Ursa Academy of Magic
Chapter One – Snow Does Not Remember the Fallen
The snow outside Ursa Academy fell without sound.
It always did.
The north did not scream. It endured.
Lucifer wondered, as he stood on the rooftop, whether snow remembered the ones who fell into it.
Twenty floors below, the courtyard lanterns flickered in neat golden rows. Students crossed the grounds in clusters — nobles laughing too loudly, commoners walking carefully behind them.
From this height, everyone looked equal.
He almost smiled at the irony.
His ribs hurt when he breathed.
Not sharply — Professor Emma had healed most of the damage — but enough to remind him that pain never really left. It only dulled.
Jack Bresos' laughter still echoed in his ears.
"You should be grateful we even acknowledge you."
Lucifer had once believed talent was enough.
In his first year, professors praised him.
In his first year, nobles noticed him.
In his first year, Jack smiled at him.
That smile had not been friendship.
It had been assessment.
Lucifer stepped closer to the edge.
The stone beneath his shoes was cold. The northern wind tugged gently at his uniform.
He was not crying.
He was not angry.
He was tired.
Tired of being tolerated when useful.
Tired of being crushed when inconvenient.
Tired of the academy pretending lineage was merit.
"If only I had backing."
He had whispered that sentence too many times.
The problem with "if" was that it kept you standing still.
He stepped forward.
The air swallowed him.
For a fraction of a second, the world became quiet.
There was no regret.
Only release.
—
He expected impact.
He expected darkness.
Instead—
He woke up to a cracked wooden ceiling.
Lucifer did not move immediately.
His breathing was calm.
That was the first strange thing.
He should have been in pain.
Instead, the air smelled faintly of old wood and winter dust.
Slowly, he raised his hand.
No bruises.
No torn sleeve.
His fingers were smaller.
He sat up.
The room was familiar.
Too familiar.
The thin mattress.
The chipped desk by the window.
The cheap metal lamp.
His childhood room.
Two years before enrollment.
He stood.
Walked to the mirror.
Same face.
Younger. Untouched by academy politics.
He did not gasp.
He did not question fate.
He simply observed.
Then the voice came.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Cold.
Precise.
[Connection Established.]
Lucifer did not flinch.
"Explain," he said quietly.
A faint blue interface appeared in the air before him.
Minimal.
Clean.
[Regression Confirmed – Two Years Prior to Enrollment at Ursa Academy.]
[Arcane Sovereign Protocol Activated.]
[Primary Directive: Survive.]
Survive.
The word felt almost humorous.
He had survived before.
That had not been enough.
"What changes this time?"
[You retain memory.]
Lucifer's eyes sharpened slightly.
Memory.
That meant—
He remembered Jack's rise.
He remembered which professors sold influence.
He remembered which low-talent students disappeared quietly in second year.
He remembered the whispers of ritual chambers beneath the academy.
He remembered the coming tension between the Magical Goddess faction and Eurodenta.
Three years.
The conflict would ignite in three years.
He exhaled slowly.
"So this is not mercy," he murmured.
[Correct.]
It was opportunity.
He extended his awareness inward.
His mana flowed gently through his veins.
And then he saw it.
A fracture at the center of his core.
Not broken.
Sealed.
A limiter.
He had spent two years believing he was inferior.
Believing he lacked potential.
But the structure inside him was not weakness.
It was restraint.
"Who sealed it?"
[Information Unavailable.]
Of course.
Lucifer lowered his hand.
In his previous life, he had trained harder.
In this one—
He would train smarter.
Two years before enrollment did not pass dramatically.
They passed quietly.
Lucifer did not isolate himself.
He did not reveal sudden genius.
He observed.
He studied mana circulation patterns using the system's analytical function.
He discovered inefficiencies in standard meditation methods taught publicly.
He adjusted breathing cycles.
Reduced waste.
Improved stability.
His growth was steady.
Controlled.
Never explosive.
Because explosive growth attracted attention.
Attention invited pressure.
Pressure broke orphans.
He would not break again.
On a winter afternoon, he witnessed something that shifted his understanding.
A Eurodenta envoy visited the northern trade district.
Most local magicians despised them.
"Metal worshippers," they muttered.
Lucifer stood in the crowd quietly.
The envoy demonstrated a mechanical construct — humanoid, engraved with rotating rune plates.
It moved without emotional fluctuation.
Its mana was structured.
Ordered.
Artificial.
Lucifer activated his analytical sight.
The construct's energy did not pulse like natural magic.
It flowed in calculated sequences.
Like code.
Magic was not divine.
It was programmable.
The realization did not shock him.
It clarified things.
If magic was structure—
Then power was design.
And design could be optimized.
He left before guards dispersed the gathering.
That night, he began rewriting basic spell matrices in his notebook.
Entrance Examination Day arrived without drama.
Snow dusted the academy towers.
Lucifer stood among applicants wearing plain grey.
Jack Bresos stood ahead, surrounded by heirs in embroidered cloaks.
Their eyes met.
Jack smirked.
Lucifer felt nothing.
The first test — survival arena.
A Frost Lynx emerged from the summoned forest.
Students panicked.
Lucifer did not rush.
He watched its breathing pattern.
Mana pulse interval.
Movement rhythm.
He disrupted one weak channel with precise timing.
Stepped back.
Allowed a noble to deliver the final strike.
Recognition went to someone else.
Lucifer did not mind.
Above average was ideal.
The second test — mana resonance crystal.
Jack's pillar glowed brilliantly.
Applause.
Lucifer stepped forward.
When his palm touched the crystal—
His sealed core reacted violently.
The pillar trembled.
A thin crack formed near its base.
Professors exchanged looks.
Lucifer withdrew before the surge expanded.
The glow dimmed.
Result displayed:
Moderate Potential.
Jack laughed softly.
Lucifer walked away calmly.
Because this time—
He understood something he had not before.
He did not need to outshine Jack immediately.
He needed to outlast the system that protected him.
And that required patience.
Not pride.
That night, in the dim dormitory light, Lucifer sat cross-legged.
He extended his mana.
Reconstructed a basic ignition spell.
Removed excess loops.
Reduced consumption by nearly twenty percent.
Small improvements.
Invisible improvements.
The kind that accumulated.
The kind that turned survival into inevitability.
He opened his eyes.
In his previous life, he had stood on a rooftop and surrendered to gravity.
In this one—
He would become heavier than gravity itself.
And when the academy tried to push him again—
It would discover that snow might not remember the fallen.
But Lucifer did.