Готовый перевод Сломанные крылья Серебра / The Broken Wings of Silver: 3

* * *
Such a pity that sunset is coming soon. At night, I was still afraid to walk in the astral plane, remembering that night is the time of dark forces, as was commonly believed on Earth. Of course, it’s okay if I take a break. Tomorrow I only have to sign a couple of papers. Then I’m free, there will be more time for my research, but I really wanted to continue right now. Still, caution won out. But before I stepped towards the bed, I felt a stream of attention. Well, or someone’s gaze. I slowly turned around, noticing out of the corner of my eye that my aura was rapidly turning yellow.

And it had reason to turn yellow...

Behind the door, through which I could see, albeit poorly, unlike the walls, someone was standing. And not in the Physical world, but in the Astral! And the most unpleasant thing was that I felt this someone was watching me. Something, visible to me as a blurry spot of indefinite shape, caught my attention and stepped right through the closed door.

And so my illusions about the safety of my home have collapsed...

Having stepped over the barrier in the physical world, the visitor immediately ceased to be perceived by me as a spot. Almost at the very threshold, something strange froze. A sort of hairy bun, the size and shape of a basketball, with small ball-like legs and the same awkward arms. Thick wool made of threads covered him or her from head to toe. And if it weren’t for the three eyes carefully examining me, the visitor could have been mistaken for a plush toy-smesharik that had come to life.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/KikoRiki

Unlike me, the guest was almost monochromatic - green, if you don't count the many spots of putrid brown color of something similar to lichen, scattered all over his "body". And his gaze was, that's for sure, not at all toy-like. Such a heavy gaze that literally pressed me to the floor, not giving me a chance to escape into the body lying on the sofa, just two steps away from me.

I quite over-experimented...

He played the staring contest for about five minutes. I would have been glad to stop it, but I can't. The gaze of the "smesharik" was pressing like a multi-ton slab. So I look at him and think. Why did I check every night whether someone was sitting on me or not? Well, if I saw someone on me, so what? What can I do? I dealt with the slime, I remember, my hands turned bloody purple then, but how can I achieve the same effect now? I should have done it right away, and not wasted time the way I did! I feel like a bug that was taken, strung on a pin, and pinned to the wall. And I can't take my eyes off him. Is this hypnosis? Or is it magic?

The difference between the astral body and the physical one is that emotions are much easier to control. After all, if we get scared, the body immediately pumps adrenaline into the blood, gets angry, and there is a surge of testosterone and so on. That is, the body itself supports the emotion that was once launched. And the spirit has no glands or secretions, so it calms down quite quickly. Maybe they won't eat me, especially since the guest doesn't give off any thirst or hunger, but the threat from him is felt and is serious.

But what if he attacks? I tried to move at least a finger - it didn't work. But blue began to dominate my colors again. And as it happened, the visitor swayed his whole body forward and stepped towards me. And he walks strangely, waddling, his very short legs make themselves known. Coming closer to me, closer than a meter, the guest froze again. Yes, why is he looking at me like that, as if it were me, and not him, some unknown animal!

Seeing that I was starting to turn purple, the visitor frowned, which would have looked funny if it weren't for that look. So, how should I behave? One thing is clear: I shouldn't get angry. It's fraught with trouble. But how annoying, I was pinned to the floor by a creature shorter than my knee. And comparisons with Master Yoda didn't calm me down at all, this ball of fur didn't look like a Jedi mentor, not at all.

"Kavelli..." The whisper of this strange creature reached me.

So-o-o-o! Does it even talk?

"Bad..." The Smesharik's gaze crushed me even more. And it was also clearly felt that the creature was VERY unhappy. "Kavalli... A long time ago... So long ago..." Saying this, he walked around my spirit, spread out on the floor, and again froze a step away from my face. "Your time is up... Not right... You're superfluous... Bad... Why here..." And there was so much resentment in this "why" that it seemed the furry one would now burst into tears of pity. From pity for himself, and it was strange that he should feel sorry for himself. I am the one who should be crying. I can't even move! "E-m-p-t-y-y-y-y... It's e-m-p-t-y-y-y-y here! Go away..." And looking into my eyes with some kind of plaintive intonation, he continued. "Go away, please-e-e-e-e... Go-e-e-e..."

Eh?! How will I leave? Where will I go? I tried to say something in response, but I couldn’t. The same look was in the way.

"Can't? Kavelli... Guest?" He literally sniffed me, and then howled pitifully. "Not a guest!!! Not a guest!"

He repeated this for about ten minutes: “not a guest!” and walked in circles around my apartment, as if thinking about something very unpleasant for him.

"Go away..." Asking? "Pleeeease..."

A strange conversation, he expects answers from me, but he himself presses so hard that I can't say a thing! Or does he not understand this?

"No? I can't escape..." I could literally feel his doom physically now. Just let me go, I'll run away to the ends of the earth! And he kept echoing. "I can't escape..." And suddenly, without transition, he started running along the walls and ceiling, and despite his ridiculous legs, he started running quite briskly, muttering. "I want to live... I want to live... I'll die... It's bad... I want to live... It's bad... Why me?.. Why me?.. Why me?.."

And suddenly he stopped, froze, and ran up to me, asking with longing.

"Live? You want to live?"

A stupid question! Of course I want to! But how can I tell him this? But apparently he understood everything without words. He began to fuss and say:

"Maybe it will work... Maybe it will work..." The spherical spirit began to outline the perimeter of the room with its paw, and leave traces of its paws on the walls, floor, and ceiling, and there was some kind of pattern in this, but I couldn’t grasp its meaning.

Having completed his ritual, he again froze next to me.

"Don't go... Don't go any further..." A small paw circled the room. "Don't go LIKE THAT... Otherwise we'll die... You'll die... I'll die... We'll die..."

He stared at me for about three minutes, then sighed so heavily that I felt like pitying him. He sighed, turned around, and walked out of the room, leaving me alone. The last thing I heard was a howl:

"I'm so unlucky-y-y-y-y!!!" And something that sounded like crying.

And then, the pressure of someone else's gaze passed, and I immediately rushed to my body. Merging! Well, finally! I was shivering and again terribly hungry. That night, I couldn't fall asleep; no auto-training techniques helped me with this. Still, the otherworldly is frightening, it is too unusual.

* * *
Shikuno, Ristol City - A creature that has forgotten its Name, a former guardian of the gates, a former keeper of the hearth, a former spirit of the place, now just a brownie.
* * *

Huddled in the farthest corner of the basement of a multi-story building, Green cried quietly and mournfully. He was not completely rational, so it was hard for him to think; instead, he pitied himself. Self-pity overwhelmed him, flowed thickly along the threads of his spirit. He had lived a long time, a very long time, he did not remember how long. But despite this, he did not want to die, because the longer you live, the less you want to die. Sometimes, through his crying, sobbing words of regret broke through.

"This is punishment... I have violated the Destiny... This is punishment... But why me, why not others?"

What bothered him most was that this had happened in his house, not in the house of his neighbor, who kept the house next door. When the world was different, when he was young and the energy flowed in him, everything was simple. For him, everything was simple. Just keep the house and those who live in it - fulfill your destiny. But then, then, something happened and everything changed. In order to survive, he, like other similar creatures, had to rob the living, steal their dreams, otherwise, he would not survive. Since then, these putrefactive spots began to appear on his once luxurious skin, which hurt and constantly itched. But if he had not stolen dreams, he would have died of hunger and would not have been able to fulfill his destiny. Of two evils, he, like others who are now called brownies, chose the lesser. But you have to pay for everything, and now his time has come. You can't escape fate, it always comes for its own.

But why did the Kavelli appear in his house? There are thousands of houses in the city, and only nine Greens. Why did the Mediator move into his house?! Why did he suffer such misfortune?!

Kavelli, they were needed when the world was so young that there were not even gods, but only spirits. Their time has long passed; the world does not need them. They are not needed, but in one of the apartments of the house that he must protect, there lives a Kavelli. The one who is a tasty prey and the one who can only talk, but does not have the strength to fight back. For the essence of a Kavelli is not in the Force, but in the ability to see both worlds, to see and speak in both, a rare, but such a dangerous and unnecessary Gift in these times.

But who will talk to the human spirit now? One does not talk to food, and the "naked" spirit is an incredible "delicacy" for those who live outside. The world has changed, the time of such as he has passed.

Green cried, cried because he knew that if the Kavelli were eaten in his house, the brownie would cease to exist. Destiny would not forgive such a keeper. And the fact that the Mistress, should she find out about the Kavelli, would come for him, even the small mind of the one who had long forgotten his Name was enough to guess this. And he was too weak to resist Silver, weak and would not protect the tenant, which meant he would die. Just as this Kavelli would die, damn him.

"Well, why did I have to go through all this?!!" The shaggy, astral being cried quietly, huddled in the very corner of the building he was supposed to protect.

And only one thought consoled him a little, the thought that this new tenant would die outside the walls of his house...

