To be honest, I was kind of falling asleep.
Not the full face-on-the-desk kind of sleep, but that weird in-between zone where you forget you're even in a classroom. I was staring at the board, but nothing was going in. Mana Theory III, apparently. Or maybe it was Core Regulation II. Who really knows anymore.
This school's classes blur together like the background of a badly drawn manga panel.
The classroom lights were too bright today. The windows glared like mana crystals. And someone behind me was chewing something with the intensity of a battle priest chanting a ritual.
I sighed and rested my chin on my palm, glancing sideways at the ticking clock. Forty-three more minutes of pretending I had a clue what was going on.
I could feel the mana suppressors humming in the ceiling again. They never stop. Just low enough to give you a headache. The lockdown on open mana use had everyone cranky. Even the air felt staler without spells cycling through it.
"Kael."
I blinked.
The teacher—Ms. Kaen—was looking straight at me.
"Repeat what I just said," she said. Not angry. Just disappointed. Which is worse, somehow.
My mouth opened and closed like I was syncing subtitles.
"Uh… right," I said. "You were talking about… resonance alignment. With the… soulforge?"
A few quiet snickers floated from the back.
She didn't even dignify me with a "no."
"Page 143. Read silently," she said, and turned back around.
I nodded like that somehow redeemed me.
The class ended and the bell rang. Now was lunch break
Then he spoke.
"Oh, come on," Vandrel Solmir said from the row behind mine. "Soulforge? You seriously said soulforge?"
Here we go.
Vandrel was that type of guy who thought every conversation needed to orbit him. His voice was loud enough to cut through a barrier spell and twice as obnoxious.
"It's literally in the syllabus," he said. "But sure, make something up. Again."
I didn't answer. Just stared at my textbook and pretended the words were going to save me.
"Man, what are you even doing in this school?" Vandrel kept going. "You don't train. You don't cast. You sleep through half the classes. Was it a pity slot or something?"
My lips moved before my brain did. "I got a recommendation," I muttered, still looking at the page.
He leaned in theatrically. "Sorry, what was that?"
"I said I got a recommendation."
"From who? A librarian?"
"The vice president of the Guild of Verdance."
That shut him up for about half a second.
"Wait, for real?" Vandrel asked. "Verdance? Isn't that where your 'mysterious uncle' works? That guy who drops money and disappears like a myth?"
"He's busy."
"Saving the world or something?"
"…Yeah, actually."
Vandrel laughed like I'd told him a joke with no punchline. "That's rich. So what, your uncle throws cash at your grandma and dumps you here like a stray? No wonder you're so… passive."
I tried to smile. I really did.
"Can you just shut up?" I said, still barely audible.
He grinned wider. "Hit a nerve?"
I didn't say anything.
"You don't even deny it anymore," Vandrel said. "Your whole family's a walking sob story. Your parents blow up in a car accident, your uncle ditches you, and now you're what? The school mascot for emotional resilience?"
I looked down.
I don't know why I didn't say anything . Maybe because it was so specific. Maybe because it was easier than crying.
But my fingers were clenched.
Everyone was pretending not to listen. That's the rule. Don't engage. Don't make eye contact. Let the loser be a loser and hope it's not you next week.
I said in a voice barely audible "that is not funny"
But do you know what's funny, In a world of dragons and dimensional storms, your parents managed to die in a car crash? That's not tragic, Kael—that's pathetic.
And I punched him.
I didn't mean to. Or maybe I did. It was one of those moments where the body makes the decision before the brain catches up. My fist connected with his face in a loud, wet sound, and he crumpled back over his desk.
Silence. Complete, cold silence.
Even the mana suppressors seemed to pause.
A red warning light blinked softly above us. Mana regulators pulsed in alert mode—no spells detected, just violence. The school's security enchantments were likely pinging a minor incident to the head office already.
I stood there, frozen.
Vandrel groaned. "You little—"
Then Kenji Sakamoto stood up.
He'd been sitting two rows to the right. He hadn't said a word all class. That was typical for him. Tall, clean-cut, always in uniform, always calm. Strongest guy in school by a mile, but he never showed it off. Never needed to.
Kenji walked over and looked at me.
"I think you should sit down," he said. Not an order. Not a threat. Just a simple, grounded truth.
I nodded. My hands were still shaking.
Vandrel muttered something like a curse, but Kenji turned to him with a look I can't describe. Not anger. Just disappointment.
Which, again, is somehow worse.
Later, after Ms. Kaen stormed in and hauled me out, I was sitting outside the principal's office, waiting for judgment.
My heartbeat had slowed. Sort of. But my thoughts hadn't.
I didn't punch him because I wanted to win.
I punched him because he made everything I survived feel like a joke. Because I tried to ignore it, deny it, be polite, be awkward, be invisible. I tried.
But when someone throws your dead parents into a punchline—when someone treats your life like a casual burn in a hallway—sometimes, you snap.
I'm not strong. Not like Kenji. I don't have legendary bloodlines or dragon-tier mana.I am not smart with photographic memory like Izumi
The moment my fist connected, everything changed.
It wasn't just the sound — that sharp crack — or the way his face twisted, shocked, hurt. It was like I shattered some invisible glass wall between me and the world, and suddenly everyone could see the broken pieces.
I didn't even realize I was standing up until the teacher's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and angry. People were shouting now—calling names, throwing accusations. Some students stared at me like I'd become a monster overnight. Others whispered behind cupped hands, the kind of whispers that make you want to disappear.
I didn't say a word.
I didn't need to.
I knew the story. I was already the villain. The weak kid who lost control. The kid who couldn't take it anymore.
They pushed me forward—teachers, monitors—like I was a criminal being led to the judge. The halls suddenly felt longer, narrower, colder. The crowd thinned, but the weight didn't lessen. Every step felt like walking on glass.
My heart hammered.
I kept my eyes down, trying not to see the stares, the judgment, the pity.
The world was quiet in a way I'd never known before.
Not the silence of peace, but the silence of being erased.
I thought about Vandrel's words. That cruel, careless jab at the thing I had no choice in: my parents, gone in a blink, a car crash no magic could save me from.
It wasn't the first time I'd heard it.
Not by far.
But this time, something inside me cracked with it.
That's why I hit him.
That's why I walked away, but felt like I'd drowned in the storm I'd made.
The corridor stretched endlessly until we reached the principal's office.
The door loomed ahead — solid, unyielding. Like the verdict itself.
The guards at the door said nothing.
Just nodded. Motioned me in.
I paused.
Took a breath that felt too heavy for my lungs.
Then stepped forward.
Before me was the polished wood door, tall and dark, with a nameplate that said simply:
Yulain — Headmaster
No warmth.
No invitation.
Just the cold, steady hum of power waiting behind.
I didn't knock.
I didn't hesitate.
I stood there for a long moment—long enough for my skin to feel brittle, my mind numb—waiting.
And then, the door opened.
A faint voice greeted me.
No anger.
No surprise.
Just a simple, "Kael Veris."
The weight of those words pressed down on me harder than any punishment could.
That was all.
A greeting.
Cold. Formal.
Final.
And I was alone.