28 – Hunter introduces his employees to New Jersey-style conflict resolution

The Provost was the first person to arrive for the meeting. He appeared in a flurry of purple and black robes, then quickly produced a wide-brimmed black hat and a pair of sunglasses out of thin air like he’d already expected the room to be too bright.

“Morning,” Hunter called out, thinking to himself with approval that Moros dressed more like a wizard than anyone else here.

“President,” Moros replied, setting his things down at the chair next to the head of the table.

Hunter turned his attention back to his folio and began to flip through it again, but soon he was distracted by an unexpected sensation.

Turning around, he saw Moros had moved to stand behind him and was now holding one of Hunter’s ectoplasmic tentacles, which hung limp between his hands in a way reminiscent of a man trying to estimate the weight of a fish he’d just caught.

…

Fuck. He actually forgot he’d summoned those damn things.

Having them felt so normal that he’d stopped thinking about them once he’d stopped using them, and since he’d cut them all shorter, he hadn’t been able to see them in his peripheral vision. It wasn’t until now that he realized they’d been curled up behind his back this whole time, as though obediently waiting for him to remember they existed.

Moros, with that serene voice of his, hefted the tentacle into the air a little and then caught it again, murmuring, “Wow… so heavy.”

“… Excuse me?”

Now lifting the length of ectoplasm up to the light, the pale man squinted at it through his sunglasses and continued, “Such a consistent texture, too… no clumps, or bubbles, or… signs of degradation. The ectoplasm you produce is very high quality, you… should be proud.”

…

If Iphis had been the one doing any of this, Hunter would have smacked him without hesitation. 

However, something about Moros’ interest felt very innocent. Like a kid that’d stumbled upon a cool snake and couldn’t resist picking it up, even if it might mean getting bitten.

“Um, thanks? You know I can feel you doing that, right?”

“Yes, is it just pressure? Or do you have… any other senses through them?”

“… What?”

“Iphis can see and hear through his, if he wants to.”

“Oh, uh… yeah, I guess I could, if I wanted to,” Hunter replied, his initial reluctance to discuss this slowly being brushed aside by Moros’ sincere questioning.

“What about hardness? Can you make their surface more chitinous? Or give them teeth?”

“Yeah, but the harder they are the more brittle it gets, so it’s easier to just keep ‘em kinda gelatinous, you know?”

“Yes, the substance’s relative delicacy… is certainly its biggest disadvantage. However, yours must be comparatively strong, since… you restrained those people so easily.”

“Well, none of them were that tough, so if—wait a second, you… did you see all that earlier?”

“Yes, I watched from my office.”

“Then why didn’t you help?”

“Because I wanted to see what you would do,” Moros replied, blinking his light blue eyes like the answer was obvious. Then, casually bending the tentacle into a horseshoe shape, he asked, “Is six the most you can make… at this thickness? What’s the maximum number you can generate?”

“Uh, probably about eight, maybe, if I made them shorter, but any more than that and I’d have to make them thinner—no, hold on, why are you even asking me this? Are you an ectoplasm connoisseur or something?”

“One of my teachers was a necromancer, so I… learned a lot on the subject,” Moros replied, the corners of his lips curving ever so slightly upward, his quiet voice tinted with melancholy fondness. “He used to say he pitied pathetic lizards like me, who had to go through life with… only two hands. Of course, I can do something similar with water or earth, but… it’s not really the same.”

‘Not the same’ was something of an understatement. Unlike the materials Moros mentioned, ectoplasm was less like an external object and more like an extension of the necromancer's own body, something that grew with them over time, in many ways functioning more like a combination detachable limb and sensory organ than a spell. Originally Hunter found the concept somewhat gross, but now that he’d tried using it himself it didn’t feel weird at all.

It even smelled kind of nice, like a sea breeze, if the breeze in question also happened to be passing over a cemetery.

“You, uh, don’t do any necromancy yourself?”

“Sometimes the things we want to do aren’t the things we’re good at… anyway, it’s better that I didn’t learn. It would be useless to me now.” 

With an envious sigh, Moros stretched the tentacle out like pulling a rubber band.

They both watched as he let it go and it snapped back to its original size, which was coincidentally the moment Arch-healer Chiron arrived in the doorway.

