As he exited the testing hall, Caldus was already waiting for him in the corridor, arms crossed, leaning casually against a stone pillar. He gave Akito a knowing glance.
"No mana. No magic. Swordwork needs serious help. Impressive performance," Caldus said dryly, pushing off the wall. "Come with me."
Akito followed without asking questions, the hallway quiet save for the faint hum of magical conduits running beneath the floor.
They entered the eastern wing of the academy, past arcane lecture halls and meditation chambers, until they arrived at a door with intricate carvings—runes etched into the wood and small, glowing seals faintly pulsing along the frame.
Caldus opened it with a touch, the runes flickering out as they stepped inside.
The room was filled with books and scrolls stacked in haphazard towers, suspended diagrams of magical circles rotating in midair, and strange relics encased in crystalline shells. One corner had a wooden sparring dummy and a rack of dulled practice swords. A round window filtered in dusty afternoon light.
"From now on," Caldus said, turning to face him, "you have permission to skip all the standard magic classes. You'll report here instead."
Akito blinked. "Wait… I'm allowed to skip class?"
Caldus nodded. "Officially. We'll say it's 'remedial independent study under a specialized arcane instructor.' But really, it's because you lack any capacity for traditional magic. So instead, you'll build your body, hone your swordsmanship, and more importantly—" he reached into a drawer behind his desk, "—you'll study this."
He handed Akito a thick, dusty tome.
The book was bound in deep indigo leather, smooth to the touch despite its age. Etched on the front was a single symbol: a perfect circle bisected by a vertical line with a curl—Φ, the Greek letter phi.
The moment Akito saw it, his eye throbbed faintly.
He took the book and opened it—and his breath caught.
The text was in English.
Not the Common Tongue of this world, but unmistakably English. Every word, every sentence, structured in a language he hadn't seen since leaving Earth. Yet it was pristine and legible, as if the ink were freshly printed.
Caldus was still watching him. "I can't read it. The language is unlike anything in our known linguistic branches. The magic woven into the binding reacts strongly to your presence, though. It's been in the restricted archives for decades. I pulled it out after I saw the mark in your eye."
Akito's heart raced. He remembered the oddity: how everyone in this world spoke a language identical to his own, yet the writing had always been alien. The letters in books, signs, even student materials—none of them resembled anything familiar. Until now.
"This…" Akito muttered, running his fingers over the first page, "This explains something about the nature of… Phi. My eye."
"Good," Caldus said, tone quieter now. "Then start there. That book might hold the key to why you're here—and what you're capable of."
Akito sat at the side table, already flipping through the first few pages. Complex diagrams swirled alongside detailed notes—observations about spatial distortion, temporal loops, non-linear probability… and most importantly, the power to utilize the laws of physics.
Akito's eyes widened as he read, his breath catching with every page turned.
Equations that described space not as a fixed field but as something elastic, malleable. Notes on manipulating kinetic energy through localized anchor points. Diagrams illustrating folds in time—not time travel, exactly, but micro-reflections in causality. It wasn't just theoretical—it was instructional.
The book wasn't written about Phi. It was written for Phi.
"For someone like me…" Akito whispered, a shiver running down his spine.
It wasn't just knowledge. It was understanding. A scientific approach to what this world considered magic—filtered through the laws of his former world. Cause, effect, leverage, vectors. It all made terrifying, beautiful sense.
His fingers trembled as he touched the Phi symbol again on the cover.
"No wonder Caldus was interested…" he murmured, casting a glance at the professor still lounging in the corner with a teacup and an amused look. "You knew I wasn't from here."
Caldus raised a brow. "I suspected. The eye only confirmed it."
Akito leaned back, eyes dazed, mind spinning. "This changes everything…"
"Then keep reading," Caldus said, sipping his tea. "Let it change you."
And so he did.
Akito read through the morning, past lunch, and into late afternoon. Diagrams, field applications, limitations and potential risks. A hidden section that required a drop of blood to open revealed more—personal notes from the book's mysterious author. Warnings. Encouragements.
By evening, the light outside had faded to a soft orange, and his thoughts swirled in chaotic order, each new revelation stacking upon the last.
Exhausted but exhilarated, Akito finally closed the book and tucked it safely into a cloth satchel Caldus gave him. He bowed slightly to the professor. "Thanks, Caldus, or maybe I should call you Professor Marrenvar."
