As Muhan Lockhart stepped through the polished corridors of Wysteria Academy, a quiet buzz followed in his wake—a ripple of captivated stares and hushed whispers trailing behind the three-year-old prodigy.
His dark hair shimmered beneath the corridor's artificial starlight, and his piercing blue eyes carried the quiet weight of untold potential. Though he was small, his aura wasn't. Elegant. Commanding. Otherworldly.
Every girl that caught a glimpse of him found herself momentarily spellbound.
"Is that… a first-year?"
"He's like a walking angel!"
"So adorable… I want to pinch his cheeks—"
Their voices dissolved into breathless sighs as Professor Su-ho approached from the far end of the corridor.
She was a striking figure—tall, elegant, with bright chestnut hair tied loosely over her shoulder and intelligent brown eyes that held the calm of someone who had seen galaxies burn and rebirth. Her level? 120—more than enough to be considered a multiversal threat, though her demeanor was anything but harsh.
She stopped before Muhan with a warm chuckle.
"Well, well. I see you're already making an impression, young Muhan," she said playfully, crouching slightly to meet his eyes. "Careful—you might just break a few hearts before the first bell rings."
Muhan blinked, innocent confusion lighting his expression. "Break hearts? Why would I do that, Professor?"
Professor Su-ho's smile widened with gentle amusement. "Ah, you'll understand one day. For now, let's get you to class."
---
The doors to Class 1-A slid open with a soft chime, and inside, chatter froze mid-sentence.
A chorus of gasps followed.
Dozens of students—girls and boys alike—turned toward the entrance. The girls, in particular, leaned forward in awe, eyes wide, mouths slightly agape.
"Who is that?"
"He's… he's glowing. Is that just me?"
"I'm in love."
Among them was a girl with sleek raven-black hair and violet eyes, seated near the front. She stood up hesitantly, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt. Her name tag read Mi-cha Lawson—a level 10 from the proud Pyeonjaeham Sect.
She took a brave step forward.
"H-hi," she stammered, voice wavering like a violin string. "I'm Mi-cha. Mi-cha Lawson. Welcome to our class, Muhan."
Muhan smiled softly, his gaze locking with hers. "Hi, Mi-cha. I'm Muhan Lockhart. It's nice to meet you."
Gasps fluttered through the classroom like a storm of cherry blossoms. Girls squealed and leapt from their seats to introduce themselves, circling around him like butterflies drawn to a flame.
Before long, Muhan found himself surrounded—his hair being gently tousled, questions thrown at him like confetti, compliments and giggles echoing around the room.
---
Not everyone, however, was delighted.
From the back row, a boy sat cross-armed, his brow furrowed into a deep scowl. Ji-hoon Rousewele, Level 11, heir of the Jonjae Sect, clenched his jaw.
"Seriously?" he muttered to Soo-ah Lesly, a sunny-haired girl from the Hondon Sect seated nearby. "What's so special about him? I'm the highest level in this class."
Soo-ah, who had just been laughing with Mi-cha, glanced at Ji-hoon, then back at Muhan. A soft smile tugged at her lips.
"Well… he is cute," she giggled. "And mysterious."
"Mysterious?" Ji-hoon scoffed. "He's a toddler!"
Soo-ah leaned on her desk, watching the crowd of girls swooning around Muhan. "A toddler who walked in like a noble prince from another world."
Ji-hoon's eye twitched.
"I'm the strongest one here," he grumbled. "I've already unlocked three battle skills. Where's my fan club?"
No one answered.
The chorus of laughter and playful teasing around Muhan only grew louder. Ji-hoon's hands tightened into fists, jealousy bubbling like magma just beneath the surface.
His scowl darkened.
> This kid… I'll show them. I'll prove who really deserves the spotlight.
---
As Muhan continued to charm everyone around him with quiet grace and innocent smiles, he remained unaware of the storm quietly brewing in the corner of the room.
A storm with a name.
Ji-hoon.
And in Wysteria Academy, rivalries could ignite wars.