“Good morning, Talc,” Kôra greeted.

The school corridor was emptier this early morning, although Kôra came a bit late as unusual. There were only some students roaming which he did not know but saw often; he was looking for Delven. At the wall near his class, Tal leaned on with all attention absorbed to his smartphone. Kôra heard even using the limited school internet, Tal still can open videos.

"Whatever,” Talst answered with an unemphatic tone to another instance of his name being butchered. He paused the cat video and moved his face to see who was talking; a bruised, sleep deprived boy with medicated ointment odor. “Ugh! You smell like an old man, what the fuck happened?”

“I was thrown from my bed,” Kôra gave a straight answer. “I treated self with medicated oil.”

“Thrown? You meant fell?” Tal corrected.

“No, thrown like fall with force,” Kôra clarified, inciting a puzzled face from Tal. “Anyway, I did not see Delven. It is impossible if she is ill, correct?”

“She’s taking a day off, her uncle comes to visit,” answered Tal stone cold. “Why did you ask?”

“The uncle from Kula who wants to die?” Kôra remembered the conversation about the estranged man from the neighboring coastal nation.

“Yep,” Tal responded lazily. Still glued on his phone.

Kôra noticed a small bar on Talst's right little finger when he was typing; an implanted temporary suppressor spell paper. He recalled Haren gave him at some point after his arrival in the city. However, Kôra's innate ability somewhat managed to render them useless. Such kind of spell paper is made for multiple uses and is pricey, that was maybe why Haren got frustrated and stopped the ineffective treatment. One of the possible causes of the recent gradual loss of control over his own ability.

Strange, considering the detector gate at the school entrance could not scan the presence of any spike of exterior magical energy in him. It classified him as either people who do not have magical ability or those with interior magic type. Exterior magic denotes abilities which primary or intended effects set outside the user, while interior magic's primary or intended effects stay within the user. The ones with mainly interior abilities do not need to have their abilities suppressed in certain public places for security and safety reasons.

"Tal has a seal, what kind of magic—" Kôra wanted to ask what kind of magic Talst might have, yet he was worried it was too person. Moreover, Kôra had not yet understood Talst's personality and cultural background. The boys just started talking to each other since not so long ago. 

"Huh, what?" The inattentive Tal turned his head to Kôra's chopped sentence.

"I meant. . . The presentation got postponed, I heard," Kôra diverted the conversation. "Shall we rehearse after school?" he asked. There was no chance of him going out to work on it anymore, his lateness yesterday caused one month of grounding.

"Maybe. Whatever. I don't care. Delven's not here, anyway," responded Tal. "What did you say about my magic?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"Nothi. . ."

Talst's judging squint was an unspoken intimidation.

"I meant. . . Uh. . . About yours, Um. . . I have never thought. . . You have it. You must be good at controlling it," Kôra's sentence stammered. He had a hard time figuring out how to steer the talk; whether Kôra would offend him or not, Tal is innately unpleasant to talk with. The last sentence made him scowl already. "I. . . Uh. . .Do you know have an advice. . . To keep it in control?"

"Why don't you ask your people, dumb fuck? You have an uncle!" Tal chastised, there was a pause of disbelief before the boy opened his lips. He glanced at Kôra's little finger, then to his face. "Or probably not, because you don't look like a Tôryaemaen. Heh!" he added, recollecting the look of Kôra's uncle.

 Kôra cringed, slamming his own head to a wall inside his imagination. Those stilted words were hallmarks of embarrassing empty babbles; how could he say some blatantly illogical thing?  Classification of magical abilities of Sandurian humans follows a system called 'Partition,' which is rooted in an individual's racial and genetic origin. That alone should be enough to inform Kôra that Talst's ability type must be diferent from his. Why did not he say "Nothing"? Why did he even bother to talk with Talst? Why did he even be there? He wondered.

"Sorry, I sounded stupid. . ."

"No, you are," Talst said. "So don't talk about this shit to me ever again," he apprised.

"Understood."

"Anyway, it's fifteen minutes before class," the black-haired boy noticed the time out of sudden. "There's still time to get me some milk, see ya!" 

Talst left straight away, leaving Kôra who wondered if he said something offensive.

