For a few seconds, silence ruled the room.
Then the students began to laugh.
One chuckled. Another snorted. Then the room erupted into full-blown laughter.
"He ran like his pants were on fire!"
"Well, technically, his hair was on fire!"
"Did you see his back!? Looked like he'd crapped himself on the way out!"
"Man was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane!"
"Did anyone get a sketch of his face? I need to preserve that look for my nightmares!"
"He called us demons! That was the best part!"
Laughter rolled across the classroom like thunder.
They were wild, unrepentant, and totally entertained.
In the middle of it all, the fla conjurer sat back down in his chair, legs kicked up on the desk, hands behind his head.
His fla was gone, but the smug confidence remained.
"That's their fault," he said calmly. "They keep throwing fake professors at us. What did they think would happen? You want us to respect you? Then bring soone who knows what they're doing. Soone certified. Soone real."
He stared at the others with a smirk.
"If the next guy is another imposter, I'll just burn his boots this ti."
Silence fell once more.
Then—
click.
The sound of a door handle turning.
Everyone looked up.
The door creaked open.
But this ti... there was no fumbling, no nervous knock, no pathetic muttering of "Is this room thirty-three?"
No.
This man didn't ask anything.
He simply glanced at the tal tag on the door, then at the key in his hand.
The number matched.
So he walked in.
Thirteen students turned their heads in unison.
He wasn't tall, but sothing about him felt dangerous. He had dark hair tied back roughly, faint stubble on his chin, and a coat that looked hastily put on. His sleeves were rolled up.
There was still dust on his boots.
His face held no fear. Just a deep, focused glare—like he had already decided what he thought of the room.
He didn't blink.
He didn't hesitate.
He stood at the front of the class and set his bag on the desk with a dull thud.
The students stared at the man.
The fire conjurer narrowed his eyes.
What's wrong with this guy?
And then, without looking at anyone in particular, the man spoke with a voice filled with irritation.
"I'm Nolan," he said, rubbing his temple with one hand.
"Your new teacher."
After a brief silence.
"Are you all ready to learn?" Nolan asked, his voice level but firm. "Now, pay ."
The mont those words left his mouth, the entire classroom fell into stunned silence.
Thirteen students, all of whom had been laughing and boasting not too long ago, blinked in confusion.
For one long second, no one even breathed. Then, like the sudden snap of a bursting dam, laughter erupted.
"He—He said pay him! Pay—" one student choked, clutching their stomach.
"I think I misheard," another student wheezed. "Did he really just ask for money? Is this guy a beggar or a teacher?"
The laughter exploded into wild, uncontrolled hysteria.
"You're killing here!" shouted a student near the back. "This is the best class ever! A teacher asking for money!"
A girl leaned against her desk, crying with laughter. "Maybe he got lost on his way to the rchant guild!"
"Maybe he thinks we're private students of so fancy master," another mocked, tears streaming down his cheeks. "This is Silver Blade Academy, old man, not a back-alley dojo!"
Nolan blinked.
He hadn't expected cheers, but he certainly hadn't expected such a chorus of mockery from them.
The sheer absurdity they found in his demand had apparently short-circuited their brains.
"What," Nolan said slowly, brows furrowing, "exactly are you all laughing at? Didn't you all want to pass tomorrow's assessnt?"
As if struck by lightning, the room went dead quiet. Not a whisper. Not a chuckle. Their expressions turned guarded.
"Exactly," Nolan said. "So pay ."
It was like pressing a button.
The classroom exploded again in laughter, louder this ti, shaking the very windows.
"HAHAHAHA!"
"Is this guy for real?!"
"I—I think I broke sothing from laughing!"
"This guy's cody gold!"
A tall boy stood up and clapped sarcastically. "Okay, okay, you got us good. Now sit down, old man, let the real professor co in."
"Wait, wait, maybe this is so kind of test," one girl snickered. "Maybe if we pay, he'll show us the secret knight techniques—like how to beg with dignity!"
