If there was any place where time seemed to have stopped—and begun to rot in place—it was here.
Stacks of documents towered over cabinets and crawled across the corners of the floor like administrative fossils, layered upon one another since some prehistoric bureaucratic age.
The air was thick with the sharp, lingering scent of mana cigarettes, drifting lazily through pale sunlight slipping in through a narrow window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
Rein felt as though he wasn’t standing in an office at all—but had wandered into a world stitched together from incompatible fragments: the solemn gravity of an ancient castle, colliding violently with the slovenly chaos of its current occupant.
Master Alvira skimmed the transfer papers Ingrid handed over as if they were nothing more than an irritating flyer. She tossed them onto a scarred oak desk stained with knife marks and coffee rings, then tilted her head slightly. Heavy black eyeliner framed eyes that now fixed on Rein with an unreadable expression.
Her posture continued to defy both gravity and social etiquette—black leather boots crossed comfortably atop what was probably an important research document on the desk.
“According to the sacred and inviolable regulations of the Academy,” she drawled, her voice husky and dripping with sarcasm,
“a first-year scholarship student disappearing for nearly a month without submitting a leave form should’ve been suspended—
or kicked out and turned into fertilizer for the pine forest.”
She paused.
A slender finger adorned with a silver ring tapped against Ingrid’s paperwork.
…tap… tap… tap…
The rhythm was steady, deliberate—less like a disciplinary review, more like someone counting in a song playing inside her head.
“But instead,” she continued,
“you’ve got yourself a get-out-of-jail-free card from little Miss Chloe, certifying that you were critically injured in the line of duty and required extended treatment.”
Her dark-painted lips twisted into a mocking smile as she exhaled a thin plume of gray smoke.
“How boring.”
The word lingered in the silence.
…What?
Rein blinked, his logical faculties lagging behind reality.
Boring? Wait—what the hell is this punk thinking? I took medical leave. Proper procedure. Certified diagnosis. Completely by the book.
What did she expect—me to blow up a building for it to count as “interesting”?
“Whatever.”
Alvira cut him off, plucking the document from beneath her own fingers and flicking it into the mountainous paper pile behind her without a second glance.
“You don’t need to attend classes today. Go crawl back into your dorm and sleep.”
She paused, one corner of her mouth twitching with something mischievous.
“The DVM was planning to reclaim your room, actually. You were gone too long.”
DVM…? Rein frowned slightly.
“But,” she continued casually,
“turns out the second- and third-years didn’t have the guts—
I mean, didn’t want—to move into that wing. So your room’s still empty. Lucky you.”
No one dared…?
Rein’s brow furrowed.
“DVM…” he repeated softly, sweeping his gaze around the office that looked more like a criminal hideout than faculty quarters.
“That’s the abbreviation for Department of Variant Magic, right? Like on the sign outside?”
Alvira raised one eyebrow sharply—as if he’d just told the worst joke she’d heard all year.
Snap.
The soft sound of her fingers snapping echoed in the room.
Instantly, the tip of her cigarette flared alive with deep blue flame—like air molecules grinding against each other at her command.
Sssshhh—
The magical tobacco hissed as it burned. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled glowing green smoke that coiled lazily in midair, twisting into ring-shaped loops like serpents dancing.
“Looks like the report was right,” she said flatly.
“Your head really did get knocked hard enough to lose a few memories.”
Thud.
Her boot heels hit the wooden floor as she swung her legs down from the desk. Alvira rose to her full height, her black master’s cloak rippling slightly as she walked around the desk toward him.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Laziness vanished—replaced by a sharp, cutting pressure.
She stopped right in front of Rein—far too close. A cool, minty scent mixed with the sharp bite of ozone reached his nose. Leaning in slightly, her eyeliner-sharpened gaze locked straight into his eyes as she slowly blew the green smoke directly into his face.
“DVM is just what he—” she paused, correcting herself,
“—what the Head of Department writes on budget forms.”
The smoke drifted past Rein’s face. He instinctively held his breath. Alvira smirked in satisfaction.
“We use it ourselves, sure. But people on the outside—”
She pointed past his shoulder, toward the direction of the main elemental buildings.
