Danir lay awake despite the comfort of his bed, staring at the darkened ceiling as his mind refused to slow. Excitement and nervousness tangled together, looping endlessly as he thought about the day to come—the moment he would take his first real step into the Adventurer's Academy.
Beside him, Ulfzar's thunderous snoring filled the room, rising and falling like a relentless drumbeat. Each rumble shattered what little calm Danir managed to gather, making sleep feel even more distant.
"How did Caspi sleep like that easy with this?" He thought.
His thoughts drifted to the faces he had yet to meet.
"How am I supposed to introduce myself?" he wondered. His fingers tightened against the blanket. "What do I even say?"
A bitter thought slipped through his mind, uninvited. "BladeMagus… yeah. I'm definitely getting bullied tomorrow."
He let out a slow breath and turned onto his side, eyes still wide open in the darkness.
Somewhere beyond the walls of the academy, destiny waited—unimpressed by his doubts, unmoved by his fear. And whether he was ready or not, morning would come.
It was deep into the night when exhaustion finally claimed him. Danir's eyes closed at last, and the world slipped away.
He was falling.
The wind screamed past his ears as the sky spun endlessly above him—his body tumbling just as it had during the battle with the winter vulture. Cold rushed up to meet him. This time, there was no lake. No miracle. No saving light.
He hit the ground—and everything went dark.
When he opened his eyes again, the smell of antiseptic filled his lungs. White ceilings. Beeping machines. A hospital bed. He's back in Japan.
"What… is this?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "How did I end up back here…?"
Figures stood around him. His family. Their faces blurred by tears and exhaustion, their mouths moving as though he were underwater.
Then the wind changed. The warmth vanished. The words came.
"Son, hurry up." his father said sharply. "You're going to university now. Don't be late."
Left him with total confusion.
His younger sister sobbed, her voice breaking. "Big brother, why did you do this? You failed our family. You failed me. You abandoned me!"
His mother's voice cut through them all, cold and absolute. "You'll become what just as we planned you to be. Listen to me. Mother knows best."
The room tightened.
Their eyes surrounded him—watching, judging—circling like the vultures in the tundra. Their voices overlapped, repeated, multiplied, until the words lost meaning and became noise.
Pressure crushed his chest.
"Dad! Mom! Guren—please, stop!" Danir begged, clutching at the sheets.
"Please… this isn't real. This isn't real!" he screamed.
"Itsuki… Itsuki…" The voices began to fade—until one voice broke through, sharp and urgent.
"Danir!"
His eyes flew open.
"Danir!" Caspi called again, slapping his cheek twice. "Wake up. You're having a nightmare."
Danir gasped, lungs burning, body drenched in cold sweat.
Morning light filtered through the window, pale and real. The academy dorm. His bed. His life here.
"It wasn't the hospital. It wasn't Japan. It was just a dream." Danir confirmed.
Relief flooded him—raw and overwhelming. Followed immediately by fear at the thought of ever returning back there and at the same time, he felt guilty, sharp and heavy, for the family he had left behind. And finally, embarrassment, burning his cheeks as he realized Caspi had seen him like this. Broken, shaking, weak, and helpless. Human.
Danir turned his face away, breathing slowly, grounding himself in the present.
Danir pushed himself upright, his body still heavy from the remnants of the nightmare. The early morning light stretched across the dorm room floor, pale and indifferent, as though nothing had happened.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood slowly.
Each step toward the small wooden table felt deliberate, grounding. He poured himself a glass of water, the faint clink of clay against wood echoing in the quiet room. His hand trembled slightly as he lifted it to his lips.
The cool water slid down his throat, steadying him. Washing away the dryness. Calming the wild rhythm of his heart.
He exhaled.
"It's over. Just a mere dream." He thought.
He wiped his face, ran a hand through his hair, and straightened his posture. Whatever fear lingered from the night, he forced it down into the deepest corner of his chest. Thinking, today was not about the past. Today was about the future.
Danir adjusted his uniform, tightened the straps of his gear, and glanced once more at his reflection in the small mirror by the wall. The boy staring back at him looked nervous—
—but determined.
It was his first day at the Adventurer's Academy. And he would walk into it standing tall.
