There are moments in life when your brain just taps out. Like seeing an F in a class you didn't know you were in. Or when a dragon demigod drops you off at the realm's most elite school—and the whole thing floats.
I craned my neck until it hurt. Dragonspire Academy hovered above like it had beef with gravity. Spires reached for the stars. Runes pulsed across the walls like the place was alive. Bridges looped and vanished midair, like reality was still buffering.
I adjusted the robe Elder Tharagon had conjured onto me—enchanted, glamoured, and working overtime to disguise the fact that I was 100% human. It fit weirdly. Like it couldn't decide if it was royal attire or a tarp.
"This is fine," I muttered. "Just a human weeb cosplaying as a dragon hybrid. Totally fine."
Tharagon, ancient cosmic boomer and part-time cryptid, glanced down with what might've been amusement. We'd climbed glowing basalt stairs that whispered in forgotten languages. He hadn't said much since the Council chose not to smite me. Probably not thrilled to be babysitting the realm's walking clerical error.
"So," I ventured, "ever had special admission students before?"
"In the Academy's ten-thousand-year history? Not once."
"Perfect. Love being a historical exception."
He chuckled—deep and echoing—then dissolved into stardust like a dramatic screensaver.
I was alone.
In front of gates that looked like they judged applicants by aura and credit score.
They opened with a hiss and a creak. No fanfare. Just the overwhelming sense of being sized up.
I walked in with the confidence of a soggy French fry.
Inside was a vast amphitheater carved into the fortress itself. Obsidian floors reflected my anxiety in 4K. Floating lanterns buzzed above. Students filled the tiered seats, flexing magical auras like peacocks with subscription mana.
Most looked human. Too human. Flawless, symmetrical, anime-protagonist levels of suspicious.
One girl hovered two inches off her seat, hair like molten gold. A guy nearby trailed embers. Everyone radiated power.
And then there was me.
Wedged between demigods, trying not to breathe too loud in case it triggered a duel.
The lights cut.
A spotlight flared. A man exploded onto the stage. Not appeared—exploded. Glitter rained. A phoenix screeched and vanished.
"GOOD MORNING, YOUNG MONSTROSITIES!" he roared.
I flinched. Someone behind me clapped like it was legally required.
The man wore gold robes that sparkled offensively. His beard was braided with runestones. His shoes glittered like weaponized confidence.
"Welcome," he boomed, "to Dragonspire Academy! Home of the bold! The brave! The chronically overconfident!"
He paused, arms wide, absorbing imaginary applause.
"I am Professor Bragston Heffelgryn! Call me Professor Heff! Or, if you're feeling formal, 'Sir Please Stop Yelling.'"
A few laughs. Nervous. Possibly involuntary.
"Some of you were born breathing fire. Some of you were born breathing mediocrity. But fear not! Even mediocrity can be polished—like a very sad stone!"
I blinked.
"Heffelgryn," I muttered. "What species is he—caffeine elemental?"
The System dinged:
[YOU CAN'T HANDLE MY POWER.exe]
New Quest: Try Not to Die in School.
Reward: +1 Stat Point (maybe).
Penalty: Public execution. Or expulsion. Possibly both.
Perfect. Just the morale boost I needed.
Heff clapped once. "Orientation will be short, chaotic, and mildly traumatic. That's how we build character! But first—introductions!"
He stomped the stage. "Let's meet our shining stars—the Academy's handpicked prodigies! You'll hate them, fear them, possibly write weird poetry about them!"
Spotlights swung.
"First up—scion of the Crimson Pyre! Breaker of mountains! Burned his nursery on purpose! Kael!"
The ceiling tried to explode. Fire spiraled down like an angry comet. The heat was real.
Kael stepped from the smoke—tall, chiseled, smirk set to "default rival." Cloak like red lightning. Eyes like molten gold.
He flexed. Unprompted.
"Kael," Heff declared. "Flames hotter than his temper!"
Yup. This guy definitely yells 'Shōnen!' before throwing a punch.
Then thunder crashed.
Lightning tore through the ceiling. A boy dropped in with choreography.
"The child of the storm! Breakdancer of the Stormwinds! Most Likely to Electrocute Himself—twice! Rhydan!!"
He finger-gunned the crowd. Grinned like a cartoon character on espresso. His aura crackled. His boots sparked.
Bro looked like a thunder god raised on espresso shots and bad decisions.
He winked. Tried a thumbs-up. Zapped himself. Swore.
Heff didn't blink. "Moving on before he trips the fire wards—"
The temperature plummeted.
From above, a shard of ice descended. On it stood a girl—pale, white-haired, robes like tax paperwork. Her stare froze the room.
"Seris," Heff said, hushed. "From the Northern Wastes. Smiles less than I sleep. Which is never."
She floated down soundlessly. Sat like a snowflake judging a bonfire.
She'd murder me for breathing too loud.
Three prodigies in. All potential murderers.
Then the lights died.
Not dimmed. Died.
Shadows crawled. I blinked—and she was just... there.
Lira.
Standing behind Heff. Watching.
Her robes rippled like liquid void. Her eyes were ink made sentient.
Heff didn't turn. "Lira. Mistress of Shadows. Niece of Elder Tharagon. Don't stare. She stares back."
