That morning, sunlight slipped gently through the narrow gap in Alen's dormitory curtains, spilling across the neat white blanket and the small study desk in the corner of the room. The air was still cold, carrying the last traces of dew from the academy courtyard before the sun had fully warmed it. Outside the window, the faint sounds of students beginning to rise drifted in like the first ripples of life brushing against Asnia's walls.
Alen slowly opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for several seconds.
There was no tension, the kind he felt before a battle. No sharp vigilance, like when he stood inside a dungeon. No pressure from the eyes of the mansion's residents, who had always judged him as a street child unworthy of belonging there.
There was only one new day.
One day that belonged entirely to him.
He sat up on the bed and rubbed his face with both hands. Then, for the first time in a very long while, a faint expression appeared on his face—so small it was almost invisible.
"School," he murmured softly.
The word felt unfamiliar, and strangely warm at the same time.
In his previous life, when he had still been Cyrus, he had finished the formal education that noble heirs and future magicians were supposed to undergo far too quickly. As someone who had been forced to understand the world at an accelerated pace from the very beginning, he had never truly enjoyed the life of a student. Everything back then had been about results, responsibility, and expectation. There had never been time to simply sit with friends, walk to class without burden, or feel a plain and simple curiosity toward the little things.
But now, his body was still young. His age was still at the stage where others were only just beginning to know school life.
And for the first time in two different lives, he made a decision that was rare for him.
He would enjoy this.
"Then," Alen muttered as he rose from the bed, "I should spend today like an ordinary student."
He opened the wardrobe, put on the academy uniform prepared for him, and carefully straightened his collar in front of the small mirror. The uniform looked neat and dignified, dominated by dark tones with silver lines at the cuffs and the Asnia emblem across the chest. Though simple in design, the fabric carried a subtle quality that made it clear this was no ordinary clothing.
Alen looked at himself in the mirror for a moment.
His white hair stood in sharp contrast against the uniform. His eyes were calm, his face still youthful, yet the expression in them felt far older than his age.
"A schoolboy, huh," he said quietly, then gave a slight smile. "That's strange."
After making sure everything was in order, he left the dormitory and headed toward the academy's main building. The corridors of Asnia that morning were crowded with students just stepping out of their rooms. Some were still yawning as they dragged their feet along, some were talking while holding books in their arms, and others were already walking quickly as though afraid of being late.
Alen, on the other hand, walked at an easy pace.
He enjoyed the morning air. He enjoyed the rhythm of his own steps. He even enjoyed the sound of students' footsteps echoing across the stone floor. All of it felt like a part of life he had never had enough time to experience before.
But that calm did not last long.
As he emerged from one of the hallways into the connecting courtyard, a girl suddenly appeared from the opposite direction. Her hair was a vivid red, long and tied high behind her head so it would not interfere with her movements. Her gaze was sharp and slightly harsh, as if she were always ready to challenge anyone who came too close. She walked fast and decisively, carrying several books in her arms in a somewhat rough manner.
And because neither of them slowed down, they almost collided.
"—!"
Alen reflexively stepped aside at the last second, and the girl stopped abruptly as well. But the books in her arms had already shifted and were nearly about to fall. Alen instinctively caught them before they spilled onto the floor.
"Sorry," Alen said briefly as he handed the books back to her.
The red-haired girl stared at him sharply. Then her eyes shifted to his hand, to the books he was holding, and back to his face. Her expression did not soften. If anything, the crease between her brows deepened.
"You did that on purpose," she said flatly.
Alen blinked once. "What?"
"You cut across my path so I'd run into you."
He fell silent for a moment, genuinely unable to believe the accusation. He almost wanted to laugh, but the seriousness on her face made him stop himself.
"I was just walking," he replied. "If I really intended to bump into you, I wouldn't have caught your books."
The girl narrowed her eyes as if judging whether he was being honest or simply using a more clever lie.
"Plenty of people pretend to be polite after making a mistake," she said.
