I sat among the non-combat students in Elementary Magic Studies, trying not to draw attention to myself. Professor Kilnei stood at the front of the class, his youthful face making him look more like a student than an instructor. I was still jarred by the fact that I had an elf professor still in his teens. But I suppose it made sense, seeing as how elves apparently lived such short lifespans.

"Foci are essential tools for any practicing mage," Kilnei said, holding up a wooden staff. "While not strictly necessary for spellcasting, a focus will dramatically increase casting speed." He twirled the staff with practiced ease. "The material choice is crucial. Living materials, or rather, materials that were once living such as bone or wood, work best. Wood especially."

A hand shot up from the front row. "What about metals, Professor?"

"Excellent question." Kilnei shook his head. "Non-living materials cannot channel mana. In fact, some actively repel it. Pure iron is the most notorious example; its presence can completely disrupt spellcasting. No mage can work their craft near pure iron."

My fingers flexed involuntarily, the steel joints whirring softly. Could that explain my difficulties with mana manipulation? The mechanical parts of my body were mostly steel, which contained iron. Every attempt I'd made to channel mana through my artificial limbs had failed; the energy simply wouldn't flow through them.

"The repulsion effect is why traditional armor poses such problems for battle mages," Kilnei continued. "They must carefully balance protection against their ability to cast."

The pieces fell into place. My mechanical body wasn't just failing to channel mana, it was actively interfering with it. No wonder I could only manipulate mana through what remained of my organic flesh.

Could enchanting be the answer? The thought struck me suddenly. I directed my mind-speech toward Professor Kilnei.

If mana cannot flow through non-living materials, how does enchanting work?

Kilnei's youthful face twisted in annoyance. His sea-green eyes fixed on my porcelain mask, and I couldn't tell if his reaction stemmed from my interruption or my monstrous nature.

"That's... not precisely related to our current topic." He tapped his staff against the floor. "But since you ask, enchanting is considerably more complex than direct mana manipulation. Enchanters don't actually enchant the metal or stone directly. They first apply an alchemical base coating to the material's surface. This coating serves as the true carrier of the enchantment."

He walked over to his desk and picked up a steel dagger. "Take this weapon, for instance. The enchantment isn't actually on the steel itself, but rather on the alchemical layer bonded to it." He set the dagger down. "There are significant limitations, of course. The iron content in steel tends to weaken enchantments, requiring more power to achieve the same effect. And pure iron?" He shook his head. "It completely rejects enchantment, no matter how thick the alchemical coating."

I recalled watching Erch and her students in Monster Town. They had indeed applied some sort of paste to their items before beginning the enchanting process. At the time, I'd assumed it was just part of the ritual. Now I understood its true purpose.

Professor Kilnei returned to his lecture, gesturing with his staff. "Oak makes for an excellent focus, particularly heartwood from trees over a century old. Yew is another popular choice, though harder to come by." He traced patterns in the air. "The older the wood, the better it channels mana."

My thoughts drifted as he listed various tree species and their magical properties. The alchemical coating used in enchanting fascinated me more. If it could carry magic through steel and stone, perhaps I could use it to improve my mechanical bodies. Create components that worked with mana rather than against it.

"Dragon heartstrings are among the most potent materials for focus crafting," Kilnei said, pulling me back to the lecture. "A single string can power multiple foci. The problem is acquiring them. Dragons tend to object rather strongly to having their hearts removed."

A few students chuckled. I thought of the Snapper Dragon's remains that I had sold mere months ago. I hadn't considered their magical potential when I had collected them.

"Unicorn horn is another prized material," he continued. "Pure crystalline structures that naturally amplify magical energy. But unicorns are nearly extinct now, making their horns worth more than their weight in gold."

I pulled out my notebook and began sketching ideas. If I could create an alchemical mixture like the enchanters used, I might be able to coat key components of my chassis. The joints where mechanical parts connected to my organic flesh would be the ideal test points. Allow mana to flow from living tissue through the coating and into the metal...

