"One hour remaining."

  The ancient headmaster's voice boomed through the chamber as he tapped the enormous hourglass beside him. The glass construct—taller than he was—glowed faintly as the yellow sand within froze, the hourglass flipped over with a slight thud, and the grains fell downward again in a shimmering cascade.

  His voice and the sound of the falling sand echoed throughout the vast examination hall, a room clearly built to accommodate at least three hundred students. Today, however, it was just me… and apart from the headmaster, six professors who, for the most part, evidently didn't care to be here.

  Professor Sullivan had helped me complete—well, "complete" was generous; I suspected a few forms had been forged—everything I needed to apply for entry into the academy. Even the exam was an extreme exception, allowed despite the enrollment period having long ended and classes already having begun. But even with his help, the rules required me to take the entrance exam myself.

  At least, technically, myself.

  In reality, I was far from taking the exam on my own.

  Wrapped behind my neck and coiled around my left shoulder lay Apophis, his sleek black body hidden from view from the headmaster and professors with the Pull Tab Necklace. There was still a risk of being caught, but gauged it to be a necessary one. And if any of them noticed the snake’s presence despite the necklace, as had Professor Sullivan with me initially, they didn't comment on it.

  Though they had plenty else to comment on.

  These seven individuals in purple robes were seated above me, a floor higher, and placed primarily in the front, with enough space between them to prevent conversation. But despite my taking an exam and the space between them, bits of conversation still flowed, echoing and reaching my ears.

  "Can't believe I'm wasting my afternoon like this…" one instructor muttered. She was younger than the rest—a pretty face, exaggerated curves, long crimson hair tumbling past her shoulders, and an oversized black hat whose tip flopped over dramatically.

  "Easy," another replied—a man with a hooked nose and framed glasses so tiny they seemed purely decorative, unless he needed them to inspect ants. "You can't blame Sullivan. His contract for his tenure requires him to teach a minimum of two classes per semester. And his advanced course dropped below threshold the moment Alice disappeared."

  A third professor, a plump man with soft eyes, added a wistful sigh. "Ahhh… wherever did Alice go? I care little for Sullivan, but that girl—she was the kind of genius that appears once in a hundred years. Maybe a thousand. Losing her as a student is a tragedy."

  I pretended not to hear, trying to focus on the exam, but their words carried easily in the echo-prone room.

  Still, I pieced together what I had already suspected: Professor Sullivan's willingness to help me wasn't born purely from some innate goodwill and kindness. He needed a warm body to keep his advanced class from being canceled and his tenure contract from dissolving. Whether I was a prodigy mage or barely passable didn't really matter.

  But, regardless of his reasons, my gratitude toward him didn't lessen. He had let me sleep in his office as a temporary home, provided me with every meal since I'd arrived, and guided me through the labyrinthine enrollment process.

  Whatever his motivations, the result was the same. Because of him, I was able to navigate through this strange realm with ease.

  ~Question 99: What is the primary composition of a mid-tier mana filament?

  Not having the System produce writings for me in an easily digestible manner was troublesome. Fortunately, Apophis was more than happy to read the questions and whisper them to me discreetly.

  ~Ah, an insultingly simple question. The answer is D: condensed mana particles stabilized with at least one unit of life essence.

  He also provided the answer to every question, often offering more insight than the examiners themselves likely understood.

  Apophis even utilized this as a learning opportunity for me. Before offering the answers, he allowed me a bit of time to think and attempt to figure it out on my own first. And only delivered the answers after it was evident I had given it an earnest try.

  ~Though, to be frank, a more accurate answer would mention that mana particles alone are unstable unless blended with a trace of chaos resonance—but I suppose this realm hasn't discovered that yet.

  Of the entire exam so far, I had managed to deduce about twenty answers without Apophis's input correctly. A personal accomplishment, though twenty out of a hundred was unlikely to result in my admission into this prestigious academy. Thus, cheating my way through was my only hope.

  I flipped to the last page.

  ~Question 100: Identify the flaw in the following spell matrix intended for basic levitation.

  The question included a basic diagram: a circle, three arrows, and runic inscriptions. There were no multiple options to choose from; instead, there was a blank space to write my answer. The exam had a handful of these, where the answer had to be fully provided, without the possibility of getting the correct answer by sheer luck.

  I cocked my head as I examined it.

  Something is missing.

  ~It's incomplete and backwards, Apophis hissed. A levitation matrix will implode if the anchor is drawn counterclockwise instead of clockwise.

  I diligently scribbled the answer word-for-word, as Apophis explained in detail the various issues regarding the spell.

  ~A more interesting question would be: who on earth designed this disaster? There is more than just one flaw; the question itself is flawed.

  The corners of my mouth twitched as my pen scratched across the thick parchment. The giant pink feather attached to it swayed dramatically with each stroke, sauntering across the paper. When this final answer was complete, the feather dropped into stillness.

  I exhaled and placed the pen down, massaging my right wrist and fingers. I hadn't written so much in one go in a while.

