The lecture hall was alive with anticipation. Rows of students in their seats, eyes wide, hearts beating in rhythm with their curiosity. Each of them came seeking answers—seeking understanding of the forces that shaped the world, of the truths that hid behind the shimmering veil of magic.
At the front, stood Matsuo Kazuki. His presence demanded attention without a word. Dark hair fell in slightly uneven layers, catching the light in subtle shades of violet. Deep purple eyes carrying the weight of a thousand storms. In his hand rested a coffee mug that had seen better days, a stark contrast to the aura of power he radiated. Setting it aside, he began the lecture, not with a lesson, but with a question.
"What is magic to you?"
Voices rose. Power. Knowledge. Freedom. Protection. Each answer fell short of his expectations. Kazuki's expression remained unreadable, his gaze shifting from one student to the next as he pressed further.
"Why do you seek to learn magic?"
The students offered answers this time, dreams of achieving greatness, of mastering spells, of leaving a mark on the world. He responds with more questions.
"When you eventually reach those goals, what comes after? What then?"
The hall fell silent, the weight of the question pressing on young shoulders.
"When you close your eyes, what do you see?" His voice was steady, deliberate.
"When you cover your ears, what do you hear?"
"When you sit alone under the moonlight, what do you feel?"
The students hesitated. Some looked to their peers for guidance, others swallowed hard, unsure how to articulate the swirl of thoughts and feelings that followed them everywhere yet remained unspoken.
Kazuki let the silence linger, letting the weight of introspection settle in. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but authoritative, carrying the weight of experience.
"Magic is not for you to control. It is a conversation—a bargain between you and the world. To become a true sorcerer, you must first listen."
He moved slowly along the front of the room, each step deliberate, as if marking the path to comprehension itself.
"Surrounding us is a living energy, raw and untamed. It flows through everything—stone, water, air, even living beings. It responds to thought and will. Neither good nor evil, it simply is."
He paused, letting the words linger as he wrote a symbol on the board.
"Arcana."
The students perked up. Some scribbled notes, others leaned forward, eyes wide, eager to absorb every word. Kazuki's gaze swept over them, but it was empty of judgment.
A faint vibration thrummed underfoot, a reminder that Arcana wasn't theory, it was alive.
"Within you, lies a living reservoir. An energy every sorcerer naturally possess from birth."
Kazuki writes on the board once more.
"Mana."
"Processing Arcana," he said,
"creates Mana. Mana is what allows you to interact with the world. Misuse it, and the consequences are immediate and absolute. The world does not forgive carelessness."
The students nodded nervously. Kazuki's words were precise, almost clinical, yet there was a subtle weight behind them — a warning, a promise, and a glimpse of authority that could not be ignored.
On the balcony above, leaning on the carved rail, Asuna Saki, the Headmistress watched with one elbow propped and an adoring grin. Her mantle drapes over her shoulders like it was nothing special, just another layer of fabric instead of the symbol of authority it was. She waved, then folded her arms and returned to her people-watching.
"Today, you will learn to feel Arcana. To understand the world." Kazuki continued.
A pause. The room seems to breathe with him.
"Before you cast. Before you control. You must first listen."
The room stirred as Kazuki let the last words linger. A timid hand rose in the front row.
"Professor," a young girl asked, voice trembling, "if Arcana flows through everything… can we use it to… change anything we want?"
Kazuki's eyes swept the room, scanning eager faces, some skeptical, some awestruck.
"Of course," he said. "Magic is what you make it to be. Skills and talents play a role. But the rest—"
He taps his temple lightly.
"Is up to your imagination."
The words linger, letting the students' minds explore.
"If a sorcerer cannot imagine lifting a boulder, no amount of training will help them. This is what makes magic truly.. unique."
"So... magic is unpredictable?" said a boy in the back, arms crossed, doubt flickering behind his curiosity.
Kazuki tilted his head, almost reluctantly agreeing.
"I suppose it is. But… unpredictability isn't the same as chaos. Magic follows rules, rhythms, patterns..." he said as he paces around the pedestal.
"They're just… flexible. How it is understood is up to each sorcerer. That's why my role, along with the Trinity of Thoughts, is to give that understanding a strong foundation."
The words sank in slowly, as if the room itself was processing them.
"After all…" he said, gazing towards the distance.
"The Fundamentals aren't only about how to cast—"
He turns slightly toward the class, his eyes soft but piercing.
"—but when not to."
Another voice piped up, curious and daring.
"Professor, then could one person's magic be completely different from another's? Even if they use the same spell?"
Kazuki nodded, sipping from his mug.
"Yes. Same spell, different sorcerer— entirely different outcome. Magic is a reflection of the mind. A mirror of creativity, skill, and intent."
A student in the front row scribbled furiously, then glanced up.
"So… there's no one right way?"
"Exactly," Kazuki answered. "There is no one right way. There is only understanding. And from that understanding, every sorcerer builds their own path. My teaching is only a guide. The rest is up to you. Every spell you cast, every technique you develop… it comes from you."
A quiet tension lingered in the air. For many students, this was not just a lecture — it was a glimpse into the philosophy that set ScaMou Academy apart from any other magic school in the world.
