The loud final note of a guitar fades slowly into the applause of one pair of hands.
“Thank you, Thank you,” says Courtney.
“Ahehehehe, that was amazing. Keep it up!” cheers the sole member of her audience, Yvan.
She isn’t at all upset by the turnout. This is the only fan she wants to play for today. It’s a private Father’s Day concert, after all.
“Keep it up?? I’ve already given you three encores!”
“I’ve got all day, ahehehe.”
“That’s unfortunately true. It is your day…”
The guitar quickly kicks back into gear, encouraged to life by whistles, cheers, applause, and of course, laughter. Ahehehe.
“You wanted to see me?”
The office of Campbell Graves, President and Founder of CIRCE, has always stuck me as unusual and uncomfortable. On the highest floor of the headquarters building, an extravagant view can be seen from the expanse of glass covering a quarter of the wall in the completely circular and embarrassingly sparse office.
A plain desk with a few drawers adorns the middle, with one uncomfortable chair behinds it and two more in front. A laptop, lid down as always, lays atop. On the east wall, a couch as rigid and unwelcoming as the chairs. West wall, a single bookshelf, tall but not wide, almost entirely filled.
“Again.
Again.
Again.”
Ria’s hand glows with a growing light. Mana gathers towards her brighter and brighter palm. A subdued bang, like a pistol smothered by pillows, sounds from her hand as it jolts up from the recoil. The magic bolt whizzes through the trees of the woods, seeking out a target 100 yards away. A crash as it makes contact with a thick tree.
“That’ll teach you to stray down the path of evil!”
“That’ll teach you to try your luck against us! Hope you won’t forget that lesson too soon. Dream of me in prison, okay~?”
A short and energetic brunette and a fiery blonde in twintails stand triumphantly over a small band of failed bank robbers. Eight adult men, armed with wand and weaponry, dispatched by a mere squad of four high school girls. A tall redhead whose hair hides half her face is binding up the last culprit with an expertly executed spell.
“I hope none of you plan on doing a thing like this again.” The redhead.
“And if you stray off the path of good…” The brunette.
“We’ll put a stop to your plots again and again, for we are…” The blonde.
“All clear, Oliver.” A somewhat-short but very fit young woman with short black hair talks into a simple silver bracelet with a faint and unnatural glow. A male voice on the other ends only replies with a half-hearted but affirmative grunt.
“H-Hey, Marti, that’s not the line! We’ve rehearsed this so many times already, and you never wanna play along!” shouts the twintailed Lily.
“Boo, boo! You gotta play along, Mar! We’ll hold victory rehearsals again tomorrow, ‘kay?” suggests the bubbly brunette.
“Ria, remedial lessons tomorrow. All day.” The voice from the bracelet is now given form as a man walks onto the scene, scanning around diligently for anything the littlest bit out of order.
“M-M-M-M-Mr. Oliver!! B-B-B-B-But… but…”
“Eight magicians, male, fairly skilled. By ten is 80 points for everyone…
Ria, minus five for nearly hitting a civilian with a spell.”
“Awawawa…”
“Minus five for running into a civilian mid flight. Minus five for nearly hitting a teammate with a spell. Minus five for needing a teammate to shield a spell fired right in front of your very face.”
“(Thanks again, Bridgette!)” The redhead nods and smiles in return.
“Ahem. Minus one for interrupting my tallying your grade. Minus ten for botching the repair on the glass window you flew into. It’s completely warped. This is elementary level magic.”
“I-I apologize, Mr. Oliver!”
“49 points. At least it’s better than usual… Lillian.”
“Adrian.”
“Minus ten for significant unrepaired structural damage.”
“Meh, that’s for the clean up crew…”
“Oh, and minus one for addressing me by first name.”
“Tch.”
“Marti. Minus five for rushing in first without your teammates. Minus five for not providing support for your team. And minus one for forgetting the ‘Mr.’ before my name.”
“Tied again, Marti.”
“…were we competing?”
“Bridgette.”
“Yes, Mr. Oliver.”
“Good job. Full marks.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Alright girls, you’re dismissed for the day. See you all tomorrow. Especially you, Ria.”
“*Sniff*Sniff*”
—————
“Our girls kick ass again?”
“For a very loose definition of the expression, sure.”
“Can’t you ever give them a compliment for a change? They are hard working girls, and they did a good job.”
“If the Three Stooges can manage it, it can’t be that tough.”
“And Bridgette?”
“She’s a good kid, she’ll go places.”
“Hmm~ I’m gonna get jealous if you keep singing her praises.”
“I don’t sing. Ever.”
“Don’t I know it. You’re no fun.”
Zoey might have said it in a light tone with an even lighter smile, but it isn’t any less true just because it was said gently. At first, I didn’t even want her here. Most mission days, I just come home to crash on the couch, and try to ignore the celebrating the girls do next door. The biggest flaw with housing provided by the job.
But there was no stopping her from dropping in. She’s taken a vested interest in Ria’s progress, as we near the end of the term. There are no second chances in this business. If you don’t make the grade, you don’t move on. The gears of the machine must all run at the same pace. No exceptions. Not for Ria or any of the girls, and not even for me.
So, despite Zoey’s assessments, I find myself going easy on the first year. It’s all Zoey’s fault, but she pays me back with actually edible dinners. It will only end up hurting Ria in the end, but I can’t say no. And that’s why I’m no good at this teaching business. Except it’s all I’ve ever known.
“Are you staying?”
“I can’t. I’ve gotta talk to a bride-to-be early tomorrow morning. Big wedding, real soon.”
“Work.”
“Work.”
“Have fun.”
“‘Course. I can trust you to clean up all these dishes, right?”
“I can get Ria to do it.”
“They’re students, not servants.”
“If she does it with magic, it’s a lesson.”
“You, are one terrible teacher.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, good night.”
“Yeah.”
—————
The room is dark and quiet excepting the small TV belting its muffled noises and saturated lights. The news is detailing all sorts of heroisms for the day. A colleague’s little worker bees saving innocents from their burning apartment building. My own and the bank case. CIRCE’s prized Wonder Woman, Anna Ishtar, defeating a terror plot. The anchorwoman gives cheers to all the magical girls out there saving the world from itself.
And immediately after, her colleague segues right into various murders and misincidents locally and nationally. Despite a whole population of heroines to rid the world of evil, it still happens. Whoever told this station they wanted to hear the good news first isn’t a friend of mine. I turn it off before it ruins my mood more and lay down on the couch, hoping maybe tonight I can nod off at a decent time.
But my thoughts always keep me up. Many in the business have their doubts and hesitations. Teachers, students, and graduates alike all ponder the futility of our industry. Evil and misfortune have endless numbers and we struggle a whole five years per student to get them into shape, to try and keep up. A lot quit, and a lot have worse befall them. But this is easy to overcome once you face the fact that it is impossible to outnumber the shadows of the world. I did it years ago myself. The real problem is whether you can equip these innocent girls with enough for them to face those dark masses. That answer is always no. Not everyone can be a superhero. And no one superhero can save the world.
These are the thoughts that keep me up till my alarm clock sounds.