The classroom of Master Laich Klippenberg on the top floor of the East Tower had no chairs, tables, or chalkboards.

  The room was a beautiful chaos. Thousands of canvases floated in the air without strings, forming a maze of ever-changing corridors. Unfinished marble statues were scattered across the floor, and the smell of oil paint mixed with old dust hung thick in the air, strong enough to make an ordinary person dizzy within five minutes.

  "You're breathing too loudly," Laich's voice came from behind a pile of clay sculptures.

  Mira stood in the middle of the empty room. She was sweating cold. Around her, five giant paintbrushes, each the size of a spear, floated in the air. The tips of the brushes were not dipped in paint but sharpened like murder stakes.

  The brush wasn’t dipped in paint, but sharpened like a killer’s stake.

  "Your mind is noisy, Rhea," Laich continued. The man was lounging on a chandelier that swayed gently, his legs dangling down. He was peeling an orange with a small folding knife. "You think about how to dodge. You think about how to attack. You think about the homework you haven’t done. Noisy."

  "Then what am I supposed to think about?" Mira snapped, her eyes wild as she watched the five brushes eyeing her like starving wolves.

  "Art," Laich replied simply. He tossed the orange peel downward.

  The orange peel hadn’t touched the floor when Laich snapped his fingers.

  The five giant brushes shot forward simultaneously. One aimed for the neck. Two aimed for the ribs. The other two swept for the legs.

  Mira reacts with her instincts. She jumped, twisting her body in the air, dodging the first and second brushes. Her hand raised reflexively. The bracelets on her wrist lit up. Do something! Shield!

  The blue liquid seeps out. But because of the panic, the visualization was blurred. The glass that forms in front of it is uneven. Thin in the middle, thick at the edges.

  The third brush hit the flawed glass shield. The shield shattered into pieces. The handle of the brush hit Mira's stomach hard.

  "Ugh!" Mira was thrown backwards, her back crashing into the unfinished statue. She fell to her knees, clutching her nauseated stomach.

  Laich did not go down. He ate a slice of an orange casually.

  "Ugly," he commented flatly. "Your shield is fragile because your mind is split. You're half afraid of dying, half wanting to make glass. The result? Garbage."

  Laich jumped down from the chandelier, landing silently, a movement far too light for a man of his size. He walked over to Mira, crouching in front of her.

  "Listen," said Laich, his tone turning serious, shaking off his laziness for a moment. He tapped Mira's temple with his rough index finger.

  "Ordinary witches cast spells. They memorize formulas. A plus B equals Fire. Their minds are linear."

  Laich pointed at the Igniter bracelets on Mira’s wrists.

  "But you? You are a trickster. You have to do two things at once in the same millisecond. Your right brain has to paint the details of a weapon—its texture, weight, sharpness. Your left brain has to calculate enemy movements, distances, and strategy."

  "That’s impossible," Mira hissed, still clutching her aching stomach. "I can’t focus on drawing a painting while being chased by a bear."

  "Then learn to paint while running," Laich replied cruelly. "Or you’ll die before the 60th second.”

  Laich stood up. He raised his hand. The entire room rumbled. Hundreds of floating canvases turned around. Their blank sides faced Mira. Then, from within the canvases, thick black ink poured out, dripping onto the floor and forming puddles that sprang to life as dozens of small shadow creatures. They had no faces, only sharp ink claws.

  "Practice session two," said Laich, walking backward toward the safe exit. "Today's theme: Imagination and Survival."

  "Wait! How many?" Mira shouted, struggling to stand up.

  "Until you stop making cracked glass," Laich replied, closing the heavy door from the outside. "Hit and run, Rhea. Don’t stop moving. And for God’s sake, make something beautiful."

  Then, the door locked.

  Dozens of the ink creatures turned toward Mira. They let out screams that sounded like forcibly torn paper.

  ***

  The first hour was a disaster.

  Mira runs between the maze of canvases like a panicked mouse. Those ink creatures weren't strong, but they were fast and plentiful in numbers. Whenever Mira stopped to visualize the weapons, they swarmed her.

  Make a sword! Mira imagined a sword. The blue liquid comes out. But since she was running away from the ink claws, the sword formed was crooked. Mira slashed, and the glass sword shattered when it touched the opponent's ink body.

  "Damn!" Mira jumped on top of the marble statue. The creatures began to climb.

