Rein slowly set the few sheets of notes he had just discovered onto the table. He unfolded them with care, as though the secrets hidden within might fracture if handled too roughly.
The information on the pages was divided cleanly into two distinct parts.
The first made Rein frown at once.
He recognized those lines immediately—from his most recent battle. They were detailed diagrams of Delay Casting, explained through carefully structured magic-circle schematics. The remaining sheets contained spell sequences for lightning magic, ranging from basic to advanced: Lightning Bolt. Chain Lightning. All the way to Lightning Sphere.
At a glance, he could tell these were not copied excerpts from ancient grimoires or academic texts.
They were notes from a practitioner.
The handwriting was steady. The explanations were short, efficient, and relentlessly focused on practical combat results rather than the lofty theory favored by classrooms.
Simply put, it read more like a field manual written by a veteran than a student’s study notes.
The question was—where had these papers come from?
Two faces surfaced in his thoughts, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.
The first belonged to a figure in the shadows… the Warlock.
From the dreams he’d had—and from what the previous Rein had once told him—these notes were almost certainly not written by Rein himself. They were either a trap—or a poisoned gift the Warlock had prepared.
But someone of that caliber wouldn’t have personally slipped letters under a dorm door.
So who had acted as the intermediary?
The second face emerged soon after.
Belle—the imposter.
As a librarian within the Healing Department, she would have had both the connections and the authority to access students’ borrowing records—even those of the Academy’s central library.
Especially for a scholarship student as obsessively studious as Rein, slipping these pages into the books he regularly borrowed—or replacing a standard text with one hiding “special information”—would have been as easy as turning a palm over.
“If I were the previous Rein—starving for power just to survive in this Devil’s Den… finding a ‘shortcut’ like this in a library book would’ve felt like a miracle handed down by the gods.”
The hypothesis gained weight. It was the most coherent explanation his current evidence allowed.
The previous Rein may have been a test subject—or a pawn—long before Dr. Rhys ever crossed worlds.
Rein turned away from the window and looked at his reflection in the cloudy glass. The boy staring back at him looked calm—almost cold. He let out a long breath, then lowered his gaze to the remaining notes.
The ones that made his heartbeat falter.
They were handwritten annotations—the previous Rein’s own words, scrawled along the margins.
The more Rein read, the deeper his frown grew.
The hurried strokes didn’t convey panic.
They conveyed brilliance.
The previous Rein hadn’t simply adopted Delay Casting as-is. He had taken it apart.
He had recalculated mana equations, altered effective ranges, recomputed atmospheric energy dissipation—reworking everything to suit his own body and mana capacity.
“You deliberately modified it…” Rein murmured.
That realization answered the lingering mystery from the library incident—why the imposter Belle had looked so shocked when she saw Rein’s Delay Casting.
What Rein used wasn’t the original version the Warlock—or whoever—had intended.
It was an upgraded version, refined by the boy who had lived in Room 13.
And yet… the most striking detail lay at the bottom of the final page.
A string of prime numbers, hastily written:
2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13
The numbers 2 and 5 had been violently crossed out, the pen pressed so hard it nearly tore through the paper.
“What does this mean? Why prime numbers… and why eliminate 2 and 5?”
Rein tried to parse it through mathematical logic, but no equation presented itself. Perhaps it was a cipher the previous Rein had jotted down as a reminder.
“Whatever… a puzzle without sufficient variables is just statistical garbage.”
He folded the notes and returned them to their hiding place.
Tapping his fingers lightly against the desk, he stood up and removed his black outer cloak. He carefully leaned Nightfall, still in its cane form, against the desk.
Clink.
A soft metallic sound came from the cloak’s pocket as he moved it. Rein frowned and reached inside.
Two metal emblems rested in his palm—each carrying a completely different weight.
The first was the Forensic Magic Investigator badge Master Rachel had left him. A symbol of responsibility—and of complications he wasn’t ready to deal with yet. He put it back.
The second—
The Third Place Medal from the 68th Arcadia Grand Magic Tournament.
Its bronze surface caught the faint sunlight filtering through the window, glowing with a muted orange sheen that felt almost sacred.
Rein stared at it for a long time.
A warmth stirred faintly in his chest—fragments of memories he couldn’t fully grasp. Slowly, carefully, he pinned the medal to the chest of his black cloak, then hung the cloak on the rack beside the washroom door.
