The next morning arrived without the brightness it was supposed to have—gray, reluctant, as if even daylight didn’t want to testify.

  Rein, Boris, and Mira were summoned to Master Alvira before sunrise—pulled straight into a meticulous interrogation while the world outside was still half-asleep. But Rein understood something Boris and Mira hadn’t learned to recognize yet.

  Alvira’s questions did not aim to find fault or punish them. They were meant to prepare them—shielding them before the real storm hit.

  Because what happened at the cabin of the Beyond the Enigma Society wasn’t just a tragedy anymore—it had become a rupture—one shockwave that rattled the Academy all the way down to its foundation stones.

  Most of the dead weren’t ordinary students.

  They were heirs—names that came with guards, letters, and consequences.

  Children of influential noble families, names that carried weight even in corridors where mages pretended bloodlines didn’t matter.

  And the fact that only three commoners survived… turned into a story. Then a spark.

  A dangerous one.

  The kind that could ignite into conflict between the noble houses and the DVM department at any moment—whether or not Rein and the others had done anything wrong.

  By the afternoon, they were escorted out of the remote research zone and toward the Academy’s throat—the sacred front district known as the Foundation Zone, where the administrative headquarters stood.

  They stepped off the magical tram, its runes cooling with a faint hiss as the platform settled. After a few minutes’ walk, the sight ahead seized them—as if a cold, phantom hand had pressed against their chests.

  The administrative building rose before them like a colossal fortress dressed in cathedral skin.

  A massive white dome crowned the structure, its surface carved with golden runework that shimmered whenever sunlight touched it—like the building was answering. Giant marble pillars stood in solemn formation, bearing the weight of the building with divine elegance—and the indifference of a verdict—as if this weren’t an institution, but a throne meant for a god.

  And yet, what truly set it apart—what made it feel harsher than any cathedral Rein had ever seen—was what surrounded it.

  Countless black-metal pillars were driven into the ground around the headquarters, arranged like an army of spears.

  Each one was slender and razor-pointed, resembling the “lances of the gods” thrown down from the heavens to pin the earth in place—and keep it from twitching.

  They weren’t there for beauty.

  They were Anchoring Points—load-bearers for the Academy’s highest-level defensive grid.

  Mana pressure radiated from each pillar, weaving together into a translucent, trembling curtain high above the skyline: a magical boundary strong enough to suppress any movement that dared threaten this place.

  “Welcome to the nobility’s claws…” Alvira muttered, flicking away her cigarette and grinding it out beneath her boot.

  Her voice stayed lazy, but her eyes sharpened slightly as she added, “Try not to look suspicious. Here, even the walls have opinions. Especially you, lightning boy.”

  Rein stared at the reflections of those spear-pillars, lips pressed into a thin line.

  He couldn’t deny it—there was beauty here. Engineering beauty—the kind that made his mind itch to take it apart, trace every load path, admire the cruelty of it.

  But the pressure was real.

  It crawled toward him like something alive, testing the edges of his skin.

  Their footsteps echoed against polished marble as the four of them entered the long corridor leading deeper into the headquarters.

  The atmosphere changed completely.

  Outside had been grand; inside, it was suffocating.

  It was so quiet it felt unnatural. Even breathing felt louder than it should have.

  As they walked, Rein’s gaze drifted upward, drawn to the cathedral-scale architecture.

  A vaulted ceiling soared overhead, so high it vanished into dimness. But instead of frescoes depicting ancient gods, there were enormous golden magic circuits rotating slowly across the ceiling—moving like a slow celestial gearwork, as though the building itself was watching every living thing beneath it.

  Marble statues lined both sides of the corridor: legendary archmages in formal robes, carved with such precision that their stone eyes caught the light at the wrong angles, almost seeming to glare down.

  “Keep your posture straight,” Alvira whispered without turning her head. Her voice was light, but it cut cleanly through the silence. “Don’t let them see your breath hitch.”

  Rein scanned the corridor again and noticed something else.

  Every thirty feet on the dot, a smaller version of the black-metal “god-spears” stood embedded into the floor.

  Those are…?

