The next day started with me attempting to use the mana siphon before classes.

  It was exhausting. No matter how much effort I put in, the device seemed to absorb my mana at a glacial pace. By the time I'd managed to fill it only about halfway, I already felt too drained to continue. The glass cylinder glowed with a pathetic amount of blue light, mocking my efforts.

  I decided to get breakfast before heading to class, something I usually skipped.

  The dining hall was almost empty at this hour. Most students had already left for their morning lectures, and the few who remained were clustered in small groups, speaking in hushed tones. I made my way to one of the center tables, surveying what remained of the morning spread.

  Should I just grab bread? But that feels like such a waste. Maybe one of those pastries...

  "I recommend the honey crescents. They're impeccable today."

  The voice made me jump. I turned to find Mary standing near the Prince's table, her platinum uniform immaculate as always, every detail precisely in place.

  "Ah, thank you," I said, trying to find my heart I had dropped somewhere. "Where are your... friends?"

  "If you're asking about the Prince, he takes breakfast in his quarters," she answered with complete directness. "If you're asking about his entourage, I prefer to come here after they've left."

  I blinked. I'd been expecting some kind of veiled threat or ominous warning, not straightforward honesty.

  "Do you wish to say something?" she asked after I'd stared at her a moment too long.

  "No, sorry. I was just thinking you're nothing like the Prince."

  "Nor would I dare wish to be." Her voice was so perfectly neutral I couldn't tell if that was meant positively or negatively. She gave me a polite bow. "Be well."

  She collected one of the honey crescents she'd recommended and left, her posture never faltering.

  I followed her advice, taking two of the crescents and heading to my first class. They were, in fact, impeccable.

  My first class was Advanced Spellcraft with Professor Vaelor. The "Advanced" in the name already had me bracing for the worst.

  The classroom was different from the lecture halls I'd grown used to. Larger, with more open space and what looked like protective runes carved into the walls and floor. Students filed in quietly, taking seats that formed a wide semicircle around a central demonstration area.

  Professor Vaelor arrived precisely on time. He was older than Emberheart, probably in his mid-forties, with silver threading through his dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard that gave him a distinguished air. He wore deep crimson robes that looked ceremonial but moved with him naturally, embroidered with subtle geometric patterns that might have been functional rather than decorative. His eyes were sharp and calculating, the kind that missed nothing.

  When he entered, his mana washed over the room like a puzzle hovering just at the edge of solution. It felt... structured. Mathematical. Like touching the surface of some complex equation made manifest.

  "Advanced Spellcraft," he began without preamble, his voice clear and commanding, "is the art of creating universal instructions using mana by understanding how it reacts to specific patterns and combinations."

  He spoke like someone who had mastered his subject to the last detail, every word deliberate and precise.

  The first half of class was review, which I was desperately grateful for. Professor Vaelor walked us through the fundamentals of basic spellcraft, drawing diagrams on the board and in the air with equal ease. Unlike Theron, he actually acknowledged that some students might need refreshers. Or in my case, had never learned them at all.

  "Basic spellcraft," he explained, gesturing as glowing diagrams materialized beside him, "concentrates on the creation of spells suited for specific tasks. Defense, attack, movement, creation. Single-purpose constructs." The diagrams showed simple circular patterns, each one distinct and relatively straightforward.

  He went through examples, explaining how mana flowed through each pattern, how the symbols directed intent into effect. It was actually comprehensible, unlike Theron's lectures that assumed you already understood everything.

  Whenever I had a moment between taking notes, I would pull out the focusing sphere and concentrate on it briefly, trying to maintain my training. It made everything three times as exhausting, but I refused to fall behind on Emberheart's assignments.

  After about forty minutes of foundational review, Professor Vaelor paused, surveying the class to ensure everyone was following.

  "Now that we've established the basics," he said, "let's discuss what makes spellcraft advanced."

  The diagrams in the air began moving, merging together.

  "Advanced spellcraft is about overlaying these simple spell circles into complex, multi-layered constructs." The patterns interweaved into something far more intricate, lines crossing and intersecting in ways that made my head hurt to follow.

  "As a demonstration." He took a deep breath, and his hands began moving in fluid, circular patterns. As he did, multiple spell circles materialized around him, each one covered in different inscriptions and geometric designs. They rotated at different speeds, humming with power.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "Remember," he said calmly, "these circles are always present during spellcasting, even if you don't intentionally display your mana as I'm doing now. A perceptive enough mage can perceive them with mana sight."

  The circles began moving together, synchronizing. Suddenly, my body felt impossibly light.

  I started rising from my chair.

  I grabbed for the desk, but my grip was useless against whatever force was affecting me. Soon the entire class was floating, students gasping and grabbing at anything stable. Some looked terrified. Others seemed excited. I just tried not to panic.

  "As you can see," Professor Vaelor continued, utterly unbothered as he stood firmly on the ground, "this required multiple overlapping patterns. Several of them were complex constructs in their own right. A classic example of advanced spellwork."

  He turned to the board, sketching the patterns he'd used while we all floated helplessly behind him.

  "For those taking Advanced Spellcasting as a practical course, you'll learn to execute such magics. But in this class, we focus on understanding how they're constructed. The theory behind the practice."

  "When do we get to go down?!" a girl asked, voice wavering with panic.

