand it myself."

  "Perhaps you're approaching this backwards," the elder suggested, scratching his wispy beard. "Instead of hiding what you don't understand, seek to understand what you're hiding."

  Malcolm blinked. "What does that even mean?"

  "It means, boy, that you've been so busy using your ability that you've neglected to study it properly." Elder Mozu tapped his staff on the ground for emphasis. "You've discovered what it does but not why or how it works. Without that understanding, you'll never create a convincing explanation for others."

  The old man had a point. Malcolm had been experimenting with the void pool's applications but hadn't really investigated its fundamental nature or how it related to traditional alchemical principles.

  "So I need to... what? Study my own soul space more carefully?"

  "Study it in relation to established theory," Elder Mozu corrected. "Find the connections between your unique ability and traditional understanding. New branches grow from existing trunks," he added, echoing Tsuji's words from a few nights ago.

  "That's going to be tough without revealing what I'm actually doing," Malcolm pointed out, absently rubbing his temples. His frequent use of the void pool in his cramped soul space was giving him more headaches lately—another limitation of his insufficient spiritual real estate.

  Elder Mozu's eyes twinkled with unexpected mischief. "Perhaps a visit to the restricted section of the Academy library would prove enlightening. Historical accounts of unusual soul space manifestations might provide useful context."

  "Right, because they just let first-years wander into the restricted section," Malcolm scoffed.

  "Not through the front entrance, certainly," the elder agreed. "But the library backs onto the eastern storage buildings, and the third window from the left has a faulty latch that the maintenance staff consistently neglects to repair." He tapped the side of his nose knowingly. "Purely an observation, of course. Not a suggestion."

  Malcolm stared at him in disbelief. "Are you seriously telling me to break into the restricted section?"

  "I'm telling you that knowledge takes many paths," Elder Mozu replied with dignity. "Sometimes the direct route is blocked, requiring creative navigation." He turned to go, then added over his shoulder, "The night watchman takes his tea break at the second bell. Hypothetically speaking."

  As Malcolm made his way back to the dormitories, his mind buzzed with the day's developments. City connections, academic scrutiny, unofficial study groups, and now the temptation of forbidden knowledge in the restricted section.

  The path forward was unclear, but one thing was certain—he couldn't continue as he had been, using the void pool while providing only vague explanations. Sooner or later, he would need to develop a coherent theoretical framework that connected his unique ability to established alchemical principles.

  Whether that meant breaking into the library, joining underground study groups, or cultivating allies among city merchants remained to be seen. But something had to change, and soon.

  And then there was the issue of his soul space itself. Unlike his classmates with their spacious internal domains, Malcolm's cramped meter-wide space severely limited what he could accomplish. He needed to find a way to expand it if he was going to develop his techniques further, but the traditional meditation methods seemed to have minimal effect on his unconventional spiritual structure.

  Grandmaster Kaiven's evaluation was coming, and Malcolm needed to be ready.