  [LIZ: These pillars emit mana-frequency waves—weak Magic Jammers meant to suppress visitors, preventing spellcasting and surprise attacks.]

  Rein answered silently, his thoughts sharp and dry.

  So anyone truly high-level could ignore them.

  [LIZ: Correct. Do you think a mage capable of erasing this entire building from the map with a single strike would care about toys like these? But they work beautifully on Troposphere-tier students like you.]

  Boris struggled to keep his breathing even. Mira clung to his arm, her grip tight. Her eyes trembled as a group of judicial mages in white uniforms trimmed with gold, their emblems stamped at the throat like seals, passing by them in the opposite direction.

  Those mages didn’t even glance at them.

  The pressure rolling off them was enough to make an ordinary person feel microscopic.

  At the end of the corridor, they stopped before a massive door forged from cold-cast metal, engraved with a large emblem: The Eye of Truth.

  There was no handle—just cold-cast metal.

  It would only open when the inscribed security magic tasted a mana signature it recognized.

  “Interrogation Room Number Three…” Alvira read the brass nameplate and let out a small, amused snort.

  “High-Level Magical Inquiry Committee. Looks like they’re so worried about that black book they can’t even sit still.”

  Rein watched pale blue light run through the grooves with a faint, precise hum, as if the door were thinking. He could feel heat radiating from the spellwork as it processed and confirmed.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  An automated magical scanning system—not bad. The design was clean, almost elegant.

  [LIZ: Are you seriously thinking of installing something like this on your dorm door—Room 13? Don’t forget: the only valuable item in there is yesterday’s roasted nuts from the Kingdom Zone.]

  They’re not that bad, Rein argued internally. And preparedness is a habit that pays interest.

  The lock released with a heavy, reverberating clunk—one sound that rolled down the corridor like distant thunder.

  Then the thick metal doors slowly parted.

  Beyond the doors lay a colossal chamber carved like an amphitheater.

  And the moment the gap opened, Rein felt it—dozens of eyes stared down from above—measuring, weighing, already deciding.

  Master Alvira led the three students forward onto a circular platform raised at the center of the chamber.

  A harsh white beam poured down from the ceiling like a spotlight, bleaching their faces and throwing their shadows into a hard circle on the stone, turning the four of them into the only exposed figures under blinding light—while the committee remained in darkness—faces erased, bodies reduced to silhouettes and shifting robes.

  Fantastic, Rein thought dryly—straight out of an investigation film: suspects under a spotlight, hunters in the dark, and a script that always escalated.

  While Rein calmly dissected the staging, Boris and Mira were visibly trembling.

  The invisible weight in the room pressed down like deep water; even swallowing felt loud.

  “A-are we going to be okay?” Mira whispered, voice thin and shaking.

  She turned to Rein—the only anchor she had left.

  And what she saw made her freeze.

  Rein looked completely unbothered.

  He was scanning the amphitheater, his eyes tracing the room’s shape and structural lines as if he were touring an unfamiliar monument.

  Boris wasn’t any better.

  His hands were chilly, damp with sweat. He clenched his fists hard just to hide the tremor.

  “Honored members of the Academy’s Investigation Committee,” Alvira said, her voice steady in the silence.

  “I have brought the three students as scheduled. As for the preliminary report… I have sealed the preliminary report and submitted it to the committee.”

  She paused, then turned her eyes toward the three of them.

  “Tell them what you told me,” she whispered. “Hold to it. The truth is the only shield you have in here.”

  The words carried something beneath them—something sharpened, deliberate.

  Then Alvira stepped off the platform and walked away, letting the light swallow the three of them without her.

  Her boots clicked against stone, the sound fading into distance, until the silence lunged in and swallowed them whole.

  Murmurs rose from the darkness above—low voices threading together into a restless hiss.

  Then—

  A gavel struck wood—once, twice.

  The sound snapped through the chamber like a command.

  Even under the blinding light, Rein’s well-tuned eyes caught the figure seated on the highest throne.

  An aged man sat on the uppermost dais, displaying a long, immaculate white beard, while the spotlight highlighted his gold-rimmed glasses.

