The ever repeating days.

 After a night of sleep, Hugo found himself laying in bed.

He had to slowly soak in the profoundness of such a statement, lest his entire worldview collapse. It was one of life’s greatest mysteries—

The boy sighed as he rolled out of bed, falling to the ground with a small thud. The bed was taller than what he was used to, pain travelling up his back as a result.

At least it woke him up a bit.

As much as he'd love to waste the morning away lying in bed, his tight schedule wouldn’t allow such a thing. The average academy student was busier than a farmer’s son, and he had several years of schooling to make up for.

He started the day with a slice of bread, brought from a village nearby rather than the academy mess hall as the food there was a little too expensive for his blood. About seven to eight times as expensive to be precise.

Not ten minutes after waking up, he was off to his first class. Stewardship and the management of land, currently his favorite class purely by elimination. The topic wasn’t interesting by any stretch of the imagination and the professor was as dull as a hammer, but it was the only subject in which he was making any progress.

The concepts were all simple enough, and a little bit of logic to connect causes with their effects was all one needed to pass. The only thing holding him back was his lack of knowledge about proper terminology, something the professor made sure to relentlessly hound him about every single day.

He was also yelled at several times during the first week, or more specifically, Arielle who was sitting next to him got yelled at, and he was caught in the crossfire.

The girl also appeared to find stewardship boorish, often ranting at him about magic and engineering, which constantly drew the ire of the teacher.

She did thankfully stop after he simply asked her to, as he needed a lot of catch up to do. Arielle had instead taken to helping him out with his terminology issue, and…was surprisingly adept at it.

She was an excellent teacher by all measures, better than the actual professor he’d argue. Her nonsensical ranting appeared to be an isolated issue, one that is limited only to matters of magic and engineering.

Something she could not hope to help him with however, was etiquette and dancing—his least favorite class by a very wide margin.

“Hugo, a little higher when pouring the tea. Just like that, yes.”

There was only one teacher for each class, and with over forty students it’d be impossible for all of them to receive equal attention—which is why academy servants were also employed as assistant instructors.

The butler who was currently helping out quite the nice fellow, one who seemed to understand his struggles as someone from a commoner background. He was gentle, patient, and a great help all things considered.

The actual teacher however…

“What in God’s name is wrong with you?! You do not wear a jabot in such an uncouth manner while pouring tea! You, get out!” The kind butler who was doing his best to help him out was shooed away, and the dreaded teacher took a seat across the table instead. Hugo could only gulp.

After just his first day, the teacher had made it his life’s mission to instill some manners into him, meaning he caught the man’s eyes very often.

The teacher—Hendrick von Henk, as he introduced himself every single day—was passionate if nothing else, and Hugo would’ve respected him for his dedication were it anything other than etiquette of all things.

There were few things truly useless in life, and Hugo firmly believed etiquette was one of them.

Why does it matter if the kettle is five or six centimeters above the cup?! It’s just tea! It’s coming out of someone’s bladder in an hour’s time either way.

Such thoughts were never verbalised of course, Hugo liked not being mutilated by a posh teacher, and he silently got yelled at for nearly two hours before heading out to his next destination.

As it turns out, math and rhetoric were not considered to be classes, and were not graded or tested as a result. All students were expected to achieve complete mastery, so evaluations were not required—or at least, that was the idea.

Many students ended up slacking off as a result, though Hugo certainly wasn’t counted among them. If it was considered to be an official class, these two would’ve been his favorite by a landslide, as he actually understood what the teachers were talking about, and the subjects were quite interesting compared to stewardship.

He was taught mathematics by his mother and reading and writing by his father, and their education turned out to be anything but shallow. His father was a man of the theatre, and while he did not know how his mother knew so much about mathematics, what she taught him put Hugo well ahead of the curve.

He’d go so far as to say he actually wasn’t learning anything new, which was certainly a unique situation compared to everything else.

The same could also be said about his next lesson, though that was because of the opposite reason. He still understood nothing about arcane engineering or magic in general, even after Arielle poured dozens of hours into trying to teach him.

His notes continued to grow with each lesson, yet it was composed almost entirely of question marks, with only the occasional statement he thought was important, but didn’t really understand.

It certainly didn’t help that professor Divara showed up late, always.

He thought it was simply a one time thing, but no, it happened every single day.

She’d walk in half asleep, apologize for being late, then collapse onto her desk. Arielle would approach her to ask a few questions, get an explanation, then class would end.

Even after nearly two weeks, he was still as ignorant about magic as his first day, which wasn’t exactly ideal, and he was quite frankly considering joining the five at the back in their slumber.

The only thing currently holding him back from doing just that was an invisible tug at his heart he couldn’t quite place a finger on, and the heartbroken expression that will likely take over Arielle’s face.

After that, it was onto the final task of the day—martial training.

Much was taught beyond just basic duels, and quite surprisingly, Hugo didn’t find them to be too bad.

There was physical conditioning which wasn’t an issue for him—village work wasn’t easy— and also a lot of marching.

The trainees would all form up and march across the beach before circling the academy. They also had to do it with armor and equipment, which was dreadful for the first few days but got easier as he got accustomed to wearing armor.

Fall had also fully arrived, and the cooler weather made the heat far more bearable.

Most problems arose when the time came to begin dueling.

All students were partnered up with another, and he was usually put with Marcel, as he was supposedly the best among the trainees and least likely to cripple or blind Hugo by accident.

Marcel actually came to apologize the day after the first duel for his words from before, and Hugo believed their conflict to be resolved.

He couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Each duel, Hugo refused to attack, staying purely on the defensive. Marcel would attempt to bring him out of his shell by leaving obvious openings, which he never took. Frustration would slowly build up before Hugo would be taken down in one swift motion.

Though Marcel continued to apologize for his frustration, that soon stopped after the first week.

Cavalry drills had begun, but instructor Harold refused to let Hugo join until he sorted himself out on the ground first. Marcel was often the one left behind to supervise him.

At this point, he didn’t bother to withhold his disdain, and Hugo was sure the guy had asked Harold to kick him out at least once by now.

From his blind spot, the butt of the poleaxe suddenly appeared, hitting him in the shin. Hugo fell to the ground clutching his leg.

Marcel no longer did mock attacks, but took him down with one decisive action every time before sitting nearby while Hugo recovered. He would get up after a while, and promptly be sent to the ground once more.

No progress was being made, and at this point he had to wonder why he even bothered to stand up.

Eventually, the end of the day’s session would come, and Marcel would sigh in both relief and frustration.

“Stop wasting my time if you don’t intend to move forward.” Hugo didn’t have an excuse to give. His body refused to obey, and his mistakes had simply become routine at this point, embedded into his very flesh.

After a few moments of silence, Marcel scoffed before turning away. “Just get out of here.” The redhair whispered.

The official tasks for the day had ended, and Hugo was headed towards the library with his head kept low. He had much to do, and needed to make up for being years late.

After it was all said and done, he’ll find himself in bed once more, to repeat the ever unchanging days.

He had to admit, when he took those tentative steps out of Belan, placing fragile trust in his mother’s words, this wasn’t what he had expected. There was surprise on the first two days, then back to routine once again.

Only this time, Hugo struggled to say he was content.

Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea after all…