The Cursed Extra-Chapter 65: [2.13] The Eyes That See Too Much

"The worst kind of teacher isn’t the one who ignores you. It’s the one who actually pays attention."

***

"I’m not going to coddle you." Isolde addressed the whole room, but her eyes kept landing on specific faces. Mine included. "I’m not going to whisper sweet lies about how special you all are. That inspirational garbage works for the golden children in the other houses because they’ve got resources and connections to back it up."

She took another drink. The flask was getting lighter. The booze didn’t seem to touch her at all. Her eyes stayed sharp. Her movements stayed steady. Whatever the alcohol was doing to her long-term, right now it was just part of how she operated.

"But you don’t have that luxury. None of you were born with silver spoons. Or if you were, someone took them away and beat you over the head with them." She let that land. "So I’ll teach you to fight instead. To think. To turn your weaknesses into weapons your opponents never see coming."

She moved to the center of the room. Somehow she filled the whole space despite being shorter than half the students. It was a confidence thing. An authority thing. The way she carried herself had nothing to do with size and everything to do with the sheer force of will packed into her frame.

"Some of you will wash out. You’ll decide the struggle isn’t worth it. That’s fine. I won’t chase you."

Her tone made it clear this wasn’t permission. It was just fact. Chasing quitters wasn’t worth her time.

Her gaze swept across us again. When it hit me, my mask felt paper-thin. I could almost feel her attention pressing against my act.

"But some of you will surprise everyone. Including yourselves." A ghost of a smile. "That’s what I’m betting on."

The Queenmaker’s Gamble. She’s not just teaching us. She’s investing. Looking for that one percent. The singular asset that’ll pay back everything she lost and more.

Theron Ashworth leaned forward. My target. The boy whose death I was here to prevent because his survival would derail a major plot point and buy me breathing room. His earlier nervousness had sharpened into something focused. Whatever shame his family’s scandal left him, he wasn’t the wallowing type.

"What do you want from us, Professor?"

"Everything." No hesitation. No qualifiers. "Your effort. Your attention. Your willingness to push past whatever pathetic limits currently define you and find out what you’re actually capable of when someone stops accepting your excuses."

Another drink. The flask was almost empty now.

"In return, I’ll give you something no other professor can offer."

"Which is?" Marcus asked. His earlier indignation had turned to wary curiosity.

Isolde’s smile went full predator. All teeth. "A chance to prove everyone who ever doubted you completely wrong."

Whispers broke out across the room. The energy shifted. Students who’d walked in expecting abandonment suddenly faced a professor who saw their outcast status as an advantage.

Brilliant psychology. Take the thing they’re most ashamed of and reframe it as strength. Don’t make them forget their failures. Teach them to turn those wounds into armor.

If I can make myself interesting enough to warrant her personal attention... The Queenmaker could be my wild card. My trump suit. The piece that doesn’t fit on anyone else’s board.

But I have to be careful.

Someone this perceptive could see through my mask if I gave her reason to look close. I needed to be interesting without being suspicious. A puzzle she wanted to solve. A long-shot gamble worth investing in. Not a hidden threat worth removing.

Too pathetic and she’d write me off. Too competent and she’d wonder why everyone else missed it. I needed just enough spark to catch her attention while maintaining enough of the facade to explain why I’d slipped through the cracks.

"Any questions?" Isolde’s tone suggested she expected several. "I’ll even entertain existential crises, if you keep them brief."

A few nervous laughs. Nobody was sure if that was a joke.

Fen’s hand shot up. Her earlier fury had transformed into something sharper. "What makes you think any of us are actually worth the effort, Professor? You said yourself we’re the ones nobody wanted."

"Because you’re all here." Simple answer. Heavy meaning. "Not physically. Any idiot with connections can get enrolled. But mentally. Emotionally." She gestured at the room. "You’re here because some part of you believes you can be more than what others see. That kind of stubborn refusal to accept reality is extremely useful."

She pointed at Fen with her flask. "You could have stayed with whatever pack rejected you. Could have groveled for readmission. But you didn’t."

Fen’s ears went flat. Her tail froze. But she didn’t look away.

The flask moved to Marcus. "You could have given up after your family lost everything. Faded into obscurity as a clerk somewhere. But you didn’t."

Marcus straightened. Some of his shame hardened into something else.

To Theron. "You could have hidden behind your family’s scandal. Used it as an excuse to never try. But you didn’t."

Pain flickered behind my target’s eyes before settling into resolve.

Then her attention landed on me.

Those amber eyes locked onto mine, and my mask felt like tissue paper. The weight of her scrutiny was almost physical. Like fingers testing a wall for weak spots.

"And you," she said softly, "could have played the disappointing son forever. Coasted on what scraps of family reputation remain. Lived a quiet life of mediocrity. But you didn’t."

She sees something.

How much? What did I do to tip her off? A micro-expression? A moment of too-focused attention? The way I positioned myself in the room?

I widened my eyes. Let confusion show. A hint of fear. Easy emotions to fake when I was genuinely concerned about how much she’d already figured out.

"I... I’m not sure I understand, Professor."

The stammer came out just right. The tremor in my voice suggested a boy who wasn’t used to receiving attention. I dropped my gaze, then forced it back up. The behavior of someone trained to make eye contact but uncomfortable with it.

Isolde studied me. Her head tilted like she was examining me from a new angle.

The silence stretched. Seconds felt like hours. I could feel other students watching our exchange, curious why the professor had singled out the family coward.

"No," she said finally. Something like satisfaction in her voice. The corner of her mouth twitched upward. "I don’t suppose you do. Yet."

Yet.

That word did a lot of heavy lifting.

She’s not done with me. She’s just getting started.

I kept my expression appropriately confused. Kept my shoulders hunched. Let the moment pass like I didn’t understand what just happened.

But inside, alarm bells were screaming.

The Queenmaker has her eye on me. That’s either the best thing that could happen or the absolute worst.

Guess I’ll find out which.