Malcolm woke to the sound of frantic pounding on his dormitory door. He groaned and pulled his pillow over his head, trying to block out the noise. It was too early for this—the wan light filtering through the window suggested the sun had barely cleared the Academy walls.

  "Sinclair! Open up!" The voice was unmistakably Jirou's, pitched higher than his usual careful tone.

  Malcolm stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over a stack of books he'd been studying the night before. He yanked open the door to find Jirou looking decidedly un-Jirou-like—his normally immaculate uniform was slightly askew, his glasses perched crookedly on his nose, and most shockingly, his hair wasn't perfectly combed.

  "What? Is something on fire?" Malcolm asked blearily.

  "The Council of Flames is coming," Jirou hissed, glancing nervously down the corridor. "Today. They're already in the administrative wing."

  Malcolm blinked, his sleep-fogged brain trying to process this information. "The what now?"

  "The Council of Flames," Jirou repeated, like Malcolm was missing something obvious. "You know—only the highest regulatory body for alchemical standards in the entire kingdom? They inspect every three years, but they weren't due until next month." He pushed past Malcolm into the room and closed the door. "This is a surprise inspection. They only do that when they've heard something they don't like."

  The significance was starting to penetrate Malcolm's consciousness. "Things... like a foreign student with weird methods supplying half the Academy during a shortage?"

  Jirou's expression confirmed his fears. "The entire faculty is in upheaval. Master Seiran has called an emergency staff meeting. Professor Liko looked like she might actually explode when she passed me in the corridor."

  "Crap." Malcolm ran a hand through his tangled hair. "What does this mean for me?"

  "It means," Jirou said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper even though they were alone, "that your reclamation operation will be under intense scrutiny. The Council can suspend academic privileges or even recommend expulsion if they find serious violations."

  Malcolm's stomach clenched. Just when he'd started to find his place, just when his methods were beginning to gain acceptance...

  "What do I need to do?"

  "Attend classes as normal. Be impeccably proper. And if questioned by any Council member—" Jirou's expression grew deadly serious, "—cite only approved methodologies from the standard curriculum."

  "Even if that's not what I actually do?"

  Jirou looked pained. "Especially if that's not what you actually do."

  "That's ridiculous," Malcolm protested. "My methods work. Everyone's been using my reclaimed materials all week. Even Professor Liko admitted they meet quality standards."

  "The Council isn't concerned with results," Jirou explained with the patience of someone teaching a small child. "They're concerned with adherence to established principles. Tradition and procedure are more important than outcome."

  Malcolm flopped back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was exactly the kind of rigid, arbitrary thinking that had frustrated him since arriving at Enshin. "So basically, I'm screwed."

  "Not necessarily." Jirou adjusted his glasses, his composure gradually returning. "If you can frame your work within established theoretical models, even loosely, you might survive the inspection. The Absorptive Nexus theory has historical precedent, however outdated most consider it. That might be sufficient."

  "And if it isn't?" Malcolm asked, sitting up again.

  "Then you may need to decide what matters more—being right or being at Enshin."

  The Academy hummed with unusual tension as Malcolm made his way to his first class. Students moved with exaggerated care through the corridors, their voices hushed, their movements restrained. Even the normally boisterous first-years were subdued, walking in neat lines rather than their usual clusters.

  The reason for this extraordinary behavior became apparent when Malcolm turned a corner and nearly collided with the most intimidating group of people he'd ever seen. Seven figures in formal ceremonial robes stood in the corridor, examining an alchemical display case with intense scrutiny. Their robes were deep crimson embroidered with gold flame patterns, and each wore a different ceremonial headpiece indicating their specific role on the Council.

  Malcolm froze, heart hammering in his chest. He'd expected old people—most authority figures at Enshin seemed ancient—but several Council members looked surprisingly young, though no less formidable for it. At their center stood a tall woman with steel-gray hair pulled into an elaborate knot, her sharp eyes missing nothing as she gestured to something in the display.

  "The restoration quality is adequate," she was saying, her voice carrying the weight of absolute authority, "though the essence balancing shows signs of modern simplification. Note the asymmetrical dispersion pattern—a deviation from classical methodology that would have been unacceptable in my student days."

  "Grandmaster Rei favors practical efficiency in teaching preparations," offered a nervous-looking instructor whom Malcolm didn't recognize. "The display pieces are primarily for first-year demonstrations."

  "First impressions form lasting patterns," replied the woman—clearly the head of the Council. "When standards slip in demonstration materials, they inevitably decline in practical application as well."

