Elias Thornbrook stood apart from his peers in every conceivable way. Recognized as a prodigious magical engineer with his Mythical-ranked Creator’s Blueprint talent, he had accomplished what few students in Crono Academy’s illustrious history had managed—skipping the first year entirely after just a single term. His aptitude for magical theory and practical application had left his professors speechless, prompting an unprecedented advancent in his academic track.
In truth, if only he had been a year older, the academy would have allowed him to skip directly to the third year. However, due to long-established restrictions prohibiting students under fifteen—the kingdom’s age of adulthood—from entering third-year studies, his advancent had reached a temporary ceiling. The administration, unwilling to let such extraordinary talent stagnate, had instead bestowed upon him the Archmage’s dallion, granting access to study materials typically reserved for students years his senior.
The restricted archives had quickly beco Elias’s sanctuary. Among the towering shelves of ancient tos and crystallized knowledge, he found challenges worthy of his intellect. Since he was both the youngest and most junior person granted regular access to this hallowed space, the head librarian had bestowed upon him the unofficial responsibility of monitoring the archives during his frequent visits—a task Elias took surprisingly seriously despite his tender age.
Today, as he wandered between the imposing ebony shelves, fingers trailing along leather spines in search of his next intellectual conquest, sothing unusual caught his attention—a figure in a first-year uniform. The sight was so unexpected that Elias montarily questioned his own perception. First-years simply didn’t appear in the restricted archives; it was a fundantal rule of academy hierarchy.
Curiosity piqued, Elias approached the stranger with the natural confidence of soone who belonged in this exclusive space. Despite his diminutive stature—standing barely chest-high to most older students—he carried himself with the authority granted by his position and accomplishnts.
"How did you get in here?" he inquired, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice. When the stranger seed distracted, Elias pressed more insistently, "Are you listening?"
To his imnse irritation, the first-year had the audacity to smile indulgently and—most infuriatingly—pat him on the head as if he were a child. "Who let a kid in here?" the stranger mused aloud.
Heat rushed to Elias’s face as he swatted away the offending hand. "Who are you calling a kid?" he demanded, jabbing a finger toward his own chest where the double silver stripes of a second-year student were clearly visible on his uniform.
The stranger blinked in apparent surprise, reassessing him with newfound interest. After so banter, the first-year produced the Archmage’s dallion, its golden surface catching the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead. Elias stared at the artifact with dawning comprehension as pieces clicked into place within his brilliant mind.
The dallion would have been awarded to the most exceptional team during the freshman ranking competition—an event Elias had been too engrossed in his studies to attend. He hadn’t bothered to follow the tournant results, considering such competitions beneath his scholarly pursuits.
Even so, Elias regarded the first-year with lingering suspicion. The Archmage’s dallion, while prestigious, typically held little practical value for first-years. Most recipients barely utilized its privileges until they had mastered the fundantals of first and second-year curriculum—by which ti they would naturally advance to third year, rendering the dallion’s special access redundant.
Yet here stood soone clearly intent on making imdiate use of his prize. As Elias studied the stranger more carefully, fragnts of overheard conversations and whispered rumors crystallized into recognition.
"Ambrose?" he wondered aloud, the na escaping his lips before he could contain it.1
The first-year’s smile widened slightly. "Yes, that’s ," he confird with unexpected warmth. Enjoy more content from .Côm
Ambrose Rothschild appeared genuinely excited by their chance encounter. Though he couldn’t know it, Ambrose was ntally cataloging Elias as an unexpected treasure—a prodigious talent with a Mythical-grade ability that complented his own ambitious plans perfectly.
In fact, Ambrose knew of Elias, at least peripherally. During his bedridden days, he had been treated by Dr. Archibald Thornbrook, Elias’s father. The elder Thornbrook’s reputation as a brilliant researcher and healer had left a lasting impression, and Ambrose suspected the son might surpass even his accomplished father in the future.
A glimr of calculation flashed behind Ambrose’s eyes as he contemplated potential recruitnt. A magical engineer of Elias’s caliber was exceedingly rare. Combined with Ambrose’s knowledge from Earth, they could potentially create revolutionary magical technology—perhaps even weapons. Such collaboration could form the foundation of an entire business empire.
Ambrose made a ntal note that even if direct recruitnt proved impossible, he would ntion Elias to Adelaide. Her business acun could forge a collaboration with their fledgling company. After all, the universal weakness of all researchers was funding—if he could finance a few promising projects for the boy, the potential returns could be astronomical.
anwhile, Elias shifted uncomfortably under Ambrose’s calculating gaze. He hadn’t expected to encounter the Rothschild heir himself—a figure whose family na carried weight even among the academy’s elite. Had his brusque approach caused offense? Would Ambrose hold his initial rudeness against him? Most concerning of all, why was the Rothschild heir regarding him with such intensity—like a predator sizing up particularly appetizing prey?
…
Under the sprawling branches of an ancient oak in Crono Academy’s eastern gardens, three young won gathered in a small circle—Adelaide’s auburn hair catching the dappled sunlight, ihua’s calculating gaze scanning their surroundings, and Hualing’s dejected form slouched against the tree trunk. The scattered golden leaves around them rustled with each passing breeze, nature’s quiet accompanint to their conversation.
"Here, try one of these," Adelaide offered, extending a small basket of honey-glazed pastries toward Hualing. "They’re from that new bakery near the western gate."
Hualing accepted the treat with visible reluctance, her usual attentiveness dulled by a cloud of gloom. She nibbled at the edges without enthusiasm, her eyes repeatedly drifting toward the library building visible through the treetops.
"You should cheer up," Adelaide continued, her voice gentle yet firm. "The master didn’t leave because he finds you annoying. He’s simply concerned about your well-being and wants you to enjoy so ti with friends."
"But what if he needs protection?" Hualing protested, straightening slightly as protective instincts montarily overrode her lancholy.
ihua adjusted her position, leaning forward with a carefully crafted expression of casual interest. "I’ve been thinking—why don’t we all take a brief excursion outside the academy grounds? There’s a fascinating market in the town square today."
"That’s an excellent idea," Adelaide agreed imdiately, her rchant’s instincts recognizing an opportunity for both business intelligence and social bonding. "Hualing, what do you think? We could all use so fresh air and new scenery."
Hualing’s brow furrowed with indecision, her gaze once again returning to the distant library. "But when the master returns..."
"We’ll be back well before he finishes his research," Adelaide assured her, resting a companionable hand on Hualing’s shoulder. "He ntioned he’d be occupied for hours, rember?"
After several seconds of visible internal struggle, Hualing gave a short nod. "Very well. But at the first sign of trouble—"
"We return imdiately," Adelaide finished for her with an understanding smile.
Behind her carefully neutral expression, ihua’s thoughts raced with satisfaction. Her suggestion had been far from altruistic—she had been seeking an opportunity to retrieve a specific item from town, but lacked the physical capability to ensure its successful acquisition. With Hualing’s strength at her disposal, however, her chances improved dramatically.
Perfect, she thought, ntally reviewing the steps of her plan. Absolutely perfect.
A sudden chill ran down Hualing’s spine, causing her to sneeze unexpectedly. Her companions glanced at her with mild concern.
"Soone must be thinking of ," Hualing thought, her mood improving instantly. "It must be the master! He misses already."
Within their shared consciousness, Minghua could only sigh in exasperation. You really are a lost cause, she thought.
Yet beneath this surface reaction, Minghua’s thoughts took a more serious turn. "I should also start making my move soon"
A/N - Ik it’s considered rude to call soone by their first na like this if you don’t know each other, but the na Rothschild is also the na of the first hero so…
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