The fused Magic-Fists struck like a piledriver, punting the infernal fireball skyward in the sliver of time before it reached criticality — the compressed mass vanishing upward like a stone thrown at God.

  And then… a brilliance that drowned the moon detonated hundreds of feet above the Oval Arena.

  The night-black sky turned orange-red, as if dawn had arrived early, and a colossal bloom of flame tore the sky open.

  A heartbeat later, the real explosion arrived, several times stronger than the first; the ground convulsed like an earthquake, a hot gale tore across the arena and ripped dust into choking curtains, and thousands screamed as the destruction raged overhead.

  The barrier spell shuddered and fissured, but it didn't collapse immediately; the three judges were ghost-pale, their mana nearly bled dry from forcing the barrier to hold.

  Rein tipped his chin up and watched through MiDAR inside Nighty's mask. He and LIZ were recording — measuring, sampling, logging every detail. The gamble had cost him everything: every LIZ Hand burned out, more than half his mana gone, but what he gained was worth it — data on the chain reaction of Master Stratosphere-tier fire mana, captured cleanly and stored.

  LIZ projected a comparison between what they had just witnessed and Sophia's Tempest Blade — the strike that had carved down the giant centipede — and even if Alexander's Inferno Nova looked like the end of the world to ordinary eyes, LIZ's numbers made one fact clear.

  The true destructive authority between those two spells wasn't close.

  Sophia… your power has gone so far past "genius" it's almost ridiculous.

  Ash and dust drifted down like gray snow, the sky above the Oval Arena dimming back into smoke and shadow as the fiery glare bled away; Rein exhaled slowly, and the silence that settled over the arena felt obscene — too clean, too quiet.

  Isabella stared at Rein's back, unable to find the right expression — because for a noble-born mage raised on rules and tiers, watching a Troposphere-tier "basic spell" like Mage Hand launch a Master Stratosphere-tier super-spell into the sky wasn't merely unexpected —

  it was a slap across the face of every spellbook she'd ever read.

  "That… what kind of Mage Hand was that?" she whispered, almost to herself.

  Sophia, standing beside her, only folded her arms and wore a crooked, amused smile at her friend's disbelief.

  "Don't bother wondering, Bella," Sophia said with a small shake of her head. "Because even if you walk over and ask him, he'll go deadpan and say, 'Oh… I just studied it from a secret grimoire in an ancient dungeon.'" The orange-haired girl laughed under her breath, then added, "Trust me — he's only got the one joke."

  "And you… actually believe what he says?" Isabella asked, turning on her with suspicion.

  "Whether I believe it doesn't matter," Sophia shrugged, careless as ever. "What matters is whether he's friend or enemy." She was quiet a moment.

  "As for me… he's —"

  She cut off abruptly, as if the words had caught in her throat, and the color in her face crept upward until it reached her ears.

  "Hm?" Isabella's smile turned sharp and mischievous as she leaned in and poked that reddening cheek with a finger.

  "Don't tell me you —"

  "No! No, no, no!" Sophia yelped, flailing into denial so hard it was almost an admission. "He's — he's the enemy. One hundred percent enemy! And he still owes me a mountain of debt — wages, damages, and the fact he's made my day go from bad to worse to worse!"

  She shouted the excuse with frantic overkill, and Isabella finally let out a small laugh in the middle of the rubble.

  On Rein's side, once he was sure the sky had cleared, he ordered Nighty to dissolve the mask. Cool air hit his sweat-soaked face. He dragged in a breath, pulled out his last mana potion, cracked it open, and swallowed it in one go.

  He was turning toward the two girls — who looked like they were arguing about something — when the strange, harsh astringency of that low-grade concoction punched his throat and made him choke.

  "Khh— …still tastes like garbage, start to finish," Rein muttered, grimacing as he lifted the empty vial to eye the last smear of blue mana clinging to the bottom, then forced himself to tip back the remainder anyway, just to stabilize his internal flow.

  As his mana began to recover, he turned and walked straight toward the noble stands where part of the structure had collapsed; he stopped at the edge of a dense pile of broken stone.

  "All right. Quit playing dead. I know that didn't kill you, Fire Gecko."

