For the next couple of days, Cale didn't see Julius at all. He was so busy with his studies that there was simply no time to visit the teenager and likewise, Julius didn't visit him. Cale assumed that he was still catching up on sleep and didn't think anything of it.

In the meantime, it felt like he was drowning in schoolwork. He was so busy that he got less sleep than when he was sick, which in hindsight wasn't a surprise. He had spent a lot of time sleeping. It made sense, considering how little sleep he had been getting since coming to this school, a combination of worry about his eventual death and his studies.

But it did make it hard for him to catch up on his work, even with all the homework that he had done, it just wasn't enough for somebody who could barely even understand the material.

If he had to guess, he was at a grade school level compared to everyone else here.

And frantic studying could only do so much, when the books refused to explain things, assuming that students would already know this and that. Probably accurate in regards to students who grew up in this world, but he didn't.

As such, he was frequently forced to look up terms and information, which would make him look up even more stuff that he didn't understand in order to understand the original thing that he hadn't understood, leaving him in an endless spiral of studying.

It was exhausting and he now had definite proof that his soul hadn't magically improved this body's immune system.

Calla was weak, and yet Cale was so busy that he had no time to take care of himself.

This could only lead to one thing; soon he was going to collapse again from overworking. He would probably catch some other disease and be bedbound again for who knows how long. And normally, the prospect of this would make him back off, calm down and do things the proper way. He didn't like being sick.

But he had no option. He was out of time. He could only pray that he managed to keep going regardless of how many times he fell sick.

He shook his head at the turn his thoughts had taken, depressed that even in his mind he could only tell himself to buckle up. Sighing, Cale pressed his head against the cold, scratchy paper of a really old book and closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply, the scent of an old book meeting him, and counted to ten. His eyes were tired and he knew that he needed sleep, and he was going to get it, he was... just not now.

Soon. When he had finished this essay, he was going to go straight to his room and sleep.

The problem was that the essay's subject was so far above his level that he had no idea what he was even writing anymore. He had gotten lost in the researching and now he was just confused.

He thumped his head against the book and groaned. Cale blinked his eyes open slowly and was faced by the alien letters on the yellowing page, written in faded black ink. He slowly sat himself up properly, stretched his back, and cracked his neck, grimacing at the loud popping noise. The sooner he finished this essay, the sooner he could finally get some proper sleep.

Cale yawned as he pulled the notebook closer to him and stared at the various notes he had cluttered all over it. A whole notebook filled, dedicated to a single essay, simply because there were so many things he didn't know that others just thought of as common sense.

He had never felt more like an outsider.

A quiet pair of footsteps came closer to him and he wasn't surprised when he heard "Mister Frosthaze?" coming from behind him.

Cale glanced over his shoulder and gave a quick, tired smile to the librarian. Well, one of three librarians and two assistants — this place was so big that one person simply wasn't enough. She smiled slightly back at him.

"We're closing in half-an-hour," she said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "Do you want to borrow those books?"

Cale's gaze slid to the clock on the wall some distance from him. It was already a miracle that the library was open to midnight in the first place. He let out a puff of breath and nodded gratefully to the librarian. Mrs. Jane had only ever been kind to him, helping him log the books he was constantly borrowing.

She was in her mid-forties, if he had to guess, and had a kind, open face, at odds with her timid personality. She was nice and had never made him feel like he wasn't welcome, even though they saw each other so often that she had recently started expressing concern for him.

Apparently, Julius had told her that the reason he was sick was due to overworking.

Cale couldn't blame him.

Mrs. Jane helped him gather up the books that he needed to borrow so that he could finish writing his essay in his room. She packed them into his satchel while he hurried to put the books that he no longer needed back on the shelves. Once done, he thanked her and took back his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder — by now used to the heavy weight of it.

She saw him off when he left the library before returning to clean up before it closed. Thus, Cale walked back to his room.

