The top floor of the tower was about the size of a regulation boxing ring—too small for the kind of trouble that had just walked in.

  A stone ceiling hung overhead—high enough, on paper. But with more than ten students crowding in, it suddenly felt like the room had shrunk.

  Rein rubbed his eyes once, slow and annoyed, then pushed himself upright against the brick. He swept his messy black hair aside, and his deep blue gaze settled on the intruders by the shattered door.

  [LIZ: Your old enemies are here… (?﹏?) ]

  A translucent chat window popped up, complete with a worried little emoticon. Rein froze for a beat.

  “Hey… hold on, LIZ. Since when did you start using those?”

  [LIZ: That’s easy. Want more? (????) (? ??_??)? (╥﹏╥)]

  The window flooded with emoticons like she’d discovered a brand-new toy. Rein killed the window before it could hijack his entire field of view.

  “Just the important stuff, LIZ,” he muttered under his breath.

  Rein rose to his full height, brushing dust from his white uniform and black cloak with calm, unhurried movements. But the moment he truly faced the group that had come to ruin his rest, something in his eyes went still—like a blade settling into place.

  Cold.

  [LIZ: The primary target leading the group is ‘Marcus Crown’—son of Duke Gemini Crown of Arcadia. Department of Elemental Magic. The rest are—]

  The AI began rattling off personal histories and detailed profiles through a HUD system. Semi-transparent panes flared into existence around Rein—too many, too fast—until his vision swam.

  “I don’t want to know everyone.” Rein flicked his hand as if shooing away dust, and the data panes slid aside and vanished. “Give me only what matters for dealing with them.”

  A week ago, Rein had gone into the central library and brought back the student registry for LIZ to scan—for one reason: to wear the previous Rein’s skin without anyone noticing the seams.

  Aside from a handful of people he trusted, no one could know that large portions of his memory still hadn’t returned.

  And more importantly…

  He had to hide the fact that the Core Mana Circles inside his body had been sealed by Dragon’s Speech.

  If anyone learned he was cursed, he wouldn’t just be finished—he’d be hunted. He already had a mysterious enemy outside the Academy—now he had old enemies inside it as well.

  After a month of research and analysis, Rein had uncovered a bitter truth:

  The curse prevented him from increasing his mana circles beyond three.

  Even if LIZ threw all her processing power into decrypting it, it would still be a waste of time and mana—the structure had been etched in Ancient Dragonic, a language too complex and chaotic to decipher.

  [LIZ: You’re asking me to understand the language of “near-extinct lizards”… My database has no Ancient Dragonic roots. I can’t model this curse to find its faults unless you drag one or two of those lizards here for me to study.]

  Her sarcasm made Rein sigh quietly.

  The missing data was a massive obstacle—because it meant he was being restricted on the board with ruthless cruelty.

  Compared to the Masters, who were basically flying cutting-edge starships across the universe…

  …he was trying to reach the moon with seventy-two kilobytes of ROM—and a cracked fuel line.

  It was true that most first-years in the earlier lecture hall hadn’t reached three rings yet.

  But after checking the central library archives, Rein found something unsettling:

  More than a few students had reached Troposphere Master, just like him—most of them second- and third-years who’d already been tempered by brutal training.

  Which meant that within this Academy…

  …there were still “monsters” wearing student uniforms, with power equal to—or possibly even beyond—his, right now.

  Rein swept his gaze slowly across the room, measuring distances, watching how the group of twelve students spread out to seal him in from all sides.

  “So it’s a pack of territorial dogs,” he murmured, “waiting to corner something they’re afraid of.”

  In his head, he weighed the value of simply walking away—leaving the annoyance behind—

  …versus ending it here and now.

  [LIZ: According to the registry—these are the ones who ganged up on the previous ‘Rein’ and sent him to the Department of Healing. He was on fluids for almost a week. After that, the previous ‘Rein’ retaliated and took them down one by one. Both sides got suspended for a month.]

  “…Is that so.” Rein’s eyebrow lifted, and the deep blue in his eyes shifted—subtly, instantly.

  Then the option of “backing down” disappeared—cleanly, completely.

  He remained still as the intruders tightened the circle.

  “Well?” Marcus shouted, voice dripping with contempt. “What now, you cheating bastard?” He wore a pristine first-year uniform. Handsome face. Pale, flawless skin. Blond hair catching the light. Blue eyes displaying arrogance without the slightest attempt to hide it.

  “Well, Jack,” Rein said with a lazy half-smile. “So—how’d you make it off the sinking ship?”