Silence stretched.
She tilted her head.
The room tilted with her.
System pinged:
❗ Boss-Level Entity Detected ❗
Recommended Action: Cry.
So that's what it feels like to stand next to a raid boss before looting gear.
The prodigies stood like elemental disasters. Everyone gawked.
Should've been the end.
But Heffelgryn smiled like a man about to throw someone off a cliff.
"And now... one last student."
Everyone perked up.
I froze.
He turned. "A rare case. A very special admission."
Whispers rose.
"Oh no," I whispered. "Please don't say my name. Or spell it. Or fake a stroke instead."
He beamed. "Han Jihoon!"
Perfect.
Every head turned. Even Lira looked. The shadows twitched.
I stood. Walked. Tripped on my robe. Did the half-jog of someone pretending that didn't happen.
System pinged:
[Passive Skill Acquired: False Confidence Lv.1]
You feel 3% more competent than you are.
Wow. Thanks.
Heff grinned. "Recommended personally by the First Elder! Yes, that First Elder—the one who doesn't recommend unless the cosmos hiccups."
Everyone thought: Why him?
"I know what you're thinking," Heff added. "Is he strong? Probably not! Will he survive his first duel? Also probably not! But let's give him a fire-free welcome!"
A few claps. Hesitant. Pity applause.
I waved. "Definitely not having a full-body anxiety spiral right now."
Rhydan grinned. Kael scoffed. Seris ignored me. Lira... lingered.
She watched like I was a puzzle. Or a mistake she hadn't decided how to clean up yet.
I looked away.
I made it to the end of the lineup and stood just far enough from the others to feel like the DLC character nobody chose.
Heff clapped. "Excellent! Now, orientation begins. Unless someone combusts, which statistically happens once a year."
He looked at me.
I looked away.
Orientation ended the only way it could—with a man in gold robes snapping his fingers and triggering a scroll-based airstrike. Dozens of glowing scrolls floated down, each humming with enchantments.
One landed in my hands with a cheerful pop. My name shimmered in dragon-script that squirmed if I stared too long.
"Cool," I muttered. "My dorm assignment. Hopefully somewhere far from anyone who witnessed my tragic origin story."
I turned—and locked eyes with Rhydan.
He gave me a bro-nod. The kind anime characters give right before they either become your best friend or die in Episode 12.
"Uh. Sup?" I nodded back.
He grinned. Sparks danced across his sleeves.
Kael scoffed so hard he probably lost calories. "Special admission, huh? Bet he doesn't last a week."
I double-thumbed him. "Awesome. Can't wait to disappoint everyone."
Seris didn't look. Lira... didn't stop.
Half in shadow, half in light, her eyes like shifting ink, she studied me—not judging. Just calculating. Like she was deciding whether I was a variable… or inevitable.
I looked away. Failed.
Said—way too loud:
"Yup. Definitely a final boss. Good thing I'm a background NPC."
Someone blinked. "Did you say something?"
"Nope," I coughed. "Just, uh, talking to myself. For mental health reasons."
System dinged:
✉️ New Side Quest: Survive social interactions without sounding like a possessed goose.
Reward: +1 Charisma.
Failure: Continued cringe.
I sighed. "Long semester ahead."
As the sun dipped behind Dragonspire's jagged skyline, the Academy shifted. Lanterns glowed. Trees whispered. Some even moved.
I followed my scroll through winding cobblestone paths.
Eventually, I reached Dormitory 23.
Not huge. Not fancy. Just... there. Tucked between two towers that hummed with warding runes. The plaque was chipped.
"Dorm 23," I read. "Because of course I get assigned the one building that sounds like a haunted tax office."
The air felt different here. Still. Too quiet. Like even the wind stopped to mutter, "You sure about this, man?"
I stood in front of the door. Scroll in hand. Heart thudding.
The System chimed:
[System]:
Dormitory 23 located.
Warning: Unrecognized magical signature detected.
Proceed with caution.
(Or don't. I'm not your babysitter.)
I swallowed.
Hand on the handle.
One last breath.
And I stepped forward.
📘 Author's Note – Chapter 4: Welcome to the Dragonspire Academy
Hey there, brave reader!
If you've made it this far, congratulations—you've survived Jihoon's first day at magic school without combusting (unlike half the student body). This chapter was inspired by that one time I walked into a party where everyone knew spells and I barely knew the Wi-Fi password. Jihoon's still a mess, the Academy is still suspiciously extra, and yes, Lira probably could erase you just by blinking.
Also, shoutout to Professor Heff, who is 70% glitter, 30% midlife crisis, and 100% the reason the school has fire insurance.
See you next chapter—assuming Jihoon survives dorm life.
📊 Poll Time!
Alright, you're stuck at Dragonspire Academy. Which of these totally not dangerous magical items are you grabbing first?
🧙♂️ A cloak that turns invisible... except when you sneeze.
⚡ A lightning rod that definitely won't zap you... probably.
🐉 A dragon-shaped whistle that definitely won't summon a real dragon that hates you.
🧨 A spellbook that guaranteed explodes if you accidentally read the wrong page.
🍪 A cookie that might grant wishes, or might turn your teeth into candy.
Choose your chaos wisely. No refunds on misused magic.