He stepped back a few paces, folding his arms as he looked at it.
The bronze gleamed sharply against the dim, frigid room.
A small smile touched his lips—not of pride, but of respect.
“It’s yours, Rein… and it suits every ounce of effort you poured into it.”
He spoke softly, hoping the sound might reach whatever fragment of that soul still lingered somewhere.
A promise—that nothing the boy had struggled to build would be forgotten.
Rein returned to the desk. He grasped Nightfall in its cane form and flicked it outward in a clean motion.
Instantly, the sealed magic and bound will erupted.
The black rod shed its disguise, unfolding into its true shape—
A living cursed saber, four feet of condensed destruction.
The temperature in Room 13 plunged. Frost bloomed across the glass. The immense pressure radiating from the sword made dust trapped in ceiling cracks and stone seams shudder, lifting into the air.
They drifted and spun—dancing weightlessly, as though moving to the pulse of the saber itself.
“I know you’re not exactly thrilled about being demoted into a pathetic little cane,” Rein said flatly, watching the black sheen slide along Nightfall’s edge. “But it was an emergency. And that was the best disguise my brain could squeeze out at the time.”
The saber trembled.
Clink… clink…
Metal scraped against metal like a restrained snarl—pure irritation, pure violence—pushing back against the “new master” whose mana was leagues beneath it.
“And I know…” Rein continued, his tone unchanged, “you don’t particularly want to cooperate with someone like me.”
A sly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The look in his eyes was the kind of provocation normal people would never dare aim at a legendary weapon.
“But I need you to do something. And if a ‘legendary’ weapon like you can’t handle it…” He tilted his head, almost thoughtful. “Then I guess I don’t have a choice. I’ll return you to Master Chloe and tell her the truth—that you’re just ancient scrap with no real value. Let her turn you into a shovel. Or a garden hoe. Whatever suits you.”
It was like striking a match in a room drenched in oil.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
VRRROOOOM—!
Nightfall convulsed.
A surge of abyssal black exploded from the saber, blooming into a compact cyclone within the cramped room. Pressure crushed the air until it screamed. Dust and splinters tore off the floor and spiraled upward in violent rings. The shockwave rattled the stone walls—so heavy, so old—that they groaned as if the entire building might collapse.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Fists hammered the door, cutting through the storm.
“Rein! Rein! Open up! What’s going on?!” Mira’s voice screamed over the roar.
“Hey! Rein—open the door, now!” Another voice followed—male, sharp, and ready to break something.
…
Click.
The lock turned—slowly.
The oak door cracked open halfway.
Rein’s face appeared in the gap—sleepy and mildly annoyed, like someone who’d been dragged out of a nap. His already-messy hair looked a little more chaotic than before. He blinked at Mira—and at the tall, broad-shouldered silver-haired boy beside her, frozen mid-motion like he was about to shoulder-charge the door.
“Rein! That just now—” Mira babbled, pale as paper. “Was that an earthquake? Did someone break in? It sounded like… like a bomb went off in there!”
“Oh.” Rein yawned, wide and lazy. “Nothing. The plumbing’s old. Air pipes probably clogged—water pressure kicked back, made the walls shake. You know how close this building is to falling apart.”
His eyes slid past Mira’s head to the silver-haired boy, mind running quietly.
Who’s this guy? Rein’s friend? Great. I don’t recognize his face at all.
The silver-haired boy narrowed his eyes. “Plumbing? That pressure just now—”
Rein didn’t let him finish.
He pushed the door fully open.
Mira and the boy froze at the same time.
Room 13 was silent.
Pale sunlight lay calmly across the writing desk. The books were stacked neatly. The bed was tight and undisturbed. No swirling debris. No scorch marks. Not even a dust mote out of place.
It was the definition of emptiness—so clean it contradicted the thunderous chaos from moments ago in the most unsettling way possible.
“You’re sure you’re okay…?” Mira murmured, staring into a room that looked too normal to be real.
“Yeah. Thanks.” Rein flashed the most sincere smile he could manufacture on demand. “I’m fine.”
The silver-haired boy exhaled a long breath, then said, “Alright… then, do you want to come eat lunch with us?” He left a beat, then grinned. “We’ll call it a welcome-back celebration. You made it back to our Devil’s Den alive.”
“You’re treating, right, Boris?” Mira cut in with an innocent smile that was anything but.