He paused and took in the scene before him, then closed his eyes and took a breath to brace himself before saying, “Whatever this is, please finish up before the others arrive. You’re the top two representatives of this university. It’s your responsibility to maintain some decorum.”

Hunter, feeling embarrassed but unsure why, quietly un-summoned the tentacles and tossed the remains of his candy in a bin.

While Moros stepped aside to get tea, Hunter took a seat and said, “Hey, Chiron—“

“Yes, your daughter is very impressive. So impressive, in fact, that I’m continuously astounded she is in any way, shape, or form, related to someone like you.”

Hunter faked a cough and looked away in embarrassment.

After having breakfast with his daughter that morning, he may or may not have suffered the overwhelming urge to brag about her to someone, and since Iphis was ignoring him Chiron became the most obvious target.

“I was just going to ask where Hebe was. Also, can you un-block my messages?”

“Can you promise to only send me work-related messages?”

“How is discussing my daughter not work-related?”

Moros, his blonde brows furrowing, interjected to ask, “You two were discussing the Young Saint?”

“Not anything important. The President was just bragging about her past accomplishments,” Chiron grumbled.

“Oh."

Hunter explained, “I wasn’t trying to leave you out, I just wasn’t sure you’d be open to it. I can definitely brag to you about her in the future as well if you like.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

“So, Chiron, where’s Hebe?” Hunter asked.

“None of your business. Get your own damn cat.”

“She’s my employee now, too, I’m allowed to ask after my employee.”

Chiron’s jade green eyes sharpened, and Hunter wisely decided to stop pressing the matter. 

He could give Hebe her employee ID later. He’d considered just putting it on a ribbon, but Euphy told him cats had to have breakaway mechanisms on their collars for safety reasons, so it was probably better to go to town and buy one from a professional first.

“Enough nonsense. Tell me, how is the new cuff?” Chiron asked, pointing at his ear.

“Huh? Oh, it’s fine, I guess… I barely notice it at all.”

The silver ear cuff he was wearing today looked like a simple piece of jewelry, but was in fact the compromise he’d reached with Chiron and Calliope over the mana cuffs. Unlike those, it didn’t feel like wearing handcuffs, and it didn’t constantly restrict his mana. Plus, it came with a function that let him send for help in the event he suddenly had the demonic urge to eat somebody.

Unfortunately, it also let the Temple track him, which he wasn’t thrilled about, but they hadn’t been willing to budge on that aspect. He also suspected it had other functions he didn’t know about, but Chiron had refused to reveal anything else when he’d asked.

“That’s good, I suppose… I certainly wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable,” Chiron replied, his deep voice lowering further with sarcasm.

“Aww, come on, you’re not still feeling salty about the demon thing, are you?” Hunter asked, unable to resist whispering even though he knew this room came equipped with anti-eavesdropping measures.

“I’m sorry, should I be thanking you for spending a week selfishly putting everyone here at risk?” 

“Chiron,” Moros smoothly interjected, depositing a cup of tea in front of each of them before taking his own seat, “I’m sure the Lady was well aware of… both the demon, and the President’s personality… when She sent him here. Do you really believe She would endanger us all… so recklessly?”

Chiron hesitated, his eyes narrowing, then admitted, “Even if She did, it’s the principle of the matter.”

“Do you think it’s possible that… you’re letting your dislike of Ianthe affect your attitude towards Hunter?” Moros pressed, dropping his sunglasses slightly to regard Chiron from under his thick blonde lashes.

With a scowl, Chiron looked away and only replied, “Hmph.”

Hunter, who’d been watching this exchange in mild confusion, felt like there was something very different about Moros today.

People’s reactions to finding out about his demonic possession had been mixed. Calliope seemed to find it entertaining, Chiron had yelled at him a lot and was still being sour about it, and Iphis had vanished from campus without a word and wouldn’t respond to any of his messages.

In contrast to all of that, Moros… seemed to have warmed up to him?

It was as though a great deal of the unspoken coldness he’d exhibited towards Hunter in their earlier interactions had miraculously melted away. Now out of the blue he was willing to engage in small talk with him, bring him tea, and even defend him to his superior, and Hunter had no idea why.

“Oh, that reminds me. Moros, are you already looking into this?” Hunter asked, opening his folio and pointing at Anemone’s notes.