"Griffin feathers, phoenix ash, basilisk scales; any part from a magical creature can potentially serve as a focus material," Kilnei said. "The more inherently magical the creature, the better the focus."

My pen paused mid-sketch. Was I considered a magical creature? The System classified me as a monster species, but did that automatically mean I had magical properties?

I dismissed the thought. During my early experiments with mana manipulation, I had already discovered that my body did not contain any mana at all, unlike everyone else around me. Even other monsters created mana within themselves and had internal reserves to draw upon. I was like an empty shell, completely devoid of mana except when I used mana manipulation to absorb the energy from the surrounding air.

The non-combat students around me radiated mana, their bodies constantly generating and circulating the energy even if they weren't actively using it. Even the wooden desks held trace amounts of residual mana from their time as living trees.

But when I looked at myself, I saw only darkness where mana should flow, except for small pools of borrowed energy I had absorbed from the environment. My organic parts were the same as my mechanical protheses; they both appeared as complete voids, areas where mana simply did not exist.

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It was yet another reminder that I was fundamentally different from both humans and monsters. Whatever I truly was, my nature seemed to defy the basic rules that governed every other living thing in this world.

I returned my attention to my sketches, adding notes about potential alchemical mixtures. If I couldn't generate mana naturally, I would find other ways to work around my limitations. The Academy's extensive library surely contained books on magical theory and enchanting. With enough research, I could develop new techniques suited to my unique circumstances.

I sat surrounded by towering stacks of books in the Academy library, my porcelain fingers drumming against the worn wooden table. Principles of Enchantment, Theory of Magical Resonance, Practical Applications of Mana Flow; they all seemed to contradict each other. One text claimed silver was an excellent conductor of magical energy, while another insisted it disrupted mana circulation.

The alchemical base must be prepared under a waxing moon, I read aloud in my mind, using essence of moonflower and powdered newt eyes. I pushed the book aside in frustration. The next volume suggested using sunstone instead, ground during the summer solstice.

My Assembly ability let me understand the most complex mechanical systems at a glance. I could look at any machine and instantly grasp how its parts worked together. Yet these magical formulas might as well have been written in another language.

I pulled out my notebook, reviewing my observations from watching Erch's enchanting sessions. The paste she'd used had been greenish-brown, with a consistency like wet clay. But none of these books mentioned anything matching that description.

"The fundamental principle of enchantment," another text declared, "lies in the harmonious marriage of material and magical resonance." I resisted the urge to slam the book shut. What did that even mean?

Diagrams of mana flow patterns blurred before my eyes. Circles and arrows showing energy circulation through various materials. Tables listing the magical properties of different bones and woods. It all seemed like nonsense.

I could build a working mechanical heart from scrap metal. Fashion delicate clockwork joints that moved as smoothly as living tissue. But basic magical theory defeated me at every turn.

With a sigh, I closed the current book and reached for another. The leather binding crackled as I opened it, releasing a musty scent. More incomprehensible diagrams. More contradictory theories.

Perhaps I was approaching this wrong. Instead of trying to understand the theory, I should focus on replicating what I'd seen Erch do. Break down the enchanting process into discrete mechanical steps, the way I would analyze any other system.

But even that felt beyond my grasp. Magic seemed to operate on dream logic, following rules that shifted like quicksand. My mind, so adept at understanding physical systems, simply couldn't process these ethereal concepts.

Magic is stupid, I finally declared after hours of reading.

I lowered the useless book as a small figure hopped into the chair across from me. A goblin girl in the black Academy combat student uniform stared at me with yellow eyes that held surprising intensity. Green freckles dotted her nose, standing out against her lighter skin.

"Hi! I'm Genta," she said, keeping her voice low enough not to disturb other library patrons. "Second year student. And C-rank, like you."

I tilted my head, wondering what brought this unexpected introduction. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.

