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    The next day, I arrived at the academy an hour early- finished assignments in my bag and a coffee in my hand. I was the definition of sleep-deprived in human form. Damn Elliot distracting me.

    "Ah, Randall! My favorite student!" My foreign culture teacher smiled when he saw me. "I just made a fresh batch of coffee, help yourself." He looked at me- half concerned, half amused- "you look like you need it more than me.

    "You say that, but you'd put a raccoon to shame with those dark circles around your eyes." I plopped a thick stack of papers on his desk. "I got everything done."

    "I am quite impressed. I wouldn't have been able to finish all of this at your age." The professor eyed the packet, "even now I struggle with getting things done."

    I snorted, "then why'd you choose to be a teacher?"

    "A lapse of judgement and cognitive thinking." He grinned. "I don't recommend it, especially for someone like you."

    "Why not?" I raised a brow, pouring myself another cup of coffee. "Please, impart this wisdom on me, oh sacred mentor."

     His grin grew wider, "you have a tendency to get depressed and feeling overwhelmed whenever you're stuck in one place. Don't think I haven't noticed." He sat down behind his desk. "Let me guess, you've been feeling underwhelmed by your achievements and have no idea what to do with your life?"

    "You just described at least 80% of the human population."

    "I suppose so, but it applies to you as well, does it not?"

    "Well, yeah, it does." I sighed. "Why do you bring it up? Have you found the magical cure?"

    "No," he chuckled, "just a simple suggestion. Why don't you try being an escort for ambassadors? You have more knowledge of foreign affairs and cultures than most- maybe even more than I at this point. And it'd be a shame to not put that strength of yours to good use. It's a risky job, but you're one of the most qualified for it. AND, it keeps you from staying in one place for too long."

    "..." I thought about it. Honestly, it didn't sound too bad, but... "sounds kinda boring. Wouldn't I have to stand by a wall, completely still through hours upon hours of boring meetings?"

    "Ah, you see, there are two types of ambassador escorts. Those who specialize in defense, and those who specialize in information gathering. You'd fit more into the latter."

    "?" I felt confused, "how so?"

    "Well, those who specialize are the ones who stay beside the ambassador in order to protect them and only require sufficient combat training. Those who specialize in information gathering require a profound amount of cultural knowledge while also having sufficient combat training. You have both of those qualities."

    "Huh." I thought about it. "Do intel escorts need to sit through those meetings?"

    "They do not. They usually spend time observing their surroundings and gathering information from locals. Also, intel escorts are usually in disguise. Despite being called an escort, you wouldn't be WITH the ambassador. You'd be sent out maybe a month or so before the ambassador and send back reports. It's a very important job. Many assassination attempts have been prevented thanks to intel escorts."

    "Well, it definitely sounds better than the other escort. I'll think more about it."

    "Oh! Completely forgot, but I believe I saw someone dropping something off at your desk in the classroom. Not sure who, as I was just passing by."

    "..." I looked at him for a long moment, "Itm would've been nice if you told me sooner. I'll see you later during class." The teacher nodded his head at me and I left.

    Tired as hell, I walked to the classroom and- just as he mentioned- there was a container on my desk. In it was... a fancy-looking thing of chocolate mousee? It seemed whoever made this put a lot of effort in presentation.

    ...Should I eat this or not? It wasn't some secret that I loved chocolate mousse, but this was suspicious. Whoever made this could've poisoned it and no one would know who they were.

    "..." I put the container aside for the moment. There was a letter on the desk as well. I opened it and it read,

    I hope you enjoy the chocolate mousse. I know it may not be the best, but I didn't know what else to give you.

    I've admired you for a long time and noticed you were feeling down, so I made this in hopes of lifting your spirits.

    ~ Anonymous.

    Huh, if it didn't seem suspicious before, it certainly did now. If there's one thing I didn't trust, it was self-proclaimed acts of goodwill. There was always a catch. When they finally worm their way into your hear, they'll leave you. Just like how ^&%#&)* did when he left for G$&09_+=2.

    ? What was I saying again? Oh yeah, I don't believe in other people's goodwill. More often than not, it ended up causing more harm than anything. Still, it WAS chocolate mousse. I never was one to turn down chocolate mousse- and it seemed this person knew that.

    "..." Fuck it. I'll eat it at lunch. If it's poisoned, then so be it. It better be some good fucking chocolate mousse if I'm risking my life for it.

    "HI!" Elliot strutted into the classroom. "You're here early- ooh?! Who gave you this~?" Elliot took the note off the desk. "Looks like someone has an admirer~!"

    "Do you ever shut up?"

    "Nope!" Ellliot tucked the note into my pocket. "So, you know who it is?" I shook my head, putting the container in my bag. "Huh, well- guess we'll find out sooner or later, right~?"

    "Why are you asking me?" I side-eyed him. "I don't care about who gave me this."

    (I wrote this next part after hanging out at the neighbor's place and I accidentally ate a weed brownie because I thought it was a normal brownie. I kept it in because it tickled my brain lmao)

    "What if it's the bomb?"


    "You know, what if it's finger-licking good?"

    "What the fuck are you talking about?" 

    "The chocolate mousse, duh." Elliot grinned mischeviously, "or the person who gave it to you."

    "...Again, what the fuck does that mean? Fi- oh my god ELLIOT!"

    "HAHAHAHAHHA," Elliot cackled, "took you long enough! Seriously though, what if the person who made it was that beef cake who's always staring at you during swordsmanship practice?"

    "What the fuck is a beef cake? Who's been staring at me? How do you know when you're not even in swordsmanship?!"

    "Less asking more answering." Elliot huffed, "how have you not noticed? I'm surprised your body isn't swiss cheese with all the holes his eyes have tried to bore into you." Then he grinned the grinny grin that meant one specific thing.


    "Of course, he might want to-"


    "bore into-"

    "Don't do it, Elliot."

    "Dat ass~" he quickly dodged my fist and I chased him down the hall.



...I will never eat a brownie made by someone else ever again. Enjoy the chaos which is my brain.

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⏰ Last updated: Apr 14 ⏰

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