The D-rank dormitories occupied a small, practical wing of the main building, housing a few students each year.
The academy didn’t accept many D-rank applicants—only those who showed aptitude for the study of magic rather than the execution of it.
Most of them would go on to become assistants, researchers, or, at best, foot soldiers.
But not me.
My room was at the farthest end of the hall. By the time I reached it, the corridor was empty, every other student already vanished behind their own doors.
I stood in front of mine—a heavy wooden door I had to shoulder once or twice before it finally gave way.
The moment the dormitory door clicked shut behind me, the world narrowed down to a space barely larger than a broom closet. I let out a long, slow breath, the tension from the assembly hall finally leaking from my shoulders.
“Well, this is… cozy,” I muttered to the silence, the word dripping with sarcasm.
A single bed was pressed into the far corner, a simple desk shoved under a window barely wider than my shoulders, and a tiny closet that looked like it could hold maybe three pieces of clothing if they negotiated with each other first.
I dropped my small travel bag onto the mattress, the only personal item in the room.
I caught my reflection in the dark glass of the window. Messy black hair that refused to be tamed, eyes the color of a cloudy sky and a face so perfectly average it was the dictionary definition of forgettable. Not handsome, not distinctive, just… there.
Average height, average build—the kind of person who could blend into a crowd of two.
My gray uniform, though, was brand new. It fit perfectly.
Of course it does
I walked over to the desk, the silence pressing down on me. My mind kept replaying the scene from the Great Hall. Aurora's cool, analytical gaze. Aurelius's possessive, icy scrutiny.
Three months
My chest tightened. I pushed the thought away. Not now.
My eyes fell on the sealed envelope waiting for me on the desk. My class schedule, printed on thick Academy parchment with a minor preservation charm that made the ink shimmer slightly in the dim light. I broke the seal. It crackled with residual magic as I unfolded the paper.
Monday:
- 08:00 - Advanced Magical Theory (Prof. Benjamin Theron)
- 10:30 - Advanced Swordsmanship (Prof. Lyra Mirelle)
- 14:00 - Enchantment and Runecraft Principles (Prof. Morris Crowley)
I stared at the schedule. Read it twice. Three times.
It wasn't just the first day. The schedule continued through Friday with more of the same—advanced courses, combat training, theoretical work that assumed you already had a solid foundation in magic.
I had prepared for basic spellcasting, fundamentals of mana manipulation, not this.
How am I supposed to know all this?
Why would they put an Unranked student—someone they had no data on—into classes like these? Was this the Academy’s version of a hazing ritual? Or did they assume “Unranked” meant “secret prodigy”?
A colder, more logical thought surfaced. Are they trying to get rid of me?
If I failed, I would be publicly exposed as a fraud, possibly even expelled. If I succeeded, however, it would draw even more attention than Aurora’s glance. I would become a magnet for every curious and envious elite student.
It was a trap. A test with no correct answers.
My mind raced, searching for an escape. Could I change the schedule? Get easier classes? But would that draw more or less attention?
But somewhere beneath the anxiety, a small part of me felt… challenged.
Almost excited.
This is why you came here. I reminded myself, getting to my feet. The first class began in half an hour. I didn't have time to stand around.
I put the schedule back on the table, took a deep breath, and stepped back out into the hall.
The academy hallways were a monument to everything Celestia stood for—ancient, overwhelming, and designed to make you feel small.
Walls of dark grey stone rose on either side, interrupted by immense arched windows. Each pane of glass a masterpiece of enchantment, filtering the sunlight and shimmering slightly when I walked past.
Vaulted ceilings stretched impossibly high above me. Polished marble floor beneath my feet, worn smooth by generations of students, yet still pristine.
And yet, despite all of this, it didn’t feel heavy. The magic in the air kept everything alive, vibrant, humming like a deep, low note that resonated in my chest.
I kept my eyes forward, following the flow of students toward the academic wing.
As I stepped out into the courtyard, the academy unfolded in its full, impossible scale. Towers upon towers. Bridges suspended between spires.
But my eyes were inevitably drawn to that tower.
The Spire.
The tallest structure in the academy, so tall it speared the heavens, its smooth, seamless surface broken only at the summit by a shimmering dome—the S-rank dormitories.
A perfect throne overlooking the world below.
I imagined the two S-rank students—Aurora and Aurelius—looking down from their impossible height. Their rooms must overlook everything: the training fields, the lecture halls, even beyond the academy walls. They didn’t just attend Celestia—they embodied it.
The Spire radiated a silent authority that made me instinctively quicken my pace.
Look up, the spire seemed to whisper. And know your place.
I tore my gaze away and focused on finding Building C.
I slipped into the lecture hall just as the bell chimed—a soft, musical note that resonated through the stone walls.