  Malcolm tried to edge past without drawing attention, pressing himself against the opposite wall and avoiding eye contact. He'd almost made it when a sharply raised voice called out.

  "You there. Student."

  Malcolm froze again, reluctantly turning toward the Council. "Yes, ma'am?"

  The woman's gaze was penetrating, seeming to look through rather than at him. "You are not in proper formation. Where is your class group?"

  "I, uh, I was heading to Theoretical Foundations, Honored..." Malcolm faltered, uncertain of the correct form of address.

  "Councilor," supplied the nervous instructor quickly. "This is Councilor Nayama, Head of the Inspection Division."

  "Honored Councilor," Malcolm corrected himself, attempting a formal bow that probably looked as awkward as it felt.

  Councilor Nayama's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your accent is not Kagetsu."

  "No, Honored Councilor. I'm from Redoak. Western region," Malcolm explained, trying desperately to remember all the formal protocols Mira had drilled into him for official interactions. "I'm here on a diplomatic scholarship."

  "Ah." The single syllable contained volumes of understanding and, Malcolm feared, disapproval. "The exceptional admission case. I recall the documentation now." She studied him more intently. "And how are you finding our traditional methodologies, compared to your... Western practices?"

  The question was loaded with land mines. Malcolm chose his words with unusual care. "Enlightening, Honored Councilor. The depth of Kagetsu alchemical theory far exceeds anything we study in Redoak."

  It wasn't technically a lie. The theoretical foundation here was indeed far more extensive than anything back home—whether it was superior was a different question entirely.

  "Indeed," she replied, seemingly satisfied with his answer. "Theory provides the essential framework within which all valid practice must function. Remember that, student, regardless of what... alternative approaches you may have encountered previously."

  "Yes, Honored Councilor."

  She turned back to the display case, dismissing him without another word. Malcolm continued down the corridor, forcing himself not to break into a run once he was around the corner. His heart was still pounding when he slipped into the Theoretical Foundations classroom just as Professor Liko was beginning the session.

  The atmosphere in the class was stifling. Professor Liko, normally merely rigid, was practically vibrating with tension as she lectured on essence correspondence principles. Her voice was higher-pitched than usual, and she referred constantly to the official curriculum scrolls rather than speaking freely as she typically did.

  "The harmonic relationship between complementary essences follows the classical sevenfold pattern established by Grandmaster Ishida in the Third Dynasty," she recited, her finger tracing the diagram projected on the classroom wall. "Deviation from this pattern inevitably results in suboptimal resonance and reduced efficacy."

  Malcolm bit his tongue. His own essence combinations followed no such pattern, yet consistently produced superior results. But today was clearly not the day to point that out.

  "Sinclair-san." Professor Liko's sharp voice made him jump. "Please explain the significance of the third harmonic position in the classical arrangement."

  All eyes turned to him. Malcolm frantically scanned his notes, finding nothing helpful. He was about to admit his ignorance when he noticed Jirou discreetly tapping a passage in his own perfectly organized notebook.

  "The third position serves as a balancing point between opposing elements," Malcolm began, paraphrasing what he could see of Jirou's notes, "establishing the fundamental equilibrium necessary for stable transformation processes."

  Professor Liko's eyebrows rose slightly, perhaps surprised he'd given the correct answer. "And why is adherence to this positional relationship essential to proper methodology?"

  This was dangerous territory. The honest answer—that it wasn't actually essential at all, as his void pool proved daily—would be academic suicide with the Council on campus. Instead, Malcolm fell back on the vague theoretical language he'd been studying.

  "Because the structural integrity of the alchemical framework depends on maintaining established harmonic principles," he replied, stringing together impressive-sounding phrases he'd memorized from Master Seiran's book. "Deviations undermine the foundational balance upon which reliable results depend."

  Complete nonsense, in his opinion, but it seemed to satisfy Professor Liko. She nodded approvingly and turned her attention to another student, leaving Malcolm to exhale quietly in relief. Across the room, Jirou gave him the barest hint of an acknowledging nod.

  The rest of the morning continued in similar fashion—professors teaching with exaggerated formality, students responding with careful precision, everyone performing the roles expected of them by tradition. It was exhausting. By midday meal, Malcolm felt like he'd spent hours walking on broken glass, every step requiring painful concentration.

  In the dining hall, he spotted Sorha sitting alone at a corner table, calmly eating as if nothing unusual were happening. He slid onto the bench across from her, lowering his voice.