Caldus gave him a side glance, one brow lifting in dry amusement. "You can call me Professor Marrenvar when I start wearing a pointy hat and demanding essays. Until then, just Caldus is fine."
Akito smirked, slinging the satchel over his shoulder.
"Now," Caldus continued, folding his arms as he leaned against the edge of the desk, "you should get some rest. Tomorrow's your first physical lesson with the other students. Morning drills start at the crack of dawn—basic sword forms, footwork, stamina building, and a whole lot of sweating."
Akito groaned softly. "So basically, a full-body punishment."
Caldus chuckled. "Exactly. And if your legs don't feel like jelly by noon, the instructors will assume you're slacking. Oh—and don't forget the sparring session in the evening. That'll be your real introduction."
"Let me guess," Akito said, feigning dread. "They're going to pair the new guy with the most enthusiastic puncher."
"With the most curious one," Caldus corrected, amusement still dancing in his eyes. "You're already a mystery, skipping magic lessons your first week. Expect a few eager types to try and figure out what makes you special."
Akito's expression sobered a little. "Nothing makes me special… yet."
"Good," Caldus said, pushing off from the desk. "Keep that attitude. It'll keep you hungry. And sharp."
The two exchanged a nod. Then Akito turned and made his way back into the hall, the quiet echo of his footsteps the only sound as he moved through the dim corridors of the academy.
Back at the dorm, the sky had turned violet, the last traces of daylight casting long shadows across the academy grounds. The corridor outside was hushed, a few muffled voices and footsteps echoing down the stone hallway. Akito slipped into his room and quietly shut the door behind him.
He dropped the cloth satchel on his desk, the book inside heavy with both weight and meaning. He lit the enchanted lantern with a small tap, its soft glow spreading over the wooden surface and illuminating the diagrams he'd spent the day studying. Symbols of force, vectors, space-time curves—concepts from Earth woven into the fabric of this world's logic.
He pulled out a single coin from his pouch—a silver piece of coin, glinting faintly in the lanternlight.
"Let's see if I really understand this…"
He stood in the center of the room and steadied his breath. The mark in his right eye—Φ—flickered faintly as he concentrated, the world around him subtly shifting in tone. A tension hummed in the air, like the pause before lightning strikes.
He flipped the coin into the air. It spun quickly, catching the light as it arced.
Then, Akito willed it.
The coin froze mid-spin. Not slowed. Not suspended.
Stopped—completely inert in midair. No tumble, no wobble. As if motion itself had been denied.
Akito blinked. The tension in his body didn't release until he exhaled. The coin dropped to the floor with a small metallic clink, like a punctuation mark at the end of a silent revelation.
"…Newton's first law," he whispered to himself, a grin creeping across his lips. "An object in motion stays in motion—unless something acts on it."
He looked at his hand. No mana surge. No incantation. Just will, focus, and the quiet mechanics of physics... twisted into something almost magical.
Akito picked the coin up again, still grinning.
"Professor's gonna be surprised tomorrow," he murmured, eyes gleaming in the lanternlight. "Hehe…"
Meanwhile, in the Third Tier's student wing, word had already spread.
"Did you hear?" Farren grinned, spinning a practice dagger between his fingers with casual flair. His spiky red hair bounced with each exaggerated motion. "The new student isn't attending magic class."
"No way. Is he cursed?" Nella snapped her notebook shut, her eyes gleaming behind her square-rimmed glasses. Her long black ponytail swayed as she turned.
"I heard he's on special training," Faren replied. "Bet he's some brooding genius type. Y'know, quiet… mysterious… tragic past."
"You read too many romance books," said Nella
"Still… training with Professor Marrenvar? That's no joke."
"A professor?" Nella raised a brow. "He must've bribed someone."
"Or he's crazy strong," Farren said, eyes gleaming. "Think about it. Why else would someone be exempted?"
The group was gathered in the common room, eating and preparing their kits for the next day's physical training. Curiosity buzzed between them like static.
"Well," Farren said with a yawn, "we'll find out tomorrow. He's coming to the physical class, right?"
Nella smirked. "Can't wait to see if the mystery boy can even hold a sword."
They laughed, eager, half-teasing, half-hopeful.