* * *
Shikuno, Ristol City - Dan Lier, the human being.
* * *

As often happens in Ristol, a drizzle was falling from the sky. I put my face under the small drops of water falling from the sky. I stood there for about ten minutes, not paying attention to the surprised looks of the rare passers-by. Gradually, the tension of the night began to leave me, as if the rain was washing away everything bad.

What thoughts didn't come into my head that night! One more nightmarish than the other. Who is this guest? Why did he react to me in this way? He clearly didn't like me. Rather, he was even scared. But nevertheless, he tried to help? Strange. But the fact that I wasn't eaten is already a plus. I'm alive, which means everything is not so bad.

Without opening my umbrella, I walked along the city sidewalks towards the regional Education Department. Of course, I could have taken a tram, but the rain really did cool my head, returning clarity of thought. The astral world, I know nothing about it. And this is the main problem. Why did the "smesharik" with the heavy look dislike me so much? Why did he ask me to leave, and what does this "leave" mean in his understanding? What a pity that I could not talk to him, crushed by his gaze. So many questions that have no answers.

The Green shaggy one was obviously afraid for himself; my presence had somehow frightened him, and frightened him greatly. //"We will die, I will die, you will die." I must say that was not an ambiguous message. And what did he call me - "kavelly"? What did he mean? Dan's memory did not store such a word. And why am I alive if I am dangerous for him, because I clearly felt that it would not have been the slightest effort for him to kill me, I was completely defenseless in front of him! But he did not kill me...

It is so complicated! And what does "Go away, it's empty here" mean? What does "empty" mean, and why should it make me leave? Stop, not me, but Kavali, what was "empty" here should have driven away. I looked longingly at the tram passing by, how good it was for the people in it, they were busy with such ordinary, everyday concerns.

The rain intensified, I opened my umbrella, and hurried to get to the building I needed.

Since I had all the documents ready, all that was left was to certify them at the last resort, it didn't take much time. Which is actually a bit surprising. Because in this world, as in mine, there is a ton of bureaucracy, and for every little thing you need a corresponding piece of paper. For example, my transfer to a local school. For it, I had to issue more than fifty different certificates. But unlike on Earth, here the bureaucratic machine worked like a well-oiled mechanism, which led to the fact that there were almost no lines in front of officials' offices, and all permits were processed very quickly. For the first time, I thought about the fact that bureaucracy and officials are not a "necessary evil" at all. The locals, of course, grumble and swear, but they simply have nothing to compare it with.

Before heading to school, I made a small detour and went into a bookstore. I was haunted by this word - "kavelli". Having pressed on the pity of the saleswoman a little: "Oh, I'm a poor schoolboy, I just want to look, if possible, no one will notice...", and they let me leaf through the books for a while. I couldn't find anything similar to "kavelli" in the dictionaries and encyclopedia. Maybe I heard it wrong, or this word has been forgotten, or is it from some dead language? So far, one thing is clear. Those who live in the astral plane are not the first to encounter people who are able to leave their physical bodies with their spirits.

Having thanked the kind saleswoman, I left the store deep in thought.

What kind of unknown animal am I, which is not mentioned even in the complete encyclopedia? And does this word mean "occupied someone else's body"? How many questions are spinning in my head...

The rain stopped, and I sat on a bench under one of the chestnut trees, relaxing my legs. There was no need to rush to the school secretariat, they do paperwork in the afternoon, and now it was not even eleven.

Maybe I'm a magician or a shaman now? Although a magician is unlikely, I don't feel any special powers. Neither can I release lightning from my hands, nor read thoughts, nor even move an object by force of will, and that's beyond my powers. My new abilities are more like a shaman's. Astral travel, I understand, and see spirits. There's just one nuance: the word "shaman" is known to Dan. It's known not because he knew at least one, but from legends and myths, but at least it's something, unlike the mysterious Cavelli.

Having made another turn, my thoughts returned to "Smesharik". Remembering my feelings from his presence, I tried to put everything on the shelves. First, I did not feel thirst or hunger from him, and the threat that came from the night visitor was completely different from what I experienced when I looked at the chameleon. Second, it was the guest's color. As far as I found out from my experiments, the green color of calm in the aura was also encouraging and did not indicate the initial aggression of the wool ball. Or maybe he was sick. These spots of putrefactive lichen look very unhealthy. And what was he doing, running along the walls and leaving his tracks everywhere, and not just stomping, but according to some kind of pattern, forming a picture with them. The conclusion suggests that he was putting some kind of barrier in my room. Although this may be my fantasy, which is based on many fantasy books I have read. Can we conclude that the night guest is not my enemy? If it weren't for his oppressive gaze and his clearly shown desire for me to leave, then perhaps it could be said so. It remains a mystery why he helped me. If I interpreted his running correctly, then this is precisely help. Although no, first of all, he was saving himself.

Where can I find a teacher or guide in the astral world? Without solving this issue, I am forced to rely only on my guesses, which can ultimately lead to fatal consequences. But for some reason, I don’t want to look for this hypothetical teacher at all, as soon as I remember those who artificially restrain the development of this world. I have less and less doubts that this world behind the scenes consists of magicians, and perhaps all or many spirits are in the service of these magicians.

I'm sitting on a bench under a chestnut tree, watching the rare passers-by and feeling like a spy sent to an unfamiliar country. And no one bothered to prepare me or give me any instructions before sending me here. And I'm not James Bond and certainly not Don Rumata Estorsky.

//"But what am I saying? They gave me a second life, and I feel so pity for myself! Even these two months of a new life are better than nothing." Alas, for some reason, such thoughts did not cheer me up.

Water droplets started falling from the sky again, I got up and opened my umbrella, and walked to school. In my previous existence, I lived in Saint Petersburg, and the local cloudy weather was familiar and did not cause rejection or depression. True, the climate of Ristol, if you do not count the frequent rains, is closer to Yalta than to Saint Petersburg, and this makes me a little happy. Now it is the end of February on the calendar, and judging by the newspapers, the coldest days will be this winter, and the thermometer will not fall below plus five.

The upcoming school life both frightened and attracted me. It frightened me for a very understandable reason - the fear of making a mistake and revealing myself as an alien. And it attracted me because there was something very attractive about returning to school, plunging into the life of a schoolboy.

Walking along a high fence made of thorny bushes, I came to the school gates, which at that time were, of course, open.

Ristol High School was very different from the ones I was used to. The only school of its kind in a city of almost three hundred thousand people, it was huge. The area it occupied was equal to a decent city district. Eight academic buildings, many sports grounds, its botanical garden, and even its own swimming pool and indoor skating rink. A kind of city within a city, that was what the high school was, with just under five thousand students aged sixteen to nineteen.

The administration building stood separately. I had already been there, although I don’t remember well the time I spent under the influence of the slime, but still, finding the right office wasn’t difficult.

The secretary on duty accepted my documents, asked me to wait, and went into the headmaster's office. I thought I would be invited for an interview, but everything turned out to be simpler. Less than three minutes had passed when the secretary, a middle-aged woman in a formal jacket and a floor-length skirt, came up to me and handed me a signed certificate. After she asked me to wait again. This time, the wait lasted almost twenty minutes. Then, I received a full set of high school student documents and a wish to study well from tomorrow. My time for social adaptation was over, and no one cared that I was not ready for it.

On the way home, I stopped by Himano's, and while she was preparing my order, I studied the documents. They included: a student card, a schedule, a diary stitched and printed on each page, as well as a number for a personal locker. In the student card, in addition to my age, first name, and last name, the class was indicated: 1-8, that is, the eighth grade of the first year of study.

Returning home after a hearty lunch, I packed my things for school in advance. Even when I started my registration in Ristol, I was given a list of necessary things. Two dozen notebooks, a pencil case with pens and pencils, a set of rulers and drawing instruments, shoes, and a uniform for sports, etc. All of this had already been bought a long time ago, so all that was left was to carefully put it all in a briefcase, and that was all the packing.

Having put the assembled briefcase in the closet, I changed into my home clothes and lay down on the sofa. In order not to walk around the apartment in vain and torment myself with thoughts of "how will it all go tomorrow", I decided to repeat the lessons from the self-study guide. The pendulum was still difficult for me, because the main difficulty of this exercise was that my breathing became natural. And for me, as soon as I stopped following the imaginary pendulum, everything went wrong. And so far, I have not been able to achieve the desired result - natural breathing in a given rhythm.

I studied for an hour and a half, but there was no noticeable progress. I would get distracted by thoughts, and that's it. I should start over. It's a shame when the very first lesson is so difficult. In order not to get bored, I carefully read the third task. It didn't seem difficult at all. The same "River Sand", only you need to relax your muscles with a "Cone of Attention", and not imagine waves rolling in on you. As if with your inner eye, you look at your body, imagining how it warms up and fills with heaviness in the place where the "cone" focuses.

