Another session day arrived beneath a pale morning sky.
By now, Danir had learned.
He knew Leopoldo's habits—the way he lingered near the entrance, the way he hunted for moments when instructors were absent, the way he thrived on an audience. If Danir wished to avoid unnecessary conflict, then he simply had to remove the opportunity.
So he adjusted his strategy.
Instead of arriving early to the Freshmen's Hall, he waited along the corridor, posture relaxed, expression neutral, until he saw the familiar figure of Mr. Cerulean approaching with measured steps and flowing robes.
Timing. Precision!
When the wizard-scriptor reached the door, Danir stepped forward and entered alongside him.
The session began immediately No space for harassment. No window for spectacle.
A small victory.
As he moved toward his seat, he passed Leopoldo's desk. The brawler leaned back in his chair, eyes sharp with irritation.
"Huh. What a coward, deadling." Leopoldo muttered—soft enough to avoid the scriptor's notice, loud enough for Danir to hear.
Danir kept walking. But inside, he smiled.
"Coward?" he thought lightly. "No. Just smarter."
Leopoldo's annoyance was subtle, but unmistakable. The plan to provoke him had failed yet again. No confrontation. No display. No entertainment.
Danir sat down calmly, opened his book, and prepared his feather ink pen. For once, the day began without tension coiling around his ribs.
It was a small triumph.
But in a place like the academy, small triumphs mattered. And as Mr. Cerulean began the lecture, Danir allowed himself the quiet satisfaction of knowing—He did not need strength to win every battle. Sometimes, avoiding one was victory enough.
"Today." Mr. Cerulean began, his voice steady and measured, "we will discuss BP and MP."
The hall fell into attentive silence.
"These two.." he continued, writing letters in mid air, "..are the most fundamental forces inherent to all living beings."
He raised one finger pointing on the board where he write about his session.
"First—the Blood. Known as the symbol of life."
He paced slowly before the scholars.
"Our bodies require blood as a bonfire requires firewood. Remove the fuel, and the flame dies. In the same way, remove blood from the body, and life ceases."
"Blood Points or BP for short." He said, as he continued...
"If a person bleeds, their BP decreases accordingly. The more severe the wound, the faster the reduction. A critical strike to a vital area may result in immediate death—even if that individual possesses high BP."
"So, that's why the vulture died right after a pierced my dagger into its eyes." Danir thought, trying to realize something but truth was that his dagger pierced into its eyes wasn't the reason the vulture died, it was because it lost its sight and drowned under the depth of the cold lake.
And just because, he was mostly the part of the reason why it died, he gained exp to level up and its magic spells.
A few students stiffened at the bluntness.
The session continued...
"High BP does not grant immortality." Cerulean added calmly. "It merely grants endurance."
He continued, "BP regenerates through several means: advanced healing magic, BP-regeneration potions, or by properly treating wounds and resting until recovery reflects within one's grimoire status."
He paused, a faint smile appearing.
"Allow me a brief example. The hero who attained the Golden Collar rank—Grandmaster Yolo Buick—"
A murmur of recognition passed through the room.
"—the High Cleric who currently leads the Cathedral of the Light Order."
Even Leopoldo leaned forward slightly.
"He is capable of high-level healing to the extent of reattaching severed limbs. He can exorcise Transcendent-level demons with ease. His magic the level that can amplify an ally's power fiftyfold—and weaken enemies by the same margin."
The room felt smaller at the magnitude of it.
"Such mastery over BP is rare." Cerulean concluded. "Extremely rare."
The moved to another topic.
"Mana Points or MP for short." He said...
"Now—Mana. If blood is the fuel that sustains life, mana is the fuel that sustains magic."
Danir's pen moved swiftly.
"When an adventurer casts a spell, their MP decreases. Mana is internal energy, converted into magical phenomena upon activation."
Cerulean clasped his hands behind his back.
"MP, like BP, can regenerate. Enchanters and clerics may perform Mana Transfer, channeling their own reserves into an ally. Potions may restore it. And natural recovery occurs through rest—much like BP."
He continued, "The similarity between the two is this: depletion of BP leads to death. Depletion of MP leads to severe fatigue, coma, and—if untreated—death as well."
A quiet weight filled the hall.
"Understand your limits." he said softly. "It may give you a high chance of survivability."
Danir absorbed every word. Another day. Another piece of essential knowledge carved into his understanding.
The moment the session ended, Danir moved.
Not hurriedly. Not suspiciously.
He simply rose at the same time as Mr. Cerulean and exited the hall alongside him, using the instructor's presence as a shield. By the time the flood of freshmen poured out toward the cafeteria, Danir had already blended into the stream of bodies.
Leopoldo stepped into the corridor a second too late. His eyes scanned the crowd—but Danir was gone.
"He predicted me again…" Leopoldo's jaw tightened.
"Next time, you won't escape, you coward-deadling." Frustration simmered beneath his calm exterior.
Meanwhile, Danir slipped safely into the cafeteria and joined his brothers at their usual table.
