Ron sat in the classroom, a silver coin spinning between the fingers of his left hand while his right hand scrawled messily across the page.
He was in the middle of one of the four semester examinations—the written theoretical test.
While everyone else was sweating bullets, Ron's hand moved like a machine.
The exam, scheduled to last an hour, had been completed in just thirty minutes.
It was the result of two consecutive sleepless nights. As a mana user, his mind and learning speed far surpassed that of ordinary people. Naturally, that also meant the exam was filled with questions that bordered on the impossible.
Even so, Ron lived up to the title of academic prodigy—or rather, the reputation the academy had held before he took over. He had not been admitted late into the Blue Light Academy without reason, even if there had been some "unspoken support" from the shadows.
Sitting across from him was Emma, a noble from Red Oval, the daughter of Marquis Crystal. Years of rigorous education had given her a writing speed rivaling Ron's.
As he waited for the others to finish, Ron's thoughts drifted to the historical documents he had read.
Aside from what he himself had written into his novel, his historical knowledge was hardly superior to that of an educated citizen.
Most records were controlled by the Three Churches and the royal family.
Ron even suspected that the Crystal family possessed far more information—but his organization was still too young. Information gathering had become an unsolvable puzzle.
He pulled out a scrap of paper and tried to redraw what he remembered, connecting dots, drawing lines—only to end with a tangled web that led nowhere.
And then—
Ding!
"Time's up. Everyone, submit your papers."
"You have thirty minutes before the health evaluation begins."
Ron let out a quiet breath.
Ever since arriving in this world, he had been haunted—almost obsessed—by the urge to understand its hidden history.
It was the only thing he had not written himself. He wondered what might fill the gap he had left behind.
The more he searched, the less he found. Between public textbooks and noble archives, there was always a void—as if someone had deliberately erased those parts of history.
Still, this was not the time to dwell on the past. He needed to focus on the present—and the future.
Ron walked down the academy corridor. Minimalist architecture gleamed in the morning light: quartz tiles beneath his feet, white pillars trimmed with gold.
A few leaves drifted in the breeze. One gently landed on his head.
Ron raised a hand, caught it, and stared at it for a moment.
The weight pressing on his heart—his relentless pursuit of that something—eased slightly.
Peace. Just a fleeting peace in this strange world.
As he walked, he took out a small vial from the academy-issued spatial ring. Inside were several white pills.
Without hesitation, he swallowed them all.
Then he sat on a marble bench along the corridor, watching students hurry past under the sunlight.
He retrieved a sandwich from his ring and quietly enjoyed the brief moment of calm.
— Scene Cut —
"Ron Irus! You're five minutes late again. Back to your position—I'll announce the punishment later."
"Yes, Professor Will."
Will appeared to be around thirty years old, with shoulder-length purple hair and a face that resembled a Yakuza boss.
He was one of the three instructors overseeing the physical evaluation.
As Ron sat down, the white-haired boy beside him grinned and waved.
"Hey, overslept again? I swear, every time I see you, you're either nodding off or lost in some daydream. Don't tell me you're still upset about Emma dumping you?"
"Marcus," Ron replied without looking at him, "I already told you—it was just a habit. And I have nothing to do with her anymore."
"Oh, come on. Everyone knows you two are always sneaking off to some quiet place. You come back looking half-dead, and she walks out smiling. Who are you trying to fool?"
"Were you stalking us or something? That's disgusting."
"Ron, I'm serious—you should check the academy bulletin. You're famous again. You've been famous here since day one, remember?"
"Good for me. It's my turn anyway."
"Hey—don't just walk away like that—!"
Ron ignored him and headed toward Will.
Why do I always have to deal with that guy…
The truth was, he often met Emma to discuss matters with Lunas—his assistant. But ever since the court prohibited them from direct contact, tracking devices had been attached to both of their wristbands.
And because Ron was a former criminal, even his position as an organizational leader did not exempt him from surveillance.
Why was he still being monitored despite being a major figure in the underworld?
Hmm… probably a skill issue.
"Ron Irus! Step forward. It's your turn."
Ron calmly walked up and accepted the file.
"Go down the hallway to the right," Will instructed. "Turn right again—you'll find the examination room there."
Ron followed the directions. The corridor ahead was made of wood, completely different from the academy's stone halls.
He didn't think much of it. Normally, he would analyze the test setup to plan his approach—but today, for some reason, he felt unusually calm.
As he entered the wooden hallway, his gaze softened unconsciously.
At the end of the corridor stood a blue door. He opened it—
—and froze.
His body tensed instantly, adrenaline flooding his veins, yet his mind remained strangely calm.
Heat spread through his chest. Instinct screamed at him to run, yet his legs carried him deeper inside.
His eyes sharpened, breathing heavy—but he quickly regained control.
Years of leading an underground organization had taught him how to restrain fear and emotion under pressure.
A mental resilience test? I'm fine with that.
The corridor stretched endlessly, like the wooden hallway of a hotel.
Identical doors lined both sides. Gray mist seeped through their cracks, swallowing everything in an eerie fog.
Ron turned back and tried to open the door he had entered through—it was locked. Every other door was locked as well.
A Mystic Zone? The academy was really using something like this for a simple student test?
He sighed and moved forward.
…
He didn't know how long he had been walking.
A day? Two days?
He kept moving, his shirt clinging to sweat-soaked skin, nearly translucent.
His face was pale, breath ragged, footsteps heavy.
From the mist, gray tendrils formed, coiling around his arms like cold chains.
Blurred faces—distorted, corpse-like—emerged from the fog, whispering in silence.
Insects, flies, and worms crawled out from beneath the doors, writhing across the wooden floor.
Ron clenched his fists. His heart pounded violently.
For the first time in a long while, despair crept back into him.