  His tone was flat, almost bored, but Mana Vision showed him the truth — energy lines still crawled inside Alexander's body beneath the rubble, turbulent and clogged, yet undeniably alive; the bastard was tougher than Rein had expected.

  "Y-you…!"

  A hoarse voice answered from under the wreckage, and a slab of stone shifted aside as Alexander Whitmore hauled himself up, battered and shaking; without the unique Fire Salamander Armor absorbing the worst of that punching storm, he would've been meat long ago.

  "You don't… understand what you've done," Alexander said, voice barely above a rasp.

  "The Whitmores aren't a name. They're infrastructure."

  "That's a little scary to hear," Rein said lazily, "coming from a first-year commoner." Then he slipped a hand into his coat pocket and drew out a gleaming silver emblem, holding it up where Alexander could see. "But right now… I'm not speaking as an ordinary magic student." He paused.

  "I'm speaking as a Forensic Magic Investigator."

  Rein stared into the trembling, lava-red eyes, and then he triggered Sonorous and let his voice roll across the entire arena, ringing into every section of the stands.

  "As a special officer of the Forensic Magic Division (FMD)… Student Council President Alexander Whitmore, you are hereby detained on charges of conspiring with Shapeshifters to illegally infiltrate and seize control of the Academy's Student Council!"

  The moment the declaration landed, the arena erupted into a roar louder than anything that had come before.

  "What?! That first-year student is an FMD Investigator?"

  "No way… that badge is real — I've seen it in the news!"

  "The Student Council President worked with Shapeshifters… what kind of insanity is this?!"

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Alexander let out a harsh, bloody laugh, crimson seeping from the corner of his mouth as he tried to straighten his spine despite the ribs that had clearly gone.

  "Law?" His voice was barely a rasp.

  "My family is the law."

  "Maybe," Rein cut in, voice turning cold.

  "If your family still exists on the map tomorrow."

  "What?" Alexander's grin sharpened into something ugly. "Spare me the threats. Even the FMD can't bring down a founding family of this nation so easily!"

  Rein shook his head slowly, like he was watching a child who still didn't understand the rules of the world.

  "No. Neither I nor the FMD will be the ones to make your family collapse." He let the pause hang just long enough to land like a blade.

  "The one who will… is the Puppet Master."

  It was like ice water thrown into Alexander's face.

  The arrogance drained out of him in an instant; his battered features went pale, and something flickered in his eyes that the arrogance hadn't left room for before.

  "H-how do you know that name?" Alexander's voice cracked at the edges.

  "Are you one of them too — is that what this is?"

  Amid the smoke that still hadn't thinned and the ominous hush weighing down the Oval Arena, figures in familiar uniforms emerged from the cracks of the two entrance tunnels — five officers of the Forensic Magic Division, marching out in disciplined formation, their black-and-white armbands marked with the scales and the arcane eye, the insignia giving off a faint glow in the dim air.

  "That's the FMD!" Mira shouted, and beside her Boris let out a breath he'd been holding since the fight started.

  "Haa… Rein, you've stirred up something way bigger than yourself again, haven't you."

  A low, rasped voice sounded from behind them; a man in his forties stepped out from among the officers, black hair clipped short to the scalp, a battered cigarette clenched in his mouth like it had been chewed flat out of habit. He stopped beside Rein and released a long, weary sigh.

  Alexander Whitmore's eyes widened so far they looked ready to pop.

  "Captain Cruz! How are you here?!"

  The pride that had once filled his gaze now trembled with desperation as he clawed for a last play, forcing the accusation out before anyone else could speak.

  "Good — you're here at the perfect time! Arrest that first-year! He's a murderer who killed multiple members of the Student Council, and he ambushed me, the Council President, and left me gravely injured. He's claiming he's FMD — seize him and punish him now, and the Whitmore family will reward you generously!"

  Cruz went still for a moment; he lifted a hand and brushed the gray snow of ash from the star on his shoulder with infuriating calm, then turned to Alexander with an indifferent stare.

  "Kid Whitmore," he said flatly, "do you think we're deaf and blind, or are you just insulting the FMD's intelligence?" He pinched the cigarette from his mouth with rough fingers — the tip wasn't even lit. He held it there anyway, like a personal habit he refused to drop.