"Now," Kazuki claps, grounding the room filled with awe, curiosity, and wonder.
"Harnessing—or processing Arcana, requires you to resonate your Mana with the surrounding Arcana."
Kazuki steps forward towards the pedestal. A faint aura of deep violet grows around him as he spread his hands. The students' eyes widened, glued to the subtle waves of his mana. Calming, like the midnight ocean lit by moonlight, yet strong enough to bend the air around him.
A dozen pens hesitated. A girl in the second row raised a hand.
"Professor, if someone has no Mana at all… how do they process Arcana?" she asked.
"They can study theory," Kazuki said, "but unfortunately, they can't process Arcana. No resonance, no conversion…"
He paused, and let his aura fizzle away in the wind.
"...No magic."
The lecture hall buzzed with voices, disbelief and relief weaving through the air in equal measure.
From the stillness, a hand emerged. A young water mage, his calm face unable to hide the bubbling thrill beneath.
"Professor—" he leaned forward, unable to contain himself, "are you saying… we're the chosen ones?"
Kazuki let out a small chuckle.
"I guess you could say that—though being chosen usually just means more work and less sleep."
The hall shimmered with laughter. Faces glowed with youth and hope, reflections of a world still unscarred. Kazuki watched them and thought, this isn't so bad.
"Look at you," a murmur came from the balcony, her voice laced with quiet amusement, unnoticed by a single soul. She smirked.
"You're enjoying this more than you'd admit."
"Alright, pair up and practice. Observe each other, adapt, then repeat."
The hall came alive. Students standing, voices weaving through the air, each searching for a hand to meet their own.
Kazuki paces amidst the chaos of youth.
"Although your Mana replenishes on its own, expanding your Aura speeds the work. The more Arcana your Mana encounters, the more you can process at once."
"Tighten your core; relax your shoulders. You should feel a slight tingle. Then, breathe out and expand."
Colors spilled across the hall as auras came alive. Jagged, trembling, or strangely geometric.
Kazuki strolled between the rows, offering quiet advice and steadying trembling hands. As he guided them, his voice carried through the hall.
"The world has its flavors, and so do you. Some lands breathe Arcana richer in one element than others. Just as your Mana follows its own taste." He paused with a faint smile.
"Affinity, is what we call it."
Kazuki walked back to the pedestal and lifted his mug. The coffee was warm and ordinary. Leaning on his desk, he watched as the young sorcerers experiment. Between the scattered struggles and laughter, a young earth mage's voice rose.
"Professor Kaz, I think.."
"Urk... who told you that?" he cut in, almost choking on the name.
"Huh? I heard the Headmistress say it."
Kazuki pinched his temple. "Yeah, well, don't ever repeat her mistakes."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said too quickly. "Does your absorption feel slow?"
"Uh… yeah. Am I doing something wrong?"
"Right," Kazuki sets his mug aside.
"Some of you might notice that your absorption feels faster than others—particularly those attuned to Wind and Light."
His gaze drifted toward a few bright-eyed students.
"That's because this building stands at high altitude, where the air moves freely and sunlight never quite fades. The Arcana here leans toward Wind and Light, favoring those who share its nature."
He paused, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Now, for those of you aligned with Earth… resonance will be a little harder."
A few groans rose.
"Don't worry. You only need practice. Our academy has places attuned to every element. Each waiting for you to find your rhythm."
"But Professor," a hand shot up from the crowd,
"Your Affinity is Darkness, right? How did you absorb Arcana that fast even though it's the opposite element?"
Kazuki blinked, then smirked.
"Oh? You noticed that[1]? I should give you extra credit for paying attention."
He set his mug down, his tone softening.
"It's not easy for me either. It only looks that way because I've done it for years. Even now, absorbing Light-aligned Arcana that fast gives me a headache, like someone poking inside my head."
A hush fell, then someone whispered,
"That's so cool…"
"Cool? It's Darkness," another student muttered, earning a few chuckles.
One girl leaned forward, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.
"So, Professor, how did you learn to do that? Doesn't it.. like.. hurt or something?"
Kazuki laughed softly.
"Oh, it does. Every time. But pain's a good teacher, though not one I recommend."
"Now, close your eyes, let's start again." Kazuki said, his voice calm as the midnight ocean.
"Breathe. Don't pull Arcana, feel it. Let the world breathe with you."
The classroom fell silent. Threads of faint light shimmered around each student. Soft blues, deep reds, pale golds. Some steady, others flickering like fragile embers.
"Good," he murmured. "Now, let it pass through your resonance—"
A flash erupted from the corner. A sharp gasp. Then chaos.
Wind surged, scattering papers and pushing students aside. The girl's Aura flared uncontrollably, jagged and wild, devouring every thread of Arcana it touched.
Not a heartbeat has passed, Kazuki is already by her side.
His hand found her shoulder, steady, grounding. The world seemed to slow as a faint pulse spread from him.
His Aura unfurled. The violet glow enveloped them both, not in force, but in gravity. A gentle dominion that pressed against the rogue flow, disrupting its wild rhythm. Containing it before it could spiral further.