  The lackeys around Marcus went quiet for a moment, turning to stare at each other, baffled by the strange name that had slipped from Rein’s mouth.

  “My name is MARCUS—Marcus Crown! Not Jack! And what the hell are you talking about, sinking ships?!” Marcus roared, fury spiking so hard a vein stood out at his temple. Rein’s unbothered expression only made it worse.

  A chorus of insults erupted from the twelve students surrounding him—an irritating, overlapping buzz as they dug up old stories, trying to justify what they’d come here to do.

  “Last time you ambushed us from behind, huh? You like fighting dirty like a sewer rat?”

  “No wonder you stink.”

  “Cheated on the entrance exam, cheated in the matches… that’s what commoners do!”

  “Give back the money we lost betting, you bastard!”

  Rein listened in silence and let out a soft sigh.

  Bullying in schools really was an ancient tradition—stubborn enough to survive even death and reincarnation.

  Compared to politics, Master-tier enemies, and a curse sealing his future…

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  …the noise of insecure children barely registered.

  The only expression on his face was boredom—laced with something almost like pity.

  “Twelve against one…” Rein mused, ignoring the laughter. “Looks like numbers really can convince puppies they’ve grown teeth.”

  “What did you just say?!” Marcus snapped, his face twisting as the laughter behind him faltered.

  The students closed in, posture sharpening. Even in their aggression, caution lingered in their eyes—fear of the third-place winner.

  They believed Rein might be dangerous one-on-one…

  …but in a full brawl—twelve against one—even a genius couldn’t endure a simultaneous storm of spells.

  “So you’re Marcus…” Rein said, as if trying to remember. “Caprio, right?”

  “Crown! Marcus Crown!” Marcus snapped, screaming his surname like it was a spell. “Oh, right—I forgot. A lowborn commoner like you doesn’t even have a surname, do you?”

  Marcus burst into mocking laughter, trying to claw his confidence back.

  "You ought to know the Academy’s iron rule forbidding student brawls. Or do you consider yourself above the law?" Rein warned in a flat, monotone voice.

  “Relax,” Marcus said, grin widening. “This isn’t a fight.”

  He let the silence hang for a heartbeat before his voice dropped into a sneer.

  “We’re just helping the Academy get rid of a filthy rat that’s been scurrying around the Lecture Building!”

  The moment the words left his mouth, someone in the group began chanting—quietly, but with intent.

  It was the opening signal.

  Mana swelled in the air with a low, grinding hum, warping the space around them. The marble floor trembled faintly in rhythm with twelve simultaneous castings. They were preparing to unload every spell they had onto him—enough to leave him broken, barely alive, and never standing under the sun again.

  Honestly—brats.

  Rein cursed inwardly, exhausted by how predictable it was. With a body trained up to the level of a Bronze Warrior, he was confident that if he wanted to run, he could burst out of this tower at any time.

  But to a scientist like him, most mages were walking collections of laughable weaknesses.

  They relied on casting time—dead time. And once they released that power, their circuits needed cooldown before the next cast.

  Rein’s mouth curled into a thin, dangerous smile.

  Maybe there was an upside to wearing the previous Rein’s mask—arrogance included.

  He could teach these spoiled children something their noble surnames had never taught them:

  A parent’s power didn’t always protect you from what stood right in front of you.

  Before anyone could finish their first spell, Rein vanished.

  All that remained was a hard snap of air collapsing into the space he’d left behind.

  Screams ripped through the tower floor.

  Marcus Crown—mid-focus, halfway through an Ice Bolt—lost his rhythm so badly his mana circuit nearly backfired. He saw bodies collapsing around him like leaves in a storm. He saw a white blur slash past his vision for a fraction of a second.

  Then pain detonated inside his skull.

  His vision flashed white—

  …and he went down like his spine had been unplugged.

  The white shadow hit each target with precise, merciless efficiency.

  Rein poured fists and shins into the vital points of all twelve students in a relentless chain, the impacts blending into a rapid drumbeat of thuds.

  He used only a basic Haste spell—modified into Shorthand Casting, executed through silent mental commands without a single spoken word.

  It surpassed even Ingrid’s prized Quiet Casting by leagues—not by whispering faster, but by bypassing the mouth entirely.

  It was the brain speaking straight into the mana circuits.

  The only drawback was the price: it burned roughly fifteen percent more mana than Quiet Casting. So Rein stayed calculated, weaving the two together—falling back to Quiet Casting whenever the rhythm of battle gave him even half a breath of efficiency.

