The moment Professor Argois stepped away from the podium, whispers started bubbling up again like steam from a kettle.
"Professor Argois is the Argois Threpter, right?"
"I heard he personally trained the youngest Archmage in the empire."
"They say just being in his class guarantees employment after graduation…"
Boasting, admiration, borderline worship. It filled the room. Honestly, I couldn't even blame them. The guy's a living legend within Arcadia's walls.
But then one sharp look from those crimson, hawk-like eyes sliced through the chatter.
Silence. Immediately.
Yeah. They tracks.
From what I remembered of NOTFH's lore, Argois was the no-nonsense archetype down to the bone. The type to make a room of geniuses feel like misbehaving toddlers. I almost pitied the idiots who thought casual gossip in his class was a good idea.
Argois sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if their existence gave him a headache.
"Pay attention," his voice cut through the room like a clean blade. "All of you."
Every back straightened.
His gaze swept across the room, momentarily pausing on me before moving on.
"There are talented people among you," he continued, "and… uniquely gifted individuals as well."
I blinked. Uniquely gifted? What was that supposed to mean? I didn't have mana, talent, or charm. If 'uniquely gifted' meant 'most likely to die early,' then sure, that was me.
I shook the thought off and focused.
"As you know," Argois continued, "Arcadia Academy produces four types of graduates: Mages, Scholars, Warriors, and Magic Knights. Each of you will be pushed to your absolute limits during the four years you spend here."
His tone sharpened, eyes narrowing slightly. "And the reason it is four years is not tradition. It is necessity."
He paused, letting the words settle before continuing.
"In recent decades, an increasing number of Arcadia's most promising graduates have been targeted by the organization known as Ethris. Some have vanished entirely. Others… their fates remain unknown to the public. Precautions have been established to ensure the safety and preparation of every student before they leave these walls."
The room instantly filled with nervous whispers.
"Ethris has been more active lately…"
"I heard someone from last year's top ten disappeared."
"Do you think they're kidnapping people…?"
I sat still, hands clasped under the desk.
Kidnapping is putting it lightly.
I knew the truth. In NOTFH, Ethris wasn't just a shadowy boogeyman—they were one of the major villain organizations. Their specialty? Abducting the brightest Arcadia graduates and turning them into living weapons through horrific experiments.
And some of the worst scenes in the mid-game were tied to those disappearances.
Professor Argois cleared his throat. The room locked back onto him like soldiers under command.
"I do not expect all of you to pass through these years unscathed," he said, tone level but firm. "Many of you will stumble. Some may fail. And that is acceptable—if you have truly tested yourselves. But…"
His eyes gleamed faintly, like embers behind a steel mask.
"If you give your all, if you hone your minds, bodies, and spirits to their limits—then show me. Show the academy. Show the world what Arcadia's future looks like. That is why you are here."
Silence. The kind that settles not out of fear, but weight.
Then, with the faintest tilt of his head, he asked, "Questions?"
None. Not a single hand raised.
He nodded slowly. "Then, class begins—"
Click.
The sound of the door opening echoed through the quiet room.
Every head turned.
Standing there with lowered eyes was Rumia Von Yuraveil.
The whispering started again like someone had poked a nest.
"She's late?"
"Maybe she had urgent family business…"
"No way she overslept, right?"
My gaze fixed on her. Rumia… late? No. That wasn't normal. In the game, she was the model noble student—prim, punctual, borderline perfectionist.
Then I saw it.
A faint redness blooming on her cheek.
My eyes narrowed, then softened, just slightly. Ah… right. Thatwoman.
Helen Von Yuraveil. Rumia's lovely aunt, who doubled as her emotional executioner.
I sighed inwardly. Not my business. Not my problem. Even if I wanted to help, what could I do? I'm a no-mana commoner with a trash reputation. My words would mean less than dirt.
Besides, Rumia's future role as the "Villainess" was its own cursed road. All I could realistically do was… what? Make her life a bit less miserable? Maybe crack a joke or two? Or just… stay far, far away?
The latter sounded smarter.
While I was lost in thought, Argois instructed her to find a seat. She nodded curtly and walked into the room.
And then chaos.
Male students straightened like soldiers volunteering for war, offering their seats with hopeful smiles. A mix of respect and greedy ambition painted their faces.
Female students tried to wave her over too, smiles saccharine, some clearly trying to get closer to her status.
She ignored all of them. Her eyes scanned the room slowly, gliding from one side to the other.
Meanwhile, I was still mentally arguing with myself about staying out of her story arc.
Then—
THUD!
A sharp sound hit the desk beside me.
I jumped slightly, head snapping to the side.
A pale, elegant hand rested on the desk, the impact still vibrating faintly through the wood. And attached to that hand was—
Oh.
Oh no.
Rumia.
Her golden eyes stared down at me with that unmistakable noble blankness—somewhere between disgust and icy indifference. Her silky black hair framed her face like dark ink spilling over fine paper.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
Then she looked away and gracefully slid into the empty seat next to me.
Right next to me.
I stared straight ahead, feeling a bead of sweat roll down my temple.
Why?
Why is she sitting here?
Of all the desks in this massive room… why mine?