(Location: Noble Academy, Hallway of Academic Regret)
Let me start by saying this: when your day begins with a fireball, a screaming professor, and a lizard wearing a monocle, you just *know* the universe is out for blood.
Inner Me: And that blood is always, suspiciously, mine.
The hallway reeked of burnt parchment, panic sweat, and disappointment. A noble blend. Like someone tried to bottle "failure" as a perfume and launched it as Eau de Expulsion. I was currently being escorted — no, frog-marched— by a very angry Professor Quilly, whose eyebrows were doing the cha-cha of rage.
"Reinhardt," he barked. "You've violated twelve statutes of academy protocol, broken a historical artifact, and nearly incited war with the visiting diplomats from the Lizardfolk Confederacy."
"In my defense," I said, "the artifact broke itself on my face."
Inner Me: Technically true. Spirit orb met forehead. Orb lost.
He didn't dignify that with a response.
Trailing behind us were Seraphina (judging me silently), Belladonna (smirking like she caused it — which she did), and a small, very well-dressed lizard creature holding a clipboard and muttering in Draconic.
Yes, that's right.
A talking lizard was now part of my life.
---
### Scene: Noble Academy - Detention Room (a.k.a. the Room of Educational Doom)
The room was windowless, lit only by magical sconces that flickered like they were tired of being here too. The chairs were hard enough to train posture through psychological warfare.
I was seated in the center, flanked by Seraphina and Belladonna, while Professor Quilly paced in front of us like a hawk looking for emotional weaknesses.
"Do you know what you've done?" he hissed.
Me: "Yes. Made history. Again."
Inner Me: Technically I'm trending in three magical tabloids.
Professor Quilly slammed a thick scroll on the desk. "This is the Treaty of Scalebridge! You used it to wipe magical ink off your forehead!"
"It was enchanted to remove magical residue!" I protested.
"It's also 2,000 years old!"
Inner Me: So... antique AND useful. You're welcome?
Belladonna leaned in. "I told him not to."
Seraphina: "I told him with my eyes."
Me: "Everyone's so supportive."
The lizard diplomat, still silent, scribbled something on his clipboard. Occasionally, he'd glance at me and shake his head like I'd personally offended centuries of scaled heritage.
Which, to be fair, I had.
---
### Flashback: Two Hours Earlier — The Beginning of the End
The Academy was hosting its annual Cultural Exchange and Mild Political Tension Week. Fancy banners were everywhere. So were fragile egos.
The Lizardfolk Delegation arrived with honor guards, ceremonial dances, and a surprising appreciation for classical flute music. I was just trying to deliver a scroll.
Then Belladonna handed me a potion.
"For confidence," she said.
"Why is it glowing green?"
"Because confidence should be visible."
Inner Me: That should've been the warning sign.
I drank it. Immediate effect: Confidence. Secondary effect: Sparkles. Tertiary effect: Uncontrollable sneezing.
Cue me stumbling into the ceremonial chamber, sneezing into the sacred orb of historical memory, tripping on the hem of my ceremonial robe, and headbutting a 2,000-year-old treaty right off the stand.
Soundtrack: One collective gasp, a drum roll of horror, and the lizard ambassador whispering, "Blasphemy."
---
### Back to Detention - Present Day
"I'm assigning you to diplomatic remediation duty," Professor Quilly said, lips so thin they were becoming a theoretical concept. "You will personally apologize to the delegation at the Academy Garden tonight."
"What's the dress code?"
"Dignity."
Inner Me: So... I'm already underdressed.
Belladonna clapped. "Can I come? I want to see if lizards like fireworks."
"NO."
Seraphina: "I'll attend. To supervise."
Me: "Oh joy. It's a group apology."
---
### Later That Evening: Academy Garden of Glowing Shrubs and Political Apologies
The garden was gorgeous — moonlit paths, soft music from floating orbs, enchanted trees that whispered in polite tones.
It was also crawling with lizard dignitaries.
The lead ambassador, a tall creature with gold scales and terrifying reading glasses, stood waiting. Around him were various nobles pretending they weren't there for the drama.
Inner Me: I see you, Count Petyr. That's your third cucumber canapé.
I stepped forward.
"Ambassador R'zxilth, on behalf of Noble Academy and the Unfortunate Circumstances Department (me), I sincerely apologize for headbutting your people's cultural cornerstone."
He blinked slowly. "Accepted, on one condition."
"Name it."
"You must take part in our Ritual of Cultural Reconciliation."
Inner Me: That sounds fake and painful.
"What's involved?"
"A dance. In front of the entire delegation. Wearing these."
He produced a set of shimmering green scaleskin pants.
Me: "...I see."
Belladonna, who somehow showed up anyway: "I love this diplomacy."
Seraphina looked skyward. "He's going to do it. Isn't he."
---
### Moments Later: Regret Has Entered the Chat
The music started. The pants... squeaked. Every noble in the garden was now Very Invested. Some were taking notes.
"Begin," Ambassador R'zxilth said.
I began.
Sort of.
Inner Me: This is what it feels like to die twice.
The Ritual of Cultural Reconciliation, as it turned out, was mostly tail-wagging and interpretive stomping. I had no tail. So I improvised.
I did a dramatic spin. The pants screeched. Belladonna clapped. Seraphina refused to make eye contact.
Halfway through, I tripped over a vine and caught myself in a perfect squat pose that, apparently, was sacred to their people.
The crowd gasped.
Ambassador R'zxilth hissed in approval. "He knows the ancient stance!"
"I do? I mean — I do."
The music ended. Applause erupted.
A magical banner appeared overhead:
CULTURAL DIPLOMACY RESTORED. +10 ACADEMY REPUTATION
Inner Me: I survived. In pants.
---
### Post-Event Debriefing
Back in my dorm, still glowing from exertion (and shame), I collapsed onto my bed.
Belladonna: "I bottled some of your sweat."
Me: "Please don't do that."
Seraphina handed me a scroll. "The ambassador gifted you a lizard poem."
I unrolled it. It was... oddly moving. Also smelled like crickets.
"So," I said, staring at the ceiling, "am I a hero or a joke?"
Seraphina: "Yes."
Belladonna: "Both. And also a good dancer."
Inner Me: I need a vacation.
---