“They prefer a more fitting name.”
Her eyes gleamed briefly through the haze.
“Devil Mage.”
She held his gaze for a heartbeat longer—long enough to make most people look away—then burst into laughter and turned back toward her desk as if nothing had happened.
“Now get lost. I’ll handle the stupid paperwork myself. Burn it—
I mean, submit it.”
She dropped back into her chair, tossed him a set of old keys taken from a hook on the wall, and waved him off without looking.
“Alright then… welcome back to the Devil’s Den, officially.”
“…Lightning Boy.”
Rein and Ingrid stepped out of the administration office into the silent stone corridor. The heavy oak door closed behind them, sealing off the rock music and mana smoke inside.
Silence settled in—thick and awkward.
Ingrid adjusted her glasses, then drew a deep breath.
“Well… from here on, you’ll have to take care of yourself,” she said, glancing at him with concern and uncertainty.
“Which… should be fine now. Probably.”
The blonde girl turned to leave—
—but before her foot crossed the first stone tile, a voice shrieked from the far end of the corridor.
For a split second, Ingrid’s lips curved into a faint smile—thinking Rein had called after her.
That hope shattered instantly when her brain caught up.
That wasn’t Rein’s low voice.
It was a high-pitched scream, stretched long by frightening lung capacity.
“Ingrriiiiiiiiddddddd!!”
She spun around, frowning.
At the end of the corridor, a small girl with short jet-black hair was sprinting toward them at a speed that blatantly violated school safety regulations. Her arms were piled high with books stacked so tall they nearly swallowed her whole—
—and most importantly, a slice of toast was clenched firmly between her teeth.
What is this, some kind of cheap drama cliché…?
“Breeeeak!! I can’t stoooop!!”
Her shoes screeched against the slick stone floor. Momentum sent her body launching forward like an uncontrolled cannonball.
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Fortunately—or perhaps disastrously—
the human projectile’s target was the messy-haired boy standing squarely in her path.
Rein frowned. Instinct told his feet to move aside—
—but in that split second, he changed his mind.
CRASH!
The impact sent Rein flipping backward and slamming flat onto the stone floor—while the small girl landed squarely on top of him like a surprisingly effective crash cushion. Books exploded in every direction. The toast that had been clenched between her teeth went flying… and plastered itself squarely onto Rein’s uniform chest.
Silence went back to work.
Only this time, it was heavier.
The short-haired girl slowly lifted her head. Wide, round eyes met Rein’s at point-blank range—their noses nearly touching.
“Ah… M-Mira?” Ingrid gasped, voice cracking. She flew both hands to her mouth, shock flooding her face. A deep blush rushed up her cheeks and spread to her ears—like she’d just witnessed a scene she absolutely wasn’t supposed to see.
CREEEAK—
The administration door opened again. Master Alvira peeked out, drawn by the crashing noise. She took in the tableau—new student sprawled on the floor, small girl straddling him—wearing the most vacant expression imaginable. One eyebrow lifted.
She exhaled a long ribbon of smoke and slowly shook her head.
“Back for one day and you’re already causing trouble… you’re quick on the trigger, Lightning Boy.”
BANG!
The door slammed shut in their faces without an ounce of mercy, leaving Rein flat on the freezing stone floor.
He stared up at the girl still on top of him with empty eyes. Not a single romantic thought crossed his mind—he was only wondering…
…exactly where on his shirt that toast had landed.
The corridor held its breath for a moment. Then Ingrid finally snapped back to life and rushed forward, helping Mira up.
“Are you okay? Did you hurt anything?” Ingrid asked, frantic.
“N-no… I’m fine—ow…” Mira muttered, rubbing her backside with a pained wince. Then both girls’ eyes dropped to the floor at the same time.
Rein propped himself up slowly. He dusted off his trousers with calm, indifferent motions, then picked up the unfortunate toast and offered it back to the girl standing in front of him.
“Your toast,” he said flatly. “I think it’s still edible… if you don’t believe in the five-second rule.”
“E-eh… R-Rein?” Mira’s voice stuttered. “Y-you… you’re back?”
She took the toast—but couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his eyes.