  "How are you so calm? The Council of Flames is here, and apparently they're the academic version of executioners."

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  Sorha's lips quirked in a slight smile. "This is my third Council inspection. They follow the same pattern every time—sweep in unannounced, terrorize everyone for a day or two, then leave with a list of minor violations that will be promptly ignored once they're gone."

  "Jirou made it sound like they can get people expelled."

  "They can," she acknowledged, "but only for the most serious violations. Despite their fearsome reputation, they're primarily concerned with institutional compliance, not individual students." She studied him over her tea cup. "Unless, of course, an individual student has become institutionally significant."

  "Like someone running an unofficial supply operation during a shortage?"

  "Especially if that operation employs unorthodox methodologies," she agreed. "Your reclamation work has attracted attention, Malcolm. Not just within the Academy."

  "Great," Malcolm muttered, pushing rice around his bowl without eating it. "So I'm a target."

  "You're interesting," Sorha corrected. "Which can be dangerous, yes, but also valuable. The Council may disapprove of deviation from tradition, but they're not fools. If your methods demonstrate genuine merit, they may be more concerned with understanding than punishing."

  "That's not very reassuring."

  "It wasn't meant to be." Sorha's direct gaze met his. "The inspection is an opportunity as much as a threat. Show them something worth seeing, and they might surprise you."

  Before Malcolm could ask what she meant, a hush fell over the dining hall. The main doors had opened to admit the entire Council of Flames, led by Councilor Nayama. They moved through the room with measured steps, observing everything from the arrangement of tables to the posture of students.

  "The Council will inspect typical daily activities before focusing on specific departments," Sorha murmured, not turning to look at the procession. "Afternoon classes will likely include surprise observations."

  "Wonderful," Malcolm sighed. His afternoon schedule included practical alchemy—the one class where his unorthodox methods were most obvious.

  "Remember," Sorha said as the warning bell sounded, "show them something worth seeing."

  The practical alchemy laboratory was immaculate. Every surface gleamed, every tool was perfectly aligned, every ingredient jar had been relabeled in formal calligraphy. Professor Liko stood at the demonstration table with unnaturally perfect posture, her expression frozen in a mask of serene competence.

  "Today we will be preparing the standard vitality compound according to the Third Dynasty formulation," she announced as students took their places. "All steps must be performed in precise accordance with the classical methodology. No deviations or substitutions will be permitted."

  Malcolm's heart sank. The vitality compound was notoriously complex, requiring exact proportions and perfect timing. Under normal circumstances, he would have used his void pool to extract and pre-balance the essences, ensuring consistent results. That clearly wasn't an option today.

  As students began gathering their materials, Professor Liko moved between workstations, offering crisp instructions and sharp corrections. When she reached Malcolm, her eyes narrowed slightly.

  "Sinclair-san, I trust you will follow the established protocol precisely," she said, her tone making it clear this was not a suggestion. "Given your... alternative background, extra attention to traditional form would be advisable."

  "Yes, Professor," Malcolm replied, trying to project a confidence he didn't feel. "I'll stick to the book."

  "See that you do." She glanced toward the door, where several junior instructors hovered anxiously. "The Council members will be observing selected classes this afternoon. Proper methodology is essential."

  As she moved on, Malcolm stared down at his materials with a growing sense of dread. The vitality compound required seven different herbs, each processed in a specific sequence with precisely timed heat application. It was exactly the kind of rigid, unnecessarily complicated process that his void pool made obsolete.

  He began working through the preliminary steps, carefully measuring and cutting herbs according to the traditional patterns. The work was tedious but not difficult, just inefficient compared to his usual methods. He'd almost convinced himself he could get through the session without problems when the laboratory door opened.

  Three Council members entered, led by Councilor Nayama herself. The room went utterly silent except for the soft bubbling of heating vessels. Professor Liko hurried forward, bowing deeply.

  "Honored Councilors, welcome to our practical session. The first-years are preparing the standard vitality compound following classical Third Dynasty methodology."

  "Excellent," Councilor Nayama replied, her sharp gaze sweeping the room. "Foundational techniques should be mastered before any specialized applications are attempted."

  The Council members began moving around the laboratory, observing students' work with critical attention. Malcolm kept his head down, focusing intently on the herb cutting pattern specified in the text. Maybe if he looked busy enough, they would pass him by.