The excitement and nervousness from the night before crept back into Danir's chest as he made his way through the academy halls. His palms felt damp, and his heartbeat quickened with every step closer to the unknown.
"Hey—you've got this." Ulfzar said, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. His voice was warm, steady, exactly what Danir needed to hear.
Caspi nodded in quiet agreement. "We're heading out now. Take care."
The two of them turned toward the Sophomores' Hall, their footsteps fading as Danir continued alone toward the opposite wing—the one reserved for first-years.
He stopped beneath the tall doorway and read the plaque above it.
"Freshmen's Hall."
"…So this is it." he thought.
Danir took a slow, steadying breath and stepped inside.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
The hall was unnervingly quiet, filled with rows of students seated straight-backed in their chairs. Faces were stiff, expressions serious, eyes forward. No chatter. No laughter. Just the low hum of anticipation as everyone waited for their scriptor to arrive.
Danir swallowed and moved carefully down the aisle, drawing as little attention as possible. He slipped into an empty seat in the second-to-last row near the back, placing his bag at his feet.
He exhaled softly, hands resting on his knees.
"First day." he told himself.
The heavy wooden doors swung open, cutting through the silence.
A tall man stepped inside, his presence alone enough to command attention. He wore layered robes stitched with arcane sigils that shimmered faintly when he moved. Mana pressure rolled off him like heat from a forge.
An elite-rank wizard.
"I am your scriptor." he announced calmly, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "Now that introductions are complete on my end, it's your turn."
One by one, the students stood and spoke their names, their jobclasses, their levels. Some voices were proud. Others were cautious. The room remained orderly—until it was Danir's turn.
He stood.
"I… I am Danir Granger." he said, steadying his breath. "The seventh son of Jared Granger."
A ripple ran through the room. Eyes widened. Whispers sparked instantly.
"Granger?"
"That Granger?"
The murmurs hadn't even settled when Danir continued.
"I am a level seven… BladeMagus." Danir added.
Silence suddenly fell, not the calm kind, but the dangerous kind.
Then—Laughter.
Scoffs.
Whispers turned sharp, cruel, and loud.
"How foolish can you be?"
"Is he dumb? No—he is dumb."
"A dead weakling!" Someone shouted it clearly enough for the entire hall to hear.
"Deadling!"
The words spread like rot.
"Deadling!"
"Deadling!"
"He's already dead!"
"You're already dead!"
"Deadling! Deadling! Deadling!" Nicknamed him deadling, meaning, a dead weakling.
The chant grew louder, voices stacking over one another until they blurred into a single, suffocating roar. The sound pressed in on Danir from every direction. His chest tightened. The floor beneath him felt unsteady.
He couldn't move.
He couldn't speak.
The noise swallowed him whole.
"Enough." the wizard-sciptor shouted.
The word cracked like thunder.
Mana surged through the hall, invisible but overwhelming, forcing the air itself into submission.
"Everyone—silence!" he shouted again.
The wizard-scriptor's voice rang out again, sharp and absolute. The chanting died instantly, leaving behind only uneasy breathing and a few lingering glares.
He scanned the room with cold, measuring eyes.
"If you believe jobclasses determine worth..." the wizard-scriptor said. "you will not last long here."
No one dared respond.
"Now..." he continued, turning toward the board, "we will begin."
The lesson shifted to fundamentals—competent party composition, combat formations, battlefield roles, and the traits required of a competent adventurer and the disciplinary rules practices in the academy.
Danir sat rigid in his seat, hands clenched beneath the desk.
Danir lowered his gaze to his parchment and began writing, the feathered ink pen gliding carefully across the page. He made sure to capture every detail—the structure of balanced party roles, the advantages of flanking formations, the importance of discipline over raw strength. If he lacked reputation, if he lacked respect, then he would at least not lack knowledge.
The scratching of quills filled the hall as the lecture continued, steady and methodical, until at last the scriptor closed his tome with a firm snap.
"That will be all for this session."
Chairs scraped loudly against the stone floor.
The tense atmosphere from earlier dissolved in an instant as students stood, conversations bursting back to life. Groups quickly formed—some already laughing, others debating loudly about food and training schedules. Within moments, the once-serious hall turned into a tide of bodies flowing toward the exit.