"Maybe he'll teach us how to run from battle—just like he runs from rent!"
Laughter rang out again, wave after wave.
Even students who had been quiet were now joining in, faces red with hilarity, so gasping for air as they bent over their desks.
One even fell off his chair entirely, cackling as he rolled on the floor.
Nolan's eye twitched.
"How interesting," he said dryly. "You mock the only person who can help you survive your Academy assessnt. Very smart. I can see why you all are so successful."
Still laughing, a girl tried to compose herself.
She straightened her back, wiped a tear from her eye, and tried to speak, though her voice still dripped with mocking tones.
"With all due respect—sir—we're Mana Conjurers," she said, as if explaining sothing to a particularly slow child. "We'll be sent to the City of Murlacks in two weeks to beco official mages."
"So you don't need to beco a Knight?" Nolan asked with a raised brow.
"Exactly," the girl said smugly. "We don't need your Knight training. The only reason we're here in the Silver Blade Academy is because our parents forced us to have more... diverse paths. You know, in case the Conjurer route fails. But let's be real—"
Another student interrupted. "The Knight path is primitive. Just swordplay and physical training. It's so... dieval."
"Yeah, where's the flair? The mystique? We want elental arts! Fire! Lightning! Illusions!"
Nolan crossed his arms and listened.
This wasn't just arrogance. It was boredom.
These students weren't challenged; they were caged.
They didn't see Knight training as a supplent to their power, but as a downgrade.
"So," Nolan muttered. "You're all here under duress. None of you plan to attend tomorrow's assessnt."
"That's correct," said the girl proudly, "so you asking for paynt is... well, ridiculous."
Nolan stared at the group. For a long mont, he didn't respond. His expression was unreadable. Then, with a long exhale, he muttered, "I see."
He turned away from them, walked to the teacher's desk, and sat down. His fingers tapped idly on the wood as he stared ahead, mind beginning to drift.
What a joke. He mused.
He rembered the Realm Wide Web's warning earlier. Sothing about teschinh students who wnqtee to learn. But if no one wanted to be taught, then—maybe he could leave without a warning or without the system taking his Internet?
Nolan wanted to try. For a second ti to leave. However, before he could stand up-
Ping!
A sudden chi pierced the air, inaudible to the students but loud and clear to Nolan.
His eyes snapped open.
In front of him, shimring in translucent blue, was a System Screen:
Mission: Ignite the Blades
Objective: Ensure all 13 students attend the Mana Knight Assessnt tomorrow.
Reward: Unknown
Failure Consequence: Ga world experience gain will no longer transfer to your real-world body for 1 year.
Nolan blinked. "What?" he muttered.
The screen remained.
The cold, chanical clarity of the ssage was undeniable. No riddles. No nuance.
He read it again.
If he failed this mission, he wouldn't be able to benefit from entering ga worlds anymore—no stat growth, no level boosts, nothing for an entire year.
That was a death sentence in a world like this. He'd lose the one advantage he had in adapting to this insane, mana-infested place.
His hands curled into fists.
He re-read the mission again, hoping he had misunderstood. But the words hadn't changed. It was clear. If even one student failed to show up at the assessnt tomorrow, he failed.
And these students had no intention of attending.
Nolan's throat tightened. His heart beat faster. He looked at the laughing students—still mocking him, still basking in the smug satisfaction of their imagined superiority.
And all he could feel was panic.
His advantage—the only thing letting him bridge the gap between a forr Earth man and this alien world—was about to be taken from him.
Not by a powerful monster.
Not by a world-ending calamity. But by a bunch of snot-nosed teens with mana complexes.
He swallowed hard.
Thirteen of them.
Thirteen students.
Thirteen bombs waiting to go off.
And he had less than a day to make them walk willingly into a trial they didn't believe in.
Nolan sat down heavily on the desk. His palms felt clammy.
This... this wasn't teaching.
This was war.
Suddenly, Nolan would mumble, "so be it..."
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