  No such luck. Within minutes, he sensed a presence beside his workstation. Looking up, he found himself facing not Councilor Nayama, but an equally intimidating man with a carefully trimmed white beard and eyes that seemed to catalog every detail of Malcolm's work.

  "Your cutting technique lacks precision," the man observed, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the criticism. "The sevenfold pattern requires equal dimensions for optimal essence release."

  "Yes, Honored Councilor," Malcolm acknowledged, adjusting his grip on the cutting tool. "I'm still working on consistency."

  The man watched as Malcolm attempted to correct his technique, cutting the silverleaf into more uniform strips. After a moment, he spoke again.

  "You are the Western student, I believe? The one employing Absorptive Nexus methodology?"

  Malcolm nearly sliced his finger in surprise. "Uh, yes, Honored Councilor."

  "Councilor Nezeth," the man supplied. "I oversee material standards for the Council." He picked up a small piece of the silverleaf, examining it closely. "Interesting choice to follow traditional cutting patterns when your Nexus approach typically bypasses physical preparation entirely."

  This was dangerous territory. How much did Councilor Nezeth know about his methods? Malcolm opted for a simplified truth.

  "I'm trying to master multiple approaches, Honored Councilor. Traditional techniques provide valuable insights even when working with alternative methodologies."

  Nezeth's eyes crinkled slightly, the first hint of expression Malcolm had seen from any Council member. "A diplomatic answer. Though I wonder if it's entirely sincere."

  Before Malcolm could respond, Councilor Nayama appeared at Nezeth's side. "How do you find the practical instruction, Councilor?" she asked, her gaze flicking briefly to Malcolm's less-than-perfect herb arrangement.

  "Adequate," Nezeth replied. "Though I note some interesting adaptations in individual technique." He gestured subtly toward Malcolm. "The Western approach to material handling has certain... efficiency advantages we might consider studying further."

  Nayama's expression cooled. "Efficiency without proper foundation leads to unpredictable results, as the Third Dynasty masters documented extensively." She fixed Malcolm with her penetrating stare. "Traditional methodology exists for a reason, student. Centuries of refinement have established the optimal approach to essence extraction and application."

  Malcolm knew he should just nod, smile politely, and get back to cutting herbs into stupid perfect little strips. That would be the safe play. But something in her tone—that absolute certainty that there was only one right way to do things—made something snap inside him. After days of walking on eggshells, of pretending to be someone he wasn't, he'd had enough. The words were tumbling out before he could stop them.

  "With respect, Honored Councilor," he said, measuring each word, "different approaches can achieve similar results through different pathways. The Absorptive Nexus model demonstrates that complete decomposition allows for more direct essence extraction without sacrificing quality."

  A heavy silence fell over the nearby workstations. Several students froze in mid-motion, glancing nervously between Malcolm and the Councilors. Professor Liko, across the room, looked as if she might faint.

  "An interesting assertion," Councilor Nayama said finally, her voice glacial. "One that contradicts centuries of established practice."

  "Not contradicts," Malcolm corrected, committed now to his course. "Complements. The traditional approach works through sequential processing. The Nexus method achieves similar results through simultaneous decomposition." He gestured to his partially prepared herbs. "Different paths to the same destination."

  Councilor Nezeth's expression remained neutral, but something like interest flickered in his eyes. "The boy has conducted some noteworthy experiments with his reclamation program," he observed to Nayama. "His extracted essences have demonstrated remarkable purity according to standard testing protocols."

  "Anomalous results without theoretical foundation are academically insignificant," Nayama replied dismissively. "Would you have us abandon eight centuries of proven methodology based on a first-year's experiments?"

  "Not abandon," Nezeth countered, his tone deliberately mild. "Expand, perhaps." He turned back to Malcolm, his eyes lingering on the boy's work. "Continue your practical session. We have other classes to observe." He gave Malcolm what might have been the ghost of an approving nod before moving away, with Nayama following after one last skeptical glance at the half-prepared herbs.

  As the Council members exited the laboratory, the tension eased slightly. Professor Liko shot Malcolm a look that promised future consequences, but returned to supervising the class without comment. Around him, other students resumed their work, though several cast curious glances his way.

  Malcolm exhaled slowly, his hands trembling slightly as he returned to cutting herbs. He'd just argued alchemical theory with the head of the Council of Flames. Either the bravest or stupidest thing he'd done since arriving at Enshin, and he wasn't sure which.

  "You did WHAT?" Elder Mozu's weathered face creased with an expression between horror and admiration as Malcolm recounted the afternoon's events. They sat in Malcolm's reclamation station, the door firmly closed against eavesdroppers.