Even in the DVM—this place officially nicknamed the Devil’s Den—Rein’s name still ranked near the top of the unofficial list titled: Most Dangerous, Least Approachable People.
He wasn’t just the first-year who entered with absurdly high scores. It was the fact that he’d placed third in the Arcadia Grand Magic Tournament that made him a freak among freaks.
So seeing him reappear after vanishing for a month felt, to Mira, like seeing a ghost walk back into the living.
“Mira! How’ve you been? It’s been ages,” Ingrid jumped in quickly, breaking the tension while kneeling to gather the scattered books. “Since orientation day, right?”
Before long, the two girls slipped into the familiar rhythm of old friends reuniting—talking as they collected the mess—while the messy-haired boy stared up at the corridor ceiling and sighed intermittently, like a man watching fate do whatever it wanted.
After long stretch of conversation, Ingrid waved goodbye and headed back toward the Healing Department, leaving Rein alone with the short-haired girl in black, now clutching a precarious stack of books again.
Mira blinked up at Rein when he stepped closer. Her heart stumbled once.
Or… is he going to offer to carry my books? Like in those novels?
But Rein only raised the old dorm key to eye level, scratched his head lightly, and sighed with genuine fatigue.
“Can I ask you something…” he said evenly. “Do you happen to know where the scholarship dorms are? I’ve got a bit of memory loss. So I can’t remember where my ‘den’ is in this building.”
Mira froze for a second. She looked at Rein, then looked around the corridor, as if checking whether he was joking.
Then she sighed and accepted her fate.
“Okay. Okay. I’ll put these books away first.” She pointed at him sternly. “You wait right here. And don’t wander off and disappear again!”
With that, she took off at a brisk trot and vanished around the corner, leaving Rein alone in the silence outside the administration office.
Rein shook his head faintly at her frantic energy. He folded his arms and leaned back against the cold, damp stone wall. While he waited, students in pitch-black cloaks passed by at intervals.
Their reactions were… interesting.
Some stopped dead and stared at him like a monster that had crawled out of a dungeon.
Others immediately lowered their heads and hurried to the opposite side of the corridor the moment their eyes met his expressionless gaze.
So my “dangerous person” reputation is working a little too well, his lips quirking slightly.
Not long after, hurried footsteps returned. Mira came jogging back—no book pile this time.
But now she carried a different slice of toast in her hand. One that looked noticeably… newer.
She thrust it toward him.
Rein stood there for a moment, staring between the toast and the girl’s face, visibly confused.
“Here.” She insisted. “Take it. Apology toast. For crashing into you.”
Then she added quickly, laughing bright and honest, “Eat it. I didn’t poison it—promise.”
Her smile looked like the only piece of light in this dim corridor. Rein took it, reluctantly. Warmth seeped into his fingers—into hands that had been cold for longer than he wanted to admit.
“Thanks…” he murmured.
“This way!” Mira started walking, leading him west—where the simulated sunlight grew thinner and thinner, and the corridor steadily surrendered to true darkness. “Stay close. The scholarship dorm is… in a place even the map doesn’t like to label.”
Along the way, Mira seemed to enjoy her sudden role as emergency tour guide far too much. Once she learned Rein had lost parts of his memory, she began pouring out dorm stories nonstop—her cheerful voice echoing down the stone hallway as if trying to chase away the silence hiding in the cracks.
“You’re so lucky, you know, Rein,” she said, lifting one hand to whisper theatrically while winking. “Scholarship dorm rooms are single occupancy! Way better than the normal dorms where I am. No snoring. No fighting over the bathroom…”
She cleared her throat. “…If this building weren’t… ahem… a little haunted, I’d be so jealous.”
Rein answered with little more than a slow, tired nod. One hand in his pocket, he followed her with the lazy gait of someone half-awake. His eyes looked distant—as if Mira’s explanations were just wind passing through.
The first thing to hit him on the walk was the smell.
Old damp stone. A faint tang of rust. Stale air that hadn’t circulated in a long time.
It told him this wing—the scholarship dorm wing—was rarely used.
As he walked, he let his fingertips brush the stone wall.
Thick. Heavy. Far too dense for the “ideal” construction of a school building.