»»-------------¤-------------««

"Good morning."

To the tune of faint replies, Kôra Halin entered the class. His eyes however were set to his own right last digit. This new consciousness heightened his realisation on what other people have, and what he does not. Not much time was needed for him to reach his first row seat, his stature was the reason behind his seating position. He put down his shabby rucksack, but he did not sit down.

Behind his seat were a circle five boys chattering, it was a routine and there were always those students. Other than some movies, they talked about online mobile games the most—which Kôra would like to try playing if only he had his own device. In the other days Kôra never paid much attention to them nor trying to join them, he was not going to do it now, anyway.

The kid scanned their last digit in curiosity, easy task as their hands were up holding their gadgets. Four had the seal as his sight confirmed. Those marks; while this city has rules and regulations his village does not, this one just struck him a new realization. It was jarring, it was distracting.

Four of five, one from five. From all even numbers, he was the odd one. The brown-haired boy stared at the fellow Tôryaemaen classmates; redheaded and light-skinned they are all. He was certainly not one of them. He recalled Talst with his black hair, or Delven's light brown hair, or the dark-skinned boy from foreign ancestry whose name is difficult to pronounce. He was certainly not one of them either. Kôra knew it.

His lilac eyes fixd at the other people with the alike shade of irises. The connection was as far as his heart from his hometown, closely disconnected. He should be one of them, he was one of them, but he could never be with them. As in dogs: probably the same separation between pedigreed pets and mongrel strays, yet do those animals know why or who they are?

Then in the village, those people called him a mongrel.

That made sense.

Now inside the mirror, that thing called him as its fellow people.

That did not make sense.

Then and now, figuring out what was wrong with him.

"What's wrong, Kôra?" one of the five students noticed Kôra's vacant stare. If Kôra was not mistaken, that chubby person with slicked-back hair was Silûn.

"Nothing," replied Kôra with a tense face. "I am fine, thank you.

"Did you pull a muscle?" Silûn noticed the ointment smell.

"I am fine," Kôra reiterated. "You all go back playing, please."

Kôra ignored their brief glances of concerned look. As he expected, in seconds they were already going back to their discussion. Like nothing happened as he told them; they must be habituated by Kôra's frequent strange behavior and reclusive tendencies. More students were entering the class, Talst had not finished his morning snack yet, Delven really did not come. There was still around ten minutes before class; the boy decided to take a seat and unpacked his bag. He sunk his face behind his history textbook then read, doing all in his power to distract himself.

In his power.

His power.

There was something that does not fit in, beyond his power.

»»-------------¤-------------««

Lunch Time.

Downstairs outside, students’ chatter filled the canteen air. Almost all chairs were occupied by students in blue plaid uniforms, enjoying their free time between the class hours. Kôra sat on the corner-most bench near the trash bin; so no one would notice and ask if he was going to throw away the distasteful meal. It was also a secluded spot. He left his lunch box open; but instead of eating, he reviewed the notes of the previous class. Perfect for study and watching people; he became especially observant of other people's mark on their little finger.

Tal was sitting at middle row with some friends, he was seen enjoying himself unlike his aloof persona in front of Kôra. Those popular students, whether they were popular, rich, good-looking, or all, it mattered none to Kôra who was not any of those. One nearest to Talst was a girl with a striking long red hair, laughed and chatted in a way it was almost flirting. Kôra kept staring with disfavor; her, him, and them. Something inside him was crumbling into emptiness.

“Can I sit here?” A voice broke his focus, the taller shadow startled him. It was a boy with, light skin and wavy black hair, smiling wide with a polite gesture. The unknown student brought a large lunch box with an equally large tumbler. His eyes are deep brown or almost black; a sign that he came from the Earth or descended from its people.

“Oh. . . Of. . . Of course! Uh. . . Please sit!” Kôra nervously gave permission. He had to throw out his food later.

“I haven’t seen you around, new here?” Kôra answered the boy’s question with a nod. “I’m Naldo from class 3A.” he introduced himself with a hearty face.

Kôra tried not to look at his eyes in an obvious way. He never saw eye color this dark before; it was exotic. The eyes even reflected what was in front of them. To a degree the darkness looked unreal, it was kind of like a deep abyss drilled into the white.

