On a bright, peaceful morning in Arcanthia, Froy had already activated the warp sigil in his dorm and arrived at the academy's grand front plaza. The courtyard was serene—surrounded by fountains, green gardens, and clusters of benches where students gathered to enjoy the fresh air.
It was busy, but one person in the crowd immediately caught Froy's eye.
She looked familiar.
His eyes widened. Then, without hesitation, he sprinted toward her, waving excitedly.
"Hey there! Aryvael! Long time no see! How have you been?" Froy called out as he reached her.
The girl turned toward the voice—her long, flowing silver hair catching the morning light. Her eyes, the same brilliant silver as her hair, widened in recognition.
"Oh, Froy—it's really you! Long time no see! I'm fine—how about you?" Aryvael smiled, her voice soft with joy. "I couldn't find you in the capital, Zolon. I never expected to run into you here… I'm so happy."
She stepped forward and gently wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace.
Froy returned the hug, equally gentle.
"Well, well… since when did you get so brave?" he teased. "Last time I saw you, you were just a cute, shy little girl hiding behind your sister's arm."
Aryvael flushed slightly but giggled. "People change, you know."
Froy raised an eyebrow. "And what about the others?"
"You mean Sister Selene and Luma?" Aryvael asked, still not letting go. "They're both here too. As for Brumgar—he opened a blacksmith shop up north, near the edge of Zolon. It's kind of hidden, so unless you're looking for it, you probably won't find it."
She beamed up at him, her smile radiant. "Anyway… it's really good to see you again."
"Don't make yourself look too cute now," Froy said with a smirk. "You owe me, remember?"
Aryvael smiled mischievously and replied, "Sure. What do you want then? Money? Favors?" She leaned in just slightly, her eyes gleaming. "I've got something better. Me."
Froy blinked, caught off guard for a moment.
When did that shy little girl become so bold? he wondered.
Froy smirked, his eyes gleaming with playful mischief. "Bold kiddo."
Aryvael raised an eyebrow, grinning. "You're no older than me, Froy."
"Yeah, but I'm taller," he shot back with a teasing smile.
At twelve years old, Froy stood at 5'4"—not exactly towering, but tall for his age. Aryvael, by contrast, was 4'11", and the difference between them only made the banter livelier.
The two kept teasing each other, laughing freely under the soft morning light. It was a reunion that felt easy—lighthearted, familiar, and just a little bit exciting.
"So," Aryvael asked after catching her breath, "what class did you get into, Froy?"
He didn't even flinch.
"Ordinary Class. Ranked 996."
Aryvael's eyes widened, and she gasped, cupping her hands over her mouth. But just as quickly, she smiled and reached forward, gently cupping Froy's cheeks with both hands.
"That's alright! Don't worry about it—you can count on me, pretty boy!"
Her voice was soft but sincere. It had been five years since they'd seen each other, after all. And in that moment, it didn't matter what rank he had or where he started.
They had found each other again.
And to her, that was enough.
Aryvael leaned in and whispered softly, her silver eyes glinting with subtle warmth.
"…And don't worry about your power. I won't tell anyone. My lips are sealed!"
Froy raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? Keeping my secrets now?"
Then he tilted his head, curiosity piqued.
"So what about you? What's your class and rank?"
Aryvael straightened up with quiet pride.
"I'm in the Elite Class. Rank 71."
Froy let out a low whistle, smiling.
"That's cool, little shy girl."
Aryvael didn't respond with another tease—she just smiled, her expression gentle and proud.
Then she spoke, brushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear.
"Orientation's going to start soon. Come on, Froy."
She reached out and took his hand—softly, but firmly.
Froy didn't resist.
He let her lead.
"Alright," he grinned, "lead the way, princess."
As they walked, Froy noticed the tips of her elven ears turning a soft red.
Cute.
Soon, they arrived at the Grand Hall of Arcanthia—a vast, majestic chamber lined with banners, shimmering lights, and floating platforms. Aryvael found them seats near the center, and Froy sat beside her as more and more students began to file in.
The murmur of voices filled the space until every seat was taken, and then…
Silence.
A robed figure descended from the highest platform—regal, composed, and unmistakably powerful.
The Headmaster.
He raised his hand, and his voice echoed through the chamber—amplified by magic.
"And now, the moment many of you have been waiting for. It is my honor to announce the top student of the year!"
He paused for dramatic effect.
"The award for Top One of the Year goes to… John Wic—eh, sorry, I mean—John Peak!"
Laughter erupted in pockets across the hall.
Some groaned.
Some clapped.
And somewhere, Froy leaned back in his seat, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, someone's already got the protagonist syndrome," he muttered under his breath.
Aryvael giggled beside him.
"That guy is damn strong! What the hell was that ability? Plot Armour?!"
A girl blurted out from the row beside Froy's seat. Her voice was sharp, her tone borderline manic, and she didn't even seem aware that she was talking out loud.
She was muttering to herself, eyes glowing faintly behind circular lenses—her irises shifting and flickering like code on a screen.
Froy turned slightly, brow raised. Was she reading information on people?
"Hey, sorry—can you keep it down a little?"
Another girl, seated just behind them, spoke up. She had brown hair tied neatly into a bun and wore thick glasses. She had a clear academic vibe—quiet, focused, bookish.
The muttering girl snapped her head around.
"Why should I? Who even are you to tell me what to—"
She stopped.
Frozen.
Her gaze had shifted to Froy.
The moment their eyes met, her face went pale.
Utterly drained of color.
Her lips trembled. "I… I'm sorry…"
Then she abruptly turned to leave.
But Froy calmly reached out and caught her wrist—firm, but not unkind.
"Wait a sec," he said gently. "What's your name?"
She swallowed, clearly shaken.
"…L… Lynda," she stammered. "May I… may I go now?"
Froy tilted his head, studying her expression for a heartbeat longer.
Then he released her hand.
"Thanks, Lynda," he said softly.
She backed away quickly—almost stumbling—and vanished into the crowd.
Next to him, Aryvael was staring daggers at the empty space Lynda had fled from. Her cheeks puffed out, and she folded her arms with a huff.
Froy glanced over.
"You alright?" he asked.
"I'm fine," Aryvael replied with a tone that wasn't exactly convincing.
Froy smiled faintly, but let it go.
Moments later, the Headmaster raised his voice once more, bringing the orientation to a close.
"Students of Arcanthia," he declared, "you have proven yourselves. Today is yours to rest and explore. Classes begin at dawn tomorrow. Use your time wisely."
With that, the crowd began to disperse.
Froy leaned back in his seat for a moment, his eyes scanning the high ceiling of the Grand Hall.
Tomorrow, the real education would begin.
And somehow, he already felt like the game had started again.