  "I am done," I announced. My voice carried sharper than I intended in the empty hall.

  Seven pairs of eyes stared down at me from the raised platform. Arms crossed. Brows arched—expressions ranging from boredom to open suspicion. Only two seemed remotely entertained: the ancient headmaster and the plump professor with the soft eyes.

  The massive hourglass in the center of the room shushed softly, its yellow sand pouring steadily. The sand in the upper section indicated that plenty of time remained.

  "It's only been slightly over an hour," the man with the hooked nose and minuscule glasses stated. "You have more time… unless you're giving up?"

  "It's best to review your work," a professor with curly black hair added, adjusting her gemstone-framed glasses. Her lenses sparkled in every color imaginable, like tiny stained-glass windows.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  I shook my head. "No, I'm done. I've already checked it."

  That wasn't entirely true, but I trusted Apophis to have corrected me if there were any issues. He had no qualms to raise alarms when I nearly marked the wrong letter once. I doubted he'd let a mistake slip through.

  "Very well," the headmaster said. "The written exam will now be evaluated."

  I blinked.

  Now?

  I expected a waiting period, possibly a couple days. At least an hour or so. But perhaps because mine was a special case, or because seven individuals had been inconvenienced for this, they were eager to conclude and produce the results.

  Maybe they want to confirm if there is even a need to get to the practical part of the examination.

  The headmaster motioned his hand, and the stack of papers on my desk rose. The most considerable portion flew into his extended hand, and the other pages, the ones that I had to write out the whole answers for manually, drifted toward each of the six professors.

  Each of them received two papers—two questions and my answers—for their individual assessment.

  For the first time, the room fell into a true hush, as the professors dutifully examined my answers. The air grew heavy with focus.

  "Oh?" A soft exclamation sounded from the red-haired woman, breaking the silence.

  She looked down toward me, her expression softening into a pleased smile.

  Besides her, the plump professor had an identical reaction. His eyebrows rose and his lips twitched into an approving smile.

  A warm ripple of satisfaction ran through me.

  I had a feeling I'd done well.

  "Everyone finished?" The headmaster inquired, turning his head to his left and right.

  The six professors nodded, and their papers flew into the headmaster's hand.

  "For the multiple choice component, a perfect eighty-eight of eighty-eight questions were answered," he announced.

  One of the professors, the one with the black curls, gasped.

  "As for the free-form portion, eleven of the twelve were correct."

  This time, more gasps sounded.

  "Congratulations, Luca Frey, you have passed the written portion with flying colors," the headmaster said, smiling broadly.

  ~Ridiculous. Ask him which of the twelve was incorrect, Apophis hissed.

  I tried to ignore the snake, as I was pretty happy with my score, but Apophis continued his barge, evidently personally insulted by the outcome.

  ~Which moron is it that said my answer was wrong? Ask him!

  I sighed.

  "Headmaster, could you tell me which question I got wrong?" I asked.

  The headmaster chuckled. "Certainly. It was the levitation question."

  The hook-nosed professor with the tiny glasses leaned forward. "Your answer was partially correct, but you identified several 'issues' with the matrix that don't exist. Thus, you lost the point."

  ~Ahhhhh, so that's the moron who produced that ridiculous question. Master repeat after me now—

  Sensing it was a futile matter, I diligently parroted Apophis's words.

  "—thus, while a singular mana flow can suffice, long-term usage—especially for lifting heavier objects—may place undue strain on the mana core. Therefore, I corrected the diagram to include two clockwise mana flows to ensure stability."

  My reply was met with silence. Then one laugh.

  "Kendrick," the red-haired professor drawled, eyes bright with amusement, "is what he's suggesting… perhaps correct?"

  "No. There is no documented evidence of strain from using a singular mana flow," the hook-nosed professor—Kendrick apparently—replied stiffly.

  "He's right," the headmaster said gently. "There have been no documented cases thus far. Therefore, the grade Professor Gafftner assigned will stand." His gaze shifted, thoughtful. "Though it may be worth investigating."

  ~Ridiculous, Apophis hissed in disgust.

  The headmaster clapped his hands lightly. "Let us move on to the practical exam."

  He rang a small golden bell. Its soft chime echoed through the chamber, and the doors behind me opened with a low groan of ancient hinges.

  Turning my head, I realized a student had entered. She was about my age, though her posture radiated confidence. A golden badge gleamed on her uniform, marking her as someone of high standing. A Prefect, perhaps. Or a Teaching Assistant. Possibly both.

  She pushed a wooden cart that rattled faintly across the polished floor. Atop it sat a massive glass orb, nearly the size of a human head. Inside, murky white vapor curled and shifted like captured fog trying to escape.

  ~Ahhh, as we expected, Apophis hissed knowingly. A mana level and potential evaluation. Common for realms at this stage of magical development.

  "Please come forward and place your hand on the orb," the girl instructed.

  Her voice was serious and professional. Two neat braids framed her face, and her navy-blue uniform looked freshly pressed, without a single wrinkle.