  "That Forensic Magic Investigator badge the kid's holding…" Cruz thumped Rein's shoulder hard enough that Rein nearly buckled. "It's real. And more importantly, those newer special-issue badges record audio in a close radius and stream it directly to the FMD's central Communication Orb the entire time."

  Alexander's face, already pale, turned paper-white.

  "That proves nothing," Alexander said. The steadiness in his voice cost him visibly.

  Cruz nodded once to the young woman at his side; she produced a compact Communication Orb — portable, palm-sized — and murmured a light activation spell. Instantly, the recent fight projected into the air in crisp clarity from multiple angles: the moment Charlotte's body ruptured into meat, the moment Alexander lost control and nearly erased the arena, everything displayed with merciless precision.

  Rein tilted his head slightly, looking at the cornered president.

  "A friend of mine has the spell Eye of the Beholder," he said, almost casually, "and when you pair that with a properly enchanted recording orb, it becomes a perfect black box — the kind of evidence you can't twist, edit, or rewrite."

  He lifted a thumb toward Boris in the stands; the big-bodied boy grinned and returned the gesture with an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

  "And Captain Cruz's assistant was watching the entire event right beside that friend of mine — serving as witness and legal authorization for evidence collection. That's all aboveboard, right?"

  He nodded to the assistant, then turned to Cruz with a faint greeting in his voice. "You're late, Captain."

  "Late?" Cruz exploded, grumbling as if his bones ached from the word itself.

  "You little gremlin, do you have any idea how bad the city is right now? Getting here nearly killed us. If you weren't Rachel's pet project, I'd knock you upside the head until you learned what 'restraint' means."

  He shoved the battered cigarette back between his lips.

  "I've been wondering for a while," Rein said, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. "Why don't you just light it and be done with it?"

  Cruz's brow wrinkled. "You should know, shouldn't you? Cigarettes are bad for your health."

  He cut it off there, then motioned for two of his men to approach Alexander. Click. Metal rang as mana-suppressing cuffs snapped onto the Student Council President's wrists, and the wildfire power inside Alexander sputtered out instantly, like someone had dumped cold water over an inferno.

  "You are under arrest, Alexander Whitmore," Captain Cruz said, voice turning formal. "After the healers patch up that mangled face of yours, we're going to have a long conversation about Shapeshifters and the Puppet Master."

  He paused. "Long. Very long."

  Alexander lowered his head, the body that had once been regal now shaking with defeat he could no longer dodge, under the gaze of thousands.

  "Haa… what kind of cursed day even is this?"

  Cruz exhaled and shook his head, then looked at Rein with an exhaustion that felt personal. "Chaos across the city, a Zakadan Mine incident palace meeting, and now Shapeshifters in the Student Council." He shoved the cigarette back between his lips.

  "Since I met you, Rein, I've forgotten how to spell 'vacation.'"

  The captain and his FMD team started to escort Alexander away, but Rein stepped in and called out before they could move.

  "Wait, Captain Cruz." Rein's voice sharpened, the casual edge falling away. "This chaos — and the Zakadan Mine. What's going on?"

  Cruz sighed and gave the short version. "War rumors — Arcadia versus Calandria. Half the city's already looting. On top of that, the palace called an emergency meeting about the Zakadan Mine, big enough to pull in the Five Disciples and all twelve noble houses." He looked at Rein sideways. "Still want to know more?"

  "Twelve major houses…?" Rein echoed.

  "Of course they were," Cruz snapped, scratching his head like he wanted to claw the thought out. "Who else would the twelve great families be? Same bunch as the Student Council crowd. That's why I said it's a headache!"

  The pieces locked together fast — sixty percent from the paper in Lance Crown's hand, the basement under the Whitmore manor, the female Shapeshifter.

  "Wait…" Rein murmured, eyes narrowing. "If the Five Disciples aren't at the Academy, and the high nobles all gathered in one place like that…"

  His voice dropped into something colder.

  "It's bait. Luring the tiger out of the cave."

  "It's not over, Rein."

