As Arin and Troy passed through the towering gates of the Academy of Magica, the grandeur of the place hit them like a wave. The campus stretched far and wide, more like a city than a school. Sculpted marble pathways crisscrossed vast lawns, ornate fountains danced with elemental water, and floating lanterns drifted lazily in the air, illuminating towering structures of ancient stone and glass. Students of every kind bustled through the courtyards—some laughing, others practicing spells, a few riding beasts that looked plucked from legends.
Arin slowed down slightly, taking it all in. It was a cultural overload. The sheer variety of clothes, hairstyles, and even magical auras around him made him feel like a traveler from another world—which, in truth, he was.
"Quite the place, huh?" Troy said, his voice tinged with awe.
Arin gave a faint nod. "More like a parade of status."
They entered their classroom—a massive circular hall with rows of terrace-style seats rising toward the walls. Dozens of students had already arrived, chatting and laughing in groups. Arin's sharp eyes quickly noted several students with familiars—small beasts resting by their feet or perched on their shoulders.
Already contracted? he thought, surprised. Most people don't even have the strength to fight a wild beast before enrolling. These must be nobles.
The richly adorned clothes and haughty expressions confirmed it.
He muttered under his breath, "Can't believe I'll get trampled here too..." His fingers drifted to his eyes, and a faint spark of resolve lit within them.
"Or maybe not this time."
Beside him, Troy was scanning the room with a different purpose. His gaze narrowed each time he saw someone more muscular than him. "That guy... and that one over there… Yep, future sparring partners," he murmured.
Just as Arin settled into his seat, a sudden burst of laughter erupted. He turned to see a girl—clearly a commoner by her plain robes—stumble and fall forward onto the stairs. Her face flushed as she quickly scrambled into a seat, hiding behind her hands in embarrassment.
It wasn't the first time. Arin watched, and it kept happening—mostly to commoners.
Focusing his mana-sight, he noticed a strange disturbance near one of the steps. A nearly invisible twig lay there, carefully concealed by magic. Following the trail of mana, Arin traced it back to a boy with dark green hair, lounging with an air of superiority. He wore a noble insignia—House Maymert—one of the most renowned families in nature and wood manipulation.
A hidden trap. So that's your game.
Arin's jaw tightened. He didn't want trouble on the first day, but watching others humiliated for fun stirred something deep within him.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a small, round object—a figoli, a disposable ball of fire magic commonly used like a lighter.
Down the stairs came two more commoners. Arin saw Fen Maymert—the noble in green—casually extend his twig, rendering it invisible again. He was waiting for them to fall. His group stifled laughter in anticipation.
Just then, Arin "accidentally" dropped the figoli.
It rolled down the stairs and—sizzle!—ignited the trap.
A sharp crack! rang out as the wooden structure caught fire. Fen yelped, swatting at his sleeve as it briefly caught the flame. The illusion shattered, and the burning twig lay exposed for all to see.
Arin tilted his head. "Oops," he said loudly. "Must've left my bag unzipped. What a coincidence it landed right on the invisible twig tripping people. Looks like... burnt hair now? I mean, hygiene's a personal choice, right?"
Troy roared with laughter. "Bwahahaha! You didn't just say that—!"
The entire class erupted. Even students who hadn't been paying attention earlier turned to see what happened. Some noble heirs narrowed their eyes, analyzing both Arin and Fen. A few turned away after sensing Arin's weak mana presence, deeming him not worth remembering.
Fen's eyes burned with fury. As a noble from Maymert, whose wood magic was second to none, this was humiliating. Wood was weak to fire, yes—but figolis weren't strong enough to ignite well-prepared structures. He had underestimated Arin, both in perception and in guts.
But he didn't retaliate. Not openly. House reputation mattered, especially on day one.
Arin and Troy took a seat. Moments later, the girl who had tripped earlier approached them with a shy smile.
"Thanks for teaching him a lesson," she said. "I couldn't even see the twig."
Arin shrugged. "Wasn't for you. I just hated his face."
He made sure to say it loud enough for Fen to hear. She laughed.
"I'm Sylvia," she said. "Can I sit here?"
"Definitely," Arin said, motioning to the seat beside him. "I'm Arin, and this walking tree trunk is Troy."
Troy gave a beaming grin—one so bright it could probably blind low-level beasts.
As they began chatting, the classroom door creaked open. A thin, elderly man entered, dressed in flowing robes adorned with silver and deep blue runes. Despite his age, his back was straight and his gaze sharp.
He stepped inside.
And then... he walked.
Very... very... slowly.
One foot.
Pause.
Another foot.
More pausing.
Whispers rippled across the room as students exchanged confused glances. What was going on?
It took him five full minutes to reach the podium.
Then, with unexpected energy, he spoke.
"Welcome to the greatest academy in existence: the Academy of Magica," he said, briskly. "I am Fas Tasfock, your professor of Magic Theory, Affinities, and Talent Studies. I hope you've done your homework—because my classes won't be easy."
The class fell silent.
"No introductions. No one cares. Least of all me. Let's begin: Chapter One—The Basics of Xaneia."
Arin leaned forward, intrigued. Most of the class tuned out—they'd heard all this before—but for him, this was new. And important.
"No one knows how Xaneia came to be. As far as history goes, it's always been like this. At the center of everything is mana—the foundational force of the world. When a fetus is formed, mana interacts with its core and arteries, shaping its affinity and talent. These traits are usually inherited from family lines."
Several noble students nodded smugly.
"But talent and affinity cannot be changed. If you're born with poor affinity... tough luck."
That line stung. A few students glanced down, their hope fading. Except Arin.
He had seen the pathways. He knew there was more.
"Power comes from the core," Fas continued. "The core develops in rings. Each ring is formed by tempering the core with mana—through training, battle, or using mana crystals. The more rings, the greater your power. Most of you are likely at the first ring."
He raised his hand. Blue mana flared outward in concentric circles—five glowing rings hovering in the air.
"I'm a fifth-ring mage. Water affinity. The color of your rings reflects your element. Most people only have one affinity. Two is rare. Three? Almost unheard of. Four? Only legends."
He let the display vanish.
"You'll learn about Beast Fusion in another class, but remember: your core can grow, but your affinity cannot. "
As the lecture went on, Arin's mind drifted. He was focused, but thinking deeper.
He started to think if he can ever improve his own affinity by improving his mana path cause as far as he knew, having high affinity is good cause the core can utilize more mana wisps at once, his affinity at bronze has thin mana arteries for itself which gives the core access to very few wisps. The number of rings corresponds to how faster and how quick mana is absorbed used and accessed and how much mana the core can store. He wanted to experiment as soon as possible.
The class came to an end as Fas snapped his book shut.
"That's all for today. It's your first day, after all. Use the rest of the time to explore. This academy is practically a city—so treat it like one."
And just like that, he turned... and began walking out.
One step.
Pause.
Another step.
Arin snorted. "At this rate, we could paint his portrait before he hits the hallway."
Troy grinned. "You're not wrong."