The afternoon sun slanted through the high, glass windows of Rolando Academy's cafeteria, scattering light across silver trays and laughing faces. The air shimmered with mana — faint blue wisps rising from enchanted lamps and glinting off crystal plates.
Dragons roared faintly in the distance — the rhythmic thunder of training drills echoing beyond the glass walls.
Arthur walked in, still wearing the unfamiliar uniform of his new body. The scent of roasted meat and mana-infused stew tugged at his empty stomach, but something else caught his eye — the strange metallic wrist watches everyone wore.
Damn it !...watches are everywhere, I really hate schools
He looked down at his own.
4000.
The moment the glowing digits blinked to life, the chatter died.
Dozens of heads turned. Forks froze midair. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
"Four… thousand?" someone whispered.
"No way."
"Is that a noble's watch?"
Arthur frowned, confusion knitting his brows.
What's wrong with them? he thought, glancing around. Four thousand is nothing. The royal cooks back in the palace had more mana than that.
He tilted his wrist, watching the numbers pulse faintly in blue.
Damn… is this school full of incompetent fighters? Four thousand… this is considered powerful?
Back in my kingdom, I never even used watches. The mana system was traced by temple crystals, not gadgets like these…
His chest tightened slightly as memories flickered — half-remembered faces, a crown glinting under torchlight, dragons roaring beyond palace walls.
Wait… how did I even get here?
He hate this part because he is unaware if this is dream or really
He blinked, shaking his head, pushing the thought down. Focus, Arthur. You're in someone else's skin now. Survive first. Think later.
A murmur rippled through the crowd again. Girls leaned in to whisper behind their palms, their eyes flicking up and down his face — the chiseled jawline, the rare grey eyes that seemed to glow faintly beneath the cafeteria light.
But admiration was a double-edged sword.
At the far table, a group of senior boys exchanged sharp looks. One of them — tall, broad-shouldered, his smile a little too smug — clenched his jaw.
"Look at that bastard. Just walks in, all the girls turn into butterflies."
"While It take us a fortune for ugliest girl in the school to say the word..I love you"
The others chuckled. But the bitterness behind their laughter was sharp.
Arthur passed near their table, carrying his tray carefully. He felt the weight of their eyes on him, but didn't slow. His thoughts were somewhere else — trapped between two worlds that refused to make sense.
If this isn't a dream… then why can I feel the mana around me so vividly? Every breath hums with it.
Could it be… I actually died?
No. Impossible. I would've known if the gods took me.
So what is this...damn !
He barely noticed when a foot slid out, silent, deliberate, into his path.
Arthur's boot caught the edge — his tray tipped — and time slowed.
A swirl of soup arced through the air, glimmering gold under the sunlight, before splashing across a student's white uniform.
A stunned silence fell.
The boy stood up slowly, each motion deliberate. His crimson tie bore an emblem — a black scythe crossing a crescent moon.
The Undertakers.
The watch of him display 5000 mana points
The tension in the room spiked like a drawn blade. Even the laughter died, replaced by whispers trembling with fear.
"He… he just spilled food on them."
"He's dead."
"No one crosses the Undertakers."
Arthur stared down at the mess, his jaw tightening.
I lost in thought and I made an enemy just the first day of school Arthur thought
He didn't mean to — but apologizing to people like this wouldn't help either.
The stained boy's eyes gleamed coldly, his lips curling into a slow smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"You've got guts, new kid." He brushed at the stain, his hand shaking slightly. "Three days. That's all you've got before we take your days from your watch."
Arthur's gaze flickered to the watch again.
Days… they trade days here? Mana and school days are currency…?
He wanted to ask — to understand — but the malice in their eyes told him enough.
This wasn't the place for questions.
Without a word, he lifted his tray, wiped the table edge with the napkin, and turned away.
For a moment, no one moved. Then the boy with the stained uniform sneered, his voice low but venomous.
"Let's see if your precious Headmaster saves your royal ass when we're done with you."
He spat on the floor, then turned sharply.
The group left in a ripple of black uniforms, their laughter echoing down the hall like the tolling of a bell.
As soon as they were gone, the cafeteria exhaled as if waking from a spell. The chatter resumed — softer, nervous, threaded with gossip.
Arthur walked on, his thoughts spiraling.
So this world measures power by numbers. And those who can't fight… are devoured.
How ironic. Even in another life, the law of dominance doesn't change.
He touched his chest, feeling the faint pulse of his mana beneath his skin — wild, ancient, and far beyond the 4000 blinking on his watch.
If only they knew what kind of monster they're mocking.
But then again…
He wasn't sure he still knew either.