After the introductory lectures, we were given a tour of the Academy.

  We walked through endless corridors, massive lecture halls, specialized magical laboratories, sprawling training grounds, an alchemist's garden, and finally, the grand arena where official duels were held. The teachers spoke with such swelling pride, you’d think they had laid every stone themselves.

  And then, we reached the dining hall.

  It was enormous, bathed in sunlight, with long oak tables groaning under the weight of dozens of dishes that looked fit for the gods.

  "The meals provided for the Elite Class are an order of magnitude higher in quality than standard Academy fare," the guiding professor noted casually.

  I stared at the platters of roasted meats, fresh pastries, and perfectly glazed fruits.

  Even if they try to expel me, I promised myself solemnly, I will cling to this class for the food alone.

  But my culinary joy was short-lived. Finn Rainford had not taken his eyes off me since the tour began. As the group moved toward the exit, he sidled up next to me, a crooked smirk on his face.

  "You're an Ice Mage, right?" he asked loudly enough for his lackeys to hear. "It must be nice... having the weakest elemental affinity in the entire class."

  I said nothing.

  He leaned in closer. "Just make sure you don't freeze to death out here, Helvard. Because my fire will melt your little ice cubes faster than you can blink."

  His entourage snickered.

  Excellent, I thought dryly. It's barely noon, and I already have a designated school rival.

  I didn't react. Let him think I was weak. Let him think I was intimidated. It would save me a mountain of trouble in the long run.

  Or... it was supposed to.

  The next period was Practical Combat. And this was exactly where things stopped going according to plan.

  The combat instructor was a highly respected master—a bronze medalist of the prestigious Narino Cup. He was tall, heavily muscled, and radiated an aura of absolute, crushing confidence.

  He began with a stern speech: "A mage must know how to wield a sword, and a swordsman must understand how to counter magic! We teach combined combat styles here: the God of the North, the God of Flame, the God of the Wind. And every single one of you will master them, at least on a foundational level!"

  The students exchanged nervous glances. Half the class were pure swordsmen, the other half pure mages. Everyone suddenly realized this was going to be excruciatingly painful.

  "Pair up!" the instructor barked.

  And, of course... I was paired with Finn Rainford.

  I knew immediately: he wanted a show. And I was entirely right.

  The instructor raised his hand. "Ready your stances... One... Two... Three—FIGHT!"

  Flames erupted around Finn instantly. His training sword was engulfed in a roaring, fiery aura, making it look like he was wielding a massive torch. He executed a spinning flourish—beautiful, blindingly fast, and utterly ostentatious.

  The crowd of students gasped in awe.

  "Watch closely, Helvard!" Finn shouted over the roar of his flames. "This is what real power looks like!"

  I took a clumsy step backward, pretending to be overwhelmed. In reality, I could have stopped this entire circus with a single flick of my wrist. But... I was playing the weakling.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Siren and Tara Walter watching intently. The twin fencing prodigies had narrowed their eyes. They saw what the mages didn't: I was managing the distance perfectly. Too perfectly for someone who was supposedly "weak."

  Damn it, I cursed internally. Those two have a terrifying eye for footwork.

  Finn prepared a massive strike—a sweeping arc of fire aimed straight at my chest.

  I pretended to panic, raising my hand at the last possible second. "Ice Wall!"

  I conjured a small, fragile, pathetic-looking sheet of ice, exactly like a terrified novice would. The fire shattered it instantly, but it gave me just enough cover to "barely" dodge out of the way.

  Finn grew emboldened. He rushed me, our swords clashing. Every impact created an explosive reaction of steam.

  Heat. Cold. Heat. Cold.

  The crowd was cheering, but I knew I was making a mistake. I was losing too beautifully. I needed to look pathetic.

  So, on the next exchange, I "tripped" over my own feet and fell flat on my back.

  "And that's it!" Finn laughed triumphantly, towering over me. "The little icicle melted."

  The instructor raised his hand. "Winner—Rainf—"

  But Finn, drunk on his own 'glory' and desperate to prove his dominance, suddenly raised his flaming sword and drove it down toward me while I was still on the floor.

  He was going for a finishing blow. Even though the match was already over.

  The instructor exploded into motion.

  Moving with terrifying speed, the master appeared between us and swatted Finn's sword away, sending the Duke's heir tumbling into a half-somersault across the dirt.

  A stunned silence fell over the arena.

  "Rainford," the instructor said, his voice dropping to a deadly, freezing temperature. "If an opponent falls and the match is called, the fight is over. Were you planning to maim a fellow student? On your very first day?"

  Finn scrambled up, his face burning bright red. "I... I was just—"

  "Silence! Do that one more time, and you will be expelled from my class permanently. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, sir..." Finn muttered, thoroughly humiliated.