Looking it over, Moros’ expression took on the old chill Hunter was more familiar with, and something dark flickered in his eyes as he muttered, “Oh… that. Yes, I’ve already started my investigation. Why do you ask?”

“‘Coz I wanna give those kids their spots back. Figured I might as well do it in the meeting. Would you mind?”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share the details, but otherwise no… I don’t. Will you need my…  support during the meeting?” Moros asked, and something in his tone made it sound like he was offering to hold someone down so Hunter could hit them.

Cheered by the Provost’s open blood-thirst, Hunter happily replied, “If you wanna, sure, help is always appreciated. Actually, that reminds me, I wanted to…”

He’d been about to ask Moros if he knew what was going on with Iphis’ disappearance, but he stopped himself, feeling a little torn.

On the one hand, Iphis could be considered his friend sort of, and Hunter could tell that the guy was pretty sensitive when it came to demons, so not reaching out to make amends felt inconsiderate.

On the other, he’d only lied because Iphis had threatened him, and he didn’t feel like that was something he should have to apologize for.

“Uh, I wanted to say that your robes look really nice today, but I think they’d be even nicer if you got some little silver stars embroidered on ‘em or something.”

Taking his suggestion seriously, Moros’ expression calmed once again as he examined one of his sleeves. “Oh, I see… Yes, I suppose that would be pretty.” 

Pleased, Hunter was just about to recommend an embroiderer Ianthe liked when another person arrived for the meeting.

Selene, who was dressed today in all white with her long silver hair tossed in a braid over one shoulder, stopped in the doorway when she spotted Hunter and flashed a brilliant smile.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon, President. You should have said something, I would have brought you a gift to celebrate.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Then, I take it that means we’re still on for Saturday? Since I hadn’t heard from you yet, I was worried you weren’t feeling well, and might cancel…”

He did not miss the subtle threat in her saccharine tone, and pretended not to see the curious looks Chiron and Moros were giving him.

Currently, Hunter didn’t plan to share his blackmail issue with them unless he had to. He was already in enough hot water over this demon problem, and felt that the last thing he needed was one of Ianthe’s unresolved crimes ending up his responsibility as well.

“I’ll send you something tonight.”

“Thank you, President. I look forward to hearing from you,” she replied, then nodded to Chiron and Moros before she went to take a seat further down.

A few more people began to trickle in after Selene, and Hunter pretended to look over the folio some more, ignoring the way Moros' stare grew more and more pointed.

Since Hunter refused to acknowledge him, Moros eventually opened his own folio, pulled out a pen, and wrote something down on it. He slid it over slightly so that Hunter would be forced to see it, and to his surprise it read:

do you already know she’s a demonic contractor?

… Wait, really?

There weren’t a ton of people willing to form contracts with demons, even among the Order. While demons could offer immense power, the prices they demanded weren’t for the squeamish, and they had a reputation for turning on their partners given the slightest opportunity.

While he’d been suspicious of Selene from the start, she really hadn’t struck as stupid or crazy enough to be into that kind of thing.

Pulling out his own pen, Hunter wrote back,

She’s one of our employees, so why didn’t you mention that before? Isn’t that shit super fucking dangerous???

To which Moros replied,

it was a secret. and yes, but she’s a special case, temple approved. just be careful.

Gritting his teeth, he shot Moros a frosty glare.

How in the world could something like that be Temple-approved? Sure, the Temple was willing to work with him, but they’d thrown a huge hissy fit first and he wasn’t even an actual demon!

Whatever the explanation was, he doubted it would be short, so he went back to ignoring Moros and tried to get in the right headspace for getting along with his new subordinates.

Euphy had given him a lot to think about in regards to Ianthe’s reputation, and having already tangled with one group of idiots who thought they could take advantage of him that morning, he had to admit she made some good points.

Plus, he was the big boss now, and he believed that any big boss worth their salt had to be at least a little scary, both to keep their people in line and to discourage outsiders from messing with them.

So, with all that in mind, he decided the best course of action would be to treat everyone he wasn’t close to like they owed him money.

This probably wasn’t fair to them, but it was the only way he could think of to stop himself from trying to befriend his new subordinates because, quite frankly, some of them were prime fucking friendship material. 

For example, the recently arrived Dean of the Arts College, Baron Magnes, was a chubby man with dark brown skin, short curly pink hair, and a big jaunty mustache. The energetic little fellow was chattering a mile a minute while ping-ponging around his much taller wife, Baroness Phryne, who was the Dean of the College of Warfare and, as far as Hunter could tell, part bear.

