The awkwardness gnawed at Boris. The room was so still he could hear the wet rasp of his own breath—and the faint creak of his ribs each time he tried to inhale quietly.

  He looked over at Rein, standing motionless in the wake of his statement. It struck Boris then, as it often did: Rein didn’t belong to their generation. There was something grimly adult in the way Rein stood—too still, too sure—like their shared age was a clerical error.

  Professor Theodore read the three invitations carefully. He turned them over, studied the map printed on the back, then flipped them again—slowly, as if time itself answered to procedure. Behind his glasses, his expression deepened into something unreadable.

  “Impressive,” the old man said at last, voice low. “It has been decades since a student dared confront me with logic so cleanly. The last one… was a long time ago.”

  But before he could finish, another voice cut in—sharp with anger.

  “Apologies for the breach of etiquette, Professor!” A man in formal attire stood—Northreach embassy colors stitched into his collar, jaw clenched hard enough to show the tendon.

  “Lady Dana Voss—the sole heir of our ambassador—died in this incident. And the claim that she was devoured by a Veilshade is unacceptable! That monster exists only in the far northernmost lands. According to our national records, it has been classified extinct for centuries.”

  Before the first disturbance could settle, another man rose—heavyset, immaculate in a butler’s uniform, posture rigid with the borrowed authority of a great house.

  “As butler of House Louden, I declare here and now that we will not let this end so easily! Lady Jalara is a vital successor. Perhaps these lowborn commoners have fabricated this tale, hoping to put their hands on what the dead have left behind!”

  Then, from the darkness of the stands, a figure rose—slowly. A tall, slender man rose, draped in a cloak so dark it seemed to drink the light around it. The air around him curdled into a lethal chill; several candles in the stands guttered as if they’d suddenly lost courage.

  “Even if Marten belonged to a minor branch of House Blackleaf…” his voice was ice. “Our noble blood still ran within him.”

  He leaned forward slightly, the words sharpening.

  “To accuse our kin of becoming a… filthy “werewolf” is an insult to our honor that we will not forgive.”

  In that instant, the chamber erupted.

  Voices overlapped into a furious storm—accusations, curses, names thrown like stones—until mana pressure swelled with their anger and rolled outward like a poisonous tide.

  That was the left side of the stands: the broken, the bitter, and the bereaved—loud enough to shake the light itself. But to the right, where the Academy’s High-Level Magical Inquiry Committee sat, there was only the low, steady murmur of hushed whispers.

  Boris and Mira looked like they could barely remain standing.

  The gavel slammed three times—violent enough that mana rippled through the chamber and made even the stone feel it.

  Theodore’s mana surged outward, suppressing the chaos in a single breath, crushing the chamber into silence so absolute it felt like an unseen hand had closed over everyone’s throats.

  “I will repeat myself,” Professor Theodore said, voice low, thick with authority. “This is the Academy’s inquiry chamber. Our duty is to hear both accusation and defense with fairness. Remain calm, so we may continue examining the facts.”

  He paused briefly, then he flicked the invitations aside; they slid through the air and landed in a neat stack, as if even paper knew its place here.

  “As for the matter of the Veilshade—its presence has been officially confirmed by Master Alvira. She is the primary witness and directly involved in this incident.”

  Theodore’s gaze shifted toward the Northreach representative.

  “Or are you suggesting that an Academy Master would disgrace herself by lying—simply to shield three common students?”

  The young envoy stood, face flushing red under the pressure.

  “I have the right to raise suspicion! The Veilshade has been missing for centuries. Its danger is so notorious that it would require multiple high-level adventuring parties coordinating together to bring one down. We of the north know its terror better than anyone—and that is precisely why this testimony is impossible.”

  Theodore’s brow tightened slightly. He didn’t answer immediately.

  Instead, he turned toward a darker corner of the amphitheater—eyes narrowing as if he could pin a silhouette to the wall.

  “Master Alvira,” he said evenly. “As the one who reported this… do you have anything to add?”

  Alvira tilted her head slowly, the motion heavy with a boredom so absolute it looked almost theatrical. She stepped out of the shadows and into the light, and the room reacted—an almost inaudible shift, like a crowd bracing for impact.