Despite the fact that, in essence, the "Cone" was no different from the "Sand", it was nevertheless much more difficult for me. Because the "Sand" was based on imagination, and the "Cone" on maintaining attention, and the latter was never my strong point. But it was precisely this thought about weaknesses that made me study so persistently.

I am a person who gets carried away easily, but it is hard for me to do something for a long time. I often give up before finishing what I started. The reason for this is that routine brings boredom, which I cannot resist. As my mother used to say about me, "There is power. There is will. But there is no willpower!" In my new life, I have a good incentive, the desire not to be eaten, which gives excellent motivation to continue studying. On Earth, I would have given up after the third or fourth failure with a lesson, simply deciding "not my thing" and pushing the auto-training self-study guide to the far shelf. Here, everything was different. Or maybe I got something from Dan's character? I don't know. But now, having hit a wall, I don't want to hang my head, but I have a desire, if not to destroy this wall, then at least to find a way to get around it.

Today, I didn't manage to make any progress, however, I wasn't too upset. If auto-training or yoga were so easy to learn, people would do them everywhere. I was too lazy to go to Himano, and a little saving wouldn't hurt, so I had a banal fried egg for dinner. After which, I wondered if I would be able to notice the tracks left by the night guest?

The night fears faded and seemed less frightening, so I thought about separation without fear. I lay down on the couch again and, after half an hour of swinging the "pendulum", left the corporeal form. Smoothly lowering myself to my feet, I approached the section of the wall where I clearly remembered the guest leaving his paw print there. At first glance, the wall was like a wall, without any changes. And no matter how much I looked, I could not notice anything, nothing at all. Maybe I misunderstood something, and the visitor did not put any protection on my apartment, and I made it all up for my peace of mind? And only after I touched the wall did I feel something like warmth in the place I was studying. I moved my palm ten centimeters to the side - cold, returned to the mark - warmth. Oh wow! I repeated this ten times until I was sure I was not imagining things. And then, over the course of two hours, I pawed all the walls, floor, and ceiling. I only left the window without my attention, since I am still afraid to approach it.

Having completed this peculiar study, I returned to the physical world and immediately rushed to the desk. Having torn out several sheets of paper from the notebook, I began to sketch the "traces" from memory. Only, it turned out badly, my memory is far from ideal, and, as it turned out, I had already forgotten the location of many traces. I had to make a separation again, this time I concentrated my attention only on one wall, without trying to keep the entire apartment in my head as a three-dimensional object with a unique pattern.

Having dived back into the body, he was able to depict the traces left by Smesharik on paper without much difficulty. And only after doing this, he froze in amazement. He froze not because he recognized something in the drawing, on the contrary, it seemed like a chaotic pile of spots, but because he was able to remember and transfer all thirty-six traces to paper quite accurately. Somehow, I don’t remember either myself or Dan having such an excellent memory! Could auto-training classes really have given such a quick and unexpected result as an improvement in memory?

I pulled the first certificate I came across out of the pile of documents and tried to remember it word for word. After that, I did a hundred push-ups and fifty squats. Having completed these exercises, I took a new sheet of paper and rewrote everything I remembered. It seems I got carried away with my improved memory; half of the information successfully left my head during the exercises. Then how did I manage to remember the drawing on the wall? I don't understand anything... What if?..

I took a random certificate from the stack, put it on the table without reading it, and returned to my sleeping place.

Separation.

This time it was more difficult, since my head was busy with something else, but I still managed to calm down and achieve my goal. Hanging over the table in a spiritual form, I read the postponed certificate with great difficulty and tried to remember what was written on it. Then I carried out the fusion and repeated the push-ups with squats

This time, I managed to rewrite the certificate on a clean sheet of paper verbatim! And even though it only had a couple of hundred words, I remembered them, with all the punctuation marks, numbers, and even signatures. Although the signatures turned out crooked and hardly resembled the original!

So what does it mean? In the astral form, my memorization is many times more effective. Having forgotten about the original plan to draw all the traces, I experimented with memorization in the astral until the very night. By nine in the evening, I could already sum it up. That's right. In the spirit form, I can memorize much more information. It doesn't mean ideal memory, but I can quite hold a page of literary text in my head, spending a couple of minutes on its thoughtful reading and another five on memorization. One bad thing. Reading texts in the astral is not so convenient. Printed or handwritten letters look very pale and faded in the world of subtle energies. But they can still be made out, which means I can overcome one of my main shortcomings - a bad memory.

I didn't risk continuing the experiments with separation. After all, the sun had already set, and I still had some apprehension about working in the dark. After all, all my encounters with the otherworldly had only happened after sunset. I postponed drawing up a complete diagram of the green spirit's tracks until tomorrow and, after drinking hot tea with cookies, I went to bed. It's good that the "River Sand" exercise was so easy for me, otherwise, I would hardly have been able to fall asleep quickly. After the discoveries I had made today, I would have probably spent half the night filling my head with various fantasies. But as soon as the imaginary sand brought by the warm waves covered me completely, I immediately fell into a deep sleep.

I was lucky that I had some tea before going to bed. Because my memory is still leaky and I forgot to set the alarm. If it weren't for the physiological needs of the body, I would have definitely overslept. I would have overslept on my first day at a new school! But I woke up at eight and even managed to have breakfast.

Having put on my uniform, I realized that I was nervous. Before leaving the house, I sat down on a chair and got up from it only when I had calmed my nerves. I didn’t need to show myself as a nervous newbie in front of those I might have to study next to for many years.

The senior school started at nine in the morning, and since it was less than a kilometer from my house, I left home at half past eight and arrived with plenty of time to spare. Or so it seemed to me. In reality, while I was looking for a locker, while I found the third building, where my class was supposed to start today, I barely made it.

School life was seething, there were tons of people rushing back and forth in the seemingly primordial chaos of movements. I had already gotten used to the almost deserted streets of daytime Ristol and the general leisureliness of passers-by, and in order to join the stream of scurrying schoolchildren, I had to strain myself.

In front of the class I needed stood a tall young man, about twenty-six years old by the look of him, dressed in a grey suit of a rather loose cut. In his hands was an open folder. Noticing me, he looked into it and gestured for me to come to him.

"Dan Lier?" He asked.

"Yes," I answered with a slight bow.

"I am Zhen Uramo, a literature teacher and your class mentor." The young teacher introduced himself.

"Very nice to meet you." Again a bow, damn this politeness and local etiquette.

"Here is your schedule for the next month." He handed me a sheet of paper with a printout. "You were supposed to get it yesterday, but there was a hitch. The bell will ring in two minutes, you and I will go into the classroom, and I will introduce you to the other students." I was shaking with a slight chill again. Seeing my reaction, the teacher continued. "Class 1-8 are made up of those who came to study in Ristol from other cities, so it will be easy for you to fit into the team. Of course, the rest have been studying together for a month and a half, but the students are still getting used to each other." Glancing at his watch, the teacher finished, "After the third lesson, go to room 2-9, that's the teachers' room in this building, we'll get to know you better.

"Good."

The school schedule at Ristol High School is extremely standardized. Five school days, with five lessons per day. Here, the lesson lasts a full hour. There are ten-minute breaks between lessons. After the third lesson, there is a long, hour-long break, then there is a double lesson in physical education or labor education. Such small regular breaks are due to the fact that the schedule is formed in such a way that on one day, the students study in one building and do not need to move to another.

The teacher asked a couple more questions about my health. I answered that I felt fine. But the conversation was interrupted by the bell ringing. It sounded exactly like the one I was used to, and I involuntarily shuddered from the strange feeling of having fallen into the past. The teacher took my twitching shoulders as nervous and patted me on the shoulder encouragingly before opening the classroom door.

But anyway, what's wrong with me? I'm really nervous. And I'm not sixteen anymore. I have college behind my belt in addition to school, as well as experience working in different teams. Having encouraged myself in this way, I went into the room with the young teacher.

"Good morning," Zhen said, standing at the board.

"Good morning, Teacher Uramo." The students jumped up from their seats and shouted almost in sync.

"Sit down." He reinforced his words with a gesture. "Today, your class will grow by one person. Allow me to introduce..." The teacher moved just a little to the side, but I immediately became the center of everyone's attention. "Your new classmate Dan Lier... Don't make noise. You'll have time to discuss the newcomer and get to know him later." And turning to me. "Dan, there's your desk."

Dan also remembered that in Shikuno they had single-seat desks. But it's one thing to "remember" and another to see it for yourself. For me, accustomed to double-seat classrooms, this class looked very unusual. As if each student occupied their island in the sea of ​​the classroom.

There were thirty desks in the classroom. Five rows with six desks in each. There were three free seats, so with me there were twenty-eight students in the classroom. The desk the teacher indicated was the sixth in the fourth row from the entrance. It turns out that I was placed almost on "Kamchatka", I wouldn't say that I was against this situation, it's even better for me to sit at the back of everyone.
T.N.