Her forearms were the most obvious giveaway, as they were covered in brown fur and ended in paw-like hands tipped in frighteningly long black claws. In fact, most of her could be described as frightening, from her stern pale face to the way she set aside the battle axe she’d carried in like it was a toy, but something about this in contrast with the two cute, rounded furry ears sticking up out of her thick hair was strangely adorable.

Hunter already knew that every dean here had been born into nobility except for the pink-mustachioed Magnes, who had only joined those ranks by marrying Phryne, and considering how stratified this society was, he felt there must be some incredible story behind their romance. 

What was their meet-cute like? How had they decided to date? Had this tiny man wooed this ursine Baroness or had it been the other way around? 

Hunter wanted to know, no, he had to know, and only the responsibility he felt as a big boss prevented him from rushing over to try and wring the tale out of them.

Another person who caught his attention was High Priestess Lanassa, the Dean of the College of Divinity, which was the only college that ran with oversight from the Temple. She was an elegant, middle-aged Thymimatan woman with deep copper skin and long mustard-colored hair, and she stood out to him not because she was weird, but because she wasn't.

According to Ianthe’s memories, Lanassa was a strict, humorless person who never smiled or messed around. Compared to the collection of nutcases he’d met working for the Temple so far, she seemed so normal that he was almost tempted to ask her if she’d ever met Saint Calliope, and if so, how did she reconcile her serious approach to theology with the fact that her church was currently being led by a kooky demon-eating four-armed granny?

And on the off chance that she hadn’t met Calliope yet, he really wanted her to and, more importantly, he wanted to be there to see it.

Should he throw a dinner party? They might not like the idea of eating with him, but would any of them have the balls to say no if he invited them anyway?

He was distracted from this thought as the final dean arrived. Eurydice, the Dean of the College of Theoretical Magic, was carried into the room by her secretary.

On a perch.

Because she was a bird.

Alright, technically the huge bright green parrot-looking thing in front of him was Eurydice’s familiar, and supposedly the real Eurydice was busy doing research in the field and was only using the bird to communicate with the office from a distance. 

In fact, the bird was even wearing a mana-stone studded collar for this exact purpose.

However, Hunter didn’t buy it. He suspected this world was just trying to fool him again, so while he had no proof and there was nothing in Ianthe’s memories that supported his theory, he was nevertheless instantly convinced that this situation was a coverup and that the bird was the real dean. 

This stupid idea made him so excited that he had to take out a pen and bite it to keep his expression from breaking.

That’s it: no matter what, he was going to find an excuse to throw a dinner party, and he was sure as hell inviting the fucking bird.

While he’d received a few tentative greetings and well-wishes as the deans arrived, none of them were happy to see him back other than Selene, and their attitudes towards the Provost were obviously warmer. With this in mind, he kept his mouth shut and gestured for Moros to kick off the meeting. Once things got rolling, he pretended like he was writing notes and quickly shared his suspicion about the bird with Moros.

There is no human dean, right? That bird is the real dean, I’m willing to bet money on it.

As Dean Lanessa launched into her review of the College of Divinity's fall plans, Moros looked down and read Hunter’s query with a soft frown. For a moment Hunter thought he’d ignore it, but then he wrote back,

no.

Hunter felt disappointed. He’d been hoping Moros might play around with him a little, but it looked like he wasn’t as silly as his boyfriend was.

Also, why did this guy insist on using punctuation but wouldn’t capitalize anything? It reminded him of how Euphy used to text.

Before Hunter could respond, Moros reclaimed the paper and wrote some more,

the human eurydice is real, but her mind was mostly destroyed by a psychic attack. the bird eurydice puppets that body occasionally, but prefers not to.

…

Holy crap, was that true!?

Hunter furiously wrote back, Really? Why? How?

In response, Moros wrote, yes. for revenge. a tiny helmet.

Hunter stared hard at Moros.

He wanted to believe this guy was fucking with him, but throughout the entire exchange Moros’ expression hadn’t flickered even once.

On top of that, he still wasn’t entirely sure what was and wasn’t possible here, so maybe a bird in a tiny mind-control helmet wasn’t out of the question…?