Rein sighed inwardly.
Ah. At least I know his name now. Boris.
Boris laughed and patted his own chest. “Sure. That’s nothing.” Then he met Rein’s eyes. “So? What do you say, Rein? While you were gone, a lot of interesting things happened around here.”
Rein pressed his lips into a neutral line.
He needed information about what had happened in the Academy while he’d been out.
“…Fine.”
But before he could step out, Mira’s gaze snagged on something in his right hand—a black object, about six inches long.
“What’s that, Rein? It looks… weird.”
Rein paused for a fraction of a second. His eyes flicked left, then right—calculating.
Then his fingers moved.
The black rod spun with effortless precision: around the thumb, through the fingers, then snapped across the back of his hand in a smooth, continuous sequence—clean enough to look practiced, almost professional.
“Woah…” Mira’s mouth fell open, eyes tracking the motion until they went slightly unfocused.
“A pen,” Rein said deadpan. “A fountain pen.”
He clipped the “pen” into the chest pocket of his shirt with casual ease, like it had always belonged there.
“A fountain pen?” Mira and Boris echoed together, blank-faced, staring at the black metal object that looked far too severe—far too dignified—to be normal stationery.
“Yeah. New product. Limited test release.” Rein didn’t even blink. “Someone I know wanted me to try it.”
He didn’t give them time to ask more.
He closed the dorm door and locked it immediately.
Nightfall—after nearly detonating the room—had been compressed, refined, and reduced into a harmless-looking metal stick, now resting peacefully on his chest like a decorative accessory.
“Wasn’t someone treating lunch?” Rein said, turning away. “Lead the way, Boris.”
Three sets of footsteps echoed down the long southern corridor, framed by rounded Romanesque arches. Mana lamps along the walls cast light in steady pulses, slicing across the silhouettes of the three students as they headed toward the canteen.
Mira walked a few steps ahead, then turned and began walking backward while chattering, one hand pointing back toward the wing they’d just left.
“That eastern side is the shared dorms. Where normal people like me sleep,” she shrugged. “Chaotic as a wet market. Not quiet like the ‘privileged zone’—the scholarship wing on the west side.”
“I heard you’ve got amnesia,” Boris said.
“Mm.” Rein nodded once.
“Room Six,” Boris added in a low voice as he walked beside Rein. “It’s across from yours, about half a block down. I’m one of the few still haunting that wing.”
He smiled faintly. “Just saying—so you don’t knock on the wrong door if something happens.”
Rein nodded again.
The west wing really did feel abandoned.
“This year, there are only four first-years left in the west wing, Rein,” Mira said, holding up four fingers. “You, Boris, and two others who basically fuse with their textbooks until their faces turn into paper. Second- and third-years? The second they get a scholarship, they run off and rent fancy apartments off-campus. So the west wing turns into a no-human zone.”
Boris let out a low chuckle. “No one wants to wake up to faint ‘whispers’ leaking out of these stone walls every morning…”
He glanced at the corridor with a look that wasn’t quite joking.
“…Except us.”
Rein walked in silence, offering little more than an occasional nod to keep the conversation moving.
He noticed how unusually relaxed Mira looked. She spoke with bright, unguarded cheer—clearly happy that Rein had agreed to come eat with them, because normally the previous Rein had been an ice wall no one dared climb. Withdrawn. Solitary. Cutting off every approach with ruthless indifference.
Boris had only gone up to Room 13 because he’d seen Mira escort Rein earlier. When she came back down, he asked what was going on—and decided to go up himself to invite Rein to lunch.
And the moment he reached the door… he’d heard the “plumbing exploding.”
“Honestly,” Boris said with a smile, “I didn’t expect you to come down with us at all.”
Rein’s brows drew together slightly as his gaze drifted to his own shadow stretching across the rough stone wall.
So you really didn’t let anyone close… did you, Rein?
A mental overlay flashed—an image of a boy reading alone in that room, day after day. The solitude Rein had glimpsed in the window earlier wasn’t just preference.
It was a decision.
Seven months of choosing to fight—alone—against something at a Warlock’s level, all while surviving inside this Devil’s Den.
Rein exhaled quietly, then looked at Mira hopping lightly over a crack in the stone floor, and at Boris walking beside him with steady, grounded rhythm.
Maybe this time… the beginning could be different.