He had barely taken his seat when a strange murmur rippled through the hall.
A group of junior girls stood near the entrance, whispering excitedly. Their eyes sparkled. Their cheeks flushed. And they were looking—In his direction.
Danir blinked.
"What's wrong with these ladies? "
Cleared his eyes with disbelief.
"Wait… why are they heading toward me?"
His heartbeat quickened.
"No way… It's too soon to have my harem phase. I'm not even an overpowered protagonist yet!" With dramatic confidence, he rose slightly, adjusted his hair, and leaned casually against the table as if destiny itself had arranged the moment. Butterflies erupted in his stomach.
Harem at first sight…
But the girls rushed past him, as they headed straight to Alec.. Leaving him with inner embarrassment.
Danir froze. "…Huh?"
They surrounded his brother instantly, voices overlapping.
"Alec, I love you! Please accept this gift!" one girl exclaimed, handing him a neatly wrapped box.
"Marry me my Prince Alec."
Another leaned in boldly. "Hey, handsome, I'm free tonight. Want to hang out?"
Alec paused mid-bite, stood up smoothly, and accepted the gift with a charming smile. He politely declined the invitation with a gentle gesture—but his eyes lingered briefly on another girl across the bench.
And then—Alec stopped talking with the girls nar to him.
Across the bench, seated with quiet composure, was an elven girl he had never truly noticed before.
For Alec, it was instantaneous, love at first sight.
He endlessly stared to her eyes that looking sharp and luminous, like polished emeralds catching the light. Long, natural lashes framed them effortlessly, enhancing their already striking intensity. Her pointed ears emerged elegantly from strands of silken blonde hair that shimmered against her fair, porcelain skin.
She carried herself with the natural grace only elves possessed—every small movement precise, fluid, almost blade-like in its refinement. Even the way she turned a page seemed deliberate.
Slender. Composed. Untouchable.
Alec felt his heartbeat misfire.
"Who… is she?"
Her name, he would soon learn, was Sierra Calanis— elven girl from the the High-elves race, despite having the blessing from the goddess of hunt and an archer-prodigy in her class, she became the young loremaster assigned to assist within the academy's grand library.
Though the same age as Alec, her intellect and mastery over ancient texts had already earned her a respected title among scholars by having her secondary jobclass as loremaster.
She did not laugh loudly.
She did not seek attention.
She did not chase admiration.
She simply existed—And somehow commanded the entire room without trying.
For the first time in his life, Alec Granger, the so-called Handsome Prodigy, felt something unfamiliar, not pride, not vanity, but the quiet dangerous tremor of being captivated.
They exchanged a look that lasted just a second too long before she turned away, flustered.
Ulfzar and Zebion stepped in to disperse the crowd, ushering the girls away so they could finish eating in peace.
Then Alec regained his consciousness and returned to his usual self.
"Hey?!" Alec called out, noticing Danir still standing awkwardly. "Take a seat, you little assuming mouse. Those ladies were captivated by my godly charm—not you. Keep standing there and you'll get varicose veins."
Danir's face darkened. "This narcissistic jerk…"
Caspi arrived moments later, greeted by another small wave of admirers. His charm nearly rivaled Alec's, and it showed.
"Damn… I envy these idiot brothers of mine." Danir thought bitterly.
Soon the table returned to normal—meals half-eaten, laughter loud, insults flying freely.
"So?" Alec grinned at Caspi, "how many chased you today?"
"Hmm… I think eight?" Caspi replied casually.
Alec burst out laughing. "I win. Twenty and counting."
He turned to the others.
"And you, Grangers?"
They answered one by one.
"I'm loyal to my only Maji." Ulfzar declared proudly. "She's far away."
"Maji who? Eh-maji-nation?" Alec snorted, laughing at his own joke.
"I don't need you to believe me, narcissistic idiot." Ulfzar shot back.
Zeke spoke next, calm and sincere. "I'm loyal to my Niea. We lycans choose only one mate for life."
Alec nodded respectfully. "I believe you big bro."
"Hey, Nezcar?" Alec continued, eyes gleaming mischievously. "Saw you yesterday with that human girl named Shaiya. Am I right, shorty?"
"Mind your own business, you pale bastard!" Nezcar growled.
Laughter erupted again.
"I'm not sharing mine." Zebion cut in. "You wouldn't believe me anyway."
Finally, Alec's gaze landed on Danir.
"Oh… and this virgin little mouse. Don't talk, don't talk—I know what you're going to say." He leaned back dramatically. "So tragic. One of my brothers dying a virgin without tasting the heavenly blessings the chicks provide."
Danir's jaw clenched, his glare sharp enough to cut stone.
The table roared with laughter.
Yet beneath the teasing and insults, beneath the competitiveness and bruised egos, something warmer existed.
They mocked each other.
They argued.
They boasted.
But when trouble came, they stood together.
They were not just brothers by blood—they were bound by shared struggles, shared hunger, shared ambition.
A family forged not only in love—But in rivalry, pride, and the unspoken promise that none of them would fall alone.