I had barely managed to sit at the table when the teacher immediately began writing on the board.

++"The Life and Deeds of Count-Admiral Ergin". Volume One, Part Two.

"Last week, we read the first part." Having finished writing, the teacher took the book from the table and turned to the class. "In it, we learned about the time spent by Gerard Barista Ergina, Baron Sargo, in the naval cadet corps. Today, we will begin reading the second part. Everyone took out clean, thick notebooks and pens."

He opened his briefcase and took out one of the ninety-six-page notebooks and an ordinary ballpoint pen.

"Let's get started." After waiting half a minute for the students to carry out his order, Uramo began to walk along the board and read. "This day will forever remain in my memory. I, like the other twenty midshipmen, stood on the pier..."

Damn!!! Damn!! I had to dig into Dan's memory about how the educational process is structured here! But since digging into the memories of the previous owner of the body is not a pleasant occupation, I did not bother myself. So what if "Literature", I thought, like in our country, they would discuss books or arrange class readings. No way! The literature lesson here was combined with a language lesson and was structured in a very strange way. The teacher read the text, and the students had to write it down. A kind of dictation, only permanent! Yes, yes, the students had to rewrite the book being studied in their notebooks completely, and do it by ear, from the teacher's words!

I quickly started writing. Uramo dictated measuredly and seemingly not quickly, but I still barely kept up. The lack of practice was taking its toll. It was lucky my body's motor memory didn't let me down, and I didn't have to frantically remember my writing skills in the local language.

Sometimes the teacher would stop and, choosing one of the students at random, ask a question. For example, where punctuation marks should be placed in the sentence he had just read, or how to spell a particular word.

How self-confident I was yesterday, reasoning that it would not be difficult for me to study and, in general, using my baggage of knowledge, I would be able to easily and naturally get good grades without straining myself. Yeah, right... In such a structured educational process, such a thing did not shine for me at all! After half an hour of writing, there was a feeling that the hand holding the pen was starting to dry up.

About ten minutes before the end of the lesson, my fingers really started to cramp. This is hard labor, not studying, real hard labor! And you can't shirk, the teacher walks up and down the rows and makes sure that the students write everything verbatim.

"Dan." The teacher suddenly turned to me. "How do you spell the bottle of water?"

It is customary to answer the teacher standing up, not sitting down. But now I was glad of this display of etiquette, as it gave me a break, a chance to straighten up and flex my fingers unnoticed.

"B-o-t-t-l-e-o-f-w-a-t-e-r." I answered the question letter by letter.

"Right, sit down. Let's continue..."

And the hard labor began again. Never before had I been so happy when the bell rang, announcing the end of the lesson. Ah!!! I want to go to wo-o-o-o-okr! To hell with such studies!!! However, if they teach like that here, then how do they work?

After the bell rang, the teacher finished the lesson, having only finished dictating the chapter. Then he warned that our next lesson would be held in the same classroom and, taking the book, left.

I planned to look around my classmates during the first lesson, identify leaders, groups, and determine promising acquaintances. But in reality, I barely had enough strength to keep up with the dictation, and there was no talk of looking around. And after the bell rang, I wanted only one thing - to throw away my pen and blow on my fingers. I barely restrained myself from such a display of weakness.

It will be harder than I thought to study here.

"Hi!"

I had just flexed my fingers and was opening my briefcase to put my notebook in it when I heard this coming. I slowly closed the lock on my briefcase and looked up. There were three people standing next to my desk: a guy and two girls. A guy of medium height with unruly, straw-colored hair greeted me.

My name is Garn Nuari, I am the class president.

I shook the outstretched hand. The boy seemed normal. His gaze was direct, but not challenging. He didn't look like a nerd or the captain of some school sports team. An ordinary student and, nevertheless, a class president. As far as he remembered, in this world, unlike mine, this "position" was fought for, and not pushed off on someone who couldn't fight it off.

Before I could open my mouth, Garn continued.

"And this is Siri Himina, my first assistant." He introduced the petite brunette standing to his left, with huge olive-colored eyes and gorgeous, waist-length, jet-black hair pulled back into a ponytail. On Earth, such a girl would certainly be the most beautiful in school. By local standards, she was pretty, but nothing more. And again, I didn’t get a chance to say a word, as the headman switched to the girl standing to the right. "Emri Noruza, my second assistant." A tall blonde who, at sixteen, already had such a s-o-o-o-o-p figure that my eyes almost popped out of my head. A little over six feet tall, with long legs, a thin waist, and a bust of C, barely contained by her uniform blouse. Not only that, but she also had a very pleasant, open face, which was not spoiled at all by her perhaps slightly overly long nose. And her eyes were bright blue, like faceted sapphires.

However, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have looked her in the eye, but I had to, because staring at her chest more than I did was already terribly impolite!

"Nice to meet you." I stood up and bowed to the girls. It was not customary to shake hands with women here. "Dan Lier, as Teacher Uramo introduced."

"Despite the fact that our class consists of students who came from other cities, we have a very friendly team." Nuari rattled off as if it were written. "If you need help, contact me, Siri, or Emry." It seems I have already decided who I will contact for any reason! I barely had enough willpower to look at the class monitor and not at his second assistant. "Now it will be math. The teacher is a beast! Don't be fooled by her sweet appearance, she is a natural monster and a despot! We'll talk later!"

After these words, they sat down in their seats. I was lucky that Emry was sitting at the first desk in my row, and I couldn't have stared at her during the lesson even if I wanted to; otherwise, I definitely wouldn't have been able to resist. I barely had time to drive the blonde's tight blouse out of my imagination when the bell rang and a pretty woman in her early forties entered the classroom. Her carefully applied makeup successfully hid her age, and her jacket and tight skirt emphasized that she was watching her shape. She looked around the classroom and smiled sweetly, but despite her smile, for some reason, I immediately believed the class monitor that a dictator was hiding behind this external kindness.

"Good day."

"Good day, Teacher Riminazo." Along with everyone else, I stood up and said hello.

"Sit down. Today's lesson topic: Monomials: Multiplication and Exponentiation, Examples and Solutions. Siri, tell us what a monomial is."

In my old school, a question like that from a teacher to a pretty girl would have certainly caused a wave of laughter and giggles from the boys, but here no one even smiled.
игра слов

"A monomial is the simplest algebraic expression containing the product of numbers and variables raised to a natural power."

While the president's first assistant was answering, the teacher came up to me, leaned over, and asked:

"Is today your first day of high school?" I nodded. "If you're not familiar with the topic, I can give you a textbook and you can study individually."

"I am familiar with this topic, Teacher Riminazo." It seems to be nothing complicated, as far as I remember, so my answer sounded confident.

Siri finished answering, and the teacher straightened up and turned to her.

"As always, impeccable, Siri. Sit down."

Approaching the table, she opened her briefcase and took out a stack of sheets of paper. Then, walking along the first row, she handed out several sheets to those sitting at the first desks.

"Pass the assignments on." She ordered. And while the sheets of paper were being distributed around the class, she began to speak. "A new student, Dan Lier, said that he is familiar with this topic... Dan, tell the class which monomials are similar?"

What a setup! No, I seem to remember something, but the exact wording, just like that? He slowly got up from his chair, trying to drag out the time as much as possible.

"Similar monomials are those monomials... Which... Differ from each other... Only by the multiplier... And... Or the coefficient." Not remembering anything else, he froze in place.

"The exact wording is as follows." Miss Riminazo gave me a withering look and continued. "Monomials reduced to standard form are called similar if they differ only in the coefficient or do not differ at all. In Ristol High School, it is customary to study from standard textbooks in which all the wording is clearly spelled out. Young man, I beg you, if you have not learned them word for word, then do not claim that you know the topic!"

"I beg your pardon, Teacher Riminazo." And what could I do but bow my head and stand there with a look of complete remorse.

"Sit down. Let's see how well you know the practical part." Then she addressed the whole class. "I see sheets with printed assignments already on each desk. Well, you have forty-five minutes to solve these problems."

Having said this, she sat down at the teacher's desk and, opening a book, became engrossed in reading. Why didn't I say: "I'll try to cope," instead of confidently answering: "I know the topic." Although something tells me this woman with a kind smile would have found something to find fault with in order to put the new guy in his place from the first day. It’s not that she saw me as a hooligan. She does it just out of habit, as a preventative measure and as a lesson to others.

Having stopped scolding myself, I turned my attention to the task. On a sheet of paper slightly larger than the A4 format I was accustomed to, the equations that had to be solved were printed in typographic form. Fifty equations! Fifty! Have they gone crazy at this school?! How is it possible to solve all this?

But, having looked at the tasks more closely, I could hardly hold back a smile. I could easily solve such problems without even straining my memory, because the examples were primitive. The most difficult equation looked like: (2*a^3 * b^5 * c^2 ) * (4* a^2 * b^2 * c^1) = ?, and its solution was considered to be = 8* a^5 * b^7 * c^3.