  Alexander — dragged only a few steps — lifted his head anyway. The pain in his face hadn't gone anywhere, but neither had the certainty in his voice. "The FMD can't watch you forever. And the Whitmore family has a long memory."

  A massive tremor rolled in from far away, followed by an orange flare on the horizon. Rein felt it at once through mana sense — the direction was unmistakable.

  The Whitmore manor.

  Damn it. They're burning the evidence faster than I thought.

  "Did nobody teach you as a kid not to play with fire?" Rein said. "Because now the fire's spread to your house."

  "It doesn't matter," Alexander said, almost to himself. "My father will have this sorted by morning. He always does."

  Rein didn't answer with anger; he simply lifted a hand and pointed toward the black smoke rising into the sky.

  "You actually think the Whitmore family is cooperating with Shapeshifters to seize power from all twelve houses?" Rein shook his head slowly.

  "That's nonsense."

  Alexander's grin froze.

  "In truth," Rein continued, stepping closer until he was staring straight into Alexander's eyes, "your Whitmore family is the first victim the Shapeshifters moved on — before anyone else."

  His voice lowered.

  "They didn't 'cooperate' with your father… they infiltrated him and wore his skin a long time ago, Alexander."

  Alexander's face went ashen.

  "You're not the king on this board, Alexander. You're just a pawn they tricked into thinking he was a king — so they could flick you off the board the moment they finished destroying the evidence."

  These entries expand the lore and mechanics introduced in this chapter.

  Completely optional—read only if you enjoy diving deeper into the system.

  Organization

  Twelve Great Houses

  The “twelve major houses” are treated as the nation’s real power infrastructure—mirroring the Student Council’s noble composition. Their gathering in one place is flagged as suspicious bait: “luring the tiger out of the cave.”

  FMD Rapid Response Team

  Five uniformed FMD officers arrive through the arena tunnels in disciplined formation, marked with black-and-white armbands bearing the scales and arcane eye insignia. Their presence confirms jurisdiction escalation from “academy matter” to “kingdom-level investigation.”

  Items and Artifacts

  Forensic Magic Investigator Badge (Update)

  Rein publicly reveals and formally invokes his badge, switching from “student in a duel” to “special officer acting under FMD authority.” He uses Sonorous to broadcast the detention declaration to the entire arena.

  The FMD investigator badges record nearby audio and stream it in real time to the FMD’s central Communication Orb. This makes “he said / she said” manipulation far harder and explains why Rein can act confidently without fear of evidence being erased.

  Evidence Projection Orb

  A compact, palm-sized Communication Orb used to project recorded events in crisp clarity. It displays shapeshifter reversion and Alexander’s near-catastrophic actions, functioning like a courtroom-grade playback device in the field.

  Mana-Suppressing Cuffs

  Specialized restraints that instantly dampen and shut down a high-tier mage’s active output. When snapped onto Alexander, his wildfire power sputters out immediately, demonstrating how the FMD neutralizes elite suspects without killing them.

  Characters

  Captain Cruz

  A senior FMD officer (in his forties) with a blunt, exhausted demeanor and a battered, unlit cigarette habit. He recognizes Rein’s badge as legitimate and immediately dismantles Alexander’s attempt to flip the accusation.

  The Puppet Master

  A revealed “true player” above Alexander: Rein states the Whitmores will not be brought down by the FMD—rather, the Puppet Master is the one collapsing them. The name visibly terrifies Alexander, implying insider recognition and a hierarchy within the shapeshifter operation.

  Magic and Spell Techniques

  Eye of the Beholder (Update)

  A spell referenced as part of the evidence chain: when paired with a properly enchanted recording orb, it becomes a “black box” record that is extremely difficult to twist, edit, or rewrite. Rein credits a friend for having it, and points to Boris as the likely source.

  Other

  Zakadan Mine Incident (Update)

  Referenced again as a national-scale crisis large enough to pull the Five Disciples and the twelve major noble houses into an emergency palace meeting. It’s framed as a strategic distraction event—possibly coordinated to empty the academy of its strongest deterrents.

  War Rumors: Arcadia vs. Calandria

  Cruz confirms escalating war rumors severe enough to trigger looting across the city. This explains delayed response times and adds geopolitical pressure behind the academy’s internal collapse.