  And the most terrifying part—the thing none of them understood—

  …was that this still wasn’t even a fraction of the Prototype Haste he’d just refined in the Mana Realm.

  …

  The sight of Marcus and his pack collapsing in humiliation blurred—then rewound into a memory from two months earlier.

  The night the Department of Healing was breached.

  “So you’re telling me people actually cast spells by shouting long, ridiculous sentences out loud?” Rein grumbled to LIZ as he rushed to help students being hunted through the halls.

  “Who would do that? It’s embarrassing—and you’re basically announcing your technique to the enemy. Might as well stand still and beg to be countered.”

  [LIZ: Under normal circumstances, mages fight in a party. Tanks and warriors form a shield so the mage can concentrate on long, complex incantations.]

  “That sounds irresponsible. If the frontline dies, what—do I just sit there and count down to my death?”

  [LIZ: If your party collapses, you’re usually next. That’s normal in this world. Worse—mages are often the first targets, because you can deal enormous damage… but you’re also the most fragile weak point on the team.]

  He kicked a charging zombie square in its rotting face. The impact knocked an eyeball loose; it skittered across the floor.

  Rein shouted at a trembling pair of siblings huddled under the stairs.

  “Get upstairs! Go straight to the library!”

  As he battered zombies down the staircase with raw physical strength—punches and kicks sending bodies tumbling—he realized something grim.

  Don’t forget…I’m still carrying that cursed limitation.

  [LIZ: Correct. You can’t use spells beyond Troposphere-tier. Sorry.]

  “Ugh… annoying.”

  Rein kept smashing zombies back, but they still rose again, tilting their heads, hissing, endless.

  “This is bad…”

  Then, under pressure, an idea flashed through his mind.

  “LIZ—compile every Troposphere-tier spell I can run right now. Then build me shorthand routes for casting.”

  [LIZ: Please wait. ‘The pretty one’ is currently occupied—processing.]

  Rein didn’t wait. He grabbed a wooden chair and swung it, sending a zombie over the balcony. Four or five more were breaking through the barricade.

  Inside his head, he weighed whether to retreat to the Vault—or force the mission Master Chloe had ordered him to finish.

  If I go out there casting like this… I’m dead weight. I can’t even keep myself alive.

  And then—

  Then a long list of shorthand Troposphere-tier casting flooded his vision.

  Rein jerked, eyes widening. “What?”

  [LIZ: Done. Based on analysis—you can run all of these. The problem is mana: you won’t have enough if you cast normally. Recommendation: switch to high-efficiency casting.]

  She sent modified spell formulas—mana cost trimmed, waste excised, everything reduced to bare function.

  “Perfect. Now that is you.”

  The formulas were concise and logical—like mathematics.

  Once spells became equations, casting became solving.

  LIZ marked positions and timing, and Rein’s brain did the rest.

  [LIZ: Ahem. There’s more. I also sent a Delay-Casting method converted into equations. If you want a Combat Matrix—pre-simulated outcomes—say the word.]

  “Okay. Give me a real-time evaluation right now.”

  Three zombies charged.

  Using Shorthand Casting, Rein fired three Magic Missiles—each launched with calculated precision in both timing and angle.

  They punched through dead-center—messy, final.

  LIZ had condensed the cost of three missiles into the mana required for a single standard cast, compressing their size while preserving their penetration power.

  If I compress it down to the size of a bullet… the efficiency should climb even higher.

  Ideas began flooding in—shields, spells, structures…

  “All right, LIZ. Keep optimizing and generating spells. I’ll clear this Raccoon City myself.”

  …

  The memory faded.

  Smoke and dust began to settle, drifting lazily over the cold floor. The violent hum of magic died down, leaving a hollow silence in its wake.

  Then came the sound—the tower floor filled with pitiful groans. Moments later, all twelve students lay face-down in the dust, broken and sprawled across the summit of the tower.

  Marcus Crown had it worst.

  His once-handsome face was swollen beyond recognition. A few teeth glinted in the dust near his cheek—knocked loose by perfectly placed fists, knees, shins, elbows into critical points.

  The elegant “Jack” from moments earlier had plunged into absolute humiliation.

  Rein crouched, grabbed Marcus by the collar, and hauled him up.

  Deep blue eyes—ice-cold—stared straight into Marcus’s pale blue gaze, now so swollen he could barely open his eyelids.

  “Has no one ever taught you…” Rein said slowly, voice calm but heavy enough to crush, “…that mages shouldn’t try to fight in melee range—in a cramped space like this.”