As they say, the eyes are afraid, but the hands are doing, and that's what happened in this lesson. Before the allotted time, I not only solved everything but also checked all the tasks three times just in case! I didn't need to make a mistake at something so simple, or even make a typo.

Five minutes before the bell, Miss Riminazo closed her book and, rising from her desk, gave the command.

"Class, put down your pens and pick up your pencils." Taking a large sheet of paper from the table, she hung it over the board. "Here are the correct solutions. Check and mark the mistakes with a pencil."

Having given this order, she began to walk around the classroom, carefully watching to make sure no one picked up a pen. After the allotted five minutes had passed, she returned to the board.

"Those who have five or more mistakes or who did not manage to solve more than five examples, raise your hands."

What would someone just go and confess? The answer to my question was seven raised palms. They've been trained like that here!

"I see. Now, those who have three or four mistakes or who did not manage to solve three or four examples, raise your hands."

This time, nine people raised their hands. Eight people failed to solve two or one problems. Only four solved everything: me, the president, Siri, and a tall, brown-haired, broad-shouldered athlete I didn't know yet.

Those who made five or more mistakes, solve the problems from the textbook on pages ninety-five through ninety-nine by the next lesson. Those who failed to solve three or four problems, do page ninety-six through ninety-nine. Those who made two or one mistake, do page ninety-eight through ninety-nine. Yemanri, Dorovi, Kliros, and Lier, give me your sheets, I will check them.

And here's the answer to why everyone admits their mistakes! Random check. And for some reason, it seems to me that those who are caught in a lie will get into trouble! It took her only three minutes to check all four submitted papers. After which she looked around the class:

"Dorove! Your handwriting is very bad for a girl! I will convey my displeasure to your literature teacher. Spelling is a necessity in our society. Take it seriously! The rest are fine. The lesson is over."

She had barely said this when the bell rang. I couldn't help but admire her precise timing, a bitch of course, but a professional!

In general, it is an interesting system. Homework is usually given only to those who fail in class. Those who manage to do everything have no need to sit over their studies at home. Apparently, this is how they solved one of the main problems of mass education, namely the gap in knowledge between students. Of course, this did not completely close the issue, but the fact that, if they wanted, the laggards could catch up with the excellent students was visible in such a system.

As soon as I put my notebook and writing utensils into my briefcase, the president approached me.

"Dan, the next lesson is in a different class. Let's go, I'll show you the way."

"Sure."

I nod to him with gratitude, but I think that it would be better if Emry guided me! But she was busy, she was cornered, quietly scolding Siri. Walking past the girls after Garn, I heard a piece of conversation.

"I help you so much, and you still make mistakes. You need to study more, and not make eyes at boys!"

Even though Emry listened to the first assistant calmly and even seemed to repent, it didn't escape my notice that she was not interested in studying. And the way the beauty looked at me gave me certain hopes. As I imagined her shape, yes... Stop! What kind of debauchery was in my thoughts? Stop! I'm a respectable student! And I'm not going to end up in jail for corrupting minors! By the way, I need to clarify what the age of consent is in Shikuno. It's not that I couldn't control myself, but... But it was still worth finding out...

"We've arrived!" Garn stopped in front of the entrance to the classroom on the third floor.

Damn it, he was saying and explaining something the whole way, but I wasn’t listening, having flown away somewhere far away in my fantasies.

"Thank you for your help." He thanked the president.

"Yes, you're welcome. Contact me if you need anything!"

The classes here were standard and, when moving from one to another, students occupied the same seats they had sat in before.

The third lesson today was History. And I was looking forward to this subject the most. Because in elementary and middle school, Dan was taught the basics, without any specifics, and I wanted to understand how the historical process proceeded in such a world. What conflicts were there, and what was their main cause? How did such a slow technological development affect geopolitics? The maps of various historical periods hung around the classroom were encouraging. I really hope that the teacher will be good, and from his lessons, I will be able to at least slightly clarify the questions that interest me.

Before I had time to take my desk, the bell rang and a gray-haired man entered the classroom. I couldn't determine his age. He could have been thirty-five or over fifty.

"Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Teacher Tsiuro!" It seems I got used to these constant choral greetings too quickly.

"Sit down." Walking to the table, he glanced at the class register, straightened up, and began to speak. "Last time we stopped at the twenty-fifth year of the era of the Divided Provinces, or the one thousand three hundred and thirty-third year of the Universal Chronology. Let's not waste time and continue." All the students immediately rustled the pages of their notebooks. "The year one thousand three hundred and thirty-four. On January 8th, the heir of Duke Oga was born. The boy was healthy, and the Duke threw a feast on this occasion. January 12th, behind-the-scenes negotiations began between Duke Iori and the rebellious Count Tronto. January 19th, as a result of a short battle, Horvo's troops captured the crossing on the Eoiry River, near the free city of Triam ..."

And this is a history lesson? Really? I only had time to write down so as not to stand out from the crowd. And the teacher read the textbook, listing dates. No review, analysis, no questions about why someone did something, and what this action led to. A listing, even of the most insignificant events! My hopes of understanding something from the history of this world, having devoted more time to the school subject "history", seem to have gone down the drain!

Teacher Tsiuro read for fifty minutes without stopping. And the last ten, having asked to close the notebooks, he devoted to questions addressed to random students.

When was Duke Oga's heir born? Near what city did Horvo's troops capture the crossing in January?..

Luckily, he didn't ask me anything, because I couldn't even imagine that all this damned pile of dates and events actually must be remembered! This is not studying history, this is some kind of profanation! Cramming dates is not studying the subject, but I managed to pull myself together and not shout it out. I'm afraid no one would understand me here; that's just the way it is here, period.

By the end of the lesson, my wrist ached no less than after literature. Really hard labor... And not only do you have to write for hours here, but they will ask about all this later. Hell in reality, that's what local education is!

Now I understand why there is only one high school for a city of three hundred thousand and its suburbs. I understand that at least four thousand people study here, that is, approximately every eighth of the appropriate age, and the rest preferred to work or study in vocational schools or technical schools. Unloading wagons with cement is easier, I tried. I can compare, and if I had a choice, it would be better to load cement. And when I imagine there are exams here, I want to hide in a corner and howl at the moon that has not yet risen! But, all the same, I was not going to leave school. The orphanage looming in that case, I did not like much more. My uncle would definitely send me there; he does not need any nephew, and will not babysit me.

The president brought me out of my unhappy thoughts.

"Come with us to the dining room!"

"I would be happy to!" And it was true. It wasn't that I wanted to eat. It was just that Emry was standing behind Garn's right shoulder, and I would have been very happy with her company. "But, Curator Uramo asked me to come see him during the long break."

"What a pity! But, never mind, we'll catch up!" Is he really so cheerful and happy, or is he just kidding? How can you save so much energy with such boring and exhausting training?! "See you in the workshop!"

I hope I didn't imagine it, and my refusal to have lunch together upset Emry a little. This thought raised my spirits considerably! How I am thrown around on waves of hormones, it's something! I hope I don't turn into a sexual maniac. I watch how the girls leave, and all my thoughts are about one thing. Br-r-r-r!!! Besides, many girls passing by, despite their young age, were fully aware of their attractiveness. And they walked along the school corridors in such a way...

Well, yes! I need to visit Dr. Coin and ask for some pills. Otherwise, I can't vouch for myself. Apparently, Dan was initially more impulsive and explosive than I by nature, and there's my experience and rich imagination, all of which, superimposed on each other, can play a very cruel joke.

For about three minutes, I stood in the corridor, leaning against the wall, secretly looking at the beauties passing by, and there was something to look at! In this world, for some reason, people are more beautiful than on Earth. The famous couple Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, against this background, would be people with a completely ordinary, unremarkable appearance, nice, but nothing more.

I tried to use the "Pendulum" and, closing my eyes, concentrated on my breathing. And to my surprise, it helped! The obsession, desires, and fantasies faded, lost their appeal, and I was able to think normally. Having regained control over my mind, I headed to the teachers' room, trying to look straight at the floor and in no case to the sides. I didn't need to catch my gaze again on someone's legs or figure, and there was something to catch on to here, oh there was...

Finding the teachers' room was not difficult. Zhen Uramo was already waiting for me. The first part of our conversation was dry and businesslike. As it turned out, we were supposed to meet yesterday, after I signed all the papers, but the class with him was on an excursion on Monday, and he had no opportunity to meet with me.

The curator wrote me a pass to the library and signed a paper for the provision of the necessary textbooks. Everything was centralized here, and you don’t have to buy them yourself. He also told me a little about the class, but just general words without an ounce of specifics. As soon as we finished with the bureaucracy, the teacher turned to me with a question.

"Dan, have you already decided which clubs or sections you will enroll in?"

There was a tradition of clubs here. On the one hand, a student wasn't obliged to stay on school grounds after school. Yes, he wasn't obliged, but that was the accepted practice here! It was accepted that after finishing school, students would do something within the walls of the school until at least six in the evening. And it's often much more dangerous to go against such "accepted practice" than against "obligatory practice".

