The Magical Item Innovation classroom was almost exactly what Cleo had expected from the name alone—almost.

The air was thick with the scent of metal, the tang of oil mingling with the faint aroma of burned wood. Gears, cogs, and delicate springs filled clear glass jars lined neatly on the shelves, their brass and silver gleaming under the overhead lanterns. 

A long wooden table stood behind the professor’s desk, covered with an assortment of tools—screwdrivers, wooden hammers, tiny clamps, and devices whose uses Cleo could only guess at. They were arranged with precision, as if someone had taken great care to keep them under strict supervision.

But among the machinery, one thing stood out almost immediately.

A golden, three-tailed fox sat at the professor’s desk, nearly as large as a full-grown hound. Its fur shimmered as though woven from sunlight, and its deep sapphire eyes locked onto Cleo’s the moment she stepped inside. The fox inclined its head in greeting, tails flicking lazily over the edge of the chair it had claimed.

“Professor Vexley isn’t here yet?” Celeste asked, pausing mid-step before breaking into a smile. “Well, it’s nice to see you again, Quillon!”

The fox—Quillon—let out a soft chuff of acknowledgment, his tails swishing lightly as Celeste passed by. Cleo wasn’t sure if the gesture was amusement or exasperation.

Students filtered into the room in clusters, some buzzing with excitement, others dragging their feet. A handful looked as if they’d rather be anywhere else. But there was still no sign of their professor.

“Typical.”

“Has she ever been on time yet this week?”

“Nope, don’t think so. Wanna bet on how late she’ll be this time?”

The boys in the back erupted into quiet laughter, their hushed voices rising with their amusement. Cleo caught the glint of silver coins exchanging hands.

Without warning, a thunderous boom shattered the idle chatter.

The entire class flinched as Quillon stomped his paw onto a charcoal-black disk embedded in the desk, seemingly the source of the strange noise.

“Argh! Dang it! You’re gonna kill my hearing, you dumb fox!” One of the boys—Derek, Cleo recognized him from Potion Making—clutched his ears, his face twisted in irritation.

Celeste muttered under her breath, “It’s not like you didn’t deserve it.”

It wasn’t quiet enough.

“Huh?! What’s that supposed to mean, cursed girl?!” Derek’s face turned a blotchy shade of red, eyes bulging as his voice thundered across the room.

Cleo tilted her head, observing his outburst with detached amusement. ‘He looks like he ate something sour and started choking on it at the same time. How scary.’

A sharp slam echoed through the classroom as Lily smacked her hands against the desk, twisting in her seat to face Derek. 

He flinched.

“You’re such a jerk, Derek! All she did was tell the truth, so why are you bullying her? Unless…”

She giggled, letting the words hang in the air.

Derek’s eye twitched. “Wh—unless what?!”

Before Lily could respond, a strange noise interrupted. A fluttering sound, stiff and mechanical, echoed from the hallway. The class fell silent.

Cleo’s brows furrowed. ‘What is that?’

A moment later, a small mechanical bird darted into the classroom, soaring in tight circles above Quillon. Its metallic wings beat out of sync, clicking faintly with each movement.

Quillon flicked an eye toward it but remained unimpressed. His gaze shifted then to the door, where another sound followed—rapid footsteps pounding against the floor.

“Wai—haaaa! Wait for me, Prototype #7!”

A woman’s voice, breathless and desperate.

‘It’s too early for this nonsense.’

Cleo’s head snapped toward Quillon, her eyes widening as his voice echoed in her mind. She wasn’t the only one startled. Even Kiki’s fur bristled in shock beside her.

‘Before you ask, no, he doesn’t typically do that,’ Kiki said to Cleo. ‘He must be so fed up with his master’s antics that he couldn’t control himself.’

At last, the professor stumbled into the room.

Her mint-green hair was gathered into a lazy ponytail, strands falling loose around her flushed face. Square red glasses perched precariously on her nose, looking as if they were clinging for dear life. 

Her sky-blue eyes, rimmed with exhaustion, darted around frantically, searching for something. Dark circles shadowed her features, the unmistakable mark of someone who hadn’t slept—or even eaten—properly in days.

A scientist through and through.

Cleo suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for Quillon.

Vexley bent over, bracing her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. The mechanical bird, Prototype #7, perched gracefully atop her head as if it belonged there.

The boys in the back exchanged barely contained snickers, some clutching their stomachs in silent laughter. Even Celeste pressed her lips together, forcing herself to look away. 

Meanwhile, Ophelia had already begun doodling the spectacle as Siren's eyes locked onto the professor and glowed softly.

“Shoo! Get on the desk, not my head! I have a class to teach!” Vexley flailed her hands, trying to dislodge the bird.

Quillon, seemingly done with the situation, stood from the desk and trotted toward the window, curling up in a patch of warm sunlight. But despite his relaxed posture, Cleo could tell he was ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

Vexley let out a groan as she stood upright and sat in the chair previously occupied by Quillon.

“Sorry for the wait, students! I hope I didn’t make you wait too long this time, but as you can see, #7 got away from me during a flight test and, um…”

Her voice trailed off.

She patted her white coat pockets again. Then again. And then—

“…I seem to have lost my wand…”

The last part was barely audible, but Quillon’s ears twitched violently at the admission. Without hesitation, he leapt to his feet and sprinted out the door, his tails whipping behind him like golden banners.

Vexley sighed. “Thank you, my friend!” Then, clapping her hands together, she beamed at the class, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

“Now! Who’s ready to craft something fun?”

The glint in her eyes sent a shiver down Cleo’s spine.

She wasn’t sure whether to be excited or terrified.

To be continued…