Nearly a month had passed since the tragedy at the pine-forest cabin, and Rein had kept his life quiet—quiet enough that no one knocked on his door unless they had to.

  The investigation continued for only another week after that. The Forensic Magic Division sent officers to collect evidence and take statements from Boris, Mira, and him in painstaking detail, before closing the case with a conclusion that fit neatly on paper: a catastrophic accident caused by an illegal experiment with a forbidden Relic—conducted by the Beyond the Enigma Society.

  With no proof tying the incident to murder, the inquiry shifted its focus toward finding the “shadow hand” that had smuggled the Relic into the Academy in the first place.

  And with that, Rein’s name slipped out of the noble houses’ orbit—cleanly, quietly—at least for now.

  During recovery, Rein spent most of his time contacting Master Rachel—asking about Core Mana-Circles Density Theory, which became far more complicated once elven physiology entered the equation.

  Whenever his body drifted into sleep, he used the gap to slip into the Mana Realm to run simulations, refine his models, and hunt down the flaws in spells that still refused to obey him.

  In the first week, Ingrid kept showing up to “check on him”—under orders that sounded suspiciously like Master Chloe’s. Every time she arrived, his room filled with her yelling about how he had an unnatural talent for getting himself injured to where his nervous system nearly collapsed.

  “You’re seriously a disaster magnet,” Ingrid grumbled, shoving a cloudy green vial into his hands like she was feeding medicine to a stubborn animal.

  He had to admit—the potion helped his scorched nerves recover faster than usual.

  But it came at a price.

  The taste was beyond salvation—burnt roots, iron rust, and the kind of bitterness that felt personal.

  Rein swore—sincerely—that next time he’d recommend Ingrid mix in green tea.

  …Assuming Arath even had it.

  As for Boris and Mira…

  Rein barely saw them these days.

  More than once, Mira dragged Boris to his door and called his name with frantic concern—but Rein stayed still, listening to their voices fade down the corridor like a storm moving away.

  [LIZ: You’re shutting people out again, Rein. And the door keeps getting heavier.]

  Her translucent chat window appeared midair. Even in hologram form, her eyes looked like they saw straight through him.

  “I don’t have a choice,” Rein murmured, staring at the dim ceiling. “I’m not dragging them into danger they can’t even see coming.”

  He lowered himself onto the bed, slowly, letting his thoughts drift back over what had happened.

  But no matter how many times he analyzed the cracks in his plan, the images of the Masters—those overwhelming figures of authority—kept replaying in his mind, as if the world itself insisted on reminding him of his own weakness.

  “This is a world where power is the only thing that matters, LIZ,” Rein said into the dark.

  “All the reason, logic, and evidence I nearly bled myself dry to gather… none of it means anything unless power is willing to stand behind it.”

  He went still for a moment, then continued—voice steadier, colder.

  “The Forensic Magic Division wasn’t respected because it was just. It was respected because Master Rachel had built it—and because she had the power to make the world accept it.”

  His brows furrowed unconsciously.

  “Her knowledge. Her magic. The weight of centuries behind her name—enough that even the royal family had to lower their heads.”

  Rein pressed his lips together. A faint spark flickered in his eyes—conflict, frustration, something sharper.

  “Master Chloe and Master Aiden… they’re among the Five Disciples. Their power is so far beyond ordinary sense, it just feels… unfair.”

  He paused for a heartbeat.

  “They’re the kind of people who can wrestle a rotten system directly—and no one with a functioning brain wants to make an enemy of them.”

  He exhaled, long and heavy.

  “Even Master Alvira…” Another sigh. “She’s strong enough to carve out her own territory. To stand against filthy political pressure with nothing but her own two hands.”

  Then his voice dropped, almost to nothing.

  “But me… right now…”

  He lifted his hand and stared at his palm, as if strength should’ve been something you could hold—and he’d come up empty.

  “The gap is too wide. And I still can’t protect anyone… except myself.”

  [LIZ: They were already on the wrong side of the line, Rein. Even if you burned yourself out, you wouldn’t have been able to pull them back.]

  “I know, LIZ…” His voice thinned until it nearly vanished. “I know…”

  Rein closed his eyes, letting the darkness behind his lids become a temporary shield.

