As the amphitheater slowly emptied, I sat frozen at my desk. There was urgency in everyone's steps; they wanted to escape this poisonous atmosphere as soon as possible. Ella's worried whisper still hung in the air, but even she had been swept away by the flow of her friends. Her eyes had remained on me until the very last moment.
At that moment I understood that Aurex's game wasn't just about breaking me. By leaving me completely alone, forcing me to control everyone around me, to shoulder everyone's burden, he was trying to make me return to that old self I hated most. And the worst part was knowing that this trap would somehow harm me.
Just then, Aurex descended from the podium and headed toward the exit. At that moment, the noise in my mind ceased. All the lessons and warnings I had received in recent days converged in my mind into a single thought: Don't react. Play.
I stood up. My body seemed to move independently of me. A corner of my mind was screaming 'Sit down, you fool! You're screwing up!' but another, calmer part I had never known before had taken control.
"Professor," I said, my voice echoing stronger in the empty amphitheater than I had expected.
Aurex stopped at the door and slowly turned around. On his face was the expression of a hunter enjoying watching his trapped prey's final struggles. "Yes, Mr. Corvus? Do you have an objection?"
I walked slowly toward him. The last few students remaining in the amphitheater also paused curiously. Luna and her group were leaning against the door frame, watching what would happen.
"No, sir. I'm just curious," I said in a calm voice. "Wouldn't you like to add one final touch to such a carefully prepared trap? For example... one more constraint to make the game a bit more challenging?"
Aurex's eyebrows rose slightly. This was a move he hadn't expected. The mocking expression on his face gave way to analytical curiosity. "An interesting approach. What do you have in mind?"
"For instance," I said, standing directly in front of him. "The other groups will be able to work for fourteen days, including weekends. What if you imposed a condition that our group could only work on school days? That would mean six fewer days." I was amazed at the audacity of the words coming out of my mouth. The logic circuits in my brain were giving danger signals; this was academic suicide. But part of me knew this was the only move that would turn the game in my favor.
This proposal shocked not only Aurex but everyone remaining in the amphitheater. From somewhere behind, I heard a whisper: "But that's impossible!" Even the victorious expression on Luna's face had given way to momentary confusion.
Aurex laughed. It was a short, sharp, and cold laugh. "Now this... this is more entertaining than I expected. You're writing your own punishment, Mr. Corvus. Agreed. Your group will only work on school days."
This time the murmurs were louder. "This is unfair..." "Their group was already terrible and their topic the hardest, now they have no chance at all."
At that moment, that old, analytical self inside me was replaced by a calm strategist I had never known. I turned to the crowd. My voice was clear and calm.
"Friends," I said. "Right now we're playing a game prepared for us by Professor Aurex. In a game, arguing about whether the rules are fair, whining to the referee won't win you the match. It only distracts you. There's only one way to win: Play the game."
As my words echoed in the amphitheater, I was amazed at what I had said myself. Was this me? Where was this calmness coming from?
There was now obvious amusement on Aurex's face. This reaction had surprised and pleased him. Under the curious gazes of the last few students remaining in the amphitheater, I took another slow step to close the distance between us. Now we were almost nose to nose. I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper that only the two of us could hear.
"But professor," I whispered. "Every game also has a reputation. If the players completely lose faith in the game creator's fairness, they might not want to play again."
His eyes narrowed. This was an unexpected move on the chess board.
"You're just looking for more entertainment, I understand," I continued in the same whisper. "Then I have a better offer for you. Let's accept the six-day restriction. My group's situation is obvious, my task is already nearly impossible. I accept this bet. But I also request a small gesture from you."
"What is it?" he said, his voice as low as mine.
"If I fail, cut thirty of my points instead of forty."
A momentary doubt crossed Aurex's face. "Why would I do such a thing?"
"Because," I said, looking into his eyes. "This way, by getting full points from your other two exams, I still have a chance to pass your course. This takes you from the position of an unfair, merciless teacher and puts you in the position of a clever strategist who challenges, tests limits, but still leaves an exit door. People will talk about how cleverly your game was designed, not your cruelty."
I paused, increasing the tension with a moment of silence. I could feel those remaining in the amphitheater holding their breath; they had leaned forward to understand what was happening. The analyst inside me was calculating hundreds of failure scenarios at lightning speed. My bluff could be seen. Aurex could humiliate me in front of everyone. But it was too late now. I took one last, small step to deliver the final blow. There was no longer such a thing as personal space. I leaned down, my lips almost touching his earlobe.
"If you don't even give this small concession," I whispered directly into his ear, making sure he felt the poison of my words, "people might think you were so certain I would pass this course with full points anyway... that you believed you could only stop me by setting up such an impossible game. This would make you look like someone who fears me."
When I straightened up, there was absolute silence in the amphitheater.
The air between us was so thick it could almost be cut. All expression had been wiped from Aurex's face. Only his eyes were scanning the deepest corners of my mind. Was I bluffing, or did I really have a plan? He was trying to understand this.