"And plenty of people accuse others before they know what happened," Alen answered in a calm tone.
Her expression immediately hardened. "Are you saying I'm unfair?"
Alen gave a small shrug. "I'm only saying you jumped to a conclusion too quickly."
That small misunderstanding turned into a sharp exchange of looks in the air. Students passing by began glancing over, sensing the strange tension. Some even slowed down, curious whether the little argument might become something bigger.
The red-haired girl let out a soft snort and took her books from Alen's hands. "Then watch where you're going next time. Not everyone has the time to forgive carelessness."
Alen looked at her for a moment, then gave a light nod. "And you should be careful too. If you rush too much, you might misunderstand things again."
After saying that, he walked past her without waiting for a reply.
The red-haired girl turned slightly, watching his back with an irritated look. For some reason, she felt like she had just met a very annoying person. Alen himself simply exhaled inwardly.
"If that's her way of greeting people," he thought, "her life must be exhausting."
When he arrived at the classroom building, the atmosphere inside was already much busier. The large rooms, with their neatly arranged desks and chairs, were filled with students from various backgrounds. But for that day, the new students had been divided according to their basic magical
specialization. There were water magic classes, earth magic classes, wind magic classes, and fire magic classes.
Alen walked down the classification corridor and looked at the signboards hanging in front of the large doors.
The class names were clearly written.
And when he read the line meant for him, he did not feel surprised at all.
fire magic class
He walked into the room at a steady pace.
The fire magic classroom had a distinct atmosphere. It was bright, the walls were coated with heat-resistant material, and several magic-circle symbols were drawn across the floor for basic energy control practice. There was a faint scent of dry wood and metal, like a place designed to withstand small explosions, sparks of magic, and high temperatures.
The students inside were already seated at their desks. A few turned to look when Alen entered, judging his appearance in an instant. His white hair drew attention immediately, but what mattered more was the aura he carried—calm, restrained, and yet impossible to dismiss.
Alen chose a seat in the middle row.
Not long after, a teacher entered the classroom. He was a middle-aged man with a sturdy build and a stern expression. In his hand was a short wooden pointer, clearly something he often used to indicate the board or scold inattentive students.
"Sit," he said shortly.
The entire class fell silent at once.
"My name is Teacher Deran. You are in the fire magic class, so you will learn basic heat control, energy formation, body resistance, and several fundamental attack techniques. Do not think you can simply memorize theory and immediately become a great mage. Fire does not forgive carelessness."
Alen listened closely.
None of this was new to him, at least in broad terms. Andreas himself had spent years drilling the same principle into him—fire was not merely a beautiful element, but something that demanded self-control. If the user was too impatient, fire would devour its master instead.
Teacher Deran then pointed at the circle symbols on the floor.
"Every fire magic user must be able to feel the heat inside their magical core, then channel it through the body's pathways with stability. If your body is unprepared, fire magic will cause backlash. If your mind wavers, control will collapse. And if you are careless... you will embarrass yourself in front of the entire class."
Several students swallowed nervously.
Alen, however, felt slightly interested. He had not come here to become the best student on the first day, but he did want to understand the academy's standards. And from what he had seen so far, Asnia's fire magic class valued discipline above all else.
The practice began.
One by one, the students were asked to produce a small flame in the palm of their hand. Some succeeded, some failed, and some only managed to create a thin wisp of smoke. Teacher Deran watched everything with strict attention, offering sharp corrections to those who made mistakes.
When it was Alen's turn, he raised his right hand and steadily released magical energy. A small flame appeared in his palm, red-gold in color, calm as a candle flame that refused to waver.
The room went silent for a moment.
Teacher Deran's brows knitted slightly. "Your control is fairly good."
"Thank you," Alen replied briefly.
"But don't get satisfied too quickly. Basic control doesn't mean you've mastered it."
"I know."
