"Alicia, your mana manipulation is very good…"
"Yes, truly impressive."
"With talent like yours, our class will definitely stand out among the others."
The compliments overlapped one another, blending into a familiar and meaningless hum. Alicia listened politely, nodding at the right moments. Her lips curved into a gentle smile that never faltered. She stood straight, hands folded neatly in front of her. Every movement was refined through years of noble etiquette.
From the outside, she looked flawless. Inside, she felt nothing close to pride. She knew her performance had been excellent. The mana sphere she formed earlier had been stable, dense, and responsive. Compared to most of her classmates, the difference was undeniable. But excellence within this classroom meant very little.
Beyond these walls were students from greater families, heirs raised with private tutors, ancient spell manuals, and artifacts passed down for generations. Alicia had seen them before during joint lectures,
competitions, or brief encounters in the academy corridors. Their control was sharper. Their instincts were faster. Some of them treated mana as if it were an extension of their own breathing. Compared to them, today's achievement felt incomplete.
"I'm still not there…" she admitted silently.
Her smile did not change. Many of her classmates adored her since not only he had abilities, she was also beautiful. Her blond hair caught the light softly, framing her fair face. Her eyes were clear and bright with her gentle expressions that enough to invite trust. Wherever she went, attention followed.
Suitors were inevitable. Confessions came in many forms. Several awkward letters slipped onto her desk, dramatic declarations delivered in public spaces, and subtle proposals masked as polite conversation. Some were sincere while many were not.
Her family name only complicated matters. The title of great noble family carried weight far heavier than affection. For many, marrying Alicia wasn't about love but about power, alliances, and influence. Each
confession felt less like a choice and more like a negotiation she never agreed to participate in.
Rejecting them had exhausted her greatly. Her family had not yet arranged a marriage for her but Alicia understood how fragile that freedom was. Nobility was a cage built of expectations. The moment she showed weakness with academic failure, political misstep, or personal scandal, she would be
repositioned, traded, or bound to someone suitable.
Her fate rested not in her own hands but in how valuable she remained. Sometimes, when she looked at commoners and poorer students, she felt something certainly close to envy. They struggled every day. They worried about food, tuition, and survival in a harsh world. Yet, their lives belonged to them
only. Their failures were their own. Their choices, however limited, were still choices. They didn't carry the invisible burden of lineage.
Of course, Alicia knew better than to romanticize it. She had never gone hungry, never feared homelessness, and never lacked resources to train or learn. Privilege had given her a strong foundation even as it
tightened its grip around her future. Every path had its own cost. Being a noble wouldn't always end in a good way.
Not far away, Baston remained seated in his chair. The exit of the classroom was blocked. Several noble students stood near the door,
engaged in animated conversation, and laughing plus praising Alicia's performance loudly. Their voices filled the room, creating an unspoken barrier. No one dared to pass through.
Students of lower status were waiting silently, lowering their sights, and pretending not to be impatient. Even asking for permission could be interpreted as disrespect. Nobles were quick to perceive imagined slights, especially from those beneath them. Baston noticed the congestion but made no move to stand. Drawing attention was the last thing he wanted.
Ten minutes passed before the nobles finally dispersed, satisfied with their own performance. By the time the path was cleared, the break time was already half gone. Baston hurried toward the cafeteria anyway, his steps heavy but quick. As he approached, his heart sank. The line stretched far longer than usual, snaking across the room.
"Great…" he muttered, "I won't be able to eat with such long line..."
He considered leaving immediately. At this rate, even lining up would cost too much time. He could save it for later but it would be cold, tasteless, and far less enjoyable. As he turned away, a voice stopped him.
"Excuse me…"
A waiter approached, holding a neatly wrapped package. Before Baston could respond, the man placed it into his hands. The weight surprised him. This wasn't the usual free sandwich. The bread was thicker and it was still warm. The smell of meat and fresh vegetables wafted up invitingly. Along with it came a bottle of orange juice which was very cool to the touch.
Baston blinked, "I think you've mistaken me for someone else. I didn't order this."
The waiter smiled, bowing slightly, "There's no mistake. Someone has already paid for it. They requested that it must be delivered to
you personally."
"Who is it?"
"I'm afraid I don't know," the waiter replied, "They left the payment and a message before departed quickly."
With that, the waiter excused himself and returned to the counter, leaving Baston standing there while staring down at the food in confusion.
"Someone paid these for me?" Baston thought confusingly.
Suspicion crept in almost immediately. Was it a poison, a prank, or a trap? But the academy's regulations were strict to the point of obsession. Ingredients were inspected, kitchens were monitored, and staff vetted thoroughly. There had never been an incident like that, not even rumors. This had already signified everything was safe. Baston exhaled slowly.
"Well," he muttered, "If someone wanted to poison me, this academy would be the worst place to try."
He took a bite. The taste was undeniably good. Free food always was heavenly. Across the cafeteria, Panto watched Baston from a distance with his fingers clenched tightly around his own tray. When he saw Baston accepted the food, relief spread through him subtly.
He had considered handing it over directly but that would have drawn attention and question. After witnessing Baston's ice magic earlier, Panto was convinced the boy was hiding something significant. Even when MissbPashan tested mana development, Baston had restrained himself completely.