  “An explanation?” She curled her lips into a smile that wasn’t friendly in the slightest. Her dark, sharply lined eyes fixed on the envoy from the northern lands. “Sure. Easy.”

  Her grin widened—dangerous.

  “The only explanation I have for you is this,” she said, smile widening. “Northern adventurers are pathetic.”

  Silence slammed down.

  “This is the Academy,” Alvira continued, her voice cold but carrying a strange, unmistakable pride. “And the department these kids belong to is the Department of Variant Magic.”

  She raised two fingers in a sharp V—half a salute, half a provocation.

  “‘Strength’ and ‘Survival’ are the most basic lessons in this place—the Devil’s Den.”

  She lifted a shoulder in arrogant dismissal and swept her gaze across the tiers of darkness without the slightest fear.

  “You people seem to be under the impression that this Academy is just another magic school.” Her eyes narrowed. “It isn’t.”

  Her smile sharpened again.

  “This is a breeding ground for monsters among monsters. A factory that forges weapons—among weapons.”

  Alvira let out a short, derisive laugh.

  “So the monster you’re all trembling over? To us…” She leaned slightly forward, voice almost lazy. “It’s nothing more than a training dummy—something you swat around until your joints stop creaking.”

  “Arrogant!” The tall figure in a pitch-black cloak—Blackleaf’s representative—shot to his feet with a furious roar. Around him, other nobles began shouting in manic agreement.

  “That messy-haired brat planned everything!” Lord Viremont bellowed, face twisted with rage. “He must pay!”

  Professor Theodore pressed a hand to his temple, a tired ache passing through his features as he surveyed the eruption. His gray eyes swept the chaos. He raised his gavel once more, ready to silence the flock—

  But before it could strike the block for the tenth time, someone slammed the massive doors open so hard the hinges screamed.

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  Static rippled through the air long before he appeared—an abrupt charge that raised the hair at the back of every neck and made the metal in the chamber taste faintly of lightning.

  “Master Aiden…” murmurs rolled through the hall. On the highest throne, Theodore set his gavel down with almost gentle care, the corner of his mouth curving into a small, private smile—as if the storm had finally arrived on schedule.

  Aiden strode in—spiky hair, trademark sunglasses, black leather jacket like it was stitched to his identity—arms spread wide in an easy, theatrical welcome.

  To Rein’s eyes, he looked less like a man entering an interrogation and more like a superstar stepping onto a stage—ready to own the room.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Aiden said brightly. “You know how it is—celebrities run on their own time.” He cocked his head to the side, glancing up at the nobility with a look that was utterly irritating, yet somehow still charming.

  And when Rein looked past the rocker’s shoulder, he saw another figure strolling in behind him at her own unhurried pace.

  Master Rachel.

  “Took you long enough,” Rein muttered under his breath, a corner of his mouth lifting. “Auntie Elf.”

  Ruby-red eyes snapped to him instantly.

  …Damn it.

  He’d forgotten—elven hearing was a weapon.

  Aiden walked straight into the spotlight without asking permission from anyone—because permission was for people who still believed in rules. He lifted two fingers to his brow in a casual salute toward the highest throne.

  “Hey, Grandpa Theodore,” Aiden said, flashing two fingers in salute. “Still alive?”

  Theodore glared at him—with little heat—then burst into laughter—loud enough that the chamber froze, not from mana pressure this time, but pure disbelief.

  “Aiden, you little brat,” the old man wheezed, still chuckling. “Your mouth hasn’t changed in decades.”

  He leaned back against his seat, visibly more at ease now, then spoke again.

  “Very well,” Theodore said, settling back. “These accusations have spilled into your department. Tell us, Head Aiden—how do you intend to answer?”

  “Respond?” Aiden raised an eyebrow, then turned to face Blackleaf’s representative.

  Then, in front of dozens of staring eyes, Aiden raised his middle finger—slowly, deliberately, like a signature.

  Blue cyan electricity crackled from it, leaping to the rest of his fingers until all five were lit with crawling arcs—

  Then he clenched his fist.

  With a soft, hungry thrum, the magical spotlight overhead died.

  Darkness swallowed the chamber.

  And in the next heartbeat, everyone saw it: lightning spiraled around Aiden’s body, bright enough to outline every stud on his jacket—turning him into something less like a man and more like a thunder god carved out of darkness.

