Lone Cultivator In Another World

Jones led Michael out of the building to one of the small unassuming houses in the administrative sector. The principal preferred to occupy a separate house, with his aides using the rooms as offices. The cottage doubled as his living quarters, so the schedule for his assistants was set in stone; working late meant trespassing. The unlucky and slow had to take their work home.

When Jones and Michael arrived at the principal's cottage, a charming woman in her thirties let them in. She indicated they should follow her and made her way through the rooms at a leisurely pace. When the trio stopped before a closed door with a plaque "Douglas Graves. EIS Principal", the lady waited for several seconds without knocking.

"Let them in" a voice sounded from the other side of the door.

What surprised Michael was that even with his upgraded hearing, he couldn't make out any noises in the room. But, principal Graves could hear their footsteps muffled by a soft rug just fine.

It was the first time Michael was supposed to meet the principal in person. In his past life, he saw the man many times, usually at gatherings when he had to give a speech or strolling through the school grounds, but never face-to-face.

The office was spacious and bright, with large windows allowing a lot of natural light inside. The principal stood up from behind the table and went around it to shake hands with Jones. He was a slim grey-haired man in his sixties, with piercing eyes. His hair and eyebrows were bushy and rich.

"You must be Michael" he said with a comforting smile, extending his hand.

"Yes, sir".

Jones observed their handshake with amus.e.m.e.nt, "I didn't know you changed your name, kid".

"It's easier to pronounce" explained Graves.

Michael realized only then that the principal somehow knew his preferred name. That meant the teachers shared this information with him, and he cared enough to memorize it. Jones, on the other hand, was completely out of the loop.

"Mark, give me the list you brought".

Jones handed his superior the piece of paper he had printed out before.

"Yes, I see. It all comes down to young Marco. Which only leaves us with little to figure out: who interrupted the chain of command, switched the lists and made the call. Michael, did you recognize the person who spoke with you?"

"It wasn't me, sir. My mother took the call".

"Don't worry, young man, that doesn't complicate the matter one bit. We'll get to the bottom of this. As of right now, you are already a student of EIS. My congratulations" Graves didn't stop smiling the whole time, looking like an old lovable grandpa.

"Thank you, sir".

"Now, Michael, I'm going to need you to go home and explain this to your mother. I will also call her later today and apologize on behalf of the school. You just relax. There is only one week left before the school year starts, so you should have some fun while you can. Once classes begin, it won't be easy".

"I'll manage".

"Haha, I'm sure. I'm sure".

Graves called in the lady from before to take Michael away. Once they left the cottage, she handed a folder to Michael, saying, "These are your acceptance doc.u.ments, Mr. Severniy. Principal Graves hopes these will assure you and your mother that the incident is over. We're very happy to welcome you to our EIS family".

Unlike the principal's, her smile was too polite to be natural.

With the folder in hand, Michael hurried home to deliver the good news to his mother. He didn't know that the meeting in the principal's office was in full swing.

"Now that the kid is gone, you told me you think it's Kamyshov's doing?"

The principal only changed his posture and facial expression slightly, but the change was great. Now, sitting across from Jones was an old intelligence agent with a heavy presence, a man used to others obeying his orders.

"I only have some ideas. Kamyshov has been behaving erratically recently, and Apoll is leaning heavily to his side. It all started in the second part of the exam, I noticed that Apoll and Kamyshov were both partial to this Marco Reed. I mean, the kid is smart, but his report had obviously been written for him".

"Say no more, Mark. I already have it all figured out".

Graves picked up his phone, "Contact Kamyshov for me, please, and invite him to my office immediately".

"Sir, what can I tell Michael about this"? inquired Jones after the principal finished the call.

"The boy? Why, did he attract your interest?"

"He did. I believe he has great potential".

"Let's see" Graves leaned back in his chair, "None of this is a secret. You and I both know that this isn't enough to kick Kamyshov out. Which means, the boy might get in trouble every now and then. Since you're interested in him, just tell him everything, it's fine. He'll thank you for it".

'As if' thought Jones.

The two spoke some more before Graves signaled Jones to be quiet. They turned to the door and the old man exclaimed, "Come in!"

Professor Kamyshov, in his ever-present suit and tie, entered the room and nodded to the principal. Then, he noticed Jones sitting in his chair cozily and winced.