"Not yet, I used to go swimming and study my native language in depth." Dan's memory prompted her answer in time. "But now that I'm in high school, I want to try something new."

"Commendable..." Rubbing his clean-shaven chin with his palm, the curator looked into the folder and asked: "In the admissions form, you wrote that you are interested in history, especially the Time of the Divided Provinces, as well as bladed weapons."

What? Did I write that? I don't remember. Most likely, Dan filled out this form before he sailed from Austroia. It looks like that, because the interests voiced by the teacher were quite standard for a sixteen-year-old boy: knights and weapons.

"Yeah, yeah. Interesting." Actually, I'm more interested in the industrial history of this world, but a sudden change of interests might seem strange, so I agree.

"How do you feel about joining the Shatano section?"

Shatano? Memory, au, what is this? Hmm. It turns out to be some kind of cross between Kendo and knightly swordplay. Do I need it?

"Moreover, classes have not started yet, and you will not have to catch up with anyone, which is an undoubted advantage compared to other sections."

Now this is strange. Classes started a month and a half ago, and the section is still not working? Something is wrong here, should I keep quiet or ask?

"Why hasn't it started yet?" I'm leaning towards the second option.

"To start classes, we need at least six students, and so far, five have signed up. If you agree, the section will start training next week."

I don’t understand. What’s the point in his persuading me to join it? There are more than a hundred sections and about two hundred clubs at school. What’s his interest in agitating me specifically for Shatano?

Taking my silence for doubt, the curator continued his persuasion.

"I understand that today's youth is not interested in Shatano. Many are interested in fencing, but most choose utility, without thinking about the development of the spirit." Now my ears are twitching, "development of the spirit"? "Our school has five different sections training young men and women according to universal rules, and old styles are not in fashion; they are not so functional." Is there a hint of sadness in the teacher's voice? "Everyone thinks about success in competitions, and not self-development." //"Self-development"? What a sharp-tongued devil, he almost talked me into it! "Shatano was created when honor, dignity, and strength of the inner spirit were not just words." //"Strength of the inner spirit"?! Yes, I already agree, I hope this is not a banal advertisement. "I see you are interested. Then you have another reason to agree, the section will be led by Master Lancer, at the school, he teaches mathematics to the graduating classes. Master Lancer has been practicing Shatano for over a quarter of a century. He has his own sword school in the city, and charges students a decent amount of money for tuition, but here you will have free lessons."

Somehow, everything is good, too good. And how could it be that under such conditions there were not only six students among four thousand? Something is wrong here. But "development of the spirit", "strength of the inner spirit", this is exactly what I need!

"I'm not pressuring you, but think about this section." Well, yes, he's not pressuring, yeah.

"Yes, I've already thought about it. I agree." Even if the Shatano turns out to be a profanation, a good relationship with the curator is worth it.

"Then, sign up after your labor lesson, on the notice board in the administrative building."

"Maybe you can recommend another section or club?"

"Hmm-m-m." Having received my consent, he clearly lost interest in the conversation. "There will be only one piece of advice, one sports section will be enough for you, choose a club based on your interests, Astronomy or Library. And try to decide before the beginning of next week."

"Thanks for the advice."

"You have ten minutes before the start of your labor lesson, I won’t keep you any longer."

"Goodbye."

"See you on Friday." The teacher nodded and immersed himself in studying the papers.

//“He’s strange,” I thought as I made my way to the workshop where the double lesson was supposed to take place.

The workshop was in one of the remote buildings. As soon as I entered the front doors, Nuari ran into me.

"Here you go." He handed me a black apron made of rough fabric and fabric gloves. "And you're unlucky to miss lunch, today there were excellent fish cutlets!"

"Yes, I would love to taste them, but..."

"I understand! Let's go to class."

A work class, a workshop? What I saw made me stop in my tracks because the room looked like a real woodworking shop. Machines, workbenches, tools, and all the students in gloves and aprons. I was so surprised that I didn't notice a strong man, shorter than average, approaching me.

"Newbie?" He asked.

"Yes. Today is the first day. Dan Lier."

"Master Chivar." He introduced himself. "The teacher of labor and the head of this workshop. You missed a lot, but I don’t have time to work with you individually." Turning to Garn, he pierced him with his gaze and, grabbing him by the lapel of his jacket, ordered. "Nouari, you are the president. So show the new guy everything here. You are exempt from the rest of the work for three classes." And again, he turned his attention to me. "I hope you are smart and have hands growing from the right place. In three classes, I will check that you understood this." Then the bell rang. "Haven’t you changed your clothes yet?" He barked at us, the president literally blew away from this roar, and I immediately hurried after him.

Well, yes. A labor lesson... How so... The more Nouri told me, the more surprised I was. In general, this workshop made school furniture. And not only for our school, but for all the others in the Ristol area. Children made it under the supervision of teachers. A natural use of child labor, and for free, because no one even thought of paying the students! True, there were nuances, judging by Nouri's explanations, no one was chasing the quantity of products here, the master paid main attention to quality, sometimes forcing a careless student to redo something twenty times until he was satisfied with the result. I would have been happy to somehow get out of such lessons, but they were mandatory. In addition, all the other students took them for granted. And in the curriculum, everything was regulated; that is, this workshop was not the arbitrariness of the director of this particular educational institution.

The president took the assignment seriously. He showed and told everything. Once, I spent half a year working in a garage workshop that assembled kitchens as an errand boy. I managed to pick up something then, so I could start working in class right then, but I didn’t want to at all. So, I followed Garn and pretended to listen attentively.

All the machines were generally familiar. There were design differences, but not such that I couldn't imagine how to approach the machine. However, it is probably difficult to invent something new from a circular saw, a drilling machine, a grinder, and the like.

I assessed the technological level of the school workshop's machine park as acceptable. No CNC or anything complicated, but at one time, I had the chance to see more primitive machines. In general, nothing more complicated is needed to make desks and chairs. I don't think that the demand for such specific products is excessive; most likely, this workshop covers all the needs of nearby educational institutions.

But fate is a tricky thing! You wanted to work instead of studying? Here you go, get a job!

Listening half-heartedly to Garn, I paid more attention to something else. I tried to identify the leaders of my class. Since the girls were working right there, only not on the machines, but doing small finishing, it was possible. By the end of the school day, I had more or less made up my mind.

There were two leaders in the female part of the class. Olaya was a very beautiful girl, of an oriental type, a sort of Persian princess, perhaps even more beautiful than Emry, but still not to my taste. And Ursita was outwardly unremarkable, not outstanding in her grades, but as the class monitor said, she was the captain of the junior school girls' water polo team.

The boys seemed to have one clear leader. Kliros, the same one who, like me, never made a single mistake in math class. Tall, only I could compete with him in height in the whole class. Athletic, because Dan had been swimming for many years. But that was where our similarities ended. If Dan was handsome with an aristocratic beauty, then Kliros immediately attracted attention with the masculinity that sixteen-year-olds so lack. Long, dark blond hair emphasized his facial features, and many girls clearly melted from the guy's bright blue eyes. Before I came to the class, he was clearly considered the most handsome guy "in the village". And also, he seemed to like Emry, and now he looked at me askance and unkindly. This is bad because he has a lot of influence in the class.

Noirie and his assistants stood apart from everyone else, neither joining any of the groups nor extending their influence over the class.

So the question is, should I establish contact with the Kliros, become a loner, and there were quite a few in my class, or create my own group?

It seems that joining the headman will not work. Garn clearly has some goal of his own, having brought two girls closer to him, he behaves evenly with the rest, not letting them into the inner circle. Although I can clearly see, behind the external carefreeness and talkativeness, our president is not as simple as he wants to seem. However, imposing myself is not in my rules, so to hell with him, it helps to join the team, and that's good.

As the bell rang, announcing the end of the compulsory school day, all my classmates dispersed to their clubs. The one left alone, following the advice of the curator, headed to the administrative building.

First, I went to the library and got textbooks with a card, with an urgent recommendation to buy protective covers. Because if I hand in damaged textbooks at the end of the year, I will be fined three times their value. Remembering how much books cost here, I involuntarily shuddered at such a prospect.

In general, the school library is a strange place. You can't take anything with you except textbooks. If you want to read something, you can only do it in the reading room, and you cannot take it away. I'm angry at the local customs! And I wanted to take something on history to read. But sitting in the reading room now? For now, I have more important things to do.

Coming out into the main hall of the administrative building, I easily found a notice board dedicated to recruitment for clubs and sections. A leaflet calling for people to learn Shatano was hanging almost in the very bottom corner. Only five people signed up, all from senior classes, one from the graduating class. I looked at the recruitment for other fencing sections; there were many more people there, from ten to fifty in each. And, characteristically, girls were signing up for all of them except Shatano. I sensed with my gut that there was a setup somewhere, but it was too late to back out.

