Like most, the students at West Granera University spent very little time contemplating the lives of their nation’s secret agents. Some would deny that such people even existed. However, if asked to describe one, their descriptions would still be fairly similar: an agent would wear all black, be mysterious, fit, intelligent, and powerful, and so on and so forth. All logic to the contrary, they would expect a secret agent to be remarkable.

Glenn Butcher was not remarkable. Glenn Butcher was so named because his father was descended from a long line of butchers. His parents were commoners with no ability to manipulate magic. That he had Innate Magic and was thus able to attend West Granera was slightly interesting, but roughly ten percent of his fellow students came from similar circumstances. A noble family would adopt him when he graduated, and that would be that.

He came to class on time every day without fail. He wore the uniform black slacks, black shoes, and white button-up, short-sleeved shirt without complaint. His eyes appeared a dark gray, almost black, and his shaggy hair was similarly colored. He was somewhat tall and lithe, with a delicate, almost feminine face. Although most of his classmates would admit to finding him attractive, he was an Illusionist and so unsuitable for marriage. His voice was a bit high for a male, but not so much that anyone remarked on it, and he had no noticeable accent.

Butcher never volunteered to answer questions in class, nor to start a conversation, but if questioned on a topic, he would respond. His grades and MQ scores were both firmly average. He wasn’t mysterious, even though no one knew anything about him, because almost no one cared to ask in the first place. 

Claire Benefeld, the daughter of the Magic Faction head, a magical Sensor, and an aspiring detective, knew that Glenn Butcher was, in fact, a secret agent. She never forgot a magical signature, and she’d felt his while hiding in the Faith head’s offices. However, she liked to think that she’d have noticed there was something unusual about him anyway. 

The first anomaly was his magic. 

Two basic types of Innate Magic existed: active and passive. Active magic cost energy to use, while passive magic cost energy to stop using.

Illusion magic wasn’t rare (or generally considered useful, though Claire had a firm appreciation for its potential), but it was an active magic. It took energy to maintain an illusion, and few Illusionists had the MQ score necessary to keep one running for extended periods. 

Normally, someone wanting to change their appearance via illusions would merely cast one illusion over themselves. Maintaining one illusion required less magic. The tradeoff was that they required far more mental effort, meaning they would destabilize and fail over time as the Illusionist responsible fell behind in the complex calculations necessary to keep one running. 

Simple illusions that changed only one variable could, on the other hand, last near-indefinitely. However, in order to use simple illusions to change one’s appearance, dozens and dozens of illusions would have to be layered over the person. The magical cost would be unsustainable for a single Illusionist. 

Butcher, however, always had multiple illusions covering him. One over his eyes, another over his hair, and several over his skin. Few Illusionists could even cast more than three illusions at once, and to see someone casually maintaining more than a dozen illusions at all times was so completely absurd that, the first time she’d passed him at school, Claire had frozen on the spot, unable to believe what her senses were telling her. There was no sign of seal usage, and his illusions were so flawless that she’d never managed to so much as glimpse beneath them.

The second anomaly was his student file. One week into Winter term, Claire had snuck into the Headmaster’s office and copied all her classmates’ files. Ignoring the ethics of this - she had copied down several pieces of information her classmates would no doubt hate for her to have - the act had confirmed that Butcher had strong ties to the government.

West Granera University boasted some of the youngest students in the country, including herself, but the minimum age of admission was still nineteen. Even with her father’s backing, only she and one of her brothers had been admitted any younger, and that was only because their actual birth days were so close to the New Year as to make them practically nineteen.

Butcher wasn’t extremely young-looking, and he didn’t talk about himself, so until seeing it in his file, even Claire had made the reasonable assumption that he was nineteen. However, Butcher was only just barely eighteen. If he’d been born two days earlier, he’d count as seventeen. Given that Claire had only been able to attend one year early by using her father’s signature, Butcher must have had at least its equivalent.

Because of all this, Claire kept half an eye on Butcher even as she went about investigating each of her other classmates. Yet even now, after a term and a half, Claire still knew almost nothing more about him. 

On the fifth of the week, three weeks before the term ended, her Runic Script class was just finishing. Runic script was both difficult and, ultimately, little more than an outdated crutch. Rather than learn to create a seal by directly interacting with magic, students learned to write long, complicated scripts to painstakingly spell out instructions for every step of a spell. A single seal made this way could take anywhere from a day to years to write out, depending on the complexity of the desired effect. 

Only after university, if a student decided to become a seal crafter, would they learn the more direct method. Part of this was because direct manipulation was much more likely to result in catastrophic failure. The desert to the east was said to have been caused by a particularly extreme reaction. Because of this, most researchers were Sensors, who could, to varying degrees, check the stability of a seal before activating it. However, it was easy enough to learn to create already established seals, and most students would never need to do anything more than that. Those few who did intend to continue would only be confused by the contrast between the heavily detailed method of runic script and the intuitive method of direct manipulation.

However, it was a required course for the first two years, so everyone sat quietly while the teacher said his closing remarks and assigned homework. As the teacher left the hall, students stretched and yawned. Some hurried straight out, since it was the last class of the day. Others were asleep at their desks and, even with the bustle of their classmates pushing past them, took time to realize class had ended. Claire watched as Butcher leaned back, flipping a 10-zeni coin. 

Claire knew from months of observation that he most likely was using the coin toss to decide something to do with his schoolwork. She always saw that coin come out when there was any sort of assignment to be turned in to the teacher.