Their footsteps stopped before a colossal gateway of rounded arches, as if carved from a single massive boulder. The stone still carried crude chisel scars—raw and brutal, the kind of texture that didn’t bother to pretend it was civilized.
Above the arch, deep-cut ancient letters formed a line that demanded attention:
[A well-fed devil behaves better than a starving saint.]
Rein stared at it for a moment. His mouth twitched—half amusement, half irritation—then he stepped over the iron threshold rail and went in.
Beyond the arch lay the DVM canteen.
A wide space—easily the size of two basketball courts—was enclosed by thick stone walls whose height compressed the human body into something small. The scale was oppressive, almost devotional. It felt less like a place for meals and more like an underground temple repurposed by people who had given up on joy.
Rein swept his gaze around: the iron tracks embedded in the doorway floor—like they were meant for a security sliding gate—then the mana conduits running across the ceiling in tangled lines, like the infrastructure of a subterranean power plant.
Four long rows of granite tables sat in strict formation, polished like altar slabs. Simulated daylight poured through narrow high windows in straight beams that cut through the gloom, reinforced by mana lamps shaped like old iron lanterns embedded deep into the walls. Their pale, bluish-white light made the room feel cold and sacred at the same time.
Clank…
Metal spoons struck stainless trays—again and again—echoing up into the rounded ceiling, mixing with the footsteps of many bodies crossing stone.
At the far end, a massive fireplace burned mana fuel, pushing out just enough warmth to keep skin from trembling. On the right, a broad arched buffet lined with steaming trays of food. The smell of heavily seasoned grilled meat slammed into the damp scent of ancient stone.
Rein watched dozens of DVM students scattered in shadowed pockets. Some hunched over thick, black-covered books that looked like forbidden scriptures. Others stabbed at sausages with a fork while using their free hand to dismantle a magical device that crackled with stray sparks.
There was none of the cheerful canteen chatter you’d expect.
Just silence—punctured by eating, and the sound of pages turning.
Without thinking, Rein dragged a hand through his already-messy hair and muttered,
“Is this a canteen… or an end-of-the-world bunker?”
Boris, walking beside him, lifted an eyebrow. “A bunker? You mean a fortress?” He said it like Rein had asked something obvious. “Of course. Devil’s Den was an ancient fortress before it became a school building.”
Rein didn’t answer. His eyes followed the segmented metal tray in the hands of a student passing by.
Yeah… it’s only missing a Geiger counter and hazmat suits to complete the vibe.
He kept walking with his two “new friends” toward the serving zone.
Boris led them to a stone counter guarded by a stern staff member in a gray apron. With practiced ease, he pulled out a silver card and handed it over.
“Three,” Boris said simply.
The staff member tapped the card against a data-stone.
Beep.
A small nod. Permission granted.
Rein’s step stalled for half a beat.
His eyes locked onto the card like it was an alien artifact, his brain accelerating—faster than it had during most of his fights.
That card… is that currency in Arcadia?
A cold realization slid down his spine.
Then why isn’t there one in my cloak pocket?
Had the previous Rein lost it in the recent chaos?
Damn it.
No matter which universe you lived in, economics didn’t change.
Money—some form of shared resource—was the engine that drove human life.
No money, and everything ended.
Maybe he really would become the “starving devil” on the sign.
Rein inhaled slowly, forcing his face into calm neutrality. He grabbed a metal tray, copying Mira and Boris as they started loading food with quick, confident motions—while he moved with faint stiffness, trying not to look like a man walking into a minefield.
He glanced at Boris’s tray: a thick hip-cut steak from some beast, drenched in vivid red chili oil sauce, piled beside several large boiled potatoes.
Mira’s tray was far more varied: a glowing mushroom salad whose green leaves trembled when touched, then a pale brown, thick meat soup fragrant with herbs, and—of course—another slice of toast.
After a moment of hesitation, Rein chose what looked safest and most cost-effective: a mixed meat stew with slow-simmered root vegetables, and two large chunks of dark rye bread—so dense and hard he was confident that if he threw one at someone’s head, it would qualify as a concealed weapon.
At the same time, he began planning how to “accidentally” take the bread back to his room without anyone noticing.
Rein looked down at the food in the metal tray reflecting the pale wall-light, and the sensation deepened—like he was eating in a military detention camp from a sci-fi film.
