The day after the duel dawned with a strange sort of silence. It wasn't the quiet of peace, but of expectation—like the breath before a storm. Clayton stepped through the gates of Vyrith's Arcane Academy, his robes trailing behind him in the morning breeze, his expression calm but guarded.
From the very first step onto the stone-paved path, he could feel it.
Eyes.
They were everywhere. Lingering glances from students, hushed whispers behind cloaks and gloves. Even the stone gargoyles on the tall archways seemed to be watching.
Just a few days ago, Clayton had walked these halls like a ghost. An unknown name. A transfer student barely acknowledged. But now… now he was the one who had bested Charles Edwards in a duel broadcast across the continent. The one who publicly humiliated the respected Edwards House and walked away smiling.
He was the center of attention.
As he walked into his primary classroom—Magical Systems and Arcane Channels—he felt the ripple again. Conversations slowed. Some students scooted over to create space; others awkwardly looked away when he caught them staring. He sat down without a word, unrolling his notes like nothing had changed.
But everything had.
Professor Yurell stepped in moments later, his flowing navy robes embroidered with sigils of containment. He was a man in his fifties, but his silver beard was kept short and immaculately shaped. His eyes narrowed when they locked with Clayton's, and something unreadable passed through them.
"Mr. Antigonus," Yurell said with a faint smile. "I see you've made yourself… noticed."
Clayton nodded, calm. "Good morning, Professor."
I think I remembered him; in the novel he was a loyalist to the Royal Archives, a faction that operated behind the scenes, guarding secrets deemed too dangerous for the public. Yurell was more than a teacher—he was a gatekeeper of forbidden knowledge. And in the story, he eventually played a key role in unsealing the ancient vault beneath the academy. His personality was very chill but he had the hunger for knowledge and he could do anything for it
For now, though, he was just the man standing before a group of twenty students, talking about mana circuits.
Clayton listened quietly, absorbing the lecture while subtly observing everyone around him. The other students weren't being subtle. They kept glancing at him, nudging each other, pretending not to stare.
But it was the moment in the middle of the lecture that truly shifted something.
Asher Augustus walked in five minutes late, his usual serene smile plastered on his face. He gave an apologetic bow to Professor Yurell, who waved him in with a sigh. Then Asher turned his head—and looked directly at Clayton.
Their eyes met.
And Asher smiled.
It was a soft, friendly expression. Harmless, even kind. But for some reason, it sent a cold shiver down Clayton's spine.
That smile didn't reach his eyes.
Asher Augustus. Third prince of the Lunar Kingdom, though he kept it hidden beneath layers of charm and apparent innocence. In the novel, Asher played the long game. No faction, no outward ambitions. But he was dangerous. A prodigy. Manipulative in silence, patient like a hunter in tall grass.
Clayton gave a polite nod and turned back to his notes.
That single moment had told him more than any rumor could.
Asher knew.
Not about my origin—not that I am from another world. But Asher knew Clayton wasn't ordinary. And now, he is watching.
After the lecture, Clayton walked through the academy's inner courtyard. Some students tried to approach him—two girls from House Verdan, a boy from a merchant family—but he politely excused himself. He didn't need fans. He needed clarity.
He had no electives yet; those would come later. But even without them, the academy schedule was grueling. Arcane Theory, Magical Ethics, Historical Spellcraft, and Combat Strategy were just the core classes, each layered with subtle evaluations.
He kept his head down and his ears open.
At lunch, he sat in the rear garden, a quiet space where students sometimes meditated or studied in peace. He opened his notebook, but not to review class content.
He was sketching training drills.
"I need to get stronger," Clayton murmured under his breath.
The duel with Charles hadn't just been a victory—it had exposed his limits. He barely won. Two and a half hits were taken, and he only won because of control, setup, and a bit of luck. He couldn't rely on surprise or underestimation anymore.
He needed to expand his mental resilience. Improve his reaction time. Train his body, too—he was too frail. The pain from overexerting during the duel reminded him that his body was still the same as before. This world was brutal, and being clever wasn't enough.
As he thought, he sensed movement.
From across the courtyard, someone watched him from behind a book.
Eric.
Silver hair, calm eyes, the picture of someone perpetually bored but always calculating. Clayton only caught his gaze for a second before the boy turned the page of his book and acted like he hadn't noticed.
Neither of them said a word.
But it was another piece on the board.
Eric hadn't contacted him. Not yet. But his presence here today was intentional.
Later that evening, back in his apartment, Clayton sat by the window, watching the students below as the sun set over Vyrith's high towers.
"I'm surrounded," he whispered. "All of them pretending. All of them playing their games."
But so was he.
He smirked faintly and turned to his notes.
Tomorrow, he'd begin his private training regime.
Let the world watch.