No, hold on, the real question was, did Moros have a sense of humor? He looked like a man who didn’t, but so had Jessie, and she’d been one of the funniest people Hunter knew. She’d used her naturally serious face and monotone voice to fuck with people relentlessly, convincing them of all sorts of ridiculous lies. 

Having dated a woman whose sense of humor had a learning curve like a brick wall, Hunter refused to believe that he couldn’t figure out Moros.

In a flurry, their subsequent exchange went back and forth, starting with Hunter:

Are you pulling my leg? 

i am not touching you at all.

I meant are you fucking with me!? 

no.

I didn’t mean literally!

i know.

What the fuck do you have against capitalizing letters?

don’t want to risk being overheard.

…

Hunter snorted, then quickly covered it up with a cough. 

So far, he still couldn’t figure out how this guy's brain worked. Not only did he still have no idea if the bird thing was real or not, but his pen ran out of ink, and so he was forced to give up this line of questioning.

To his immense disappointment, when it was Eurydice’s turn to present her secretary handled the whole thing so the bird didn’t have to, after which Moros dismissed them both from the room, since even if the bird was a familiar, animals and long serious meetings rarely got along.

The presentations continued, and with nothing else to do Hunter entertained himself by twirling the empty pen until, finally, they got to the final one.

Hegias, the Dean of the College of Humanities, was a pale man of average build in his seventies. His drooping eyes, bushy blue-grey beard and long wispy hair made him look like an affable grandfather.

However, this positive impression only lasted until he opened his mouth, at which point it became clear that he was the kind of person who assumed that everyone around him was always doing it wrong, and that they ought to be grateful that he’d shown up to fix things.

Usually when given an opportunity to speak Hegias would take far longer than necessary to say a lot of simple things in overly complex ways, but today he sped through his presentation in record time. When he reached the subject Hunter had been waiting for, he glossed over it so quickly and leapt to the next that Hunter nearly missed it. Interrupting him with a sharp rap to the table, Hunter spoke up.

“Hold on, Dean Hegias. I want to discuss the change you made to the expedition roster.”

A startled silence fell in the wake of his words. 

He’d been so quiet for so long that a few of the deans who’d dared relax in his presence now tensed back up.

“Pardon?” Hegias replied and then, making a show of innocently looking back over things, “Ah, yes, I see. Indeed, there was a slight change, as two common students voluntarily withdrew, but we have runners up who have already agreed to replace them—”

“I don’t recall agreeing to that. I say the list stays as is,” Hunter said, giving his pen another lazy spin.

Despite the fact that it had run dry it was, Hunter thought, a very nice fountain pen. A little heavy, but well-balanced, and as he awaited a reply he pressed the pad of his thumb against its metal nib, finding it to be firm and sharp.

“That… well…  You usually leave these things up to the colleges, don't you?” 

The expedition they were referring to was one of the university's oldest and most popular programs. Twice a year, each college would select ten of its top students and send them, alongside some staff and investors, to a weeklong field study at one of the country’s many pre-Covenant ruins. On paper, the idea was to give them a chance to connect with and explore the country’s long history firsthand.

In reality, it was more like a networking event that doubled as a treasure hunt. 

Ruins sometimes contained valuable knowledge and artifacts, but the cost it took to explore them with any level of safety was so high that many of them still remained largely untouched. Because of this, most students and their families saw these expeditions as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to stumble upon fortune and fame, and there were quite a few examples of past alumni who’d managed to do exactly that.

Which was also why the program had persisted throughout the years despite being, without question, the most dangerous and expensive event the school was willing to get behind.

More than one past President had tried to cancel the damn thing, but its ridiculous popularity meant none had succeeded, which meant Hunter was now saddled with the responsibility. While the good news was that this was the only program that required his direct oversight, the bad news was that this was because expeditions were the university’s top source of student casualties every year. 

While there were plenty of things he could fob off on his subordinates, sadly, ‘Sorry your precious child got eaten by a monster’ wasn’t one of them.

“The list was finalized last semester. Any students who want to withdraw at the last minute, or replace someone who withdrew, need to come speak to me first. Otherwise, it’s not approved,” Hunter said in a cold voice, his tone making it clear that his stance was final.

What he did not say was that he already knew something fishy was going on.