  In Arath—a world driven by the law of big fish devouring small—his prized intelligence could only keep him from falling off the cliff.

  It couldn’t reach back and pull the people behind him up.

  The Masters were kings and queens—pieces that moved once and shook the entire board.

  But he was still a pawn.

  A pawn that could jump a little farther than the others, perhaps.

  Yet a pawn that marched deep into enemy territory alone… could never spread its wings wide enough to shield the pawns that followed.

  “For now,” Rein murmured, “if I want those two to stay out of danger…”

  He exhaled. “Then I’ll make sure the world aims at me.”

  “Only me.”

  And then he sank into the Mana Realm.

  …

  …

  “Only two months left until your final exams!” The lecturer’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp enough to slice through the winter air that still clung to everyone’s sleeves.

  “And the Academy’s exams do not leave room for losers. Only those who score above seventy percent in both theory and practice will earn the honor of advancing to second year.”

  The young instructor—sharp-featured and severe—swept his gaze across the hundreds of first-years with a cutting intensity.

  “And you’re all very lucky,” he added, lips curling, “that I’m the one writing your exam.”

  Rein sat in one corner of the fundamental-theory class that all first-years—every department—were required to attend.

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  This General Lecture Building stood in the Knowledge Zone, an area as solemn and quiet as the Central Library.

  Rein had to ride the Acadia Tram out from the Victory Zone—home to the Devil’s Den—for about ten minutes just to step into an atmosphere that felt like a different world—quiet, ink-scented, and heavy with the kind of silence that made even first-years lower their voices.

  The Lecture Building was laid in deep red-orange brick—thick, steady—and it held a broad cloister at its heart like a fist around a quiet square. Arcaded corridors wrapped the courtyard in a measured rhythm; the columns were plain, restrained, and quietly forceful.

  Morning light spilled into the square and cut the floor into clean blocks of brightness and shade beneath each rounded arch.

  At the far end, two tall, rectangular stone towers rose like sentinels flanking the main mass. Narrow windows stared down like wardens’ eyes, watching students bustle below.

  Even the air felt weighted—old, dry, and strict to the smallest breath.

  The main auditorium was a massive semicircular amphitheater, large enough to hold a hundred students with room left to echo. Sound-amplification enchantments ran through the stone in fine inscriptions, ensuring every word reached even the top row.

  But the moment the instructor announced the seventy percent threshold, the hall, meant to be solemn, erupted into anxious murmurs and restless shifting across every department.

  To most first-years, seventy percent was a cliff edge.

  Rein felt nothing.

  He yawned and spun a black pen between his fingers, gaze drifting to the window as if the lecture were ambient noise.

  What Master Bloom Capeland was declaring up there was, to Rein, bland in the specific way only a confident lecturer could manage.

  Most of it still circled the basics—sensing mana flow, elementary principles, the slow ritual of full incantation, rough limits measured like they meant something.

  Knowledge Rein had left behind a long time ago.

  Compared to the grueling lessons Master Valerius drilled into DVM students—packed with topology theory and advanced mana-structure frameworks—this class was a joke.

  Two hours. An hour and a half spent praising his own achievements, and yet the actual content hadn’t even touched fifteen percent of Chapter One in Bratos’s textbook.

  He snorted inwardly.

  It was a bedtime story.

  That brutal gap in intensity—an abyss between curricula—made Rein realize something with sudden, piercing clarity:

  The DVM department, the one everyone loved branding as the ‘Devil’s Den’…

  …was, in truth, the Ivy League of the Academy. A place where only the genuine were admitted, then carved into shape through merciless refinement.

  Rein let his gaze and his thoughts drift toward the world beyond the glass.

  Outside the window, winter wind began to rake through the buildings, kicking brittle leaves into the air; they skittered along the stone and vanished into the courtyard’s corners like restless thoughts.

  The Academy had grown unnaturally quiet, as if everything were preparing for a long hibernation.

  Magnificent trees had shed their foliage until only twisted black branches remained—silhouetted against a dull gray sky, heavy as hammered lead.

  The continent of Aetheria lay near the center of the world map, and the Kingdom of Arcadia sat further into the northern hemisphere.

  If Arath’s axis tilted like Earth’s—as he suspected—then snow would come soon enough, laying a white verdict over this place.

  Rein watched the view and let a faint smile tug at one corner of his mouth.