He had no hesitation and no accidental slip. That wasn't normal. Anyone who controlled such magic wouldn't think twice but just to
display it to everyone. If it happened to him, he believed he would flaunt it everyday. At least, several students must see his magic for a week. That was what his desire whispered into his heart. Still, the fat boy never did that.
The cult Baston mentioned before also lingered in Panto's thoughts like a shadow. If it was still watching him, then Baston's caution made sense. Helping him openly might do more harm than good.
"How else can I help him…?" Panto wondered.
Behind him, his lackeys whispered among themselves, voices low but careless.
"Boss, you've been staring at that fat boy for a while."
"Did he cause a trouble?"
"Just say the word. We'll take care of him."
One of them snickered, "He'd cry the moment we slap him."
Panto's jaw tightened. He realized what happened if his lackeys dared to disturb his savior.
"Enough," he snapped.
The laughter died instantly. They didn't understand. If Baston ever unleashed that ice magic, Panto wasn't sure anyone nearby would survive unscathed. The image of the frozen air with such unnatural stillness had shocked him. It had etched itself into his memory. Even with such greatness, Baston never displayed it to others.
If they provoked him, Panto thought grimly. He wouldn't fight back. No, the truth was he couldn't even fight back. He didn't have the
required strength to face such magic power. That was the problem.
"Don't touch him," Panto said firmly, "I'll handle it personally."
For a brief moment, his timid demeanor cracked and replaced by something sharper. It quickly vanished, leaving only his usual unease. He didn't notice the change. When break time ended, the students returned to
class. Miss Pashan stood at the front and her expression was serious.
"Mana manipulation…" she said, "Is not about how much power you possess. It's about how precisely you can control it."
She raised a small crystal-like instrument.
"This device measures stability and output. Normally, it's used to assess maximum mana capacity. Today, that's not our focus."
She instructed each student to infuse mana ten times in succession.
"If your scores fluctuate wildly, your control is poor. If they remain close, your manipulation is stable."
The instruments were distributed without discrimination. Almost immediately, voices rose from the noble side.
"My first score is 100!"
"Hah, only 100? Mine's 150!"
"Alicia got 300!"
Boasting filled the room. Though the test emphasized stability, the instrument still recorded raw output and nobles couldn't resist showing off. Many pushed themselves beyond what was necessary and their scores were climbing high but inconsistent.
Commoners followed suit and their curiosity was followed by caution. Unfortunately, most results were disheartening. Panto's best score reached 80. Respectable and quite impressive among merchants. Still, it was meaningless compared to noble numbers. In the meantime, Baston glanced around quietly.
"20… 50… 35… 10…"
He sighed inwardly. Resources truly decided everything. When it was his turn, he focused. Mana responded immediately, flowing smoothly, and obediently entering. When he infused it, his score came to him. It was displayed to his face, glaring amidst the commotion that came from other places.
[500…]
His heart skipped a beat. Baston reacted instantly, shielding the instrument from view. The score was too high. That number would
destroy his peaceful living. If anyone noticed, his quiet life would be over. Questions would follow and unwanted attention would hurl toward him. He couldn't afford such trouble since he realized with his poor status, his fate would soon be decided by someone else. He soon forced his breathing to slow down. On the second infusion, he deliberately weakened the flow.
[15…]
It was such a good number. He was satisfied over the result. The rest followed the same pattern which was low, unimpressive, and consistent. When the class ended, Miss Pashan collected the instruments. Using magic, she compiled the data. Alicia's score made her smile. But then, she froze after
looking certain numbers.
"Five hundred?"
Tracing it back, she found the name. It was Baston, the fat boy from the poor side. Her brows furrowed deeply. She reviewed the subsequent records. It was low, consistent, and disappointing.
"A defect? Is this instrument broken?" she questioned herself, concluding the current fact as broken measurement.
Relief washed through her. A talent like that from such a background would have been unprecedented and troublesome. She then set Baston's instrument aside for inspection. Hopefully, it was indeed broken.
Meanwhile, Baston returned to his dormitory. The unease was still lingering in his chest. Before class ended, the old book had trembled inside his bag. It should be a sign. Perhaps, it wanted to inform him regarding
the next quest.
Back in his dormitory, Baston locked the door behind him and leaned against it for a brief moment. The room was quiet, too quiet while his heart kept beating fast. Only the faint hum of mana lamps and the distant
chatter of other students seeped through the walls was heard.
Slowly, he reached into his bag. The old book was warm. Not metaphorically warm, but physically so, as if it had absorbed heat from a living body. The leather cover pulsed faintly beneath his fingers almost like a heartbeat. Baston gulped down his saliva and placed the book on the desk. He didn't open it immediately.
Experience had taught him caution. The book was still a big mystery for him. Though the reward tempted him, his instinct told him to stay away. Still, the longer he hesitated, the stronger the tremor became as if urging him forward. When he finally opened the cover, the pages flipped on their own. They stopped at the last page. The faint glow returned, stronger than before, illuminating the cramped dormitory with a pale and cold light. Letters surfaced slowly and were etched as if carved by invisible hands.
Baston read them in silence. His expression stiffened. He already predicted the next quest but never in his dreams that the old book issued something like this. It made him afraid. It also made him silly. He already estimated what would happen toward his future. The purpose of the old book was questionable but this was the only way out. This thing had already became his lifeline.