The lecture hall was packed. Silver and gold uniforms dominated the space. B and C-rank students, then. My gray uniform stuck out like a misplaced shadow, but no one looked; they were all far too busy.
I found an empty seat near the middle—not too far back to seem disinterested, not close enough to draw attention—and settled in just as Professor Benjamin Theron shuffled to the front of the room.
Bald, small, anxious. The type of man who always seemed like he expected something terrible to happen in the next ten seconds.
His robes were faded, patched in places, and he kept pulling a cloth from his pocket to clean his glasses with shaking hands.
“Ah, yes, hello. Good morning,” he mumbled, placing his notes down as though they might explode. “Welcome to… uh… Advanced Magical Theory. Chapter One.”
A whisper confirmed he was D-rank. Manageable, I thought.
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I could not have been more wrong.
“Now then, the foundational dichotomy between stable and volatile mana streams might look simple initially, however, we'll be covering the fundamental contradictions in mana-resonance frameworks as they apply to multi-layered spell matrices..."
Words. So many words. None of them slowed down long enough to be understood.
His voice, though lacking confidence in its delivery, became a relentless torrent of complex theory.
He scribbled equations and diagrams on the obsidian slab with a piece of chalk, speaking of "thaumaturgical vectors" and "metaphysical resonance decay" as if they were the names of common fruits.
I leaned back slightly. Any attempt to follow was futile.
Some students still tried to keep up, grim-faced, scribbling desperately. Others had already accepted that they were doomed. Only the few A-rank students seemed to show any understanding of what he was talking about, and even they looked strained.
The lecture continued at the same breakneck pace. The only respite came when the professor stopped to clean his glasses, which happened once every few minutes—ten seconds of blessed silence before he resumed.
By the middle of the lecture, most students had given up. The scratching of quills had slowed to a defeated trickle.
That's when I noticed her.
A girl near the front, wearing a neat gold B-rank uniform. She had soft, dark blue hair that fell just past her shoulders, and her brow was furrowed in desperate concentration. Unlike everyone else, she was still fighting—writing at maximum speed, her hand a blur as she tried to keep up with Theron's barrage of theory.
Every few seconds, she glanced between the diagrams spinning in the air and her notes, as if measuring how far behind she was falling.
I watched her struggle, waiting for the inevitable moment she would give up.
I could see the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremble in her hand, the way her quill hesitated for just a fraction of a second before continuing. She was losing. Badly.
But she did not give up.
Minutes dragged by. I found myself watching her more than listening to the professor, enticed by her sheer determination. There was something admirable about it—stubborn and probably futile, but admirable nonetheless.
She was falling farther and farther behind.
I watched her for another moment, something tightening in my chest.
Should I…?
The thought came unbidden. Unexpected.
I can't.
My fingers tapped against the desk once. Twice.
I shouldn't interfere. Not on the first day. I'm supposed to keep my head down.
She rushed even more, her movements growing frantic.
This is exactly the kind of thing that draws attention.
Her fingers cramped up. Her quill slipped. Panic flashed across her face.
And something inside me shifted.
Maybe I was just an idiot, but watching someone fight that hard and lose felt wrong. It was a reckless mistake, regardless of the reason.
She tried to recompose herself, massaging her hand. But while she was doing so, something changed.
Her quill twitched.
Lifted.
And then—smooth as flowing water—it began writing on its own.
Not floating dramatically. Not glowing with obvious magic. Just… writing. Natural. Invisible.
Her eyes widened as the quill danced across the page, faster and cleaner than any human hand could manage. It drew clean, precise diagrams in the margins, connected concepts with elegant arrows, and highlighted key terms in a way that actually made sense.
A quiet, stunned gasp escaped her lips, quickly swallowed by the professor's monotone.
She looked around the room, scanning faces, searching for… something. Someone. Her gaze swept past me without stopping.
Everyone else was too buried in their own panic to notice anything except their doom. And Professor Theron was too busy lecturing at the speed of sound to care about the supernatural calligraphy happening under his nose.
When her search came up empty, she slowly, hesitantly, looked down at the notebook.
The quill was still moving. She watched as it finished a paragraph, her eyes scanning the text.
The confusion on her face melted away, replaced first by dawning comprehension, and then by pure, unadulterated awe.
Perfect.
They were better than anything she could have written herself. Complete. Organized.
She carefully, almost reverently, placed her free hand on the page, as if to confirm it was real. Then, a tiny, brilliant smile touched her lips.
I looked away, focusing straight ahead on Professor Theron, my expression a carefully crafted mask of bored indifference. But inside, something warm and entirely unfamiliar uncoiled in my chest—a dangerous, foolish feeling that had no place in my plans.
But for the first time since I’d arrived at Celestia Academy, it didn’t feel entirely wrong.
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
I really shouldn't have done that.
But the small smile tugging at her lips made it hard to regret anything.
Not yet, at least.