  He still couldn’t get over how absurd fate was—dragging him back into a classroom, surrounded by teenagers, making him play the role of “student” again.

  Two months ago, he’d been a rising scientist with a real shot at a Nobel. Now he was back in a lecture hall, pretending the chair didn’t bite.

  The universe was probably having fun with this experiment, he was twirling his pen slowly.

  In physics, light could be both wave and particle…

  …and right now, I’m both Dr. Rhys and Rein—overlapping like a bad, persistent superposition.

  One was a scientist anchored to logic.

  The other, a mage holding secrets of mana.

  The only obvious common point between them, really, was the same messy hair that refused to obey either world’s laws.

  As his attention drifted, scattered fragments of memory began to knit themselves together.

  The previous “Rein” had been an orphan—no backing, no name.

  Yet he became the first commoner in history to enter this Academy with a score so high it scratched a crack through the nobles’ faith in their own superiority. They refused to accept it. They tried to accuse him of cheating.

  In the end, none of those stupid accusations could smother talent that stood too far above ordinary mages.

  The rule had been etched into the Academy’s mana for centuries: If you have ability, this place welcomes you—regardless of class, race, or bloodline.

  But reality wasn’t as beautiful as letters carved into stone.

  The previous Rein had been “welcomed” the way commoners always were: with a smile in public, and cruelty in the corners.

  Upperclassmen and noble classmates hazed him with cruelty, and no matter how gifted he was, a first-year alone would always have a day where he slipped.

  One day, the previous Rein was found half-dead—broken and barely breathing—then carried to the Department of Healing.

  That was the beginning: his closeness with Ingrid, and the mercy he received from Master Chloe.

  But after he recovered…

  Rein proved to the entire Academy that he was real.

  He was a freak of nature who became a Troposphere Master. within his very first term.

  After that, no one dared bully him again. But his reputation curdled into something else instead.

  People called him arrogant.

  Overconfident.

  A “monster” who would repay every touch—eye for eye, tooth for tooth—with compound interest.

  The fractured memories faded, replaced by the cold present of the lecture hall.

  Rein shook his head lightly, clearing the fog, then let his gaze slide over the first-years from other departments seated higher up in the amphitheater.

  He caught many eyes fixed on him—each carrying a distinct flavor:

  Hatred. Envy. Suspicion—each stare weighing him like a verdict.

  “Heh… the previous Rein really left behind a lot of mess,” he muttered. “So much for the quiet life.”

  In truth, he’d avoided clashes with nobles whenever he could—whether in DVM or anywhere else.

  But it seemed the original owner’s shadow followed him everywhere.

  “Rein! Are you seriously not going to pay attention to what I’m teaching?”

  Master Bloom’s shout rang through the amphitheater, snapping heads forward even in the front row.

  He must have been watching for a while—watching Rein sit there daydreaming, never looking at the board, never writing a single note.

  “Here we go again,” Rein murmured, exhaustion sitting on his face like a poor mask.

  Master Bloom was a handsome young instructor—green eyes, shoulder-length blond hair kept perfectly straight. Old noble blood, newer arrogance, and a fanatical devotion to “purity.”

  To Bloom, Rein’s brilliance wasn’t admirable.

  It was a thorn in the only place Bloom actually cared about—his belief that power should come prepackaged with a family name.

  Fff—ff—ff! Chalk tore the air in sharp, dry snaps.

  Left… right… then left.

  Rein tilted his head and let the chalk pass, movements small and economical. He read the arcs, the spin, the ugly little wobbles in their flight with painful clarity—slow motion, but only in his eyes.

  “What a waste of chalk,” he muttered, like he was auditing a budget.

  Master Bloom, however, looked even more unhinged.

  Bloom kept pelting him, fist after fist, chalk dust blooming in the air until the front rows looked like they’d been caught in a brief, ridiculous snowstorm.

  By now the “chalk duel” was part of the curriculum—unofficial, pathetic, and somehow supported by audience expectations.

  And today, Bloom had clearly brought extra supplies.

  “Hah… hah…”

  Bloom stood there heaving, shoulders jerking, sweat turning his perfect hairline into something briefly human.

  “Consider that… discipline!” he gasped. “If I got serious, you wouldn’t dodge a thing. Now—get out of my class, you arrogant commoner!”