According to the notes Anemone had left him, she’d noticed the roster change while compiling folios for the meeting, and she’d worried that those common students didn’t realize the gravity of what they were giving up. Like the consummate busybody she was, she’d taken it upon herself to track them both down and confirm things in person and, after only a little probing, discovered that they’d both been threatened by an unknown party into withdrawing.

They also claimed that, while they’d sent in notices to Dean Hegias concerning their withdrawals, they’d never been contacted by his office for any follow-up even though that paperwork should have required their direct cooperation.

Paperwork that had, conveniently enough, been filed anyway.

Now, in Hegias’ defense, this didn’t mean there was any evidence yet that he was behind this. However, the fact that he’d failed to uncover something Hunter’s secretary had in only a few hours did mean that he was, at the very least, guilty of poor oversight and negligence.

However, the investigation into what was going on was now Moros’ responsibility, so those details didn’t matter too much to Hunter.

What really pissed him off was that he’d clearly given Hegias an order and, instead of just following it, the man had decided to challenge him in front of his other subordinates. 

Still, Hunter considered himself a fair man, so as long as Hegias was willing to back down now, he was willing to handle things privately. 

Hegias, disregarding the unspoken mercy he’d just been offered, instead continued to argue in a wounded tone.

“President, considering the risk involved, it’s natural for some students to get second thoughts, isn’t it? Furthermore, not filling those spots would be a waste of resources, right? And since the students who replaced them were both qualified runners up, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to swap them out. After all, selecting which students are qualified has always been under the purview of the deans in the past.”

After giving his pen one last measured twirl, Hunter flicked his wrist and threw it.

Across the table there was a sharp ‘thunk!’ followed by a subdued metallic hum as the pen planted itself like an arrow in its wooden surface, resting right up against the webbing between Hegias’ index and middle fingers.

Once again the room fell silent, and Hegias stared down in shock at the fine metal nib that had only just missed him.

“Sorry,” Hunter said. “My hand slipped.”

Sliding his chair back with a loud, grating noise, he stood up and leisurely walked to Hegias’ side. Leaning his hip against the table, he reached down for the pen and yanked it free of the wood. Taking a moment to inspect the nib, he saw that it was undamaged and smiled.

Then, since nobody had broken the silence, he prompted, “Go on, Dean Hegias. You were saying?” 

“I… well…”

Hegias trailed off, having belatedly realized he might have pushed too hard.

“Actually, maybe this is a good opportunity,” Hunter said, and then turned to address the rest of the room. “You’ve all heard about my recent injury, haven’t you? Provost, you must have informed them in my absence. How much did you tell them?”

Unbothered by this callout, Moros replied, “Only what most of them already knew, that… you’d suffered an injury to the head. It wouldn’t have been appropriate to share more… without your permission.”

Since rumors about his ‘injury’ were bound to spread regardless, Hunter felt it was best to address them directly. Trying to hide things would probably only make the rumors crazier and make people more interested, and since these subordinates already received a lot of public respect, he decided they could do the work of clearing things up for him.

“Thank you, Provost. Since I’m back now, I should probably take a moment to explain things, shouldn’t I? First of all, it’s true, I did hit my head. In fact, I hit it so hard that you might find I’m a little different from now on. You mighta noticed that my speech is a little messed up, that my handwriting is a lot worse, things like that.”

Tapping his finger to his skull, he continued, “However, my biggest issue is—sorry, Arch-healer Chiron, what did you diagnose me with again?”

The Arch-healer, far less willing to be dragged into things than Moros was, grumbled, “Retrograde amnesia.”

Keeping an eye on the deans’ reactions, Hunter noticed that there was quite a bit of genuine surprise at this news, especially from Selene, who was so shocked that she dropped her teacup. The liquid splashed across her folio and the table, and she muttered a soft apology as she hurriedly used a cantrip to clean it up. 

Hegias, however, was not surprised—or at least, not convincingly. He widened his eyes as though he was, but none of his microexpressions followed suit, and Hunter took this to mean that someone, somewhere along the line, had already leaked his private medical information.

As though he hadn’t noticed anything, Hunter snapped his fingers and pointed at Chiron, saying, “That’s it! Retrograde amnesia, that’s the one. Basically, I’ve forgotten some of my past—not all of it, but enough to be troublesome—so I’m going to have to ask everyone here to be patient with me as I get back into things, and help me if you see I’m struggling. Actually.”  Hunter paused, his amiable smile widening to reveal his pointed canines. “Dean Hegias, I’d appreciate it if you could help me out right now, because I think I might be missing something.”