  He looked so sacred, so imposing, that Rein couldn’t help the stray thought slipping through his mind:

  With a pointed hat, he could’ve passed for the kind of storybook wizard children trusted in the dark.

  Rein almost laughed—quietly, internally—right in the middle of the tension.

  “All right,” the old man declared. His voice was formal, heavy with authority.

  “From this moment onward, this is an official internal inquiry, conducted under the authority of Academy Statute Twenty-Four.”

  He lifted his gaze, and even without seeing the man’s full face clearly, Rein could feel the weight of that attention like iron.

  “I am Professor Theodore Whitethorn, acting chair of this investigation in place of Headmistress Helena, who is currently engaged elsewhere.”

  A brief pause.

  Then the ending line fell like a verdict before the trial had even begun.

  “You will testify—fully and truthfully.”

  The first step began with an oath.

  They swore before the Goddess Lumina: every word complete, undistorted, nothing held back.

  Only then did the old man begin reading Master Alvira’s full report, his voice crisp and measured, carrying across the amphitheater with the weight of carved stone.

  When he finished, his expression tightened into something stern.

  “Preliminary conclusion… this entire incident originated from the illicit introduction of a forbidden Relic into Academy territory—an artifact whose possession violates severe magical law—into the territory of the Academy.”

  He paused, then let his gaze travel down toward Rein and the other two, as if the numbers had become faces.

  “However, according to the report, five students lost their lives… all of them heirs from influential noble families. Meanwhile, only three students survived—and every one of them is a commoner.”

  A wave of displeased murmurs surged from the stands, swelling and breaking against the chamber’s stone.

  “This is far too abnormal! There must be hidden dealings behind our children’s deaths!” a booming voice roared from the right-side stands. A man rose to his feet, forcing a protest into the open.

  “Lord Viremont.” Theodore struck his gavel against the block.

  The sound didn’t echo like wood on wood. It landed like thunder—mana vibrating through the air until the chamber itself seemed to tighten.

  “Even if you hold a seat—and a voice—within the High Council of the Arcadian Kingdom, this is the Academy. In this room, at this moment, I am the highest authority. If you wish to protest, you will request permission according to protocol.”

  Lord Viremont had no choice but to sit back down, the chair scraping faintly as his face twisted into a stubborn scowl.

  Rein turned his head just enough to see him.

  Blond hair slicked neatly into place; a posture so arrogantly upright it looked practiced in front of a mirror.

  And Rein recognized him instantly.

  Ah. So that’s who you are—the father of that Malfoy-looking brat.

  The attitude’s a perfect copy, too.

  “Nevertheless,” Professor Theodore continued, lifting a thick stack of papers—dozens of pages bound under an official seal.

  “I have just received a formal complaint from William Rowlack—yes, the esteemed royal court poet—Kellen Rowlack’s father.”

  He tossed the stack onto the desk before his throne with a dull thud.

  Then, slowly, he adjusted the gold frames on the bridge of his nose, letting the metal catch a thin spill of light.

  “He insists—quite vehemently—that although his son may have been… unremarkable, he could not possibly be the perpetrator. He is convinced that the three of you are conspiring to frame his dead son—turning him into the convenient scapegoat of this tragedy.”

  The old man let the silence hang just long enough for it to sting.

  Then his next question cut through the chamber with heavier force than the last.

  “Did you plan anything malicious?” he asked. “Answer—truthfully.”

  It wasn’t just the words.

  Theodore laced the words with mana—dense—pressing it downward until the air felt thick enough to drink. Mira’s knees buckled and she dropped, breath catching as if her lungs had forgotten the shape of air. Boris staggered back several steps, chest heaving.

  Yet Rein remained standing.

  Amid that crushing pressure, he looked untouched. Calm. Still.

  “Master Alvira’s report already states the full truth, Professor,” Rein answered, his voice steady as still water. “We had no malicious plan. And we can prove it—with these invitations.”

  Rein raised three cards between two fingers, letting the light catch their seals.

  Theodore frowned faintly, then flicked his hand.

  The cards lifted from Rein’s grasp and glided toward the throne, as if reeled in by a silent thread of mana.