  He released him.

  Marcus hit the ground like a dropped coat—heavy, useless.

  Idiots. Twelve of you, rushing one person… in a box barely thirty feet wide.

  That isn’t courage—it’s bad math.

  “Anyway… Marcus Capri—whatever,” Rein said with a lazy tilt of his head. “From now on, you’ll remember exactly who I am.”

  He paused. Looked over the wreckage on the floor.

  Then declared, sharp and absolute:

  “My name is Rein Rhys,” he said. “Don’t forget it again.”

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

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

  Magic & System Codex

  Shorthand Casting

  A combat casting technique refined by Rein, based on silent, mental execution of spell formulas. Unlike Quiet Casting, which reduces chant volume, Shorthand Casting bypasses verbal incantation altogether.

  Mechanism: Uses internal mana circuits to “speak” the spell via brainwaves.

  – Advantage: Extreme speed—spells can be launched with minimal delay.

  – Drawback: Higher mana consumption (approx. +15%) compared to Quiet Casting.

  – Use Case: Rein uses this in close-quarters combat to chain-cast Magic Missiles, Haste, and shield spells silently.

  Quiet Casting (Update)

  Previously defined as a technique used by Ingrid.

  – Requires whispering minimal incantations.

  – Slower than Shorthand Casting.

  – Less mana-intensive, useful in prolonged battles or when conserving energy.

  Troposphere-tier Optimization

  Refers to Rein’s customized arsenal of Troposphere-tier spells that were rewritten using algorithmic shortcuts.

  – Function: Maximizes output while minimizing mana use, enabling rapid-fire casting in battle.

  – Tools: Optimized via LIZ’s processing—resulting in compressed versions of spells (e.g., Magic Missile miniaturized to bullet size).

  – Note: This method originated during a zombie attack in the Department of Healing breach.

  LIZ: HUD Interface (Update)

  Rein’s AI assistant continues to evolve. In this chapter, LIZ:

  – Uses emoticons to express emotional nuance.

  – Processes and simulates Combat Matrices, spell routes, and optimized formulas.

  – Filters unnecessary data during combat based on Rein’s command.

  – Provides real-time analysis and delay-casting methods.

  – Activated when LIZ scans the Student Registry.

  Core Mana Circles Sealing (Update)

  Rein is limited to three mana circles because of the Dragon's Speech curse etched into his core circuits.

  – Prevents tier advancement.

  – Cannot be analyzed or reversed without access to Ancient Dragonic linguistic data.

  Language

  Ancient Dragonic

  The extinct or near-extinct language used by dragons.

  – Too chaotic and advanced to be interpreted by current AI databases.

  – LIZ humorously notes: “Drag a lizard here” if Rein wants her to decode it.

  Information

  Student Registry

  Rein fed the student database to LIZ, allowing her to instantly profile threats.

  – Used here to identify Marcus Crown and his group as the ones who hospitalized the previous Rein.

  – Rein leverages this data tactically.

  New Characters

  Marcus Crown

  – First-year student, son of Duke Gemini Crown.

  – Elemental Magic Department.

  – Lead attacker in a 12v1 ambush on Rein.

  The Academy Rules

  No Student Brawls

  – An “iron law” of the Academy.

  – Marcus attempts to circumvent it by framing the attack as “removal of a threat.”

  – Rein later uses this irony to shame his attackers post-defeat.

  Pop Culture Reference Codex

  “Jack” and the Sinking Ship — Titanic (1997)

  Context in Scene:

  Rein sarcastically calls Marcus “Jack,” referring to Jack Dawson, the protagonist from Titanic, who famously died when the ship sank.

  – It’s a mocking jab—implying Marcus is an appearance, like Jack Dawson… or just someone who should’ve gone down with the ship.

  Origin:

  – Film: Titanic (1997)

  – Character: Jack Dawson, played by Leonardo DiCaprio

  – Scene Relevance: Jack dies after giving up his place on a floating door to Rose during the shipwreck—one of the most iconic moments in film history.

  Raccoon City – Resident Evil Universe

  Reference:

  In the same breath as a zombie outbreak flashback, Rein mentally likens the situation to Raccoon City—a city overrun by bioweapons and undead horrors.

  Origin:

  – Franchise: Resident Evil (Biohazard in Japan)

  – Publisher: Capcom

  – Raccoon City: A fictional midwestern American city that becomes ground zero for a zombie apocalypse due to the Umbrella Corporation’s T-virus outbreak.