Chapter 43 : First Class (9)
An invitation.
My steps slowed as my thoughts tangled into knots.
This isn’t how the story was supposed to go. That mont, Alastor choosing his successor... it should’ve belonged to Leon. Second year. After his swordsmanship matured enough to rival nobles, he’d finally catch Alastor’s eye. That was how it went.
But instead, here I was.
Aura revealed too early. Spotlight fixed on . And Alastor already extending a hand.
If he truly offers discipleship... what do I answer?
My heart pounded. To accept ant protection, power, legitimacy within the academy. But it also ant stepping further and further away from the story I thought I knew.
My lips pressed into a thin line as I walked. "The plot is already falling apart," I muttered under my breath.
And with that weight pressing down on my chest, I turned toward the one class nobody in their right mind cared to attend.
-----
The Rune Exploration Study Hall was as dead as the history books made it sound.
Dust coated the wooden door. A faint cobweb stretched proudly across the fra. Even the placard—"Rune Exploration: Instructor Harry Stonerick"—was half-faded, the paint peeling like an old scar.
I pushed the door open. Creak.
Inside, the room was... well, tragic. Only three desks weren’t broken, rune diagrams were chalked half-heartedly on the board, and in the corner sat a lone man hunched over a desk piled with ancient tos.
Professor Harry Stonerick.
He had unkempt brown hair sticking up like a bird’s nest, ink stains all over his sleeves, and a pair of round glasses so thick they could probably block an arrow. He looked less like an instructor and more like the kind of eccentric uncle families try not to talk about at reunions.
He didn’t notice until the floor creaked under my step.
"Mm?" His head jerked up. His tired gaze locked on —then widened so abruptly his glasses nearly slid off his nose.
"You...!" He pointed a quivering finger at as though I were so kind of long-lost heir.
I inclined my head politely. "Professor. I’m here to register for Rune Exploration Studies."
There was a silence. A long, long silence.
Then—
"What!?" His shout nearly knocked dust off the ceiling. He shot up from his chair, knocking over a pile of books. "Ha! Ha ha! Nice joke! Very good! Rune Studies as a punishnt, is it? Tell , did the other instructors put you up to this? Hm? Detention? Hazing? Tell the truth!"
"I’m not joking." My tone was flat. My expression didn’t waver. "I’m here for this class."
For a mont, he just blinked at . His mouth opened and closed like a fish.
Then—like a dam bursting—he exploded into motion.
He zipped around the desk, circling so fast I almost took a step back. His eyes sparkled like he’d just spotted a rare gem.
"Truly!? Truly-truly-truly!? You—you want to join my class?!" His voice cracked with a mixture of disbelief and joy.
"Yes. Teacher."
The word had barely left my lips when he froze. His entire body trembled. And then—
"Finally!"
He leapt into the air like a man thirty years younger, spinning once before landing with both fists clenched in victory.
I stood there, blinking. What the hell am I witnessing?
"This... this day will go down in history! Write it in the annals! Inscribe it into the stones! Another Class-A student in Rune Studies!"
"...Another?" My brow furrowed slightly.
But the professor didn’t hear . He was too busy dashing to his desk, dragging out a crumpled parchnt. He shoved it into my hands with trembling fingers.
"Here! Sign this. Quick, before you change your mind, before soone steals you away to stupid Combat Arts or Elental Enhancent! Quick, quick!"
Suppressing a sigh, I scrawled my na.
The mont my pen left the page, Harry snatched the paper with lightning speed. Then, with the seriousness of a priest handling a sacred relic, he sprinted to the desk, knelt, unlocked a rune-sealed drawer with an elaborate mana-password, and placed the paper inside as though laying a newborn to rest.
When he closed the drawer, his shoulders quivered. I could’ve sworn I saw tears in his eyes.
He turned back to , his face twisted in a bizarre mix of glee and solemnity.
"Michael... I promise you, you won’t regret this. One day, the entire academy will kneel to the power of runes. You’ll see! They’ll all see! They called mad—mad!—but now..."
He threw his head back and laughed, arms spread wide.
"...I have disciples!"
"Finally..." His voice cracked. "Finally, another believer! My years of ridicule, the laughter of my colleagues, the pitying looks of those arrogant combat instructors—they will all burn in the flas of truth! Hah! Ha ha ha!"
I crossed my arms. "...Professor, you’re making reconsider."
His head snapped up. "No, no, no, don’t! You signed already! It’s official! You can’t escape now!"
Great. Just what I wanted to hear.
Trying not to sigh aloud, I kept my expression neutral. "If I’m the first student in years, why did you say ’another Class-A student’ earlier?"
That stopped him cold. For a mont, Harry froze, the joy draining from his face. He adjusted his glasses, blinking rapidly.
"Ah. Yes. The other one..." He trailed off, muttering under his breath. "Strange child, that one. Rarely attends. Brilliant, yes, but... unsettling. Like soone staring through you rather than at you."
I narrowed my eyes. "Who?"
He waved a hand dramatically, as though brushing away smoke. "No nas. Confidentiality! Teacher’s honor!"
But I caught the twitch at the corner of his lips, the way his fingers fiddled with the edge of his robes. He knew exactly who it was.
"Fine." I let it drop for now. Pressing too much would only make him dig deeper into his theatrics.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. What have I gotten myself into...?