  I slowly picked myself up, putting on an exaggerated display of exhaustion and weakness. What an idiot, I thought. He could have just taken his hollow victory and left me alone.

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

  But as I brushed the dirt off my uniform, I felt two pairs of eyes burning into my back.

  Siren. Tara.

  The twins were staring at me with unnatural intensity, as if trying to solve a complex puzzle.

  A bad sign. A very bad sign.

  The rest of the combat pairs were a terrifying display of exactly why this was the Elite Class.

  Princess Elinia vs. Tara Walter. > It was elite-level chaos. The Princess simply raised her hand, and four distinct elements erupted into the air around her simultaneously. Wind, fire, ice, and earth. Tara, using her extreme speed, tried to close the distance. "Wind!" Elinia commanded. A gale-force blast knocked Tara back. "Fire!" Tara barely dodged a pillar of flame. "Ice!" Tara ducked under a barrage of frozen spears. "Earth!" The floor beneath Tara's feet exploded. Tara was sprinting around the arena like a madwoman, looking as though she were taking a brutal survival exam. The Princess, meanwhile, hadn't taken a single step. Understood, I thought. She is, without a doubt, the most dangerous person here.

  Lucille Arvent vs. Siren Walter. > A war of teleportation and reflexes. Lucille vanished with a soft pop. She reappeared directly behind Siren. Siren parried the strike without even turning his head. "You should at least try to mask your mana fluctuations," he advised dryly. She vanished again. Reappeared on the left. Strike. Parry. Vanished. Reappeared above. Siren leapt backward like a cat. It was a high-speed game of chess, and both of them looked incredibly bored.

  Edgar Rustwell vs. Finn Rainford. > This wasn't a duel; it was a war of attrition. "Let's see how your little iron toys hold up against real FIRE, blacksmith," Finn sneered. Edgar said nothing. He simply inhaled, exhaled, and clenched his fist. Liquid metal began to manifest from the air, pooling around his forearm and hardening into a thick, brutal broadsword that grew directly out of his hand. Finn scoffed and ignited his blade. "Match!" Finn charged like a blazing comet. Their swords clashed. The intense heat instantly melted Edgar's blade—but the metal simply flowed backward and reformed immediately! "What?!" Finn yelled. "Metal Magic, idiot," Edgar grunted. "It restores itself exactly as fast as you melt it." Finn roared in frustration and dialed up his flames. Edgar countered by constantly shifting the shape of his weapon: short to block, long to sweep, thick to absorb the blistering heat. Finn's magic was explosive and flashy. Edgar's magic was viscous, heavy, and completely unyielding. When Finn finally managed to blast Edgar back with a fireball, the blacksmith's son merely stood up, his fist now coated in a massive steel gauntlet. By the end of it, both were panting heavily. "DRAW!" the instructor called. "How... are you still standing?!" Finn wheezed. "My fire melts EVERYTHING!" Edgar wiped sweat from his brow and smirked. "Metal is forged in fire. Think about it." Finn looked ready to mentally combust. The rest of the class, however, realized that the blacksmith's son was an absolute powerhouse.

  Noah Levander vs. Kairen Stalford. > Noah lazily snapped his fingers. "You will lose your vision in three... two... one..." Kairen froze. A thick, localized fog enveloped his head. He took a stumbling step forward, swung wildly at the air, and nearly knocked himself out on a stone pillar. "Sorry," Noah sighed. "That's just the basic novice fog." Noah won in exactly five seconds.

  Reynar Helwood vs. Astra Failmore. > Reynar moved like a dancer—light, airborne, striking with clean, rapid blows. But Astra... every single time he landed a hit, she simply cast a healing spell on herself. "Astra, just yield!" Reynar yelled in frustration. "No! I have enough mana to heal forever!" she replied cheerfully. The instructor rubbed his temples. After ten agonizing minutes, both students collapsed from exhaustion—Reynar from running, and Astra from chain-casting.

  And then there was my actual match.

  Miella Sunright vs. Me. Miella was a pure swordsman, but she understood the basics of magic. She was honest, calm, and highly strategic. She raised her hand, sending a small, slow wave of earth rolling toward me. I acted terrified and threw up a pathetic, cracking ice shield. "You... don't really know how to use magic, do you?" she asked sympathetically. "Just the basics..." I mumbled. "I'll hold back then," she promised. Thank you, but please don't, I pleaded internally. We ran around the arena in circles. She would strike, I would conjure a weak shield. She would push a rock, I would throw a kindergarten-level icicle and run away. It looked like I was barely surviving. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Princess Elinia watching me again. Her gaze was intense. Piercing. It was as if she was waiting for me to suddenly do something impossible. Not today, Your Highness. I purposefully tripped over my own robe and face-planted. It worked flawlessly. Miella stopped immediately. "Oh! I'm sorry! Are you alright?" "Yeah... just tired..." I wheezed. She nodded, seemingly buying the act entirely.