  Rein rose, brushed the chalk dust from his collar, and offered the barest nod of courtesy—then walked out, leaving the “honorable” instructor behind him, still panting and cursing.

  A chorus of disappointed “Heeey—!” rose from the lower rows, half groan, half laughter—the sound of a betting pool collapsing.

  He didn’t need to ask.

  Someone had opened a betting table on whether he’d dodge every piece of Bloom’s chalk.

  And judging by the bitter tone, quite a few people had just lost money.

  Rein shook his head, exasperated, hands slipping into his cloak pockets. He walked the red-brick corridor with chalk still ghosting his sleeves, boots tapping a rhythm on old stone.

  Ahead, a circular stone staircase coiled upward inside the tower like a spine. It carried him up—higher—toward the top of a tower looming above the lecture complex.

  Not long after, Rein stood in the biting wind atop the tower, looking down through narrow stone windows at the cloister courtyard below—now emptied of people.

  Up here, the wind was brutal and the silence was useful—clean enough to line his thoughts up again.

  He pulled out a cold sandwich, took a huge bite, then lay back on the wooden floor with shameless comfort.

  That peace lasted almost an hour.

  Then—

  The wooden door he’d bolted properly exploded inward, the entire frame shuddering as the latch whined and splinters jumped across the floor.

  He turned and saw a group of first-year students swaggered in, their faces twisted with undisguised hatred.

  His instincts were right—again—in the worst way.

  “So Einstein really was right,” Rein muttered. “God doesn’t roll dice.”

  He looked at the shattered door, then sighed.

  “But he sure loves placing bets.”

  Whatever fate wanted to call it, the next wave was already standing in his doorway.

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

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

  Location

  Knowledge Zone

  One of the designated zones in the Academy of Arcadia, separate from the Devil’s Den (DVM). Known for its solemn, scholarly atmosphere—quiet, orderly, and almost monastic. Home to the General Lecture Building, where all first-year students, regardless of department, attend mandatory theory lectures.

  General Lecture Building

  A massive red-orange brick structure located in the Knowledge Zone. Built in classical architecture, it includes a large semicircular amphitheater capable of seating hundreds. Stone-carved sound amplification enchantments ensure every word can be heard clearly. The building’s design and aura are a stark contrast to the intensity of the Devil’s Den, giving it a sense of tradition, control, and rigid structure.

  Key Characters

  Master Bloom Capeland

  A young, noble-blooded instructor in charge of the first-year general theory class. Known for his rigid adherence to noble purity, vanity in appearance, and aggressive disdain toward commoners. Uses petty tactics—such as pelting students with chalk—as a method of humiliation, especially toward Rein. Highly insecure when faced with undeniable talent that defies his worldview.

  Other

  The “Chalk Duel”

  A nickname coined by students for the absurd, repeated confrontations between Master Bloom and Rein, where Bloom hurls chalk at Rein during lectures. Rein routinely dodges all attacks with ease, making the event a source of entertainment and underground betting pools among students.

  Metaphor

  DVM Department = Ivy League

  Rein internally compares the Devil’s Den (DVM Department) to the Ivy League—elite, cutthroat, and designed to refine only the best. He contrasts its brutal, hands-on training with the lackluster teaching of more “prestigious” departments, highlighting the gap between true meritocracy and noble favoritism.

  Magic Theory

  Core Mana-Circles Density Theory

  An advanced theory Rein discusses with Master Rachel, made more complex due to elven physiology, which affects how mana circulates through internal channels. This likely ties into spell efficiency, healing potential, and racial traits in magical casting.

  Physics Reference

  Wave-Particle Duality

  Rein compares his dual identity (Dr. Rhys vs. Rein) to wave-particle duality in quantum physics. Just as light exhibits both particle and wave behaviors, Rein exists as both a scientist and a mage—two contradictory realities forced into one.

  Superposition

  Rein describes his existence as being stuck in a persistent superposition—a quantum term where a particle exists in multiple states until measured. The metaphor here reflects his internal conflict between two identities and roles.

  Einstein’s Dice Quote

  Rein sarcastically references Einstein’s quote: “God does not play dice with the universe.” But then quips that “God loves placing bets,” reflecting the absurdity and unpredictability of fate—especially in his life.