I watched him carefully as the professors finally left and students began filtering back into the classroom.
He moved with a strange combination of confidence and hesitation, as if constantly calculating his own actions.
Most students who achieved sothing remarkable would be basking in their mont of glory, accepting congratulations, perhaps even showing off a little more.
But Julian seed almost... regretful?
His shoulders hunched slightly as he returned to his seat, avoiding eye contact with the students who tried to approach him.
He declined handshakes and deflected questions with polite but firm brevity.
This wasn't the behavior of soone who had just achieved academic immortality.
This was the behavior of soone who had made a mistake and was desperately trying to minimize its impact.
My fingers tightened around my quill as a possibility ford in my mind.
What if Julian wasn't a regressor at all?
What if he was sothing else entirely—sothing I'd never encountered before in any of my lifetis?
...
The remainder of the class passed in a blur.
Corvus, clearly shaken by what had happened, delivered a watered-down lecture on fundantal compression principles—material so basic I could have recited it in my sleep after many lifetis of hearing it.
But for once, I wasn't annoyed by the elentary content.
When the bell finally rang, I gathered my materials slowly.
Reason?
I wanted to know what he was like.
And it wasn't like I had expected but Julian was one of the first to leave, slipping out the door with an efficiency that suggested he was eager to escape the attention he'd drawn.
Several students attempted to follow him, no doubt hoping to curry favor with the academy's newest prodigy, but he outpaced them easily.
I waited until the crowd thinned before making my own exit.
In the hallway, students clustered in groups, discussing what they'd witnessed.
The news was spreading so quick that the entire academy would soon know of Julian's feat.
"—never seen anything like it—"
"—hopping on one foot while patting his head—"
"—Albrecht himself ca down—"
I moved through them like a ghost, my footsteps silent against the polished marble floor.
Decades of practice had taught how to beco invisible when necessary, how to navigate crowds without drawing attention.
Now all I had to do was think, where would Julian go now?
If he truly was a regressor like , he would have a pattern, a routine he followed.
Identifying that pattern would be my first step in understanding him.
I turned a corner, still searching for any sign of Julian, when I collided with soone rushing from the opposite direction.
"Sorry, I wasn't—" I spoke up without a single thought, then recognized who stood before .
"Ah... Sorry about that Vice President..."
Lorraine Wintervale, the Vice President of the Student Council, straightened her uniform with a smile on her face.
"Francine, I've been looking for you."
"For ?" I asked, montarily distracted from my pursuit.
"Why?"
"I'm going to show you how to prepare for the annual match induction between first years and second years," she explained, checking her crystal tipiece.
"The Council selected you to choose this year's first-year team."
"Oh,"
I said, feigning surprise though I'd experienced this exact conversation many tis before.
In five of my lifetis, I'd declined the position since I was curious to see how events would unfold differently.
Well, unfortunately for the results had been universally disappointing.
"You know what it's called, right?"
"Yes, Capture the Flag,"
"An 8v8 match of the best talents within the respective year groups."
Lorraine nodded, apparently satisfied with my knowledge.
"Excellent. Then you understand the importance of selecting your team wisely."
I almost laughed at the irony. If only she knew that first years never win this particular event—not because second years are inherently more skilled, but because the truly exceptional first years never participate.
Franz, Audrey, Umi, and Uzan all consider it beneath them, a waste of precious ti that could be spent on individual advancent rather than proving themselves to people they already deem unworthy of their attention.
Their egos are simply too massive to participate in sothing as mundane as a school competition.
Why bother demonstrating your superiority when you already believe it to be self-evident?
In eighty-one lifetis, I had tried every conceivable combination of available first-year students.
I had adjusted strategies, exploited weaknesses in the second-year team that only beca apparent after watching them compete multiple tis, and even once resorted to subtle sabotage (which I'm not particularly proud of).
Nothing had worked.
Without the top-tier talents, victory remained almost impossible.
"I'll need the roster of available first years," I said to Lorraine, falling into the familiar rhythm of this conversation.
"And information on who's confird for the second-year team."
"Already prepared," Lorraine produced a crystalline tablet from her satchel.
"Though I should warn you, most of the prominent second years have already committed. Their captain this year is Marcel Dorn."
Marcel Dorn.