Professor Theron's lecture ended as abruptly as it began. He stopped mid-sentence, as if he'd suddenly remembered he had somewhere else to be, and muttered "Dismissed" before gathering his notes and leaving the room.
The entire classroom practically exploded into motion. Chairs scraped, notebooks snapped shut, and half the students stumbled out looking like they'd just survived an apocalypse.
The girl was one of the first to pack up, seemingly in a rush, sliding the now-miraculous notebook into her bag as if it were a holy text, then rushing for the exit.
I counted to five, then followed.
Now what will you do?
I followed at a discreet distance, blending into the river of students as she navigated the grand hallways.
She didn't head for another class. Instead, she took a route that led out of the East Wing and into the academy’s sprawling inner courtyard.
The air outside was fresh and cool, carried by breezes that smelled like old stone and spell residue. Students milled around the open space, laughing, gossiping, showing off minor spells. She avoided all of them.
She walked all the way to the far end of the courtyard, where a quiet bench sat under a willow tree with shimmering blue leaves. Away from everyone. Private.
Perfect spot to examine a mysteriously self-writing notebook without witnesses.
She sat, opened her notebook, and stared at the pages as if expecting them to suddenly sprout fangs.
She started reading, her dark eyes—hazel, I could see now—scanning the text with a mix of awe and suspicion. She ran her fingers along the perfectly formed letters, checking the pressure of the pen strokes, trying to figure out if she'd gone temporarily insane or if some bizarre magic had genuinely intervened.
She kept glancing around like she expected someone to jump out and accuse her of... something.
I took a breath, put on my best "lost and confused" expression, and walked over.
"Excuse me?"
She jumped, slamming the notebook shut so quickly that the sound of the thick parchment smacked together. She looked up at me, her cheeks flushing a light pink.
"Sorry! I didn't mean to—" I held up both hands in surrender, taking a step back. "I'm just lost. First day and all.”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though she still held the notebook protectively against her chest. "Oh. Um. That's… yeah, it is confusing at first."
Up close, I could see there was a small ink smudge on her left cheek where she'd probably touched her face without thinking. She looked tired but determined—the kind of person who pushed herself too hard and then pushed harder.
"I'm looking for the Advanced Swordsmanship class," I said, trying to remember the details and regretting not bringing my schedule. "Professor Mirelle, I think? It's in the training complex, but I have no idea where that is."
Her eyes widened slightly, and her wariness immediately melted into something like professional respect.
"Oh! Um—Advanced Swordsmanship?" She looked me over from head to toe, perhaps wondering how I would survive the class. "You're… taking that? That's impressive."
I laughed, trying to hide my embarrassment. "Yeah, well, don't be too impressed. I can barely hold a sword. I'm pretty sure I'd lose a duel to a training dummy."
"Then why..." She blinked, confused. "Why are you in the advanced class?"
"Your guess is as good as mine." I shrugged, giving her my most self-deprecating grin. "Maybe they're desperate for live training dummies." I paused. "I'm taking bets on how long it takes me to accidentally stab myself, though, if you want in."
She let out a soft laugh, genuine this time. The tension in her shoulders eased. "That's a tempting offer."
"It's through that exit." She pointed toward the eastern archway. "When you get to the fountain, turn left. You can't miss it."
I decided to push my luck a little. "So, you're in Theron's class too, right? I'm Kai, by the way."
"Lina," she replied, offering a quick smile. "Y-yes, I was."
“Did you manage to keep up with Professor Theron’s lecture? He was… fast.”
Her expression froze. "I—I did my best."
"Could I maybe see your notes later?" I asked innocently. "If they're half as organized as you looked, they'll probably save my life."
Her face went through several interesting color changes—pale, then pink, then almost red.
"My—notes?" She squeaked. "A-ah, well, I'm not sure they're very good, you know? They're kind of messy, and I might have written things wrong, and the pages might be… allergic to sunlight—"
"Ah yes… I've seen that before." I made a profoundly analytical expression, as if I'd encountered the puzzle that would change my life. Anything to avoid laughing.
"No! I mean—" She seemed to notice her own nonsensical answer. Her eyes darted around, clearly searching for an escape route.
She cleared her throat, an idea materializing. "I could help you instead! You know, go over the material with you. It might be easier. For both of us."
I blinked. That was way better than anything I'd planned.
"You'd do that?"
"Sure!" She said it too quickly, too eagerly, clearly relieved to have found a solution. "I mean, teaching someone else helps me remember it better anyway. So it's… mutually beneficial."
"Lunch break, then?" I said. "Where should I meet you?"
"The main dining hall." She stood, tucking the notebook carefully into her bag.
“I’ll see you there then, provided I survive my class.”
She gave me a warm smile “I'm sure you will.”
With a final wave, I turned toward the training complex.
I didn't notice the smile on my face until I was halfway across the courtyard.
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