  “No,” Aiden said, grin audible in his voice. “I’m not responding to anything.”

  He paused for a beat, his expression shifting to one of mock contemplation.

  “Perhaps everyone has forgotten,” Aiden mused, “that every student who enters this Academy signs a waiver—acknowledging that injuries and death under ‘unforeseen circumstances’ are not the Academy’s liability.”

  He let out a soft, theatrical sigh.

  “But nobles like you?” Aiden sighed theatrically. “Even with that paper, you’ll still claw at the Academy—anything to patch up wounded pride with politics.”

  He swept his eyes across the entire amphitheater, gaze razor-sharp as lightning itself.

  “If that’s the case, then I’ll be ‘arrogant’—exactly like you just accused us of being.”

  His smile widened.

  “As Head of DVM, we live by one iron law: survival and strength. Day or night, every waking second is training with lethal stakes.”

  His eyes flicked briefly toward Rein and the others, before returning to the crowd.

  “The fact that these kids came back alive from something that some of you wouldn’t survive—even with your titles.”

  He paused, letting the implication sink its teeth in.

  “…is proof that they belong here.”

  His tone turned flat—brutal in its simplicity.

  “And the ones who died—noble or commoner—proved they couldn’t. That’s all.”

  “This is… utter nonsense!” Blackleaf’s representative snarled, but the voice shook, threaded with fear he couldn’t hide.

  Aiden didn’t even look at him.

  He snapped his fingers. The lights returned. The storm vanished. The entire chamber exhaled without realizing it had been holding its breath.

  “If any house has a problem with DVM,” Aiden said lightly, “send word. I’m always happy to pay my respects… and ‘clear up misunderstandings’ in person. Any time you like.”

  A faint, razor-thin smile played at the corner of his lips.

  “At your home.”

  The power in his gaze did the rest.

  The representatives of the noble houses shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of the obvious truth: no one in this room was stupid enough to pick a fight with one of the Five Disciples.

  But Lord Viremont wasn’t done.

  “Unacceptable! Unjust!” he shouted as he rose again, hurling hatred straight at Rein. “We’ll bring this to the High Council! If the Academy wants a political war with us, then try it!”

  “It won’t be going to the High Council,” Master Rachel said—and the room obeyed her voice before anyone realized they’d gone silent. She stepped forward.

  Her hand rested lightly on Rein’s shoulder—an almost casual touch that nonetheless drew a clear boundary around him, and her gaze swept the stands like polar ice—cold enough to make people forget how to breathe.

  “This case has already been transferred into the custody of Forensic Magic—the unit that answers only to evidence and statute,” she continued, calm and absolute. “The High Council has no authority to interfere with an internal investigation under that unit. You know the kingdom’s law well enough, Lord Viremont.”

  Viremont’s legs went weak.

  He collapsed back into his seat as if something had yanked the spirit out of him.

  A man like him would recognize what Rachel truly was.

  She wasn’t merely a Master.

  She was an existence who had lived for centuries—an influence so vast that even Arcadia’s royal family treated her with caution.

  And above all…

  There were whispers, old and carefully guarded among the nobility, that she might be something even rarer than that—

  One of the kingdom’s founders.

  The interrogation hall cracked open the moment Master Rachel appeared, and the amphitheater sank into an awkward silence so thick it felt like damp cloth pressed over the mouth.

  Theodore adjourned the hearing on the spot and summoned Master Aiden and Master Rachel for a private audience—no debate, no ceremony.

  Alvira herded the three of them into a corridor outside the administration wing. Afternoon light poured through tall windows in bright columns—yet it did nothing to warm the chill that had followed them out of the chamber.

  Mira stayed curled on a marble bench, fingers hooked into the hem of her cloak until the fabric creased and her knuckles blanched. She stared at nothing in particular, blinking too slowly, like someone waking from a nightmare that refused to end.

  Beside her, Boris leaned against the cold wall with his head bowed, breathing in measured counts like he was trying to remember how lungs worked. The sweat on his palms had dried, but the tremor in his hands hadn’t.

  Alvira stood with arms crossed against a stone pillar. She slid a cigarette between her lips but didn’t light it—one small restraint that made her irritation look sharper.

  “Today’s hearing?” Alvira sneered. “A stage play—just enough to satisfy protocol.”

