Chapter 2: The Art of Bowing

Miss Mak. Report to the second-year training hall immediately following your first class. We need to discuss the incident. — K. Ji-hoon.

"Should I bring a helmet?" she muttered in Polish.

Seo-yeon, perched on the edge of Anna’s desk, was already organizing a rescue plan involving emergency rice cakes and possibly a fake allergic reaction. "Anna, this is not the sort of meeting where people come out taller. You must bow. Not just 'thinking bow,' but full body, ninety degrees, at least three Mississippis.”

Anna considered this. "Is it better to count in Mississippis or in Korean?"

"Count in your head. Don’t say it out loud," Seo-yeon advised, then, after a beat, "Actually, don’t say anything in your head either. Just… bow. I’ll wait in the hallway. For moral support. And to call campus security if you catch fire."

By mid-morning, Anna’s nerves were marinating in dread. She fumbled through her first class, spilling water twice—mercifully, only on her own desk. At 10:59 sharp, she found herself outside the second-year training hall, clutching her acceptance letter like a rabbit clutching a carrot against a pack of foxes.

The air inside was warm, tinged with the mineral tang of burnt stone. Second-years lounged in clusters, all in crisp uniforms, their hair shining, shoes polished until Anna could see her own anxious face reflected in them. A few turned as she entered, whispers igniting like brushfires.

She tried a tentative smile—small mistake. One boy snorted so hard his friend had to slap him on the back.

Ji-hoon stood at the far end of the hall, framed dramatically by sunlight pouring through high windows. His uniform looked starched enough to serve as armor, and his hair was sculpted in a way Anna suspected involved both magic and industrial glue. As she approached, Ji-hoon’s eyes narrowed with the precision of a hawk considering whether its next meal had enough protein.

Anna paused a few paces away. Seo-yeon’s crash course replayed frantically: Bow. Say the words. Don’t fall over. She exhaled and executed a bow—perhaps a degree or two too ambitious—a full ninety degrees. She counted, quietly, in English: "One Poland, two Poland, three Poland."

Ji-hoon’s eyebrow twitched. Anna straightened, cheeks burning. "I apologize. Joesonghamnida, seonbae-nim. For splashing you. For not bowing. For existing, if that helps."

A hush fell. In the back, someone coughed and muttered, "At least she tried."

Ji-hoon regarded her with wintry patience, but beneath it lurked something else—a tiny flicker of amusement? No, surely not. He gestured to the side, indicating a line drawn in chalk on the training mats. "Miss Mak, step forward."

Anna obeyed, the thud of her practical shoes echoing.

"It is the tradition that apologies are accepted when one’s sincerity is proven," Ji-hoon said, voice carrying. "Do you know how one demonstrates sincerity at this school?"

"With bowing?" Anna guessed. "Or interpretive dance?"

A ripple of laughter, quickly stifled. Ji-hoon did not smile, but his eyes held a dangerous glint. "With a duel."

Seo-yeon, peeking through the glass, clapped a hand over her mouth. Anna, who had imagined a reprimand, not a public wizard showdown, blinked several times. "A duel? Now?"

"A demonstration of your control and respect for school tradition." Ji-hoon’s tone was polite, which, Anna was learning, was his way of being most dangerous. "I will limit myself to beginner fire magic. You will use water. The first to cross the chalk line loses."

Anna considered declining. She also considered running away, but her mother’s voice, full of hope and reminders about responsibility, rang in her ear. She squared her shoulders. "I accept, seonbae-nim."

The second-years formed a loose semicircle, enjoying the free entertainment. Anna’s palms felt clammy—appropriate, given her element. Ji-hoon took his position, hands poised. Anna mirrored him, awkwardly.

A girl in the crowd called out, "Don’t worry, foreigner! He only lightly singed the last one!"

Anna gave a wobbly thumbs-up.

Ji-hoon’s opening move was a textbook flick of flame, surging across the mat in a ribbon of controlled heat. Anna, mind racing, summoned water from the humid air, forming a defensive arc. The fire hissed as it struck her barrier, steam curling between them. The crowd leaned in, murmuring.