"Look, I'll be direct. I don't know about you, but I'm sick of how this place treats us monsters. That stunt Shawe pulled with your ranking? Not the first time he's done that crap, and he's not the only one." Her fingers drummed against the wood. "There's only five of us total here: you, me, that asshole Arctur, and two others. We need to stick together."

My mechanical fingers stilled on the book cover as I processed her words. Five monsters in total. Such a small number in this massive Academy.

"I want to form an alliance between us monster students," she continued. "Help each other out, you know? Share notes, warn about which professors to watch out for, that kind of thing. Times are rough here for our kind. We need to watch each other's backs."

Through my Mind Speech ability, I asked, Why approach me now?

"Been watching you since you arrived. The way Shawe treated you in that assessment? Classic him. But you handled it with grace." She gave a sharp-toothed grin. "Plus, anyone who can fight like you did? We could use that kind of skill in our corner."

I studied Genta through my porcelain mask, weighing her proposition. The library's silence pressed around us as dust motes danced in shafts of afternoon light. Her offer stirred something in me, a longing for connection I hadn't realized was there.

Life at the Academy had been isolating. Students whispered behind their hands when I passed. I was openly mocked whenever I entered the dorm common area. Even the teachers treated me like a stain they couldn't remove. Only Lyta showed me any real kindness.

What exactly would this alliance entail? I asked through Mind Speech.

"Study groups, sharing class notes, warning each other about which professors discriminate against monsters." Genta counted off on her fingers. "Maybe even training together sometimes. There's strength in numbers."

My mechanical fingers traced patterns on the book cover as I considered. Having allies would make navigating the Academy's politics easier. A network of monster students sharing information could help me avoid the worst of the discrimination.

But my nightly excursions into the Hellzone had to remain secret. That hidden entrance was my key to getting stronger, to eventually facing Duke Redflight. If anyone discovered it, the Academy would seal it off immediately. I couldn't risk losing that advantage, no matter how tempting the offer of friendship might be.

And the others? I asked. You mentioned Arctur. He doesn't seem to like me much.

"Yeah, he's... difficult." Genta grimaced. "The lizard keeps blowing me off, ignoring me whenever I try to talk to him. Still, he's skilled and could be a powerful ally if we can get him to join us."

I shifted in my chair, the joints in my mechanical body whirring softly. I thought about Arctur and my thoughtless mistake. Perhaps joining this alliance could help me make amends with him.

I'll consider it, I replied finally. But I need time to think.

"Of course." Genta stood, straightening her uniform. "Just don't take too long. Things are getting worse for monsters here, not better. We need to act soon."

I watched Genta rummage through her uniform pockets, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. Her small fingers smoothed it against the table before she scribbled something with a stubby pencil.

"Here." She slid the note across to me. "If you decide to join us, meet there in two days. We gather after afternoon classes."

My porcelain fingers picked up the paper, the mechanical joints clicking softly. In messy handwriting were the words "Southwest tower, room 401."

Genta stood, adjusting her black uniform. "Hope to see you there." She gave me a quick nod and hurried away between the towering bookshelves, her footsteps fading into the library's silence.

I turned the paper over in my mechanical hand, studying the hastily written location. The southwest tower; I'd mapped most of the Academy's layout during my late-night wanderings, but hadn't ventured up the towers yet. They were mainly used for advanced magical studies and faculty offices.

Tucking the note into my jacket pocket, I returned to the stack of enchanting books before me. But the words blurred as my thoughts drifted to Genta's offer. An alliance of monster students, working together against the discrimination we faced.

The paper felt like it was burning a hole in the fabric of my uniform. Two days to decide whether to trust these other monsters with any part of myself. Two days to weigh the risks and benefits of no longer being completely alone.

I picked up another book, but found myself simply staring at the pages, lost in thought. The afternoon sun slanted through the high windows, casting long shadows across the library tables. Students came and went, giving my table a wide berth as always. But for the first time, their whispers and stares felt a little less isolating.

Room 401. The number echoed in my mind as I pretended to read. Perhaps it was time to start mapping those towers after all.

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