Smiling ingratiatingly back at him as though the awkwardness with the pen was already forgotten, Hegias quickly replied, “Of course, my Lady, that’s no problem. What are you having trouble with?”

“Well, it’s just… for the life of me, I can’t recall why when I told you to do something, you didn’t just say ‘yes, President,’ and fucking do it.”

The atmosphere in the meeting, which had only just begun to thaw, chilled once again. A few people shifted uncomfortably in their seats, and someone let out an awkward cough.

“Well? Is that the way things are usually done around here?” Hunter asked, his overly warm tone now laced with subtle menace. “Or maybe you think that since I hit my head, I’m fucking stupid now? That you don’t have to worry about following my orders anymore?”

To be honest, he wasn’t sure if this particular scheme had always been in the works, or if someone had cooked it up special for him once they’d heard about his injury.

Either way, it didn’t matter. All sorts of people had been messing with him since he’d gotten here, and he was sick to fucking death of it. 

Since they weren’t going to be polite, then neither would he.

“That—of course I wouldn’t think that! I just thought you might be open to a conversation—”

In one swift movement Hunter grabbed Hegias by his collar, half-dragging him out of his seat as he leaned close to his face and roared, “DID I SAY I WAS OPEN TO CONVERSATION, YOU PRETENTIOUS LITTLE PISS-WEASEL!?”

Hegias gaped in shock and grabbed feebly at Hunter’s hands, too surprised and confused by this turn of events to respond.

“HEY! I asked you a question, you limp-dicked son of a bitch, did I ask for a fucking conversation or didn’t I!?”

“No! No, I just thought—”

“You thought, huh?” Hunter sneered, giving Hegias a shake. “No, the only thing you thought is that you knew better than me, right? You think you’re a real fucking wise guy, is that it!? If you wanna treat me like an invalid then have the balls to say it to my fucking face! Go on, say it you slimy, worthless paskudnyak!¹an odious scoundrel”

“Uh—uhhh—”

Half-choked by his own collar, Hegias threw a desperate look at his coworkers, pleading with his eyes for help.

Unfortunately for him, nobody jumped to his defense.

This was partly because Ianthe’s status was so high that stepping in might significantly complicate their own lives, and partly because none of them had witnessed New Jersey-style fury before and simply weren’t equipped to handle it.

They’d all been raised in a society where one was expected to smile and speak politely even to one’s worst enemy, whereas Hunter had been raised to believe that shouting over one another at full volume while throwing things was a normal method of conflict resolution. 

Even Chiron and Moros, who knew Hunter better than anyone else here, were shocked into silence, although the latter recovered quickly and proceeded to pull out a journal and take notes.

Ignoring all of this, Hunter hissed, “Listen to me, you mediocre scum-sucking little motherfucker, if I want you to talk I’ll fucking ask you to talk, and if I want you to do something I’ll tell you to fucking do something! Do you think you can get that through that thick fucking skull of yours, or do you need me to drill a hole for you!?”

Hegias, who by now could only gasp and sputter thanks to the hands and collar restricting his airways, nodded helplessly with a reddened face.

Unconvinced, Hunter pulled Hegias close enough to nearly bite his nose as he gnashed, “Step out of line again and I will drag your saggy old ass to the closest dueling ring and personally remove every single one of your teeth, I swear to fucking God!”

His final shout hung in the air for a moment as Hunter, his teeth bared and his face flush with exertion, took a breath so he could start on another round.

However, before he could get anything out, a soft voice chimed out.

“President… maybe there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Just like that, the room’s collective attention shifted to Moros.

The majority of the dean’s expressions showed pity or concern, but only Chiron was considerate enough to try gesturing at Moros not to interfere.

Hunter, his windup interrupted, paused and looked at Moros, asking, 

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” Moros responded. 

Then, as though he was in no particular hurry, he pulled a cloth from his sleeve, removed his sunglasses, and began to wipe them before continuing. 

“I think it’s possible that… perhaps Dean Hegias argued with your decision not because he thought he could take advantage of your injury, but rather… as a misguided attempt to save you the extra meetings and paperwork, knowing that you were in recovery.”