  "An excellent question." Professor Vaelor didn't turn from the board. "A skilled enough spellcrafter can make a single spell appear to be multiple effects. Now, who can tell me how this spell would interact with existing spell matrices?"

  Several students tried to think while floating. One brave soul ventured, "It... adds multiple layers?"

  "Incorrect." Vaelor drew another diagram. "A spell, regardless of its internal complexity, still produces a single unified effect. Which leads to an obvious question: why doesn't every magical constructor simply create one spell containing all desired effects?"

  He began forming new circles in the air, similar to the previous ones, his hands moving through the same motions.

  "The primary reason is time and difficulty," he explained, beginning to form new circles in the air. His hands moved through deliberate motions, slower this time so we could observe the technique. "It can take months or even years to discover the exact configuration allowing certain magical elements to interact properly. Some combinations are theorized to be impossible."

  As if to demonstrate, his circles flickered and destabilized. There was a sound like breaking glass, a shockwave that made my bones vibrate, and suddenly we were all falling.

  I hit my chair hard, the impact knocking the wind from my lungs. Around me, other students were recovering from similar drops, some more gracefully than others.

  "Which is why," Professor Vaelor continued as though nothing had happened, "spellcrafting can be a cruel field. You might spend years attempting to create a specific spell and never make it work."

  He waited for us to settle back into our seats, some students rubbing sore spots from their landings.

  "One final note for today." He set down his chalk. "If you're intrigued by these impossible combinations, there's a course called Experimental Spellcrafting that deals exclusively with highly volatile magical constructs. If you're the sort who enjoys risking everything for a potential breakthrough, that might be your calling."

  He collected his materials with practiced efficiency.

  "That is all for today. You're dismissed."

  And with that, he left, leaving us all to process what had just happened.

  I made my way toward the training fields for Reactive Spellcasting, already dreading what Professor Silvani had planned. The last class with her hadn't exactly been a pleasant experience.

  When I arrived, students were scattered across the field in loose clusters. Some looked confused, glancing around uncertainly. Others seemed to know what to expect, their expressions wary.

  I braced myself, wondering what theatrical demonstration she'd use to start class this time.

  I was surprised when she appeared at the entrance walking casually, her attention focused on a notepad in her hands. Her messy black hair was even more disheveled than usual, the quill holding her bun looking like it might fall out at any moment. She studied her notes with a genuinely puzzled expression, her shirt collar more askew than ever.

  "No... this doesn't make sense..." she muttered, loud enough to be heard. "Can anyone here tell me the first rule of reactive spellcasting?"

  "Always be prepared," an A-rank student called out.

  I turned to locate the voice and noticed he'd positioned himself under the archway at the entrance, well away from the rest of us standing in the open field.

  Oh no.

  "Correct!" Silvani's confused expression vanished, replaced by a massive grin. She threw her notepad and quill aside with theatrical flair, spreading her arms wide. "Then let us begin our year properly!"

  The sky above us darkened.

  Then came the rain.

  Except it wasn't rain. It was a deluge of what felt like concentrated water spheres, each one ice-cold and hitting with surprising force. I didn't even have time to think about dodging or casting a shield. I just accepted my fate and embraced the downpour, feeling the freezing water soak through my clothes instantly.

  Around me, other students were equally unfortunate. Some had tried to dodge, others had attempted to cast defensive spells, but nothing worked. Within seconds, the entire class except for that one smart student under the archway was completely drenched.

  The water stopped as abruptly as it had started.

  "Most people," Silvani announced cheerfully, completely dry herself, "think reactive spellcasting is about defending your body from attacks. But that's wrong. It's about being prepared for the unexpected and being able to react accordingly." She gestured to the dry student. "As our friend here demonstrated."

  "Did you really need to do that?!" someone shouted, clearly furious.

  "Of course I did." She smiled brightly. "The best lessons are the ones you'll remember forever. Now, shall we actually begin?"

  Despite the dramatic opening, the actual class was surprisingly informative. Through her theatrical demonstrations, Silvani explained techniques for accelerating spellcasting, which components could be safely skipped in emergency situations, and even went through beginner patterns that were easiest to memorize for quick casting.

  She conjured illusory attackers for us to practice against, each one moving faster and more unpredictably than the last. Students who reacted quickly enough earned nods of approval. Those who hesitated got splashed with more water.

  While I still couldn't actually cast any spells myself, by the end of both classes I had a solid theoretical understanding of how spellcasting worked. It felt like genuine progress, even if I couldn't demonstrate it practically yet.

  I had plenty of time to reflect on what I'd learned during the walk back to the dorms to change into dry clothes before lunch.

  Magic was more complex than I'd imagined. More structured, more precise, more... mathematical. Every spell was essentially a carefully constructed argument written in mana, convincing reality to behave differently.

  My power didn't work like that at all. I just... told reality what to do, and it obeyed. No complex circles, no careful layering of effects, no risk of catastrophic failure from misaligned patterns.

  Was that better? Or was I missing something fundamental by skipping all the structure?

  I pushed the thought aside as I entered my dorm, peeling off my soaked uniform.

  One problem at a time. Right now, that problem was finding dry clothes and getting lunch before afternoon classes started.

  The competition was only days away, and I still had no idea what I was doing.