The last students were leaving now. Claire sighed and shoved her books into her bag, leaving out her investigation notebooks: 𝛼 for facts, and 𝛽 for rumors. She was finally on the second-to-last student on her list, an incredibly boring jock named Michael (Mike) Stenford. He should only take another day or two, and then she could focus on Butcher for the rest of the term. 

She was, she could admit, a little obsessed. How could she help it when a real-life mystery, one of her very own, had appeared? This wasn’t some politician whose dirty secrets her father wanted her to ferret out or the spawn of a noble family whose favor she needed to gain. This was a case she’d stumbled upon all by herself (or mostly, anyway), and she wanted time to savor it. 

In the meantime, though, Butcher was a distraction. Claire had a method of dealing with those. She took a breath, told her magic what her current task was, and pushed everything else that made her ‘Claire’ down underneath her magic. Mind coldly clear, she strode out of the room, firmly focused on catching up to Stenford without being too conspicuous. Not even the slightest corner of her mind remained on Glenn Butcher.   

If Butcher’s gaze after followed her, neither of them paid any attention to it.

Stenford hadn’t gotten far. He never did. Claire saw him every day after classes ended leaning casually against a pillar and chatting with someone, usually an attractive girl. Today it was Betty Amald - blonde and short with a round face and rounder breasts, the Dean’s daughter, high grades in theoretical work and decent grades in practicals. As she often did when she wanted to listen to someone without being obvious about it, Claire walked past them to a nearby bench and opened 𝛼. Nobody batted an eye at a student writing in a notebook, and Stenford, as expected, didn’t even notice she was there, much less that she was taking notes on his conversation. 

“-ybody’s going. You in?” 

“Nnnn… Mother’s been keeping me home lately, but I’ll ask?” Betty replied, voice rising at the end, making it more of a question than a concrete plan. Her face was red. Stenford was probably mistaking that as attraction, but when Claire investigated Amald, she’d discovered that the girl was actually quite shy. She blushed when just about anyone spoke to her. Stenford wasn’t special.

Not that Claire cared either way. It was simply more data.

Stenford smiled. “Great. And look, if she says no, she says no. Don’t worry about it. We can still do something after I get back.” 

Amald beamed at him, though it was hard to say whether that was relief at being let out of the conversation or genuine joy at more chances to speak with Stenford, and bowed slightly. “Well, I’d better be on my way.” She stepped backward and stumbled. She caught herself, face going even redder. “Um, you know, class.” She hurried away, tripping again and nearly losing her balance before she rounded the corner. 

Claire watched, bemused. They didn’t have any more classes that day. Somehow, Stenford didn’t seem to realize that though, so she supposed even awful lies worked if the other person was stupid enough.

Stenford then turned toward the dormitories and, incidentally, Claire, who continued staring off into space a little to his left, tapping her pen on her chin as though she were deep in thought. He stiffened, then relaxed as Claire didn’t react. “Hey, Benefeld. Whatcha working on?”

Claire made herself startle before she focused her gaze on him and, slowly, let recognition dawn on her features. She’d practiced this look, and she was quite confident in it. “Oh, Stenford.” She closed her notebook, keeping her finger inside to hold her place. “Just some independent research. You?”

He shook his head with a wry grin. “Nothing much. Hey, when term ends, a bunch of us are taking a trip for a few days to Eastern Granera. It’s supposed to be pretty hot this year, so we wanna hit up some beaches. You wanna come too?”

Claire had heard about the trip several times already and probably knew the itinerary better than Stenford at this point. She shook her head. “No thanks. My scholarship doesn’t leave a lot for extraneous expenses, so I’m probably going to stay here for break.” 

He scowled. “Your dad won’t even pay for one little trip?”

Claire pursed her lips. “One that includes several nights’ lodging? No.” 

Stenford rolled his eyes. “That’s Magic for you, I guess. Sorry, Benefeld. I hope you’re not too bored here. Maybe next time?” 

“Maybe,” she agreed. It was probably for the best that he didn’t seem to know that her family lived right next to some of those beaches. 

He grinned. “Well, even if the trip’s out, I’d be happy to spend some time with you. I’m free now if you are.” He let his gaze drag up and down her form, just barely holding back enough that she couldn’t call him out for leering at her. A pity. Claire thought he should be called out more often, but the Stenfords were an old family. They’d clearly trained their heir to toe the line of impropriety without quite crossing it. 

Given Claire’s position, it took a great deal more to cross that line than it would for a girl like Betty Amald. Stenford cocked an eyebrow. “What do you say, Benefeld?” He held out his arm, ready for Claire to take it. If she were any other girl, she probably would. He was rich, handsome, strong, and talented. For someone ambitious, even his low intelligence could be called a positive. 

Claire, however, had different requirements in a partner. She smiled blandly and shook her head. “I’m afraid you’d have to speak with my faction about that.” 

“Mm…” The duelist looked her up and down again. “I might just do that. Look forward to it.” 

With a motion a bit like a dog shaking off water, Stenford sauntered off. Claire sighed to herself. She very much doubted there was anything to ‘look forward to,’ but she supposed she’d find out sooner or later. She shook the stray thought aside. She waited until he was almost out of sight before rising and following. Now that he’d noticed her, she’d have to be particularly careful. He might get the idea she was interested if he caught her following him, and she definitely wanted to avoid that tragedy.