  Rein didn’t flinch.

  He simply continued, his tone level—yet firm.

  “First, this was the first time the three of us were invited. We had no ties to the Society, and we didn’t even know one another beforehand—no history, no dispute, no motive to kill, and no reason to frame anyone.”

  He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the shadowed stands before he spoke again.

  “Second, the invitations arrived after the Ranking Matches ended, leaving only a few hours before the party at seven. We spent that window in the Kingdom Zone buying supplies—and then took the tram straight to the cabin.”

  He took a beat.

  “We were short on time—almost rushing. You can verify this with the shoe shop owner in that zone…”

  A trace of dryness slipped into his voice.

  “the shop owner who even gave me a small discount.”

  He glanced down at the new leather shoes—still stiff at the creases—as if presenting Exhibit A.

  “And with that kind of tight window… where would three common students even get a Relic that rare? And even if we had it, how would we move it—through a crowded public station, onto a tram, and past the DVM gate—an entrance saturated with detection and verification spells—without triggering a single alarm?”

  Rein lifted his head, meeting Theodore’s gaze without lowering his eyes.

  “Lastly, we’re commoners. Our allowances restrict us. A cursed Relic of that value is simply beyond our reach.”

  When he finished, the vast chamber fell into a suffocating silence.

  But the storm in the darkened stands didn’t quiet.

  These entries expand the lore and mechanics introduced in this chapter.

  Completely optional—read only if you enjoy diving deeper into the system.

  A formal symbol and name for one of the Academy’s highest judicial chambers. Used during internal inquiries of serious magnitude—particularly involving magical law violations. The chamber is shaped like a stone amphitheater, with a central platform under a harsh white spotlight. The symbol, a stylized eye, is engraved on its entrance, implying scrutiny, justice, and divine observation.

  Slender, spear-like black-metal pillars planted into the ground around the Academy’s administrative headquarters. These structures are not decorative—they function as load-bearing conduits for the Academy’s most advanced defensive mana grid. Each pillar emits a pressure field, and together they form a nearly impenetrable mana barrier over the Foundation Zone. Said to be strong enough to suppress most magical threats below the Stratosphere-tier.

  Inside the building, miniaturized versions of the Anchoring Points line the corridor every 10 meters. These emit weak mana-frequency waves, acting as localized magic suppressors to prevent spontaneous casting or magical sabotage. They don’t affect high-level mages significantly but are highly effective against low-to-mid tier casters.

  A key argument made by Rein under interrogation: the logistical and magical improbability that commoner students could smuggle a dangerous, high-value Relic into Academy grounds—especially through multiple security layers (like the DVM gate), which are saturated with detection spells. This forms the foundation of Rein’s rational, fact-driven rebuttal.

  Used on the door to the interrogation chamber. This automated magical scanning system grants access only if the inscribed spellwork recognizes and confirms the mana signature of the user. Its design is described as clean, elegant—and something Rein considers copying for personal use, highlighting his constant inventor mindset.

  A senior and respected figure within the Academy, acting as the Chair of the Internal Investigation Committee during Headmistress Helena’s absence. A classic “wizard archetype” in appearance, with long white beard, gold-rimmed glasses, and enormous authority. Capable of applying passive mana pressure intense enough to physically weaken young students.

  A prominent noble and father of Timothy Viremont. Publicly accused Rein’s group of conspiracy and framed the inquiry as class-based injustice. His appearance and mannerisms parody the archetype of a “Malfoy-like” figure—arrogant, polished, and politically aggressive.

  A technique used by experienced mages like Professor Whitethorn to enforce truth or compliance during questioning. Mana is laced into the speaker’s voice, increasing gravity and pressure in the space around the listener. In this chapter, its effect physically collapses Mira and severely weakens Boris, while Rein remains standing—highlighting his internal composure and magical resilience.

  Organization

  A governing body empowered to conduct internal investigations on behalf of the Academy. Composed of high-ranking mages with full judicial authority. During this chapter, they act as both judges and jury, hidden in shadows, symbolizing the imbalance of power during the proceedings