  I stood up from my desk and approached the orb. However, before placing my hand on it, I pulled out a blue lollipop and slipped it into my mouth.

  The girl raised a brow, but didn't comment.

  Good.

  While my action was a little odd, the rules of the exam had nothing against the consumption of snacks—it was a lengthy ordeal after all. I had overheard other students who had taken the exam recalling munching on chips or chocolate to maintain their focus. And, to my relief, no one seemed to recognize the true nature of the candy.

  I placed my palm on the orb and waited for further instruction.

  "Now, focus your mana to fill it," the girl said.

  I diligently did as told, channeling a stream of my mana into the orb, but nothing occurred.

  "Are you… trying?" she asked after several seconds.

  I nodded. "I am."

  And I genuinely was. Part of me was curious how this realm would quantify me. I knew that, thanks to the lollipop, my mana core would not deplete, so it wasn't the most accurate evaluation, but there should have been something.

  "Is it broken…?" she murmured. She pressed her face to the orb, her breath fogging its surface slightly. "It should glow with at least fifty particles. Even a corpse can manage that much…"

  Apophis snickered from my shoulder, laughing at my expense.

  ~Master, you should go ahead with the illusion. At your rate, you'll need a full minute to produce the lightest of glows. Afterall, in this realm even a corpse has more residual mana than your living core; you're lucky they rely on a device like this instead of being able to eyeball your level.

  I sighed.

  "Let me… refocus," I said, pretending to straighten my posture.

  [[ Apophis, aside from the six professors, headmaster, and this girl, is there anyone else I need to cast an illusion on? ]]

  The snake on my shoulder shifted.

  ~Yes. A blond boy is peeking through the window to your left. And the fly on that girl's shoulder—it's a shapeshifter. A good one, too, if no one else has noticed.

  I glanced to my left, clocking the boy's position. Then I cast the illusion over the heads of each individual. I didn't need to focus my illusion any further than that—the mind was responsible for the sense of touch they'd experience anywhere else on their body.

  Having experimented a bit, the most ideal and seamless illusions were those that engaged at least three senses, with a subtle start and end.

  First, I pushed out a faint tingling, hair-raising pressure across their skin—something instinctively associated with witnessing overwhelming mana. Or anything shocking or extraordinary, really.

  Then came the visual: I projected the illusion of the orb igniting, glowing from within—slowly at first, then swelling brighter and brighter until it shone like a miniature sun, filling the room with an overwhelming white light.

  And just before it reached that pinnacled brightness level, I introduced discomfort—a sharp prickle behind the eyes, the kind one feels after glancing at a sudden light in an otherwise dark room. That sensation forced them to blink their eyes closed instinctively.

  And in that blink, I ended the illusion. I dropped the visual entirely after pulling my hand off the orb, while maintaining the residual tingling and adding a faint ringing in their ears to sell the aftermath of an overwhelming mana surge.

  Silence filled the room as everyone stared openly at me.

  Did I overdo it?

  I clinked the lollipop across my teeth, trying to avoid consuming it unnecessarily now that the illusion was done with. I only had a couple more of Jarvis's concentrated mana potion lollipops left and was going to need them, depending on how long I was going to be stuck in this realm. But I kept it tucked behind my cheek in case another illusion became necessary.

  "Young man," the headmaster began slowly, "your application states you've never practiced magic before today?"

  The girl's eyes widened as she took a startled step back. "Never practiced magic...?" she echoed, her expression disbelieving. The fly on her shoulder buzzed away with a sudden urgency.

  "Not any physically tangible magic that required pulling from my mana core," I replied slowly, ensuring each of my words was truthful. "And my intention in applying was to study magic in its theory, not in practice."

  There was no sensation of any lie-detecting spellwork, and Apophis hadn't warned of it. But he had been wrong once before, and I didn't care to tempt fate when I could circumvent lying by carefully adjusting my words.

  "It would be wise to avoid all spellwork until we confirm you have full control," the headmaster said gravely. "You are fortunate you've never attempted magic before this moment. The consequences could have been disastrous. We'll exclude the rest of the practical components."

  I smiled at this—that was precisely my intention with my over-the-top performance. I doubted I'd skate by on Illusion magic for the remainder of the exam. And I really didn't wish to use up the lollipops more than needed.

  "We need to admit him—if only for the safety of the entire continent," the curly-haired professor whispered urgently.

  The red-haired professor and the plump one nodded in agreement.

  "Admit him in," the red-haired mage urged.

  "That level of talent must be cultivated. It's a one in ten-thousand years," the plump professor added.

  "Or perhaps it would be wiser to lock him away in the Glimver Dungeon," the hook-nosed professor suggested dryly.

  I froze.

  The other two professors nodded at that suggestion.

  Damn it. I overplayed my hand.

  My gaze slid toward the headmaster—the final authority, the deciding vote, the one man between me and a dungeon with a name that sounded like a type of mold and human misery.

  My fate rested entirely in his hands.

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