He tightened his grip on the tray slightly and followed Boris toward an inner granite table.
Fine.
Eat until you’re full first. Then figure out how to make money in this world.
A faint, self-mocking smile surfaced as he caught his own reflection in the stew’s glossy surface.
If a future Nobel-candidate physicist gets reincarnated into another world… and ends up starving to death—
…then let the universe try it.
These entries expand the lore and mechanics introduced in this chapter.
Completely optional—read only if you enjoy diving deeper into the system.
Magic Technique Codex
Delay Casting (Previous Rein’s Modified Version)
Type: Advanced Casting Technique
User: Previous Rein (adapted from unknown Warlock origin)
Overview:
A modified, field-optimized version of Delay Casting originally sourced from clandestine notes planted into Rein's academic materials—likely by the imposter Belle under the Warlock's orders.
While the core mechanics of delay-triggered spell deployment remain intact, the current Rein discovered marginalia showing that his predecessor had dismantled and reengineered the technique from the ground up.
Modifications Include:
– Recalculated mana cost equations.
– Altered effective range and spatial delay thresholds.
– Compensation for atmospheric dissipation based on body mana capacity.
This personalized refinement explains why the spell performance seen in earlier chapters surpassed what Belle expected.
Prime Number Cipher (Unsolved)
Origin: Annotated on Previous Rein’s notes
Details: A string of prime numbers found scrawled at the bottom of the final page: 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13. The numbers 2 and 5 were violently crossed out.
Theoretical Meaning: Possibly a personal cipher, code key, or symbolic message from the previous Rein. Its true purpose remains unclear.
Rein's Comment:
“A puzzle without sufficient variables is just statistical garbage.”
Item Codex
Nightfall (Post-Compression State)
Form: Legendary Cursed Saber (Compressed into cane-form)
Current Holder: Rein
Current Form Description:
Disguised as a black cane / fountain pen through a compression spell, Nightfall retains its magical density and hostility.
Behavioral Notes:
– Actively resists Rein’s authority due to low mana compatibility.
– Emits hostile energy surges when provoked.
– Can be forcibly compressed into portable form through Rein’s commands.
– The transformation caused a mini-cyclone and seismic resonance in Room 13.
Camouflage Alias: Rein calls it a “fountain pen” to conceal its identity.
68th Arcadia Grand Magic Tournament Medal
Holder: Rein
Description: A physical reminder of Rein’s past self and achievements. Represents the struggle and dedication of the previous Rein and serves as a grounding token for the current one.
Symbolism:
– Worn with respect, not pride.
– Functions as a spiritual anchor or promise to honor the previous soul’s efforts.
Title / Role Codex
Forensic Magic Investigator Badge
Status: Currently held by Rein
Given By: Master Rachel
Function: Grants official authority to investigate magic-related incidents across Arcadia.
Rein’s Sentiment: Views it as a burden more than an honor—“a symbol of complications.”
Location Codex
Room 13 (Scholarship Dormitory, West Wing)
Current Occupant: Rein
Known Traits:
– Previously inhabited by the “original” Rein.
– Scene of magical anomalies due to Nightfall’s awakening.
– Hidden cache for illicit or hidden notes, including Delay Casting schematics.
Devil’s Den Canteen
Description: Main dining facility in the DVM. Built within a repurposed ancient fortress.
Atmosphere:
– Feels more like a military bunker or underground vault than a school cafeteria.
– Decor is stone-heavy, with cold lighting and security infrastructure (iron rails, mana conduits).
– Features harsh, practical food (e.g., meat stew, glowing mushrooms, dense bread).
Student Behavior:
– Silence dominates. Students study while eating.
– Whispers of “voices” leaking through the walls imply supernatural or psychological strain.
Cultural Quote Above Entrance:
“A well-fed devil behaves better than a starving saint.”
System Codex
Silver Card (Meal Access System)
Function: Functions as both ID and meal payment method.
Observation: Rein does not possess one, suggesting possible loss or non-allocation.
Concern: Raises red flags about his current financial and identity status.
Key Characters
Boris
– Male first year student, silver-haired, physically broad-shouldered.
– Occupies Room 6 in the same scholarship wing.
– Friendly, seems grounded and trustworthy.
– Among the few who haven’t abandoned the western dorms.
Happy New Year 2026. Another solar cycle completed.
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— Re:Naissance