Chapter 68: Innocent

Olivia's POV

I followed her to the classroom door and stood in the hallway, feeling uneasy.

The corridor was quiet. Muffled voices from inside leaked through the crack in the door, like they were being filtered through cloth.

Blair turned to face me. Her voice was low, but I heard every word clearly.

"Your defensive spell ability is strong. I saw it clearly today—the spell triggered precisely, the coverage was complete, and your reaction speed was fast. Not many students your age can do that."

The corners of my mouth lifted slightly. "Thank you, Professor."

It was the first time I'd actually cast a defensive spell. I hadn't even practiced it before. But this spell not only blocked harm once, it also earned the professor's approval.

That was huge encouragement for my magical abilities.

Still, Blair's expression was serious. She paused before speaking. "But I need to remind you—spells are meant to protect yourself, not to hurt others."

My blood ran cold in an instant. Not to hurt others?

I hadn't done anything. Dina was the one who ran into me. The defensive spell bounced her back. I didn't even move a finger. I held that potion bottle steady—didn't spill a drop. No one got hurt. No one bled. Dina just got knocked back and fell. Her elbow got a red mark that would fade in a bit.

But what if my defensive spell hadn't triggered? What if she had crashed into my arm and that highly alkaline stuff had splashed onto my skin?

Would she have called it "just an accident"? Would she have said "I was walking too fast"?

She wouldn't.

But now the person standing in the hallway getting lectured by the professor in that tone was me. What I got wasn't "you did the right thing," not "someone deliberately ran into you, good reaction." What I got was "spells aren't meant to hurt people."

As if I should have been the one who got hit. As if I should have been the one who almost got splashed with corrosive potion. As if I should have been the one who went flying for no reason.

So it's fine if I get hurt? It's fine if someone runs into me? It's fine if those cheerful "oops, sorry"s hit the back of my head? It's fine if paper balls ambush me from behind?

I was the one who always got hit, run into, gossiped about, had stories made up about me being "locked up by a dragon." I just wanted to protect myself.

When those things happened, no one ever came to me and asked, "Olivia, are you okay?"

But when I learned to protect myself, when my spell blocked something for me—the professor told me, "spells aren't meant to hurt people." Then why not investigate Dina's deliberate collision and punish her?

I stared at Blair, my voice carrying a hint of tears. "I didn't... I just wanted to protect myself."

She wasn't young. She had deep lines at the corners of her eyes and round-framed glasses on her nose. The look behind the lenses wasn't malicious—it could even be called kind. She was talking to me seriously, her tone patient, her manner calm, like an experienced elder reminding an overeager student.

But her kindness wasn't directed at "Dina almost hurt me." It was directed at "my spell hurt someone."

She didn't care about right or wrong, only about the result—someone fell, someone was upset, someone needed to be comforted.

And I was "the person who cast the spell."

I opened my mouth, wanting to defend myself a bit more.

That sentence—"What if it had been me who got splashed? What if I was the one who got hurt?"—went around in my throat a few times before I finally swallowed it back.

Forget it. Saying it wouldn't change anything.

She wouldn't take it back. She wouldn't withdraw that reminder. She wouldn't stand in front of the whole class tomorrow and say, "Olivia didn't do anything wrong." She would think she had already handled it fairly—acknowledged your spell ability, also pointed out your problem. Fifty strokes each. Not favoring anyone.

But I hadn't done anything wrong from start to finish. Protecting yourself isn't a mistake.

I stood in the hallway, wind blowing on the back of my neck. Cold.

The whispering in the classroom continued. Occasionally a few words drifted out—"spell," "bounced her away," "Dina's elbow is red"—all fragments that couldn't form a complete truth, but every piece pointed in one direction: someone made a move, someone got hurt. And most people didn't care who ran into whom first.

"Go back to class." After Blair said that, she turned and went back into the classroom first.

I stood in the hallway for three more seconds.

I went over that unspoken sentence in my mind one more time.

"...What if I had really gotten hurt?"

No one answered.

The hallway was quiet.

I took a breath, pressed it down to my chest, to my stomach, to the soles of my feet. I turned it into something heavy under me, walked back to the classroom, and sat back down in my seat by the wall.

Some people were still looking at me. Some had already turned their heads back. Dina sat in a back seat by the window, head down, and didn't lift it again for the rest of class.

I opened my textbook, picked up my quill, and continued taking notes. My fingertips didn't shake, but something inside me grew a little colder.

That evening, I didn't go back to the dorm on time. Instead, I went to the back mountain. It was quiet there—quiet enough for me to calm down properly.

Light footsteps came from behind me. I didn't turn around.

It was Ethan. He sat down beside me, not saying anything at first, just sitting quietly. Then he reached out and pulled me into his arms. I leaned on his shoulder, my eyes wet, tears scattered by the wind.

I held back the sob in my voice and asked, trying to sound calm.

"How did you know I was here?"