Machinist of Mana

Time to strategize was minimal, and so we had to hurry. There were so many factors, so many methods by which we could move forward, and I needed to consider carefully between them before acting. Acting rashly here would only hurt us, only make things worse, or prove the annoying point that our Headmaster was making.

We could probably cause a ruckus if we worked together, maybe even getting a hit or two on the teacher, but that would be counterproductive. Moreover it was what we expected, and if I knew anything about winning a conflict it was that you had to do the unexpected. We'd already lost the initiative, and the teachers were undoubtedly the ones with the power here, so we needed to work carefully, to subvert them. Our goal would be to win the fight without fighting in other words, reminiscent of Sun Tzu.

Sadly we also didn't know what the teacher had planned, meaning that any ideas we had needed to be able to be adjusted on the fly. We needed a plan that would shift like water, flowing into any weak spot and still be able to cause pain, or at the very least discomfort, to one of those responsible for the travesty we'd experienced.

“Alright everyone, line up. Most of your classes will be focusing on boring paperwork today, but not here, no, here in Hand-to-hand Combat we have practicals every day. First we'll begin by you lot showing me what you know,” the professor announced, not even telling us his name. “Come up and punch this target, one at a time, there you go.”

The class did as it was expected to do and formed a line before the teacher, who held a large pillow-like shield with a target on it. This is where our games began.

The first student up to the line wasn't one of our conspiracy, so he just did as instructed and punched, hard, getting a word of good from the teacher and going to the back to wait for the next instruction. The second though, the second was in our our game. He sleepily approached the line and punched, missing the target by a full foot, causing the pillow to bend and slap the professor in the face.

“What was that!?” the older man screamed. “Hit the target boy! The target, right in the center!”

Taking another turn the boy struck, this time hitting dead on, but somehow slipping and barely delivering any power at all. He had to repeat his action three more times before the professor sent him away in disgust.

When my turn came about I decided to play my role to a point.

“So I'm supposed to hit the target sir?” I asked innocently.

“Did I not say that boy?”

“Sorry sir, sorry, right in the center right?” I inquired.

“Today lad, we've got more than this to do!” He roared from behind it.

Our harassment campaign began thus. Simon seemed asleep on his feet the entire time, slow to react, slow to act, often a bit confused. Kilus somehow managed to look like he was five seconds from puking the whole class, getting concerned looks from everyone the few times he bent over. I of course took the role of the young man with the room temperature IQ. Others who'd been near us at lunch did much the same, not lashing out outwardly, but making sure everything just failed. Every command had to be repeated, clarified, repeated again. Stances that we all knew and should know weren't right, angles off just enough to make the teacher correct our positions, only to find in doing so that one foot or another had drifted out of place on either the corrected boy or one of his fellows.

By the end of it all the instructor was red in the face, fuming at half of his class. We'd not gone out of our way to break rules, just been awful the entire time. I half expected him to retaliate, but he didn't, instead just sending us off in disgust.

Then it spread. People from our class learned from us, and hushed discussions in the hall spread the tactic. Every boy was stupider, weaker, more curious about minutiae that didn't matter at all. Some stayed awake, but looked almost like zombies, others simply broke their pens every time they picked them up, making an awful mess and a distraction. Nothing was getting done at all after lunch.

I didn't make it to all of my classes that day, for example I didn't have Civics just yet, but every single one I did was a waste. They'd made us angry, and while we had limits on what we could do, we could still fight back. There were threats of course, even some corporal punishment handed out. Nothing too bad, after all most of us were rather well off, but some.

At the end of the day we finally had dinner, and the spread was, actually quite nice. There was plenty of food, all of it was of the healthier variety rather than what was commonly served at dinner parties, but it tasted fine and was plentiful. So long as everything worked out well we could end out little protest here.

There were fruits and meats, roasted vegetables of all kinds. The seasoning was very light where it existed at all, but at least there was enough. A small pile of plain loaves, made from a local wheat crop steamed, with a small bit of butter beside it. It was enough for all of us to have full bellies, a welcome change from the day.

Near the end of the meal I was approached by Ollie, the senior in charge of my dorm.

“Come with me please,” he said, not explaining as he turned on his heel.

“Where are we going?” I asked as we made our way down the empty hall, dinner was still on of course, and our footsteps echoed down the corridor lightly.

“Headmaster Logan wants to see you.” There was no further explanation, nor did he seem to want to talk at all.

For the rest of the way we walked in silence. Whatever the Headmaster wanted it certainly wouldn't be a good thing for me. After all, I'd caused quite a lot of trouble at his school, and he didn't seem to be the type to take that sort of thing lightly. It wasn't even the second day yet, so I wondered if I'd be able to get my tuition money back, probably not. Were there other schools I could get into at this time? Also probably not once they'd heard of what happened.

Oddly I wasn't led to an office but rather one of the training rooms. This was another place I'd not been into yet, but it was close to our afternoon classes so I at least recognized it. The walls and floors were slightly padded, covered in some kind of hard mat. In the center stood the Headmaster, eyes hard as he held a practice blade in one hand, another stuck into the floor nearby. He had no safety equipment, no strengthened clothing or armor, just his normal suit. It wasn't lost on me that there were spots of red, fresh blood on the floor, I could even smell the metallic tang of it if I tried.

“Leave us,” he said to Ollie.

“Yes sir,” the senior replied before practically fleeing the room.

We stared at one another for a time, taking each other's measure, and then he spoke. “Well boy, are you going to take up the blade or not? I've already finished with your seniors, but I think it's your turn now.”

Slowly I reached out, fingers wrapping around the practice weapon. It wasn't a foil like I was used to, but a heavier thing, shaped like the blades commonly carried as backups by soldiers. The short, leaf-shaped sword that would be taken to war.

There was a brief moment, a pang of regret that I'd eaten so much, since it was feeling awfully heavy in my stomach in that moment.