Taking out a pen, I wrote on the sixth line: “Dan Lier, class 1-8.”

If something goes wrong, I'll leave the section. It was tacitly discouraged to change clubs during the year and it would damage my reputation at school, but if it really was a setup, then screw that reputation.

I spent over half an hour studying the other ads. Maybe my eye will catch something?

Library club? Perhaps the best choice, indeed. Because there will be time to sit in the reading room. Only one drawback. I won't be able to chat in the reading room, plus there are Shatano classes, which will be attended by a minimum of people. It turns out that my social life will be greatly "cut down".

Even this morning, I was thinking that it was too early for me to join social life. But today made me think about this issue. The library is good, of course, but live communication with peers can give me much more in terms of understanding this world. And if I'm right and the Kliros doesn't like me, I need my own group of classmates so that they don't bully me. I know these schoolchildren, hellish monsters against their background, often look pale.

Astronomy club? During the day? Study the starry sky on maps? What do I need that for? In this world, the Big Bang theory is still in doubt. I seem to know more about astrophysics than all the professors here, although I didn't study it specifically. And they launched a couple of satellites into space about seventy years ago, and then it was quiet. It's unprofitable, according to the locals, and there seem to be huge problems with rocket fuel here. The locals pumped out all the available light oil three hundred years ago. However, for some reason, they didn't think of offshore drilling, but I don't want to interfere with this society with my tips.

And yet, what to choose in addition to Shatano? The most socially convergent atmosphere in team sports. True, the curator mentioned that two sections are too much, but I have something to occupy my brain with anyway.

Among the team sports, volleyball was discovered. A quick dive into Dan's memory, yes, in this world, this sport was almost no different from the one I knew. Only the court was a little bigger, and there were seven players on the field for each team. At one time, I wanted to take up this sport, I liked it, even in those school years, but in that life, I was not tall enough, and I was not fit to be a point guard. Maybe I'll try it?

No matter how much I thought, I couldn't come up with anything better for myself than a Library club or Volleyball. And choosing between them turned out to be a difficult task. However, I have time until Friday, so there is no need to rush.

As I was leaving the school grounds, I noticed the guard looking at me with disapproval. Why was he looking at me like that? Was it because at this time all the normal schoolchildren were busy with something and not hanging around doing nothing?

During dinner, I was replaying the first day of school in my head. All my plans for easy learning went to hell, in order to stay at least at an average level here, I will have to work and work. My knowledge base will certainly help, but it will still not be an easy walk.

Having thrown panicky thoughts out of my head, I decided to finish what I started yesterday. That is, to transfer the drawing left by Smesharik onto paper. I managed to do it just before sunset. Then I stapled the sheets together into a three-dimensional copy of the room and froze, looking at the result.

At first glance, there is no pattern. On the second, however, the same thing. The feeling that the green and lichen were just stomping around. I looked from different angles, sometimes added something, but all to no avail. It's too chaotic. My consciousness does not catch the pattern. So I sat until late at night, having achieved nothing.

Falling asleep, I thought about whether I'm just stupid, huh? And the local school reminds me of hell, and I can't figure out Smesharik's art. An offensive thought, and if it weren't for the "River Sand", I probably wouldn't have been able to fall asleep for a long time.

The alarm sounded like the voice of the gates of heaven. Because I dreamed about such a shit! The morning awakening against this background was simply manna from heaven. When you dream about Miss Riminazo running after you through the school corridors, shaking a massive, meter-long ruler and shouting "Have you learned the definitions?!", and you, as luck would have it, can't even remember anything! It was scarier than if the Predator or the Alien had come into my dream.

But against the background of these experiences, Smesharik, slime, and chameleon already seem not so scary. Progress!

Today I had: chemistry, biology, and geography in the morning block and physical education in a double lesson.

I had barely taken off my coat and hung it in my locker when Garn appeared next to me. I'm already curious how long his patronage of the new guy will last. Or did the curator give him such a task? Of course, I don't mind that he helps, if only he talked less, he would be priceless, but he just babbles on and on!

Chemistry, the first easy lesson for me in the new school. This year of study, we were still learning the very basics, namely the periodic table, although here it was called differently, which, however, did not change its essence one bit. While everyone was busy repeating after the teacher, I was looking for unfamiliar elements on the board. I did not find any. The names are different, of course, but this does not change the fact that in this world, hydrogen has remained hydrogen in its structure.

Watching my classmates, I confirmed my observations from yesterday. And also that Kliros sometimes casts far from friendly glances at me. However, this fact was easily outweighed by the fact that Emry volunteered to take me to the biology class. Perhaps, for the sake of such a girl's attention, it is possible to feud with the class leader.

As we walked along the corridors, the girl was telling me that she couldn't stand Chemistry. But she loved Biology. It wasn't hard for me to figure out that she was lying. She also barely tolerated Biology, as well as any other school subject. At the same time, her speech was structured correctly, without flud and parasitic words, so I was wary of classifying her as a dud girl. What is she doing here, in high school? Even I can see at first glance that she is burdened by her studies, and she has other interests in life, although I haven't figured out what they are yet, but they are definitely there.

"Em!" An unfamiliar girl ran into us and literally grabbed my guide with her hands. "How's your wrist?"

"It's better, Wim." Judging by the tone of the answer, the girls were not only acquainted but had already become friends.

"So, should I expect you today?"

"Yes, tell the teacher that today I'm going to beat an apology out of that arrogant Fla."

"Super!" A smile flashed across Wima's face. "We're waiting!" And having said this, the girl ran off to do her business.

"beat"? "Apologies"? What kind of showdowns are these in junior high, especially among the fair sex? Maybe some kind of martial arts? But no, I can't imagine someone like Emry in the ring. Although... My imagination immediately drew two girls in revealing swimsuits wrestling in the mud...

"Why are you stuck?" The beauty tugged at my sleeve. It's good that she can't read minds, otherwise, she would have killed me on the spot. "Did you like Wima?" She said without a trace of jealousy.

"Uh-uh... She's pretty, but my brain is still full of studying." I shook my head. Breathe evenly, don't stare, don't stare at her blouse...

"Yeah, it's tough to transition like you did, almost two months into the school year." Sincere sympathy?

I'm not sixteen. I shouldn't buy this. So, what is it that I like so much?! And I didn't fall in love, I like her for sure, but it's not love. And still, I like her participation and attention. Hormones, definitely hormones!

I will buy Dr. Coin a cognac for the self-study book, because the exercises saved me again. And when I let the girl enter the class first, I had already calmed down. Opening the door for her like a gentleman. For which I was rewarded with an amazing view, but I saw off Emry's figure rather simply admiring than fighting my desires.

Biology. Another disappointment. I thought I would learn something new, but here they were teaching "The Cellular Structure of the Plant Organism". And the teacher started from afar, devoting almost the entire lesson to telling us what a wonderful invention the microscope was and what benefit it brought to biology. Everything would be fine, sit, listen, relax. If only we weren't obliged to write down everything the teacher said. Verbatim! Whoever came up with this teaching system is a sadist. Why rewrite the textbook? And one more nuance, the textbooks were intended only for home use; they were not allowed to be used in classes. This rule is a mind-bender for me!

This lesson, if I hadn't been writing by hand all the time, I would have had time to think and observe. But my long-forgotten skill of writing and thinking about my own hasn't woken up yet. So it was really hard. The teacher was blaring without looking back, whether anyone could keep up with him or not.

I hope Geography will give me something new!

But the teacher’s first words:

"So, in the previous classes, we looked at our hometown as a geographical object. Today we will also look at the Ristol region. The largest settlement after Ristol is considered to be Distol, founded in..."

Rustling my pen on the notebook page, all I could do was quietly curse to myself. Geography, learning about the world. Naive...

I went to lunch deep in thought. Apparently, in order to learn something here, it is not enough to just study at school.

Before I could finish this thought, someone pulled me by the shoulder, with such force that I was turned around. I had just opened my mouth when a heavy and professionally delivered blow landed in my solar plexus. Everything happened so unexpectedly that I didn’t even have time to tense my abs, not to mention any other counteraction. From the burning pain, I folded in half, luckily I didn’t fall to my knees, I managed to put one hand out and rest it on the pavement, thereby saving my pants from the dirt. My breath caught, and all I could do was open my mouth like a fish on ice. It hurt!! It really hurt! There were bloody circles in my eyes.

Someone's hand falls on my shoulder, and someone leans over and speaks into my ear.

"You, mlar*, are you the harshest or something? You, mlar, have nothing to do, mlar? I, mlar, will ruin your life here until the end of the year, mlar. You ruined all my plans, mlar. You'll get more on Monday, mlar."