Luna and her group, leaning against the door frame, were trying to read our faces with the disappointment of not being able to hear what we were saying. Their curiosity was almost tangible.
Finally, Aurex's lips curved slightly. This was very different from his previous smile. This was the beginning of something resembling respect.
"Thirty-five points," he whispered. "And with one condition. You'll prove that at least two of those four useless members in your group made concrete contributions to the project."
This was the impossible within the impossible. But he had cracked open a door.
"Agreed, sir," I said without the slightest hesitation in my voice.
I straightened up and gave him a slight nod of greeting. As I turned my back and left the amphitheater, I felt Luna's shocked and angry looks, and Cassius's expression of analytical appreciation that I saw on his face for the first time.
I could feel my legs trembling slightly, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Was this a victory or just a postponed disaster? I didn't know. But at that moment, that momentary hesitation and crumb of respect I saw in Aurex's eyes was worth every risk I had taken. I had played the game. I had let go of control and survived. And yes, perhaps for the first time, I had set the rules myself.
[Same Time - Path to Office - Aurex's Perspective]
As I walked toward the amphitheater door, I was savoring the chaos I had left behind. This was that cold, distant satisfaction an artist feels after completing his work. Every worry on every student's face, every panic in every whisper, was like notes in a carefully composed symphony. This was my art: catching minds at their weakest points and seeing how far they could stretch.
And at the center of today's masterpiece was Octavian Corvus.
This plan had begun to take shape last week. After class, that ambitious and predictable little manipulator, Lunaria, had come to me with a paper in her hand. "Professor, we need to form a study group for Professor Flavia's class," she had said with that artificial respect. "But there are some incompatibilities. Perhaps you'd like to make an arrangement?"
When I took the paper, one second of looking at the list was enough. This wasn't a request for help; this was a clumsily designed assassination plan. Lunaria was trying to trap Octavian in a group filled with her own pawns. Separating his friends from him, isolating him from his supporters... Simple, effective, and extremely boring.
As I handed the paper back to her, I had said dismissively, "I don't think this is worth bothering with. I don't have much time."
"But this could entertain you, professor," she had whispered, using exactly the words I wanted.
At that moment, lightning struck in my mind. I could take Lunaria's amateur trap and turn it into a real work of art. I could put him in a labyrinth filled not just with pawns, but with all kinds of impossible variables. I could design an experiment that would test not only his intelligence but his soul. And I did.
Today, I was enjoying feeling the steel teeth of that perfectly designed trap closing on Octavian. I had separated him from his allies. I had thrown him into a pit filled with traitors, pawns, and dead weight. And as the final blow, I had loaded all the responsibility onto his shoulders alone. Now all that remained was to watch his collapse.
I was just about to exit the door when I heard that voice behind me.
"Professor."
I turned. My expectation was one of the usual student reactions: pleading, anger, or apology... But none of these were in his eyes. He was calm. This was the first anomaly.
As I watched him walk toward me, make that audacious proposal, analytical curiosity began to awaken in me. This wasn't the thrashing of a victim in panic. This... was something different. When he proposed to make his own punishment heavier, I didn't think like the other idiots in the amphitheater that this was suicide. I understood that this was an opening move. He was trying to take the game from my court and pull it into an arena he would determine.
When he turned to the crowd and gave that little speech, I was certain. He was trying to control not only himself but the situation. He wasn't whining, he was accepting the rules of the game and redefining them.
And then he came to me. That bargain that began with a whisper... At that moment, I was certain this child wasn't just an ordinary bright mind. He was a player.
He had analyzed my motivations: my pursuit of entertainment, my ego satisfaction. He knew my weak points: my reputation and perception of justice. He wasn't offering me a threat; he was offering me a choice. Do you want to be a cruel but stupid tyrant, or a clever but challenging game master?
And then he made that final move. When he leaned to my ear and whispered those poisonous words... "This would make you look like someone who fears me."
This wasn't an insult. This was a check made by a master chess player, not to checkmate his opponent, but to force him to make the move he wanted. It was a direct attack on my public image, on my aura of invincibility in my students' eyes. If I had refused his offer, I would have acknowledged not his bluff, but my own fear.
When he straightened up, I looked at that calm expression on his face. I could see the storm inside him, his legs trembling with adrenaline. But from the outside, he was a monument of complete control.
At that moment I made my decision. This experiment would be much more interesting than I had expected.
"Thirty-five points," I whispered. "And with one condition. You'll prove that at least two of those four useless members in your group made concrete contributions to the project."
This was my counter-move. I gave him the small concession he wanted, but in return I moved the game to an even more impossible level. Now the issue wasn't just solving a Calculus problem. Now the issue was solving one of human nature's most difficult equations: Making the unwilling work, encouraging the fearful.
When he said "Agreed, sir," the unhesitating quality in his voice proved he wasn't bluffing.
As he turned his back and left the amphitheater, I watched him. This child had stopped being a specimen in my laboratory. Now he was the player on the other side of the chess board.
A real smile appeared on my face for the first time in months. This game would indeed be entertaining.