Lunch.
Danir remained seated for a second longer, finishing the last line of his notes before gently setting his pen down. Around him, the freshmen hurried out to buy meals from the vendors lining the academy grounds.
The day was far from over.
And neither was the weight pressing quietly on his shoulders.
As Danir gathered his things and rose from his seat, preparing to leave the hall, his path was abruptly cut off.
A group of scholars closed in around him.
At their center stood a boy about his age, wearing a smug grin that carried no warmth—only malice. Leopoldo Faradic, a level ten Brawler.
He was broad for his age, muscles packed tightly beneath his uniform. His shiny, medium-length blond hair was neatly side-parted, a stark contrast to his dark-brown skin. His face was intimidating—angular, hardened—and his cheeks were dotted with angry pimples that only seemed to sharpen his scowl.
"Just as I expected," Danir thought grimly.
Before he could react, Leopoldo grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground with brute strength, slamming him back against the stone wall. The impact rattled Danir's teeth as his feet dangled helplessly above the floor.
"Deadling!" Leopoldo sneered, his breath hot with arrogance. "Do you think choosing that jobclass makes you brave? Or do you think you're invincible just because your father was the legendary Black-Horseman?!"
Danir's back burned where it pressed against the wall, but he forced himself to stay calm.
"Hey—stop.." he said, voice tight but controlled. "I didn't do anything to you. What's your problem? I don't want to hurt anyone. Just let go of me."
Leopoldo's eyes widened—not in surprise, but in outrage.
"How dare you speak?" he barked. "How dare you talk to me like that?!"
He released Danir only to shove him downward, throwing him hard onto the stone floor. Pain flared through Danir's side as he hit the ground.
"You're going to die, you dumb freak." Leopoldo laughed cruelly. "Hahahahaha."
With that, he turned and walked away, his sidekicks trailing after him, their laughter echoing down the hall.
Danir lay there for a brief moment, staring at the ceiling.
Thinking, he could fight back. He wanted to. But he remembered the academy's rules. Discipline. Consequences. Reputation. One incident could mark him permanently.
Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. Without a word, without looking back, Danir brushed the dust from his clothes and headed quietly toward the cafeteria hall.
He chose not to make a scene. Not today.
But as he walked away, something cold and resolute settled deep in his chest. "This won't always be like this."
When Danir entered the cafeteria hall, the familiar sight of his brothers gathered at a long table greeted him. Zeke noticed him immediately and raised a hand. "Over here."
Danir hesitated only a moment before joining them. The noise of the hall—clattering plates, overlapping conversations, bursts of laughter—washed over him, but for once, it felt distant.
Zeke studied his face. "So," he asked gently, "how was your day?"
Danir poked at his food, his appetite dulled.
"Nothing special." he replied flatly. "Don't ask."
Zeke's eyes narrowed. He didn't press, but his voice hardened. "If someone's picking a fight with you, tell us. I don't care about disciplinary rules."
Danir looked up, surprised. Then he gave a small, forced smile. "Don't worry, brother. I've got this." He paused, then added with a hint of pride, "Remember—I killed a winter vulture."
For a moment, Zeke simply stared at him. Then he nodded. "Yeah.." he said quietly. "You're right."
After lunch, they returned to their respective quarters. Danir changed quickly and headed straight for the training grounds. His body screamed in protest as he pushed himself through another round of brutal exercises—push-ups, squats, sprints—each movement fueled by something sharper than fatigue.
Leopoldo's face kept flashing through his mind.
"Even here…" Danir thought bitterly as sweat dripped from his chin. "Even here, these jerks still following me."
His muscles burned, but he didn't stop. He welcomed the pain, letting it drown out the anger coiling in his chest.
"I wish I were just a nobody..." he thought, breathing hard. "So, no one would ever look at. No expectations. No hatred."
At last, exhaustion claimed him.
That night, after dinner, Danir collapsed onto his bed, his body too tired to hold onto anger or fear any longer. Sleep came swiftly and without dreams.
The first day at the Adventurer's Academy had passed. And though it had only just begun, he already knew—this place would test him far more than he had imagined.