"What happened, Mr. principal?"

"Sit down".

Graves waited for the teacher to sit before he spoke up again, "Tell us about your son, my friend. How old is he already, ten-something?"

Kamyshov's face fell. He bit his lip and stayed silent, staring at the floor.

"Quiet today, aren't you? What, you thought I wouldn't notice the boy's surname? Marco Reed, clearly named after you. You see, Jones, his surname means "reed" in Russian. Couldn't hold back, Kamyshov?"

Jones was struck with realization. That explained why Marco's report seemed unnaturally advanced, why Apoll took Kamyshov's side so demonstratively and why Michael's place in the quota was stolen by someone.

Graves continued, raising his voice, "This is why we have a week of trial classes as part of our entrance exams, you idiot. So that rotten assholes like you couldn't help their bastards enroll! EIS is not some backward village school where they'll take anyone, it's the place for our best and brightest, you hear me? Not for someone like you, a disgraced favormonger, to use to your and your son's advantage!"

"He wasn't good enough" muttered Kamyshov.

"Speak up!" shouted Graves.

"He wasn't good enough! I gave him written tests to practice on, like the ones we use in our entrance exam, and he couldn't do it. His results were too low. I just wanted him to go to the best school I know!"

But Graves only laughed loudly.

"See, Jones, how well he plays with our feelings? Old snake, you'd better shut up and stop acting like a desperate father. It's not the education that matters to you, it's the rich second and third generation students here, sons and daughters of ministers, businessmen, magnates, politicians! You only wanted to establish a wider network for yourself. What do you have to say about that?"

Jones expected to see Kamyshov upset by the way his shoulders twitched before, but he dropped the act at once. Jones was awed by the transformation of a grieving father into a confident, self-righteous prick.

"F.u.c.k you, Graves. F.u.c.k you and your morals. What father wouldn't want the best for his child? Of course, Marco could've gotten a good education anywhere in the world, but I chose EIS. I teach here, aren't I entitled to some benefits? As for the children of the rich, so what? If I was rich, I could've bought a place in the quota for my son, just like they do".

"It's not about the money. These rich kids, they will be our world's leaders someday. Their parents' money will allow them to build schools, hospitals and houses. They will invest in technology, medicine, art and production. They will decide what our world will look like and set goals for the next generation to reach. We don't accept them because their parents are rich, but because they will be rich themselves one day. And we can guide them before they spend it all on women and drink, like you".

Kamyshov smirked, listening to the principal.

"Great speech, as always, Doug. Here's mine. I hope the high horse you're sitting on comes with b.u.t.t warmers because none of this matters to me. I always get what I want, and this time is not going to be an exception. I wanted money – I got it, I wanted this position – I got it. Now I want my son to study at EIS.

You can spout your nonsense all you want, but later this evening my friends will call you and ask you questions. Then, they will call your superiors and tell them you're not doing your job properly. They will only stop when my son gets one of these folders" Kamyshov pointed at a stack of papers nearby, "and says to me, "Thank you, dad". Then, and only then, will you be able to breathe freely".

The principal's stony face betrayed a small smile, "From where I sit, when they stop calling, you'll have to give them their photos back. And they will no longer be your friends. They might even become mine".

Kamyshov jumped out of his chair, his reddened face contrasting weirdly with his thin grey hair, and stormed out, shouting, "I'll be waiting for Marco's papers, Doug!"

Graves's smile widened into a grin as he stared at the door for a minute. Then, as if only now remembering that Jones was in the room, he asked, "What do you think?"

"I never thought his influence was so great" carefully commented the teacher.

"Was. That's right. Every time he uses his "friends", he is left with less. That f.u.c.k.i.n.g blackmailer!" Graves rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"Should I go, Mr. Graves?"

"You can go. Remember to tell young Michael the truth. If he got your attention, he must be a very smart kid. He needs to know what he might have to deal with now that Kamyshov had to spend so many resources because of him".

"And you, sir?"

"I'm going to get some coffee. The promised shitstorm of calls will start soon, and I still have to talk with Apoll. Chances are, it was him who switched the lists and made the call. Kamyshov doesn't like to do the dirty work himself. So, dance, Mark – we're hiring a new history teacher. This time, you will be a part of the process".