/*mlar -- a swear word, rude. Originally a rare animal, which is very indiscriminate in its sexual life./

Damn. What did I do? I roll my eyes. A big guy is squatting next to me, half a head taller and about twenty-five kilograms heavier! And judging by the chevron, he is from the graduating class. His fists are made of cast iron, and he knows how to hit. And the fact that he is almost four years older has a big impact. And unexpectedly. And students are passing by and going around our couple. Trying not to look at us. As if there are not two people sitting in the middle of one of the school paths. True, if no one saw the moment of the blow, then it might seem that the older student is helping the younger one.

"Dan Lier, mlar, I remember you." So it's not a coincidence? And he didn't confuse me with anyone else. It's bad.

"Kano, get away from the new guy." Garn's voice is heard behind.

"I didn't ask you, mlar." But he removes his hand from my shoulder.

"Move away." The president repeats more insistently.

"I don't give a shit about your last name... Noury." Spitting, the high school student answers him. "Anyway, I'm done with this shit, mlar." And leaning towards me again, he whispers. "Until Monday."

Finally, the pain lets up a little, and I can breathe. It hurts so much... I remember you too... Kano...

"Can you stand up?" The president sat down next to me.

"Yeah-ah-ah." It hurts, but the spasm seems to be going away.

I managed to get up, but I couldn't straighten up completely. I fought more than once in that life, not that I was a bully, but there were parties, girls, in general. A couple of times, I even got hit by a democratizer, but I don't remember being knocked out with one blow. But my new body, despite its young age, is no stronger than my old one, twenty-eight years old. It's good that I didn't get hit in the nose; there would have been a fracture at least one hundred percent.
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"When did you manage to cross the Kano road?" Garn asked, supporting me by the elbow.

"I don't even know him, and I'm seeing him for the first time!" It's the pure truth, by the way.

"It's strange..." the president said thoughtfully. "He stopped picking on everyone three years ago and seemed to have calmed down. I haven't seen him like this for a long time."

"Do you know each other?" I need to get more information about this thug out of my interlocutor.

"We grew up in the same yard, yeah..." Garn admitted reluctantly. "As a child, he was always picking on everyone, but when he went to high school and started boxing, it was like he was a different person." Well, he's also a boxer who's been training for over three years! That's where he gets that punch. "He became calm, even reasonable."

I can't believe it." I blurted out involuntarily in response to these words.

"Are you sure you haven't crossed his path anywhere?" I don't like the doubt in his voice.

"I'm sure. And when would I have had time?"

"That's right..."

"What did he mean when he said he didn't give a damn about your last name?" The headman's cheekbones tensed at this question.

"Hmm. However, you would have found out with time, and there is no particular secret." As if in thought, stretching out each word, the young man says. "My father, the chief of police of this city."

"And this thug curses you like that?" I'm provoking the headman.

"His mother is the head of the Ristol tax office." He winces as if he bit off half a lemon, Garn. "She's quite the influential bi..." He clearly wanted to say "bitch", but stopped himself in time.

It seems that my thoughts about tracking down Kano and breaking his legs with a baseball bat are not the best idea. For her son, such a mother would turn the whole city upside down, and they would find me. Yes, even without this mother, such revenge is the lot of minors. My excessive ardor and emerging tendency to simple solutions are beginning to strain me considerably.

"You said your father is the chief of the city police?"

"Well, yes." Garn looked at me as if I had a hearing problem.

"Aren't Class 1-8 made up entirely of out-of-towners?"

"Ah!.. That's what you're talking about. Gathered, gathered, there are only three Ristolians in the class. My father told me, it's common practice... What did he say there... The center of social crystallization, I think those are his words verbatim."

"Let me guess... Siri and Emri are local, too?"

"Of course!" Nouri smiled at my quick wit. "You have some brains." Flattering? "By the way, have you signed up for any club or sports section yet?" Does he want to suggest something?

"To the section, I haven't chosen a club yet."

"And which one?"

"Shatano." At that moment, I had almost recovered and was standing straight, so I noticed how the headman suddenly turned pale.

"Dan... Let's go sit on the bench..." And again, taking me by the elbow, he pulled me towards the nearest bench.

It seems I'm not paranoid after all. And my thoughts about the section being a "set-up" turned out to be correct. Well, teacher Uramo, thank you!

We sat down on the bench. Garn half-turned towards me. I don't like his look. He looks guilty somehow.

"In general... Here's the thing... Kano only goes to the boxing section at school. Twice a week. The rest of the time, he trains individually outside of school. He's not a great student, but they forgive him a lot, since this year he's representing our school at interregional competitions." So not only is this Kano a boxer, he's also the school's heavyweight boxing champion! To be honest with myself, there's absolutely no chance of beating him in a fair fight.

"What does the Shatano section have to do with it?" I'm redirecting the president in the right direction.

"Kano has trouble with math, real trouble. And they say that teacher Lancer is a real beast, who our Miss Riminazo can't compare to in terms of strictness. And he has a lot of influence at school. If he didn't devote so much time to his hobby, he would have been the principal long ago."

"Shatano..." I reminded.

"Lancer agreed to the director's persuasion, to give Kano some leeway, only if he signed up for his section. And since the Shatano section was not recruiting students and had not worked, as they say, for more than five years, Kano agreed. In addition, if five people sign up for the circle, the announcement continues to hang; it is not taken down. It turns out that if five people are signed up, then you are kind of listed in it, but in reality, it does not work and you are free to do whatever you want. It seems like you are a member, but in fact, you are free. In general, of those signed up there, only two really want to study, and Kano persuaded two more to "hang around". He also spread a rumor around the school that if someone signs up sixth, he will rip off their legs and twist their head. Kano spends all his free time preparing for competitions. The Shatano classes that have begun will ruin his entire training process. And he was a fanatic about boxing, the only thing he found himself in..." It's not a school, but some kind of dramatic tragedy club.

"Spread the rumor?" My fists are itching to punch the headman in the nose, so hard that the blood would splatter his perfectly clean and ironed jacket.

"Yes... Oh... " It's got to the idiot! "I... Forgive me, but I didn't think that you would... Just today, I wanted to talk to you about clubs..." I really want to hit him, but hitting the president, and remembering who his dad is, is a bad idea. But I want to squash his nose so much! "And what about you? Why did you go to Shatano? Did you study before?" Garn quickly changed the topic, which was unpleasant for him.

"No, I haven't." I barely refrained from saying that I heard about this Shatano for the first time yesterday. "If I cross out my name, the section won't start, will it?"

"If you do it before the first lesson, then yes, it won’t start."

On the one hand, my refusal is a weakness. On the other hand, in this world, there are enough incomprehensible spirits and magicians monitoring progress for me to get involved in school squabbles that I don't care about at all.

"Why did you even sign up for it?"

"Curator Umano //"recommended... " I tried to put as much bile as possible into my "recommended".

"Oh-oh-oh..." Nuari's face acquired a strange expression that I couldn't interpret correctly. "Then refusing is not an option for you. You see... Teacher Umano, after work, practice Shatano with Master Lancer... If you refuse, you will offend him, which he will not forget. And the bad attitude of the curator, as you probably guess, will affect your school life much more than any troubles from Kano."

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I'm in deep trouble. I'm stuck like an idiot between a rock - a boxing fanatic - and a hard place - my class teacher. And I had a feeling I shouldn't sign up, but I didn't trust my instincts. I'm a fool.

"Look..." Having made some decision, Garn straightened up and sat up straight, as if he had swallowed a crowbar. "Because there was some share of my carelessness in what happened." //"Share"?! "Carelessness"?! You're a master of understatement, that's who you are, class president! "In general, I'll take Kano on myself. He won't touch you outside of school. If he does anything, he'll go to a juvenile correctional facility for ten days. I'll hint to him about this, and also that in that case, he can forget about the competition, even if his mother, as usual, gets him out of there on the first day. But at school, be more attentive and, most importantly, keep your eyes open during training."

"But what if he persuades someone else, and not himself?"

"Kano? Persuades someone into it? He's not as bad as you thought. He has a sort of code of his own..." Nouri glanced at his watch. "How's your stomach?"

"It hurts..." I didn't lie.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Is he making fun of me?

"I don't think I'll have an appetite now." I smile at his question.

"It's better if you don't go to PE today."

"I don't want to skip school."

"Listen..." He slapped me on the shoulder with his palm. "Go home and rest. I'll explain everything to the Physical Education teacher."

"Okay." I really didn't feel healthy enough to run or do pull-ups.

With a strain, I thanked Nouri and went home.

Having somehow hobbled to the apartment, I undressed and climbed into the shower. An examination of my stomach revealed a large, spreading bruise. I hope this boxer did not cause me serious injury. I squatted a couple of times under the streams of hot water. It seems that there was no pain anywhere. So he hit me competently, more with the aim of humiliating than causing real harm to my health. And he was not afraid that I would go and complain. Although... Remembering the conversation with Nouari, he did not even hint at the possibility of my turning to the teachers. This can only mean one thing: snitches are not liked here, and not a single self-respecting guy will run to cry on the teacher's shoulder...

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