Still holding onto Hegias, Hunter narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, an action which to everyone else made it seem as though he was thinking of turning his ire on Moros instead.

However, inside he was actually delighted.

His idea of what constituted ‘effective management’ had been unconsciously shaped by his time working with various gangs, the military, and the PTA. While this autocratic style of leadership had some advantages, its biggest disadvantage was that a leader who frightened his subordinates into dishonesty was bound to run into trouble.

Thus, having a good right-hand man was crucial.

The best kind of right-hand man was still respected, but approachable in a way the big boss wasn’t. He functioned as a buffer between the boss and the lower ranks and could honestly convey information back and forth without upsetting either side, and most importantly of all, he could be relied upon to reign in the lunatic at the top whenever it was truly necessary.

Hunter hadn't expected Moros to grasp all of this without being told, but as far as he was concerned, things couldn’t have gone better even if they’d planned it. Moros was clearly a natural lieutenant, and finding this out made some of the frustration he’d felt at falling out with Iphis fade.

With that in mind, even though Moros’ suggestion was obviously bullshit, Hunter decided to play along.

Turning his attention to Hegias, he solemnly asked, “Is what the Provost suggested true?”

Finally seeing a way out of his predicament, Hegias found his voice again and desperately wheezed, “Yes! A—a misunderstanding! It was a misunderstanding, I swear!”

“Huh.”

Hunter paused, clicked his tongue thoughtfully, and let go of Hegias. 

Then just as abruptly he laughed, slapped the dean on his back and said, “Well shit, buddy, if that was the case, why didn’t you just say so?”

“I… uh… huuu…” Hegias breathed out, rubbing at his neck and flinching away from Hunter’s friendly pats. 

“Oh man, here I was, thinkin’ you were trying to bust my balls in front of all these nice people, but you were just trying to do me a solid,” Hunter continued, smiling as though he and Hegias were good friends again to the bewilderment and hesitant relief of the rest of the deans. 

In truth, he was about as grateful for Moros’ interruption as they were. He really didn’t have the arm strength to comfortably lift this guy, so he’d been subtly reinforcing his arms with ectoplasm beneath his sleeves the whole time, and the constriction had left them feeling a bit numb and tingly.

Moros, still appearing entirely unaffected by everything that had happened so far, said, “Dean Hegias… while your concern is admirable, in the future, if you’re not close with someone, then you ought to ask them what kind of help they want first. Otherwise… you risk burdening them with your assumptions.”

Rubbing at his reddened throat, Hegias reluctantly murmured, “Yes, Provost… thank you for the advice, I’ll keep that in mind… and, and President, I apologize for my… rudeness earlier…”

Hunter reached out and helped Hegias fix his collar, consoling, “Hey pal, don’t worry about it, alright? Really, I was just kidding around, it’s not like I’d really do anything to you—well, nothing that would leave evidence, anyway, am I right?”

He then cracked up at his last comment even though no one else did because as fun as yelling at Hegias had been, he wasn’t kidding. After all the stress he'd endured he really was about a hair’s breadth from snapping, and for a second back there he’d nearly thrown that pen at Hegias instead of the table.

“If you’d asked me earlier, I woulda told you that I don’t mind meeting some kids, that all I really want is for this place to keep running smoothly, okay? So like I was saying, the list stays as is.” Then, addressing the rest of the room as he returned to his seat, he added, “And if anyone else has any cute ideas on how to help me ‘recover’, I’d suggest shelving them now, because the next person who pisses me off is going to get my fist down their throat.”

Then he smiled to reassure them that he meant this in a friendly, non-fatal way.

After all, they were his new underlings. He didn’t want to hurt them, he just wanted them to avoid making his life harder.

“President, I think we’ve covered just about everything… unless there was anything else you wanted to touch on?” Moros asked, tucking his journal back into his sleeves.

Hunter took a look at the clock on the wall and said, “No, no, I’m good. And, hey, it looks like we finished the meeting early, that’s nice. Why don’t you all take the extra time to relax? Have a snack or something, take a little walk, it’s a really nice day out.”

Freed from this hellish meeting, his subordinates quickly began to make their exit while Hunter pretended not to see the intense glare Chiron was giving him.

Instead, he tried to estimate if it would be worth it to go back to his office and sneak in a nap before lunch. He felt like he'd earned it.