The classroom buzzed with restless whispers. For the first time, the talk wasn't about homework, gossip, or weekend plans—it was about magic.
Chizuru Mokoto leaned forward, her sharp eyes sparkling with curiosity. "So… how exactly does someone get magic?"
The group turned toward Nami Yamada, who always carried herself with the calm air of someone who knew things. She crossed her arms and replied matter-of-factly.
"Magic isn't something you just pick up. It's generational. Passed down from parents to children, and then to their children. It stays within the bloodline. But it doesn't stay the same—it grows stronger depending on your determination, your training… and your Reikon."
"Reikon?" Chizuru tilted her head. "What's that supposed to be?"
The group fell silent, eyes shifting back to Nami. For once, she seemed unsure.
"I don't know," she admitted, biting her lip. "I just know it's… connected to magic. That's all."
The others exchanged puzzled glances.
"Reikon…" Kai muttered under his breath. "Sounds like something out of a video game."
Kenji shrugged. "As long as it makes me stronger, I don't care what it is."
Ryujin stayed quiet. He stared out the window, his brown eyes unfocused, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.
Before anyone could press further, the shrill ring of the bell echoed through the academy.
"Alright," Kenji groaned, "time for the big event."
They shuffled toward the locker rooms, the excitement building. Students were already pulling off their uniforms and slipping into training gear.
Inside the changing room, Ryujin hesitated. He stared at his hands as he unbuttoned his shirt. They were trembling, just slightly, but enough for him to notice.
He clenched them into fists. Why am I shaking?
"Bro, you good?"
Ryujin turned to see Kai watching him.
"Yeah," Ryujin forced a grin. "I'm just… excited for the test, that's all."
Kai raised a brow but didn't press further. "Don't go dying on me. I still gotta pay you back for that kick."
The academy grounds were alive with energy. Hundreds of students gathered in neat rows, the sun casting a golden glow over the marble training field. At the center stood their homeroom teacher, Yamada-sensei, his black robes fluttering in the wind.
He raised a hand, and the entire field fell silent.
"Welcome, students," his voice boomed, firm but calm. "Today is the day you step beyond mere technique. Today, you will awaken your magic."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"This is where your Reikon begins to evolve," Yamada-sensei continued, his gaze sharp enough to cut through steel. "And from here, some of you may one day rise to become Head Fathers of your noble houses."
Kenji leaned toward Ryujin, whispering, "Head Father… sounds like a big deal."
"Shut up," Nami hissed. "Listen."
Yamada-sensei clasped his hands behind his back. "But first, a question. What is Reikon?"
The students exchanged nervous glances. Silence stretched, until finally, a girl near the front raised her hand timidly.
"It's… the amount of soul power in your body," she said. "To release magic."
Yamada-sensei smiled faintly. "You are mostly correct. Reikon is the energy inside you—the essence of your soul. It is what allows you to wield magic. But more than that… it is what can make you a god, should you become strong enough."
Gasps spread through the rows.
"Reikon is not trained through shortcuts," Yamada-sensei pressed on. "It grows only through your power, your stamina, your endurance, and the sharpening of both body and mind."
He spread his arms. "Now, let us begin with your awakening. Concentrate. Calm your breathing. Chant these words fifty times, and focus on building the image of your Reikon."
The students lowered themselves into a meditative stance, the field filled with murmurs as they began their chants.
But not everyone was impressed.
"Tch." A boy stood up, his uniform adorned with a golden crest that screamed rich. "This is boring. Chanting? Breathing? What kind of bullshit is this? My family doesn't waste time on—"
In an instant, Yamada-sensei was standing before him. One moment he was at the center of the field, the next he was inches away, his eyes cold as steel.
"Magic is not 'bullshit,'" the teacher said, his voice sharp as thunder. "This is Reikon. And if you think it's a waste of time… then let me show you something you will never forget."
The boy froze, swallowing hard as the rest of the students leaned forward in anticipation.
Yamada-sensei turned his gaze toward the distant Kurisa Mountain, nearly nine kilometers away. A single tree stood there, a speck barely visible against the sky.
"Watch closely," he commanded. "Especially those of you who dream of becoming true warriors. Watch, and remember what it means to surpass your limits."
He raised his hand. Sparks flickered at his fingertips, then roared to life.
"Lightning Reikon… Thunderbolt Arrow."
A massive surge of electricity formed in his palm, condensing into a blinding bolt. The air itself trembled, the smell of ozone filling the ground. Students gasped, shielding their eyes from the sheer intensity.
And then—
Nothing.
The thunderbolt vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Confusion spread like wildfire. "Huh? Did it fail?" "What happened?"
"Check the tree," Yamada-sensei said calmly.
One of the wealthier students fumbled for his phone, opening the academy's live surveillance feed. His eyes widened.
"The… the tree—it's gone!"
Gasps erupted.
The cameraman, who had been stationed to record the test, quickly played back the footage in slow motion. On the screen, the thunderbolt was visible—a streak of light so fast it blurred into nothing, tearing across the sky and obliterating everything within a hundred meters of the tree.
Silence gripped the field. The scale of what they had witnessed left their hearts pounding.
"This," Yamada-sensei declared, his voice echoing, "is Reikon. This is magic. The power of your soul made manifest. Remember this sight, for it is the path you now walk."
The students sat frozen in awe, the image of that thunderbolt etched into their minds. For many, this was the first time they truly understood what it meant to be a noble.
Ryujin clenched his fists at his sides. His hands trembled again—not from fear this time, but from something deeper. Excitement. Dread. A strange, gnawing uncertainty.