  She gazed out the window, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon.

  “Regardless of the truth, they won’t accept anything from DVM on faith—sometimes not even facts. The committee knew this was inevitable. When heirs die, the high-born don’t ask what happened. They ask who pays.”

  Alvira shifted slightly, her eyes locking onto the bewilderment on Boris and Mira’s faces.

  “This isn’t new,” she said, as if reciting an old list of disappointments. “Arcadia’s elite never treat catastrophe as their own failure. Politics comes first. It always does.”

  Alvira paced, boots clicking in a slow rhythm. “For them, honor is leverage. Lose it and you bleed influence. They smile together when it profits them—and the moment someone shows weakness, they circle like predators.”

  “So in their worldview,” Alvira finished, stopping in front of them, “a commoner is always the easiest answer.”

  While Mira bit her lip and Boris clenched his fists, Rein stayed quiet. He leaned back against the bench and watched his shadow stretch across the marble, expression empty—not from fear, but from familiarity.

  Rein had expected it. A class-driven world didn’t need truth—it needed a shape that power could live with.

  That was why he’d acted first—using the Forensic Magic Investigator Badge Rachel had given him. He’d assumed it was just proof of status until it vibrated in his palm that morning and answered back like a miniaturized communication orb.

  How was I supposed to know? She didn’t exactly hand me a manual.

  He’d expected Rachel to appear as a witness, nothing more. He hadn’t imagined she’d bring Aiden and seize jurisdiction in a blink. It was several tiers above his calculation—proof that the “connections” he now held carried actual weight.

  Master Alvira stopped directly in front of Rein. She stared deep into his blue eyes with an unreadable expression before issuing a stern warning.

  “You got lucky today,” Alvira said, eyes unreadable. “Master Rachel and Master Aiden put their bodies between you and the knives. The nobility will back off—for now. Don’t mistake that for forgiveness.”

  Alvira twirled the unlit cigarette between her fingers, her gaze drifting toward the long shadows creeping across the marble floor before she continued.

  “No outsider can stroll in here and touch you,” she went on, cigarette turning between her fingers. “But influence doesn’t need feet. You don’t know how deep their hands reach inside these walls—so from now on, all three of you watch your backs.”

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

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

  Organization

  Department of Variant Magic (Update)

  Previously introduced. Reaffirmed here as a division defined by two core tenets: “Survival and Strength.”

  As Alvira declares in this chapter:

  “This is a breeding ground for monsters among monsters. A factory that forges weapons—among weapons.”

  The DVM represents the most dangerous, combat-focused training grounds in the Academy, often nicknamed “The Devil’s Den.”

  Forensic Magic Division (Update)

  A division that conducts investigations using magical analysis. It operates under a distinct legal authority—outside the High Council’s reach. Rein’s possession of a Forensic Investigator’s Badge grants him jurisdiction in certain inquiries.

  Location

  Inquiry Chamber (Update)

  A formal courtroom-like setting within the Academy used for high-level investigation, disciplinary hearings, and public inquests. Run by Professor Theodore and the High-Level Magical Inquiry Committee, this chamber can become a political battlefield between nobility and the Academy.

  Magic Items

  Forensic Magic Investigator Badge (Update)

  A high-authority identification issued by the Forensic Magic Division, used by certified investigators within the Arcadian Kingdom. This badge not only serves as official legal identification, but also contains embedded magical functions that go beyond its appearance.

  Functions and Abilities:

  – Legal Authority: Grants the bearer investigative powers that override regional and noble jurisdictions in magical crime scenes.

  – Access Rights: Allows entry into restricted or magically sealed locations related to active cases.

  – Trial Invocation: Can be used to initiate a formal Forensic Inquiry Trial, recognized by Arcadia’s magic courts.

  – Magical Communication: As revealed in Chapter 64, the badge doubles as a miniaturized communication orb, capable of sending and receiving secure magical messages. It activates in response to specific triggers and can transmit directly to other Division agents.

  – Sensory Feedback: Emits vibrations or pulses when activated or when receiving communications, similar to a magical alert system.

  Other

  DVM Motto: “Survival and Strength”

  This iron law defines the Department’s entire structure. Students must endure constant mortal risk as a form of education. As Aiden says:

  “Every waking second is training with lethal stakes.”