  Split your brain, Laich's voice rings in his head. Right to paint. Left kills.

  Mira took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment in the midst of chaos. She let the sound of claws scraping against stone fill her ears.

  She didn’t need to see them. She knew where they were. Mira opened her eyes. Her gaze changed. No longer a look of panic, but a vacant stare, the same look Kars had when fighting five people with red scorpion tattoos.

  She suppressed her emotions. She separated her consciousness.

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  Left Brain: Three enemies below. Two jump from the left. One on the right. Right Brain: Triangle. Sharp. Small. Many.

  Mira jumped down. In the air, she didn't create one big weapon. She swung both her hands down.

  The blue liquid spread, then solidified into dozens of glass spikes scattered across the floor. The visualization was simple. Geometric. It didn't need intricate artistic detail, just pure sharpness.

  The ink creatures landed on the glass spikes. Their legs were pierced. They screamed. Their ink bodies became unstable and exploded into pools of stain.

  "Success," Mira whispered. Her breath was ragged. But it was only the beginning.

  ***

  By late afternoon, the room already looked like an abstract battlefield. The floor was covered with black ink stains and sparkling shards of blue glass.

  Mira had reached her physical limit, but her mind was becoming sharper. She entered a state of Flow.

  She was no longer running in panic. She was dancing.

  A large Ink Minion charged from behind the canvas. Mira didn't stop. She slid across the slippery wooden floor.

  Left Brain: 2 meters away. Enemy momentum forward is high. Right Brain: Slanted surface. Slippery. Hard.

  Mira tapped the floor. A smooth glass ramp appeared instantly in front of her feet. The ink creature crashed into the glass ramp, slipped, and was flung into the air over Mira's head.

  As the creature floated in the air, Mira spun. Her hand pointed.

  Left Brain: Target airborne. Gravity pulls it down. Right Brain: Cylinder. Pointed. Aerodynamic.

  "Needle."

  A single long glass needle shot from her finger. It pierced right through the creature's core in midair.

  Mira landed on one knee. She didn’t smile. Her face was flat, cold, and almost expressionless. She had shut off her fear. She had become the second Kars.

  The room door opened. Laich stepped back in. He carried a tray with tea and biscuits, as well as Spoony on his shoulder.

  Laich looked around. He saw the remnants of the shattered ink creatures. He saw the scattered shards of glass. Not just any shards. There was a pattern there. Mira had chased the enemies into certain corners, then finished them off with area traps.

  "Not bad," said Laich, placing the tray on the only surviving table. "For a beginner's standard."

  But he didn’t stop the training. Laich picked up his own paintbrush. This time, he didn’t use the automatic animation magic. He held the brush himself.

  The aura around Laich changed. His laziness completely disappeared. The air pressure in the room increased drastically, making the glass on the floor tremble.

  "You’ve already learned to fight against a crowd of fools," said Laich, dipping his brush into the empty air that suddenly transformed into blood-red paint. "Now, try to survive against a real Artist."

  Laich swung his brush. Art Style: Crimson Slash.

  A wave of red paint in the shape of a giant crescent flew toward Mira. It wasn’t just paint; it was cutting energy capable of slicing through steel.

  Mira’s eyes widened. This was a different level. She couldn’t dodge. The attack was too wide.

  Think, your brain! Left: Impact analysis. Too strong to block head-on. Right: Reflection angle. Prism glass. Thick.

  Mira crossed her arms. The bracelets on her wrists buzzed loudly. She was forcing her Intian out faster than the safe limit.

  A thick glass wall shaped as a triangular prism appeared in front of her. Not a flat wall, but with sharp angles to deflect attacks.

  The red sickle struck the prism. Its energy didn't stop, but split into two streams that passed along the left and right sides of Mira's body. Sharp wind scratched her cheek. A few strands of her hair were cut.

  But Mira was still standing. Her triangular wall cracked but held firm.

  "Good," praised Laich, his eyes sparkling with delight. "Again."

  He waved the brush again. This time yellow. Lightning. Then blue. Ice. Then black. Shadow.

  Laich bombarded Mira with a series of elemental attacks painted in the air. Mira was forced to retreat. She was cornered against the wall. Her brain felt like it was on fire.

  Make an umbrella! (Deflect a hail of needles) Make a ladder! (Jump up) Make hover shoes! (Dodge quickly).