  But the Princess continued to stare at me. Long and hard. Her eyes clearly saying: You are hiding something. I know it.

  I looked away. So much for a quiet, peaceful education...

  After the brutal combat trials, the theoretical classes felt like a different kind of torture.

  Magical Theory was taught by a withered man in spectacles who looked like he had been woken up thirty seconds ago and violently hated everyone who was currently breathing. He scrawled massive, complex formulas on the chalkboard.

  "Magic is not just 'auras and explosions,'" he droned monotonously. "It is foundation. It is currents. It is the structural integrity of mana. If you fail to understand the foundation, you will be expelled."

  The entire class groaned inwardly. Myself included. Why is theory always more excruciating than actual warfare?

  Theoretical Fencing, however, was the exact opposite. The instructor was loud, overly energetic, and practically screamed his lectures. "You must FEEL the blade! The sword is an extension of your very SOUL!"

  What if my soul is used to wielding house-sized spears of demonic hellfire? I wondered quietly.

  Siren and Tara listened with their eyes half-closed; they already knew all of this. Finn held his sword with a pompous grip, looking as if he were posing for a royal portrait. Edgar, meanwhile, was struggling to figure out how to hold the delicate rapier without gripping it like a blacksmith's hammer.

  Then came the Basics of Healing and Herbology.

  "This is the leaf of the Miriola plant!" Astra announced, beaming as she held up a green sprig. "It heals severe burns!"

  Finn leaned in, inspecting it. "So... if I get burned, I can just eat the leaves instead of brewing a potion?"

  "NOOOO!" Astra gasped in horror. "They are highly toxic if ingested!"

  "Ah. Good to know," Finn muttered, backing away slowly.

  Noah snickered from the back of the room. "Natural selection almost claimed one."

  I sat quietly, pretending to take diligent, meticulous notes. Like a true nerd. Like a weakling.

  The final class of the day was Portals, Wards, and Spatial Structures. This was, without a doubt, the most dangerous subject for me.

  "Any student who miscalculates the coordinates of a spatial ward risks immediate dismemberment," the Spatial Magic professor warned grimly.

  Lucille Arvent smiled softly, as if the professor had just sung her favorite lullaby. "Understood, Professor."

  The rest of the class turned pale. I made sure to turn pale as well. Ostensibly out of fear, but in reality, just to blend in.

  At the very end of the day, the Dark Magic instructor—our homeroom teacher—stepped back into the classroom. He wore the expression of a man delivering a death sentence.

  "Students of the Elite Class."

  The room fell dead silent.

  "Regardless of your noble bloodlines, your grand titles, or your supposed prodigious talents... getting into this class is difficult. Being thrown out of it is incredibly easy."

  A few students subtly glanced back at me. Their eyes clearly said: He's going to be the first one gone.

  The instructor continued, his crimson eyes sweeping the room. "Poor grades, a lack of combat progression, laziness—any of these will result in immediate demotion to the standard classes, or outright expulsion from the Academy."

  Finn scoffed quietly, clearly believing the rules didn't apply to him. The Princess merely nodded. Edgar looked terrified. Astra looked like she was about to cry.

  And I... I had an epiphany.

  If I want to be left alone, I could just relax. I could show absolutely zero progress. Fail a few tests. Let them demote me to the standard class.

  It sounded absolutely perfect. Peace. Quiet. Zero suspicion.

  But... then I remembered Mira.

  I remembered her blinding smile. The fierce pride in her eyes. Her absolute delight when she heard the news. "Zen! You got into the Elite Class too! We're going to be in the same class!"

  And... I remembered the dining hall. The roasted meats, the pastries, the glazed fruits that tasted better than the feasts of the High Kings.

  I let out a long, quiet sigh. Fine. For the food... I will endure.

  And, I suppose... for Mira, too.

  Yes, the arrogant nobles in this room irritated me. Yes, I wanted to stay hidden in the shadows. But my decision was made.

  I would remain in the Elite Class. I would deliver the absolute "bare minimum." Just enough to avoid expulsion, but never enough to draw genuine attention to my true power.

  As the class was dismissed, the students began to file out.

  Princess Elinia cast one final glance back at me—cold, piercing, and deeply suspicious.

  Finn deliberately bumped my shoulder as he walked past. "You won't last a month here, icicle," he sneered.

  I offered him a polite, perfectly innocent smile. "We shall see."

  He gritted his teeth and stormed off.

  I picked up my bag and headed toward the dormitories, a small smirk playing on my lips.

  Very well. The game continues.

  Are you interested?