The rhythmic squeak of Ethan’s mop against the pristine, polished floors of Blackwood Academy was a familiar soundtrack to his life, usually a lonely one. But today, the sound felt amplified, echoing not just through the empty halls, but within the confines of his own skull. Ever since the AR interface had manifested, turning his mundane existence into a bizarre, alchemically-infused game, everything had been… different. He'd cleaned the Alchemy Lab, brewed a surprisingly effective healing potion, and even, against his better judgment, started tutoring Penelope, the flame-haired junior with a penchant for setting things (and herself) alight.

His 'stats,' as the interface so helpfully informed him, were increasing at an alarming rate. Dexterity, Intelligence, even the enigmatic 'Alchemy Proficiency' – all ticking upwards with each completed task, each brewed potion, each painstakingly explained concept to a perpetually confused Penelope. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and utterly absurd. And now, it seemed, it was attracting unwanted attention.

Ethan felt it first as a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. A sense of being watched, scrutinized by eyes both powerful and… discerning. He glanced around the deserted hallway, the late afternoon sun casting long, skeletal shadows from the gothic archways. Nothing. Just the quiet hum of the Academy’s ancient magical wards, a subtle thrum that usually faded into background noise.

But the feeling persisted. It clung to him like the ever-present scent of cleaning fluids and simmering reagents that permeated his clothes. He paused, leaning on his mop, pretending to admire a particularly dusty portrait of a stern-looking wizard with a ridiculously oversized beard. He activated the AR interface, a habit that had become almost involuntary.

“Active Quest: Clean the West Wing Hallway,” the interface helpfully chirped, displaying the usual list of mundane tasks and projected experience points. Ethan mentally dismissed it. He wasn’t interested in experience points right now. He was interested in figuring out who, or what, was making his skin crawl.

He discreetly scanned the hallway through the interface, activating its rudimentary scanning function. It highlighted dust motes, stray cobwebs, and the lingering magical signature of a long-forgotten enchantment on the tapestry depicting the founding of the Academy. Nothing else.

Then, as he reached the end of the hallway, nearing the grand staircase that led to the upper levels, he saw it. Or rather, he felt it. A wave of intense magical energy washed over him, subtle yet undeniably present. He glanced up, his gaze drawn to the shadowed landing above.

Standing there, partially concealed by the ornate wrought-iron railing, was Headmaster Silas.

Silas Blackwood was a figure shrouded in myth and rumour. He was a tall, imposing man, even in his advanced years, with a face that seemed carved from granite. His eyes, a piercing shade of grey, held an unsettling intensity, as if they could see straight through you, dissecting your thoughts and laying bare your soul. He rarely spoke, preferring to communicate through subtle gestures and loaded silences that left even the most seasoned professors feeling vaguely uneasy. He was the very embodiment of the Academy’s austere and intimidating reputation.

He wasn’t looking *at* Ethan, not directly. He was gazing out the arched window, seemingly lost in contemplation of the manicured gardens below. But Ethan knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that the Headmaster was aware of his presence. He could feel Silas’s gaze, a tangible weight, pressing down on him.

Ethan forced himself to continue mopping, his movements deliberately slow and nonchalant. He whistled a tuneless melody, a desperate attempt to project an air of normalcy. He knew it was futile. Silas Blackwood was not a man to be easily fooled.

As Ethan neared the staircase, Silas finally turned, his gaze locking onto Ethan’s. The air crackled with unspoken power.

"Blackwood," Silas said, his voice a low, resonant rumble that echoed in the vast hallway. It was the first time Ethan had ever heard the Headmaster address him directly.

Ethan swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He stopped mopping, standing at attention like a soldier caught off guard. "Headmaster," he stammered, managing a shaky bow.

Silas descended the stairs, his movements deliberate and graceful despite his age. He stopped a few feet away from Ethan, his grey eyes boring into him. "You have been… diligent in your duties, Blackwood," he said, his tone neutral, almost… assessing.

Ethan didn't know how to respond. "Thank you, Headmaster," he mumbled, feeling his palms begin to sweat.

"Indeed." Silas paused, his gaze flicking to the mop in Ethan’s hand, then back to his face. "Tell me, Blackwood, have you perhaps… encountered anything… *unusual*… in your recent cleaning assignments?"

The question hung in the air, thick with unspoken implications. Ethan’s mind raced. Did Silas know about the interface? About the quests? About the sudden surge of alchemical knowledge flooding his brain?

He decided to play it dumb. It was the only strategy he could think of. "Unusual, Headmaster?" he repeated, feigning confusion. "I'm not sure I understand."

Silas’s lips twitched, a barely perceptible movement that might have been a smile, or perhaps a sign of growing impatience. "Let me be more specific, Blackwood. Have you perhaps… come across any… *restricted* alchemical ingredients? Or perhaps… any *unauthorized* alchemical experimentation?"

Ethan’s heart leaped into his throat. Silas *did* know something. He couldn't possibly know everything, but he knew enough to be suspicious. The forgotten formula from the Alchemy Lab. The potent healing potion. His increased proficiency. It all added up to something decidedly… irregular.

"Headmaster, I assure you, I haven't touched anything I shouldn't," Ethan said, his voice trembling slightly. He tried to maintain eye contact, but it was like staring into the abyss.

Silas continued to observe him, his gaze unwavering. He didn’t speak, didn’t react. He simply stood there, radiating an aura of immense power and quiet menace.

The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating. Ethan felt like a lab rat pinned beneath a microscope, his every flaw, every secret, laid bare for scrutiny.

Finally, Silas spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "Alchemy is a dangerous art, Blackwood. It is not to be trifled with by those who lack the proper training and… *discipline*."

He emphasized the last word with a subtle inflection, a clear warning.

"I understand, Headmaster," Ethan managed to say, his voice barely audible.

Silas nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on Ethan’s. "Good. Then I trust that you will continue to perform your duties with… *discretion*."

He turned and glided back up the stairs, disappearing into the shadows.

Ethan stood there, frozen in place, his mop clattering to the floor. He didn't move until he heard the heavy oak doors at the top of the staircase close with a soft, ominous thud.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He picked up the mop, his hands trembling slightly. He had been warned. He was being watched. And Silas Blackwood, the enigmatic and powerful Headmaster, suspected that he was dabbling in forbidden alchemy.

The game had just become a lot more dangerous.

He activated the interface.

A new Quest had appeared.

**New Quest: Shadowed Surveillance.**

*Objective: Determine the extent of Headmaster Silas Blackwood's knowledge of your alchemical activities.*

*Reward: Information regarding Silas Blackwood's motivations and methods.*

*Failure: Potential expulsion from Blackwood Academy, or worse.*

Ethan stared at the interface, his blood running cold. This wasn’t just about cleaning floors and brewing potions anymore. This was a game of cat and mouse, with potentially deadly consequences.

He had to be careful. He had to be discreet. He had to figure out what Silas Blackwood knew, and how to protect himself.

He looked around the now-empty hallway, the long shadows stretching and twisting like grasping fingers. The Academy, once a place of mundane drudgery, had become a battleground.

And Ethan Blackwood, the accidental alchemist, was about to find himself caught in the crossfire.