"You are getting dirty."

  The voice came from behind him. It was high, refined, and laced with a mixture of confusion and mild disgust.

  Arthur didn’t look up. He was busy scraping a layer of calcified moss off the fountain’s nozzle with a small knife he’d brought from the kitchen.

  "Dirt washes off, Cousin," Arthur replied. "Rust, unfortunately, is a bit more stubborn."

  He heard the rustle of silk approaching. Elara stopped a few feet away, careful not to let the hem of her pristine white dress touch the weeds. She adjusted her lace parasol, casting a shadow over Arthur’s work.

  "My mother said you might have become a bit... erratic," Elara said, watching him tap the iron pipe with the handle of his knife. "She said the poison might have affected your mind. I suppose playing in the mud is proof of that."

  Arthur paused. He looked at the diagram in his notebook—a complex schematic of the fountain's fluid dynamics—and then at the rust on his hands.

  Playing in the mud? He suppressed a scoff. He hated nothing more than someone insulting his work. But he remembered his objective: survival. Making an enemy of his only ally's daughter was bad strategy; it would only accelerate his doom.

  He stood up, wiping his hands on a rag, and offered her a polite, practiced smile.

  "Good morning to you too, Cousin Elara. I apologize for the lack of etiquette."

  Elara stared at him. She expected him to be embarrassed or perhaps to already be showering her with praises. Instead, he gave her a look that clearly said, If you have nothing useful to say, please leave.

  She straightened her back, her pride pricked. She was the genius of House Lunalar. She had awakened her mana core at ten. People usually bowed when she entered a room. Yet here, this crippled boy was treating her like empty air.

  "You seem fond of this dead garden," Elara said, gesturing to a withered rose bush near the fountain. "It is a shame. Ashborn used to be famous for its winter roses."

  "Plants do die without water, I believe," Arthur said flatly. "It is not a tragedy; it is just logic."

  Elara’s eyes narrowed. "Or perhaps it just lacks a touch of real power." She stepped forward. A smirk playing on her lips, she raised her hand toward the dying bush.

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  Arthur felt the air shift. The hairs on his arm stood up. Is this static electricity? Or perhaps mana?

  A soft blue light gathered at Elara’s fingertips. It swirled like liquid sapphire, condensing into a small sphere. With a graceful flick of her wrist, she pushed the mana into the rose bush.

  Whoosh.

  The reaction was instant. The brown stems pulsed with green. Leaves unfurled in seconds. A single, tight bud formed at the top and bloomed into a vibrant pink rose. It was undeniably beautiful. It was magic.

  Arthur was honestly impressed by the sheer number of possibilities this energy source could hold, but his analytical mind quickly realized something else.

  "Well?" she asked, her chin raised. "Is that 'logic,' Cousin?"

  Arthur leaned closer, inspecting the stem. "Interesting," he muttered.

  Elara beamed. "I know. Life magic is quite rare, even in the capital. I can—"

  "You forced the flower to bloom," Arthur interrupted, poking the petals.

  Elara’s smile froze. "Excuse me?"

  Arthur turned to her, his face devoid of any wonder. He looked like a professor grading a failed exam. "You used mana to force cell division, thus creating the bloom—but you didn’t provide the necessary resources to sustain it."

  He pointed at the stem, which was already decaying even faster than before.

  "You didn’t heal the plant. You just jump-started its metabolism. You drove the flower into overdrive and left it with no energy to sustain its life. Basically, you just accelerated its death."

  He looked directly into her eyes. "You didn’t bring the rose to life; you just painted a corpse."

  Dammit, I always get lost once something piques my interest, Arthur screamed internally.

  Elara’s mouth fell open. Her face turned a shade of red that matched the rose she had tried to revive. "I... You..." she stammered, her composure shattering. "I was trying to show you magic! You have zero mana! You are just a cripple in the end! You should be amazed!"

  "Of course I am amazed," Arthur said. He turned back to his notebook and scribbled a quick note: mana = catalyst, not fuel? He snapped the book shut and picked up his cane.

  "Now, if you will excuse me, Cousin. I need to find a pipe wrench. The intake valve is seized, and unless you can magic away fifty years of rust, your flowers are going to stay dead."

  He gave a curt nod and hobbled past her, heading toward the maintenance cabin.

  Elara stood alone in the weeds, the "miracle" rose wilting behind her exactly as he had predicted. She had expected jealousy, awe or even fascination. She expected anything but clinical indifference. For the first time in her life, she felt entirely unseen.

  Arthur didn’t look back, but as he walked away, a pang of guilt hit him. He had been too harsh.

  Ah, man... I shouldn’t be bullying kids. I am a thirty-year-old dinosaur. Although she was the one who insulted my work.

  “Sigh, I will apologize to her later then." He said, his voice filled with resignation.