4. Loop 0, Part 4

From my bench, even facing the sky, I could see Malus and friends whacking each other in the face with their Magiball just as much as trying to actually score. No wonder I had gotten hit. My uncle’s office glowed in the spire far above the Green, its blue-lit windows visible even at this hour. Scattered groups of people dotted the grounds, enjoying a nice morning out and away from the humdrum of the school.

And I could also see Kalin Tuffet, still royally pissed off from this morning, with his head down as he talked to a woman by the kitchens. He had one hand deep in his pockets and then reached forward to grab something from her. Not the most suspicious thing. You could occasionally order food to eat out on the grounds. But the way he looked at it, and his anger only grew? Well, that was odd. I would have put him out of my mind, but I wasn’t the only one watching him.

The grey man from earlier was standing next to a tree, taking down notes as he looked around the area. What a loser, stalking schoolchildren. Whatever government agency had sent him surely had better things to do with its time, right?

I grunted in frustration. Not my classroom, not my spellbook, not my fucking problem. That was the true issue with the world. Nobody minded their own business. Nobody left others alone to their own devices. My break was more than half over, and I was still tired from being woken so early by Finn. I needed to nap like the sun needs to set.

I would not let myself turn into my parents. I was half-tempted to cancel [Wideview] and be done with my curiosity, but instead I tried one more time for a quick twenty-minute cat nap.

Sleep didn’t come. Instead, my so-called best friend was here to once again wake me up. Typical. I didn’t even have to open my eyes to know his approach. I could hear his ever-present whistling, and right on cue, it stopped as he started to talk.

“You look like a man who lost a fight with a bench,” Finn said.

He was peering at me, half in concern, half in amusement at my still dirt-covered state. The bruise on his forehead from this morning had faded to a yellowish smudge, which meant the healers had done their job. He had a bread roll in each hand, because apparently my breakfast needed supplementing, and the time since I’d dropped him off at the infirmary hadn’t been enough for him to stop mothering me.

“A Magiball hit me.”

“A Magiball hit you. What, were you too lazy to move out of the way?” He snickered.

“In the ribs. While I was sleeping.”

“Were you sleeping on the bench again?”

“Where else would I sleep?”

“Well, given the state of your clothes, I assumed the grass next to it.” Without even asking, Finn grabbed his wand and cast. [Clean]. Suddenly, my clothes were minty fresh and free of grass and dirt. Now that I was clean, he handed me one of the bread rolls, and I took it without hesitation. Bread. Mmm. Now there was a food I would never complain about.

“You know what we have to do before Enchantment Theory?” he said, sitting down on my bench and forcing me to scoot over.

“Nothing. We have to do nothing.”

“Tournament brackets, Laz. We have to pick our spots.” He said it the way you’d announce a dentist appointment. Grim acceptance.

“I was hoping Corwen would forget.”

“It’s been two hours.”

“My uncle forgets things all the time.”

“He doesn’t forget anything and you know it.”

I did know it. The man had a memory like a grudge. Whatever hope I’d had of quietly ignoring my way out of Corwen’s tournament punishment had died the moment he’d left the dining hall. The brackets went up at noon, and anyone assigned by the headmaster’s office would have their name on the board whether they liked it or not.

However, if someone cared enough, they could select for themselves a bracket in the tournament. Numbers one through ten, first come, first served. Each number slotted you into a different section of the draw, which meant a different path through the rounds, different opponents, different ways to lose. Sections weren’t even. Some had more entrants than others, and a few lucky spots came with first-round byes. On principle, the dungeon track usually put themselves in brackets 6-10, leaving the first five for people that wanted an easier time.

The whole system was designed to reward preparation. Study the other entrants, find the weakest path, pick the number that gives you the best matchups. The tryhards didn’t care.

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“Eat your bread, Laz.”

I ate the bread. We sat in silence for a few minutes, Finn watching the end of the Magiball game and me watching the inside of my eyelids.

When the game ended, Finn stood up, wiped the bread crumbs from his clothes, and said, “Come on. We can hit the bracket board on the way to class.”

“Walking requires standing. Standing requires effort, and I’ve already expended mine for the day.”

“You’re going to walk past the Crucible anyway. The board is literally right there.”

“I’m not looking at the fucking brackets.”

“You have to pick a number, Laz. If you don’t pick one yourself, Bain’s office assigns you one, and I promise you he’ll slot you against whoever he thinks will hurt you the most.”