  "I didn't plan to challenge her," Malcolm defended himself, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "It just happened. She was so absolutely certain that there's only one right way to do things."

  "That certainty is the foundation of her power," Elder Mozu pointed out. "People who've spent decades mastering traditional techniques don't appreciate being told there are shortcuts." He sighed heavily. "The Council inspection was already focusing on your reclamation work. Now you've made yourself a central target."

  "Councilor Nezeth seemed more interested than offended," Malcolm said hopefully. "He even defended my results."

  "Nezeth has always been more practical than Nayama," Elder Mozu acknowledged. "As head of material standards, he cares more about outcomes than process. But make no mistake—he's still a traditionalist at heart."

  "So what do I do now?" Malcolm asked, slumping onto his stool. "Lay low and hope they forget about me?"

  Elder Mozu snorted. "Too late for that, boy. The die is cast." He tapped his gnarled staff thoughtfully against the floor. "No, your only path forward is to demonstrate so convincingly that even Nayama can't dismiss your methods entirely."

  "How am I supposed to do that? She basically said my results don't matter without the right theoretical foundation."

  "Then give her one," Elder Mozu replied simply. "You've been studying the Absorptive Nexus theory. Build on it. Show how your approach connects to traditional principles without simply mimicking them."

  Malcolm considered this. He'd been so focused on practical applications and defending his void pool methods that he hadn't fully developed the theoretical framework to explain them. Perhaps that was the missing piece—not hiding his differences or pretending to follow tradition, but showing how his innovations actually extended traditional understanding rather than rejecting it.

  "I could prepare a formal demonstration," he said slowly. "Something that shows the connection between traditional essence theory and the Nexus decomposition process."

  "Risky," Elder Mozu warned. "The Council expects perfection in formal demonstrations. One mistake and they'll dismiss everything you've done."

  "Then I won't make mistakes," Malcolm said with more confidence than he felt. "If they're going to judge me anyway, I'd rather be judged on what I actually do, not what I'm pretending to do."

  Elder Mozu studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "The Council concludes its inspection tomorrow afternoon with a review session in the Grand Hall. Formal observations may be presented for consideration, though students rarely participate."

  "Would they let me demonstrate?"

  "With Master Seiran's approval, perhaps." The elder's eyes narrowed slightly. "Though such a public performance would invite significant scrutiny. Are you certain your methods can withstand that level of examination?"

  Malcolm thought about his void pool, about the perfectly extracted essences it produced, about the practical benefits his reclamation work had already demonstrated during the shortage. He wasn't sure if the Council would approve of his methods, but he was increasingly certain they worked—and that was worth defending.

  "I'm tired of hiding and pretending," he said finally. "If my methods aren't good enough, I'd rather find out now than spend four years trying to be something I'm not."

  Elder Mozu's weathered face creased in a rare smile. "There speaks a true alchemist, Western or otherwise." He rose, leaning on his staff. "Very well. I will speak with Master Seiran about arranging a presentation slot. You should prepare thoroughly—theory and practice both. The Council appreciates comprehensive documentation."

  As the elder shuffled toward the door, he paused for a final observation. "Whatever happens tomorrow, you've already accomplished something significant. You've forced them to see beyond their comfortable assumptions, if only for a moment." His eyes twinkled with unexpected mischief. "Sometimes that's more valuable than perfect adherence to tradition."

  After Elder Mozu left, Malcolm sat alone in his reclamation station, surrounded by the fruits of his unorthodox methods—shelves of perfectly extracted essences, jars of refined materials, carefully documented results that defied traditional expectations. Tomorrow he would either gain acceptance for his approach or face rejection by the highest authorities at Enshin.

  Either way, he would do it as himself—not the perfect Kagetsu student he could never be, but the innovative Westerner who found value where others saw only waste. His void pool might not fit neatly into the Academy's traditions, but it worked. Sometimes, results had to speak for themselves.

  With renewed determination, Malcolm pulled out a fresh scroll and began outlining his demonstration. He sketched a diagram of the void pool's decomposition process alongside the traditional extraction pathway, drawing connecting lines between similar stages. If he could show how the Absorptive Nexus was actually an extension of traditional theory rather than a rejection of it...

  His hand moved faster, ideas flowing onto the paper. Tomorrow, the Council of Flames would see exactly how tradition and innovation could work together—whether they were ready for it or not.