The na alone sent a chill down my spine.
Behind his charismatic smile and polished manners was a rotten and twisted darkness I'd witnessed unfold countless tis.
In my first life, I'd been ignorant of his true nature until it was too late.
I watched as he systematically targeted Kyra Devaruxe, a quiet but talented mage from a noble family.
His tactics began subtly—"accidental" encounters in the library, offers to help with assignnts, small gifts that seed innocuous.
By the ti his behavior escalated to possessiveness, isolation, and eventually threats, Kyra was already trapped in his web.
She left the academy before winter break that year, her promising future abandoned. The official story was "family issues," but I knew better.
I'd seen her tear-streaked face the night before she disappeared.
In other lives, I'd tried different approaches.
In my one of them, I befriended Kyra pretty early, creating a support system that made her less vulnerable to Marcel's manipulations.
In my thirty-second life, I anonymously reported his behavior to the administration.
In my fifty-ninth, I confronted him directly.
None of it mattered.
If not Kyra, he found another target. Sotis Elenore, sotis Umi, sotis girls whose nas history wouldn't rember.
Marcel Dorn was like a disease that adapted to every attempted cure.
My father's business relationship with the Dorn family complicated matters further.
In every lifeti, Lord Augustus Dorn's mining conglorate supplied the rare materials my father's magical artifact business required.
Any direct conflict between our families inevitably led to my father's financial ruin—a consequence I'd witnessed twelve tis before learning to be more subtle.
"Francine? Are you still with ?" Lorraine's voice cut through my mories.
"Yes, of course," I replied smoothly.
"I was just considering strategic approaches against Marcel's team."
Lorraine nodded approvingly.
"Good. With dual affinity talents, he'll be their strongest offensive player. You'll need to counter that sohow."
I made a noncommittal sound of agreent, though my mind was already elsewhere.
Marcel was indeed a problem, but one I was used to.
He was a variable I'd accounted for over decades of repeated experiences.
Julian Uzziel, however, was an unknown quantity, potentially more significant to my ultimate goal than Marcel could ever be.
The regression stone had co to with a purpose, after all.
It wasn't just to perfect my own life or accumulate personal power, but to prevent the catastrophe of the abyssal dinsion rging with ours and the resurrection of the King of All Demonic Beings.
***
[Julian's POV]
I slipped away from the lecture hall like a thief escaping a cri scene.
What have I done?
The only ti I wanted to show off—of trying to prove myself to an arrogant professor—and I'd completely ssed up sothing one of the characters were supposed to do.
"Idiot, idiot, idiot," I muttered under my breath as I navigated the crowded hallways.
Students parted before , their whispers following in my wake like persistent shadows. News traveled fast in Aethel Academy, and my unexpected mathematical triumph was already spreading through the student body like wildfire.
"That's him—"
"He solved the Zagata Theorem—"
"—special admission student—"
I quickened my pace, desperate to escape the attention. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. I was ant to be a background character, an observer who occasionally nudged events in the right direction. Not... this.
Not the center of attention. Not the focal point of the entire academy's curiosity.
-Vykekard, what have I done?
-You've certainly made quite the impression, young master. Though I must say, that "focusing technique" was... innovative.
I could hear the amusent in his ntal voice and felt my cheeks burn with embarrassnt.
-The system made do it! I had no choice!
-And yet the results speak for themselves. The question now is what you intend to do about it.
What indeed?
The damage was done.
Franz's defining academic mont had been stolen, potentially altering his entire character trajectory.
The faculty now saw as so kind of prodigy worthy of special attention.
And worst of all, my plan to remain inconspicuous was utterly shattered.
I pulled out the map Professor Thornfield had given , scanning it for my next destination.
I needed to lay low, perhaps find a remote corner of the library or...
My thoughts trailed off as my eyes landed on a massive bulletin board dominating the central hallway junction.
Students clustered around it, their expressions ranging from excitent to dread.
A large calendar spread across its surface, with today's date highlighted in bright red.
[FIRST-YEAR AND SECOND-YEAR COMBAT ARTS COMBINED CLASSES TODAY - NORTH ARENA - 2:00 PM ATTENDANCE MANDATORY FOR ALL REGISTERED COMBAT STUDENTS SPECTATORS WELCO]
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