  Mira switched constructions every second. She had no time to think. She could only react. Right to draw. Left to defend. Right. Left. Right. Left.

  Hot. The bracelets on her wrists started burning her skin. She had surpassed the cumulative limit. Dalt's limiter screamed.

  Laich launched the final attack. A giant purple oil-painted dragon, roaring silently, charged with its jaws wide open.

  Mira had nowhere to run. She had to destroy it. But the dragon was too big for ordinary needles or bullets.

  Mira stared at the dragon. Time seemed to slow down.

  Left Brain: Weak point in the throat. The oil paint structure is unstable at the center. Right Brain: Bomb. Fragmentation. Internal pressure.

  Mira didn’t make a weapon in her hands. She threw a lump of raw blue liquid straight into the cat dragon’s mouth.

  As the lump entered the painted dragon’s body, Mira visualized a spiky ball instantly expanding to a thousand times its size.

  The purple dragon exploded from within. Purple paint splashed all over the room, coloring the walls, the floor, and Mira’s body.

  Mira stood there, gasping, her entire body covered in purple. The bracelets on her wrists hissed, releasing a thin white smoke. The skin beneath the bracelets was blistered red.

  And something warm dripped from her nose. Blood.

  The world spun. Mira staggered, falling to her knees. Her head felt like it had been split by an axe. She had forced her brain to process two vastly different realities for hours. Her mental capacity had been overwhelmed.

  "Enough."

  Laich's voice sounded close. That man was already standing in front of Mira. He didn’t have a drop of paint on him. His black cloak was perfectly clean; perhaps he had painted an invisible shield for himself.

  Laich offered a handkerchief. The handkerchief was dirty, covered with old paint stains, but it smelled of lemon.

  "Your nose," said Laich, pointing to his own face.

  Mira touched her nose. Fresh blood. She took the handkerchief and wiped it. Her hands were trembling violently.

  "I... I destroyed it," Mira gasped, her voice hoarse.

  "You exceeded your one-second limit on the last three attacks," Laich corrected sharply. "0.2 seconds. 0.5 seconds. And finally, 1.2 seconds. That's why your brain is bleeding."

  Laich knelt, examining Mira's bracelets. He carefully touched the heated metal.

  "But..." Laich gazed into Mira's eyes. There was a hint of respect there that hadn't been there before. "...you didn't die. And you created a fragmentation bomb inside a moving object. That's advanced visualization." The woman in front of Laich was not a beginner. She was the heir to the original Ashart bloodline. It was just that Mira needed tougher training to reach Dalt and Henesa's level.

  Laich stood, then extended his hand to help Mira up.

  "Today's lesson is over. You managed to prove one thing, Rhea."

  "What?" Mira accepted the extended hand, her legs feeling like jelly.

  "That you’re not an artist who paints landscapes," Laich sneered, pointing to the mess of paint and glass around them. "You are an abstract artist. Your work is messy, brutal, and painful to look at. But..."

  Laich picked up a shard of blue glass left from the dragon's earlier explosion. The glass reflected the late afternoon sunlight coming through the high window.

  "...effective. Very effective."

  Laich tossed the shard of glass at Mira. Mira caught it reflexively.

  "Clean up this mess tomorrow morning. Spoony hates the smell of purple paint, and my other students will be coming into the classroom. Now go home. Compress your head with ice, or you'll become a permanent idiot."

  Mira nodded weakly. She walked unsteadily toward the door. As she stepped out, she saw her reflection in the large mirror in the hallway. Her face was pale, her nose red from the remnants of a nosebleed, her hair messy, and her expensive uniform covered in paint stains.

  She didn't look like a graceful, noble princess. She looked like a soldier who had just survived a war.

  And for the first time since she had taken the name "Ashart," Mira smiled genuinely. A small, tired yet satisfied smile. She was beginning to understand how this world worked. She didn't need to be strong in their way. She just needed to be clever in her own way.

  Inside the room, Laich Klippenberg sat back in his chair, letting Spoony climb onto his head. He opened his new sketchbook, the first page still blank.

  He took some charcoal, and with a few quick strokes, he sketched a girl standing in the midst of a storm of shattered glass, holding a ball of light in one hand and death in the other.

  "Interesting," Laich muttered to his rat. "She might burn down this academy before graduating. I like that."