Rein frowned. A rough floorplan assembled itself in his mind at speed.
This wasn’t designed like an academy wing.
It was designed like a fortress.
But not a fortress meant to protect the people inside from outside enemies.
Judging by the direction of the stone placement, the reinforced corners, and the architectural intent implied by the exterior…
…it felt like it had been built to contain something inside.
The deeper they moved into the turret wing, the more the temperature dropped. Rein noticed thin patches of moss in the cracks of the stone.
They climbed a spiral staircase of rounded stone. Each step was worn down into smooth hollows, polished by time and countless feet. The simulated sunlight dwindled until only dim gloom remained. Small mana lamps along the route flickered weakly, on the verge of dying, offering just enough light to see their own shadows stretching long across the walls.
At last, they reached the second floor.
“We’re here,” Mira said, stopping and pointing down the corridor. “Your room…”
At the far end of the hall, a narrow window had been cut into the stone. A thin, washed-out strip of light filtered through it—just enough to cut the damp claustrophobia of the passage. The beam caught dust motes drifting in the air… and painted a lonely oak door at the very end.
Rein lowered his gaze to the key in his hand.
The number 13 was carved into it—old, worn, almost erased by time.
He walked straight to the thick oak door standing there like a forgotten entry in the Academy’s ledgers, slid the key in, and pushed.
The hinges—unused for too long—let out a groaning, splintered complaint—as if protesting being disturbed.
Inside was a space built from stone and years.
The walls were bare rock, several feet thick, hoarding cold like the inside of an icebox. Even through his cloak, Rein could almost see his breath turning faint in the air. It was supposed to be a dorm room… yet it felt far more like a private keep.
A carved marble fireplace crouched in one corner, ornate and old. On the other side, a tall, narrow window offered only the black treetops of the pine forest and a veil of pale fog.
“Well?” Mira leaned around the doorway, her bright grin violently out of place in a room that felt like an underground cell. “Impressive enough?”
Then, with a dry little laugh, she added, “If it gets too cold tonight… or you hear weird sounds… just… try not to think about it, okay?”
She waved, backed away, and left Rein alone with his new “den.”
Mira’s laughter and footsteps faded down the corridor until even the echo died.
Silence reclaimed Room 13.
Rein stood in the center of the square space enclosed by stone, letting the chill seep through cloth and into skin.
He murmured, barely audible—
“So this is where you lived… Rein.”
His gaze swept the room.
At the very least, this had been the original owner’s entire world for the past half year.
To the left: a single oak bed, rigid and severe. The mattress held a shallow depression from long use. A dull-colored blanket lay folded with almost sterile neatness. In the corner beside it sat a small wooden chest stamped faintly with Arcadia’s seal—serving as the only wardrobe for cloaks and personal effects.
Rein stepped closer and noticed the scratches around the padlock.
Marks of careful, repeated use—habitual, deliberate.
To the right, a smaller door hid in shadow. He opened it and found a compact private washroom: smooth stone panels, a marble basin, and an old mana-faucet system that breathed out a faint sulfur tang through the pipes.
But the thing that drew him most was the writing desk by the tall window.
Rein crossed the room over wooden boards that protested under his boots, and stopped at the aged desk whose surface had been polished glossy by years of hands and cloth. Dim light from the window fell over a small stack of books. He lifted the top one.
A battered introductory mana theory text—creased and worn from being opened again and again.
His fingers traced the desk edge. He could feel shallow grooves where a quill had pressed too hard.
Not complex spell formulas.
More like… fragmented attempts to calculate something—star positions, perhaps—or a mana-circuit pattern—unfinished, inconsistent, broken in mid-thought.
Rein lowered himself into the wooden chair. It creaked weakly beneath him, like it was too tired to complain properly.
He stared out through the tall window.
Black pine crowns shivered in a fog that thickened by the minute. In the glass, his reflection hovered faintly—the face of a boy named Rein.
And in that instant, past and present seemed to overlap.
A double image flickered in his mind: another boy—or himself in another slice of time—solitary and silent, hunched over this very desk with obsessive intensity, chasing an answer in a room cut off from the world.