"Your schedule will be sent to your academy ID," he added quickly, straightening his posture as if rembering he was supposed to be a professional. His voice dropped an octave, suddenly smooth and serious. "Welco, Student Michael."
He nodded, satisfied, then instantly broke character again, bouncing on his heels like a teenager. "Ahhh! I still can’t believe it! A Class-A prodigy, choosing this over flashy fireballs and sword swings! History is being made!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I’ll take my leave now."
"Yes, yes, go, eat, sleep, whatever you young geniuses do. But rember! Soon, you’ll thank ! Runes will change everything! The dungeons, the world, your very soul! Wahaha!"
His laughter echoed off the empty walls as I slipped out of the classroom.
Then the mask cracked imdiately. He clapped his hands together and spun around in a little circle, muttering: "He signed it, he actually signed it, oh gods I need to mark the date—what day is it—where’s my notebook—no, where’s my wine—no, focus, Harry, focus—"
I quietly backed toward the door, already regretting my life choices.
Still. Despite his lunacy, I endured. Because if my mory was correct... Runes weren’t just eccentric nonsense. They were the key to dungeons. To survival.
And I would need every edge I could get.
----
The academy cafeteria wasn’t a place—it was an ecosystem.
A sprawling hall with high-arched ceilings, glowing crystal chandeliers, and walls enchanted to reflect a shifting sky, it felt less like a place to eat and more like an indoor kingdom. The sll of roasted ats, baked breads, sweet pastries, and fried snacks hit the mont I stepped in, making my empty stomach growl like a beast.
But the noise—gods, the noise. Hundreds of students gathered in groups, voices overlapping into a chaotic symphony of gossip, laughter, and clashing personalities. So tables were dominated by noble heirs in silken uniforms, others by warrior brats comparing battle scars, and a few by scholarly types buried under scrolls.
And ?
I was... alone.
Even though I had briefly interacted with Leon and Selena at the Supre Hall, calling that "friendship" was pushing it. At most, we were acquaintances bound by circumstance. Walking in here solo only reminded of my outsider status.
This is fine, I told myself. A lone wolf eats more pizza.
I headed straight to the counter, where a middle-aged staff mber in a spotless apron greeted with professional politeness.
"What would you like, sir?"
"A large pizza with extra cheese," I replied instantly.
The staff raised a brow, scribbled the order on a floating note, and said, "Wait a mont, please... ah, that will cost 399 Arcade Points."
Without hesitation, I raised my wrist, letting the academy-issued smart watch project its holographic interface. My na and current standing flickered into the air:
[Michael – Year 1 Student – Rank: 1]
[Available Points: 1,000,000 ]
The staffer’s polite deanor cracked for a second. His eyes widened, lips parting in shock as he stamred, "S-Sir, you’re... Rank 1?!"
A few heads nearby turned. I resisted the urge to groan. Great. Exactly the kind of attention I didn’t want.
The staff quickly recovered, forcing a professional smile as he explained, "Rank 1 students of each year receive a twenty percent discount on all academy purchases, including food. So, your total cos to..." He trailed off, his eyes darting again to the massive number floating in my balance. "...far less than you’ll ever need to worry about."
"Good," I said flatly. "Keep the discount. I’ll be a regular."
Transaction done, I picked up my tray—pizza steaming, cheese lting over the edges—and scanned the hall for a seat.
Clusters of nobles laughed loudly in one corner, their table piled with extravagant dishes. Battle maniacs slamd tankards together, already treating lunch like a tavern brawl. Even the quiet groups were filled with scholars muttering over rune-theory or alchemy diagrams.
And then there was : a single figure carrying enough food for three, weaving through the sea of social kingdoms like an uninvited ghost.
I found a spot near the edge of the hall, far from the main groups, and sat down. The first bite of pizza nearly lted my soul. For one blissful mont, everything—the stares, the gossip, the overwhelming weight of being Michael—faded into gooey cheese and crispy crust.
If survival wasn’t on the line, I could retire into this pizza.
That’s when I heard it. A group of first years at the next table, voices buzzing with excitent.
"—the Freshers’ Ball’s coming up."
"Yeah, the seniors are organizing it again."
"You have to bring a partner, right? For the dance."
But then I overheard it.
"...the Freshers’ Ball this weekend."
The words hit like a bucket of ice water. I froze, mid-bite, my gaze flicking toward the group of first-years at the next table. They were laughing and chatting, oblivious to the way my skin crawled.
Freshers’ Ball.
In the "original" tiline, that event wasn’t just a party. It was the beginning of bloodshed. A demon infiltrated the academy, summoned by an Demon Worshiper within the Academy , and unleashed chaos right in the heart of the celebration. Students died. Promising talents fell. And the first glimpse of the true enemy erged.
I knew the pattern. I knew the script.
And now that I’d disrupted the plot so much Aura Holder revealed early, Alastor’s attention drifting toward instead of Leon—who knew if the tiline would hold at all?
Would the demon still appear at the ball?
Would Maria Frostheart still play her role?
Would more die because of my interference?
The night that claid the lives of side characters—good people—and twisted Maria Frostheart’s path forever.
I clenched my fist under the table.
I set the slice of pizza down, appetite fading into a knot in my stomach.
The cafeteria noise blurred into the background, a dull roar behind the pounding of my thoughts.
This world isn’t waiting for . The events are coming whether I want them to or not.
And the Freshers’ Ball... was just the first spark.
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