“I am Kôra Halin from class 3B,” Kôra reached Naldo's hand and shook it weakly; he felt awkward about this style of greeting. There was no mark present on Naldo's last digit. “Very nice to meet!”

“Wow, we are from the same batch,” he remarked. "How can we never meet before.”

“Uh. . . Yes. . . I do not know and not known by much people here.”

“You don’t need to know all,” Naldo said while opening his lunch pack, still smiling. “Just remember the important ones." His smile widened as if he was referring to himself.

“Naldo, if I can ask what is that?” What Kôra meant is the rolled things inside a big lunch box placed over green leafy vegetables, topped with cheese, reddish sauce, and unknown minced things. The presentation is orderly. It looked warm and baked, with a delicious smell he was not familiar. It must be a foreign cuisine.

“It’s enchiladas, the internet said it's my ancestor’s food,” he answered. “Wanna try? It’s chicken, I made it myself."

“No thanks! I feel bad can not offering back, so no,” Kôra turned it down. His uncle always told him to not share his food; this is the only occurrence when he had to rethink about it, since the boy eats alone most of the time.

“So you want a switch?” Naldo offered. It was hard for Kôra to refuse with a smile looking that kind, there was something convincing about it. "I like to eat food."

“No, please!” kôra declined. “P. . . Please no, my food is cooking error. . . I struggle to eat all.”

“Oh, but it looks good,” He glanced at Kôra’s pink rice with crispy minced pigeon bits. It was the correct shade of pink and perfect grain roundness, unlike the unpleasant claim that fellow student made. The delicate sweet-minty and savory aroma were appetizing, the light yet full personality of taste; all was in Naldo's expectation.

"Just spot the error and improve it," the boy persuaded, in a way it cloaks his gluttonous tendency. "It looks good."

Kôra rethought. It might be one of his few chances to recognize his problems. “Naldo do knows lot of foods. . . And know cooking to?”

“Not really,” he humbled. “I just like to cook, eat, and run a little food blog.”

“Could you test what is wrong?” Kôra asked. “I did not know what I add wrong, but it taste bad.”

“OK,” he agreed with a mild excitement. “It looks good, what could go wrong? Tell me to stop.”

The boy took a spoonful and munched the food. His face was neutral until he could not maintain the facade anymore, then it turned into crumpled paleness in seconds. Naldo covered his mouth, going to throw up.

“By God, spit it! spit it!” he gave the boy a napkin and urged him to throw it up. “Do not get poisoned, drink water!”

“What. . . The hell. . . Was that?”

“I am very sorry,” Kôra apologized. “I made it myself fresh this morning, it was smell okay when packing, and here too. But when I eat here, taste become very bad.”

“Throw it away, not even a rat can eat that!” he exclaimed. “Somebody must’ve tampered with it.”

“Tampered. . . ?”

“Somebody put something in as a prank,” he answered loosely.

Kôra stared at Naldo blankly, “No. . . Said. . . Tampered?” the kid asked. “Is it Possible? People put things in my foods?”

“Hey, I wasn’t accusing anyone,” his tone got relaxed. Naldo downplayed his response, as Kôra's reception was stronger than he thought. “That's probably not a mistake or spoiled, I’ve never tasted something like that.”

“Certainly not a mistake or spoiled,” Kôra parroted with unmoving eyes.

“There’s still time to buy food,” he advised. “Or you can eat me—mine! Here, take!” Naldo shoved his lunchbox.

“No. . . Naldo is right,” Kôra reckoned. “Thanks. . . Thanks for the food and information! I. . . Have to go” He darted off, not taking the offered food.

Seconds were needed for Naldo to process this.

“Wait, your lunchbox— And notebook!” Naldo called to Kôra who was already meters away, rushing his way fast, almost hitting few people. That boy was swift, he disappeared in the crowd already.

Just what? He shared the same thought with some onlooking students.

Naldo returned to his seat with a perplexed smile. This new kid Kôra was baffling, his brain must be scattered enough to leave his belongings back. Naldo reached the notebook to check it; the sharp edges of its cover scratched his finger as he touched it. The wound leaked spots of blood into a line. It stung; something he has not felt since a long time.

Poor guy.