Days and nights slid past the window too quickly—dark to light, light to dark—an exhausting cycle. He saw the messy-haired boy pacing the cramped room, thinking until his shoulders curled in on themselves… then sitting again, snapping the quill down to scratch notes onto paper, over and over.
Hkk—!
Rein jolted hard.
His whole body shuddered as scattered fragments of memory slammed into him like a burning meteor and vanished—leaving only a sharp pain at his temples… and some buried instinct snapping awake.
His right hand moved along the desk edge with deliberate purpose.
Not random.
Muscle memory.
He yanked open a drawer that didn’t sit quite flush. Inside: an old quill with frayed feathers and an ink bottle dried nearly to dust. Nothing unusual.
But Rein didn’t stop.
He tapped the wooden base under the drawer with a fingertip.
The sound that answered was… hollow. Wrong.
He pried at one corner, as if his fingers already knew where to go.
The false bottom lifted.
A hidden compartment.
Beneath it, folded with care, lay several pale yellow notes—exactly like the ones he’d glimpsed in that flickering vision. Rein snatched them up with a faint tremor in his hands and scanned the rushed, jagged handwriting.
He went still.
Then, in the cold silence, he muttered softly—
“Looks like your life… wasn’t only about classes.”
These entries expand the lore and mechanics introduced in this chapter.
Completely optional—read only if you enjoy diving deeper into the system.
A lesser-known and unofficially infamous division of Arcadia Academy, the Department of Variant Magic specializes in unconventional, dangerous, or unclassifiable branches of magic. Internally abbreviated as “DVM,” but widely known among students and faculty as “Devil Mage” or “The Devil’s Den”, the department is regarded with a mix of fear, awe, and wariness.
Its environment and personnel reflect its chaotic and rebellious nature—marked by unconventional faculty, questionable decorum, and high tolerance for volatility. The dormitories associated with this department are cold, fortress-like, and isolated from the main buildings, suggesting an architectural purpose of containment rather than protection.
A remote, fortress-like dorm room assigned to Rein, located in a wing that appears to have been designed more to contain its inhabitants than to house them comfortably.
The room includes:
– Stone walls several feet thick
– A cold, uncirculated atmosphere
– A small writing desk with a hidden compartment, containing cryptic handwritten notes from Rein’s prior self
– A tall window overlooking a black pine forest
The dorm, while single-occupancy and spacious, carries a reputation for being “haunted”, according to other students.
A high-ranking professor and administrator within the Department of Variant Magic. Known for her sarcastic, sardonic tone and a presence that shifts instantly from lazily unbothered to chillingly authoritative.
Her appearance includes black leather boots, heavy black eyeliner, and a cloak that commands attention. She often smokes mana cigarettes, manipulating their flame and smoke with casual wind magic. Despite her unorthodox behavior and cluttered workspace, she is clearly intelligent and perceptive—quickly identifying Rein’s memory loss and cutting through bureaucracy with brutal efficiency. She is the one who refers to the DVM as “The Devil’s Den.”
A first-year student of the Department of Variant Magic (DVM).
A small, energetic girl with jet-black hair, round eyes, and explosive momentum—literally crashing into Rein upon their reunion.
She clutches books and breakfast toast in chaotic fashion and speaks with bright, excitable energy.
Despite being younger, she treats Rein with a blend of awe and cheerful familiarity. Mira also appears to have known Rein before his memory loss, though her behavior suggests that she wasn't close enough to fully understand him.
She jokes about the "haunted" nature of the DVM dorms and acts as a reluctant guide for Rein's return.
Other
"Lightning Boy" (Nickname)
A sarcastic moniker used by Master Alvira to refer to Rein. It reflects both a condescending tone and a recognition of Rein’s formidable magical skill (particularly in lightning magic), as well as his notoriety in the Academy.
This title is often spoken with a teasing or mocking edge by those familiar with Rein’s reputation.
Magically infused cigarettes used by Master Alvira. When ignited via her snap-cast wind magic, they burn with blue flame and release green, serpentine smoke rings, hinting at magical enhancements.
These are both a character affectation and an example of everyday magical utility items in Arcadia.
Inside Room 13, Rein discovers a false-bottom drawer within his desk, revealing hidden notes.
— Re:Naissance