The teacher looked at him for a few seconds longer before turning to the other students. Alen, meanwhile, closed his palm and let the flame vanish. He could feel several students glancing at him with curiosity, perhaps because the teacher seemed to be paying him special attention.
Time in class passed quickly. The first lesson was mostly introductions, demonstrations, and basic theory. Alen absorbed it without saying much, though inside his mind he kept comparing this teaching style to the one he had known in the past. Back then, training had been harsher and more direct. There had been little room for formality. At Asnia, everything was more structured, more polished, and far more academic.
He did not think that was a bad thing.
Only different.
And that difference made him even more interested in continuing to learn.
When the break bell finally rang, the class was immediately filled with the sound of moving chairs and small conversations among the students. Some left at once to get food, some gathered around their new classmates, and some continued discussing the lesson.
Alen chose to walk alone through the rear corridor of the building. He intended to find a quiet place, perhaps to read for a while or simply avoid the crowd. But he stopped when he saw a slightly open storage room door.
From inside came the faint clink of glass, the sound of liquid being poured, and a sharp, distinct scent—the mixture of dried herbs, oil, and magical ingredients.
Alen peeked inside.
There, a boy was busily mixing something on top of a wooden table covered with small tubes, bottles of colored liquids, and metal measuring spoons. His hair was dark brown, his body lean but agile, and his eyes were fixed intently on the liquid swirling slowly in a glass container.
"Wah... don't add too much silver powder," the boy muttered to himself. "If the ratio is wrong, it'll thicken too fast..."
Alen stood quietly at the doorway for several seconds before the boy finally noticed someone watching him.
"Ah!" The boy nearly dropped the spoon. "W-Who are you?!"
Alen lifted both hands slightly. "Relax. I was just passing by."
The boy looked at him warily, then slid one of the bottles backward as if afraid Alen might take it.
"In that case, don't stand there like a ghost," he said quickly. "I almost ruined this potion because you appeared out of nowhere."
"Then you should've closed the door."
The boy frowned, then sighed while rubbing his forehead. "Fine, you win. That's my fault."
Alen studied the workstation with interest. As someone who had spent a long time under Andreas's guidance, he knew that not all strength came from battle magic. Some came through potions, some through tools, and some through detailed knowledge of ingredients.
"So, you're making a potion?" Alen asked.
The boy immediately looked proud, as if the question had touched something he had been hoping to hear. "Of course. My name is Gelrad Fagnician. And when it comes to potions, I'd say I'm pretty good at it."
"Gelrad Fagnician," Alen repeated quietly.
"Yeah. Don't forget the name. You might need my help someday."
Alen looked at the liquid on the table. Its color was slowly shifting from pale green to a faint gold.
"What potion is that?"
Gelrad seemed delighted that someone was finally taking a real interest. "An energy stabilization potion. It's hard to make, and the measurements have to be extremely precise. I'm testing a version that can speed up magical core recovery after intense training."
Alen raised an eyebrow. "You made that yourself?"
Gelrad snorted softly. "Of course. I'm not the type who wants to sit around waiting for teachers to hand me things."
That answer made Alen smile faintly.
"I'm Alen."
Gelrad extended his hand eagerly, and Alen shook it.
"Then," Gelrad said, "we're officially not strangers anymore."
Alen glanced once more at the potion, then at the pile of ingredients on the table. He did not know whether their friendship would grow quickly or slowly, but he felt that this meeting was worth remembering. In this new world filled with noble students, future heroes, and class rivalries, finding someone who worked hard in his own way felt valuable.
The break bell was still ringing softly in the distance, but to Alen, the day suddenly felt more alive than he had expected.
He almost wanted to stay longer, but the sound of footsteps in the corridor made Gelrad hurriedly shut the bottles.
"If a teacher sees this place a mess, I'm dead," he said in panic.
Alen let out a quiet laugh. "Then I'll leave you to it. See you later, Gelrad."
"Huh? Oh—yeah, later!"
Alen left the storage room with steps a little lighter than before.