He fumbled with the key when he got there, so tired that his eyes occasionally crossed and he had trouble getting the key into the lock. When he finally managed it, he breathed out a sigh and flung the door open, letting it close with a bang behind him. Twisting the lock to ensure nobody else would be able to enter, he pulled off his boots and crossed the room to his desk. He unloaded the books and notebooks on it and gripped a pencil in his hand as he sat down.

Glancing at the clock, he was dismayed to note that it was still ticking closer to midnight. If he could help it, he didn't want to be up past two in the morning, not when he had to get up around six in order to get to the cafeteria and then the library on time.

But there was nothing to be done about it except focusing.

An hour later and nearly done with this godforsaken essay that he just wanted to set on fire, Cale rubbed his eyes for what felt like the millionth time.

He stared down at the last page of what he had written, satisfied to note that he had finally written down all the relevant information and all that was left was the closing paragraph — the conclusion. Wracking his brain, he grimaced as he finally decided to just babble something unintelligible on it and hope that it made sense. He was too tired to put any more thought into this, but the deadline was tomorrow so he had no choice.

He would look it over once more after he had eaten breakfast tomorrow, once he had gotten a good night's sleep and was well-rested. Scribbling down the last word, he made sure that he had signed it with the proper name and then breathed out a large gust of air.

"Finally," he muttered to himself and stood from the desk chair, stretching his back as he did so.

He had been sitting leaning over a table the whole day and his body had grown stiff. Cale frowned when he looked over at the clock on the wall, sitting there like it was judging him. But it wasn't two o'clock yet, so he counted it as a win.

Throwing his stiff uniform off, he hurried through his pre-sleep routine and then crawled into the bed, his eyes closing before he was even fully on it. It took him no time at all to fall asleep.

In fact, it felt like no time at all had passed when he was woken up by harsh knocks on the door. A feeling of deja vu overcame him as he squinted it at, suspicious of why anyone would knock at... four in the morning according to his clock.

Apparently, he had been so tired he had forgotten to turn the lights off.

Huh.

"W-what?" he croaked out.

"Frosthaze, let me in!" somebody called from the other side. He couldn't recognize the voice and had no idea why they were at his door.

Had Calla had some kind of night-time rendezvous going on with someone?

He was so tired that even his thoughts made no sense.

"Who... is it?" he slowly asked as he was on the verge of slipping back into slumber.

He yawned and shoved his head deeper into the comfy pillow. From the other side of the door, the stranger responded with, "Angelica, now open the door! We need to talk, I think—"

Then the voice went quiet.

After a few minutes of silence during which Cale was dozing peacefully, the girl's voice came again. "Wait, this isn't Sayer's room. What am I... that bitch gave me the wrong number, oh it is on. You think just because I drank a few glasses of wine I'm suddenly an idiot? Hah! You're gonna pay for this, damn you!"

The voice got lower and lower as the mysterious girl left, complaining, and promising revenge the entire way.

It hadn't been him who she was looking for. She was on the search for Sayer and must have gotten the room numbers mixed up. A relief, as Cale had no desire to become a part of some kind of misunderstanding. It was bad enough that he maybe, sort of, probably, kind of, had non-platonic feelings in regards to Julius, he didn't need any more drama on top of that.

At least he knew who she was now.

Angelica Rosethorne was rich, beautiful and came from an excellent pedigree, being the oldest child and only daughter of a duke. She got everything she could ever want or need with but a word to her father and her position in high society was at a level where most girls were required to play nice with her.

Her lifestyle was expensive and in the book she was described as the typical villainess, making trouble just for the sake of trouble or due to jealousy. Supposedly, she was a jealous woman who scorned anyone prettier than her. Crafty, with a head for numbers and a burning drive to be somebody, she was portrayed as an evil woman who would do anything for her ambitions and had no fear of trampling over people to succeed.

Greedy, self-centered, and spoiled; the magical recipe of every misunderstood villainess, destined for a bad ending and fated to be humiliated by the very people she sought to impress.

She was also in love with Sayer.

Cale wondered what she was really like, outside the limited scope of the protagonist's thoughts.

After all, every good story needed a love rival.