Ji-hoon advanced, sparks dancing from his fingertips, but Anna, remembering more of her childhood games than any school lesson, shaped the water into an erratic, wobbling sphere. She lobbed it not at Ji-hoon’s chest as expected, but at his shoes. He stepped back, surprised, and nearly slipped on the damp floor. Several students giggled outright.

He recovered, face stern, and sent another controlled blaze, this time lower—testing her reflexes. Anna, thinking wildly, sent a spray not directly at the flame, but up at the ceiling, where it splattered down in a gentle rain. The fire sputtered.

"Is it supposed to rain inside?" a boy whispered gleefully.

Ji-hoon’s jaw flexed. He sent a third blast—this one, a sharp, concentrated jet. Anna drew water from the puddle underfoot and, with a defiant grin, shaped it into a makeshift shield, meeting fire with water in a sizzling contest of wills.

For a moment, their magics met directly—water and fire, balanced. Anna felt, rather than saw, a faint shimmer between them, her water tinged with an odd, silvery glow. The onlookers fell silent, watching as neither element gave way.

Then, with a soft explosion of steam, the magic collapsed. Both Anna and Ji-hoon staggered back. Anna’s hair frizzed wildly from the heat; Ji-hoon’s collar was thoroughly dampened.

No one crossed the chalk line.

For three heartbeats, nothing happened. Then a burst of applause, half mocking, half astonished. Someone in the back declared, "That’s the most fun we’ve had in Advanced Ritual Theory all semester!"

Ji-hoon straightened, adjusting his uniform with brisk, irritable movements. Anna matched his gaze, chin lifted.

"Your control is unorthodox," he said, voice clipped. "But barely sufficient. Next time, do not forget the bow."

Anna bobbed her head, now hyper-aware of every tradition. "Yes, seonbae-nim. Thank you for the educational experience."

Was that the ghost of a smile on Ji-hoon’s lips? Impossible. "Dismissed."

Anna stepped away as the crowd dispersed, several students eyeing her with amused curiosity. Seo-yeon rushed in, clutching a handkerchief and a sticky rice cake. "You’re alive! You didn’t even catch on fire! Did anyone record that?"

Anna collapsed onto a bench, accepting the rice cake. "Is it always like this?"

"No," Seo-yeon said, eyes dancing, "Usually you only have to duel on Wednesdays."

They laughed. Anna’s laugh was shaky, but genuine.

"He studied you," Seo-yeon remarked, lowering her voice as Ji-hoon left the hall. "Not just your magic. He wanted to see if you’d run."

"He’s going to keep testing me, isn’t he?"

"Probably. But you’ll catch up. You just need to survive the traditions. And maybe wear waterproof shoes."

Later, as they walked back toward the dorms, Anna drew a deep breath of the island air. The tension that had gripped her all morning was loosening, transforming into something else—a spark of determination, and a grudging respect for the bizarre customs of her new home.

In the second-year common room, Ji-hoon sat in silence, staring at his own hand, where he could still feel the odd coolness of Anna’s magic. Park Min-jun slumped beside him.

"You think she’ll last a week?" Min-jun smirked.

Ji-hoon didn’t answer. His mind lingered on the shimmer he’d seen in her water, the way she’d stood her ground.

"She’s more trouble than she looks," he said at last.

And for once, he didn’t sound entirely displeased.

Anna’s phone buzzed as they reached the dorm steps. A message from her mother, a photo of her little brother beaming, holding up a drawing of a water dragon. Anna smiled, tucking the phone away. No matter what else happened, she’d come too far to bow out now.

Seo-yeon nudged her, voice gentle. "Next time, maybe a slightly less acrobatic bow. And if Ji-hoon challenges you again—remember, you have a friend."

Anna grinned, energy returning. "Do you think the school library has a book called 'Elemental Etiquette for Very Confused Foreigners?'"

"Let’s find out," Seo-yeon replied, linking arms with Anna, and together they stepped into the sunlit quad, ready—or nearly ready—for whatever tradition had to throw at them next.