She trembled, her breath uneven. Kazuki drew her slightly closer, one arm steadying her as if shielding her from the unseen storm. Their Auras touched, and slowly, the turbulence began to fade.
The blue shimmer around her shifted shape, finding its rhythm within his. Her pulse slowed. The light softened.
Within moments, the chaos was gone. The air hung still. Every student's Aura instinctively bowed beneath the quiet weight of his presence.
Kazuki loosened his hold, giving her space.
"That's it," he said softly.
"Don't fight the world. Let it find you."
For a moment, all was silent. No fear, no noise, only awe.
Saki secretly wore an amused expression. "Wow."
Footsteps echoed from outside. Sharp, hurried, growing louder.
The door burst open with a crack.
"Kaz! What happened?!"
A gust of wind followed the voice. Pure white hair, tied into a messy side-tail, fluttered as she stepped in. Yuuki Sagiri, the academy's so-called genius gyaru, looked ready for war.
"Sagiri?" Kazuki blinked.
"What's up?"
"Don't what's up me!" she said, marching in.
"I felt your Aura across the entire building! I thought someone detonated an Arcane Crystal or something!"
The students stared at her, whispering. Kazuki rubbed the back of his neck.
"Sorry. One of the students lost control, so I.."
"So you blanketed half the academy in pressure?" she cut in, exasperated. "You can't just do that! Do you know how many familiars fainted?!"
"...My bad," Kazuki said quietly.
Saki laughed softly from above. "He's getting soft," she whispered.
Sagiri sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"You scare me sometimes, Kaz. You really do."
Then she turned to the students and gave a peace sign.
"Don't worry, kids! Things happen sometimes, especially when learning magic. It happened to me too, way back then!"
A few nervous chuckles rippled through the hall. Kazuki just shook his head and took another sip of his coffee. A hand pointed toward the doorway.
"Professor... is that...?"
Kazuki followed the glance and smiled.
"Oh. This is Yuuki Sagiri. One of our Founding Members and author of The General Theory of Magic."
Sagiri straightened, a quick, proud lift of chin.
"It's Professor Sagiri, thank you very much." Her grin was sharp and bright.
Kazuki turned back to the students.
"You'll be seeing more of Professor Sagiri tomorrow. She'll be teaching the Principles of Magical Structure and Application."
Sagiri gave a mock bow.
"Bring notebooks. And please, no reckless experiments before noon. I prefer my headaches earned."
A ripple of amused chatter passed through the hall.
"That aside…" Sagiri's grin curled into something foxlike.
"You're getting touchy with your students, Professor Kaz? That's a big no-no, y'know~"
Kazuki sighed, eyes narrowing just slightly.
"She was unstable. I did that to ground her back to reality."
"Hee~ suuure you did." Sagiri leaned in, voice sing-song.
"Then why's she blushing like a tomato?" She pointed toward the flustered girl
Her face immediately vanished behind her sleeves. Kazuki pressed a hand to his temple.
"Sagiri…"
"What?" she said innocently, though her grin betrayed her.
"You've still got that hero complex, Professor Kaz."
He groaned at the name; she only smirked wider. Then softer, almost genuine, she added,
"Still, good work. You handled that better than most would've."
The sincerity lasted just a moment before the chaos returned. She spun toward the class, throwing up a peace sign.
"Alright, kiddos! Try not to blow up the place before tomorrow's lesson, yeah?"
Her laughter echoed through the hall as she strode out, white hair catching the morning light. Leaving behind a room full of stunned students and one very tired professor.
"That's… Professor Sagiri…?" one of the students whispered, still half-standing as the door closed behind her.
"She wrote that theory?" another voice followed, incredulous.
The air thickened with awe and disbelief. A few exchanged glances, some tilting their heads as if trying to match the image of the soft-spoken, effortlessly graceful woman with the monumental name printed on their textbooks. How could someone like that, someone who smiled as if the world was still beautiful, have written The General Theory of Magic?
Kazuki chuckled quietly, sensing the thoughts rippling through the room.
"Yeah," he said, brushing his bangs aside,
"I had the same reaction when I first found out she wrote a theory with Renge."
He stepped forward, voice carrying through the hall with calm authority.
"Professor Sagiri and Professor Renge's General Theory of Magic is the foundation of our modern understanding of how magic behaves. It laid out the relationship between Arcana, Mana, and the world's natural frequency. Ideas that every sorcerer today relies on. Their work gave us the vocabulary to even talk about magic scientifically."
He gestured upward toward the balcony, where Saki leaned with quiet amusement, eyes shimmering with mischief and pride.
"That theory," Kazuki continued,
"would later give birth to the Headmistress' own work. Principles of the Arcane Code. Saki took their framework and turned it into something alive, something that could be applied. She discovered that the flow of Arcana could be encoded, patterned, and regulated. Her theory transformed philosophy into method."
The students' gazes followed his hand to Saki, who smiled knowingly before meeting Kazuki's eyes.
"And together," Kazuki went on, his tone softening,
"Those two works became the foundation for mine. The Scientific Theory of the Arcane."
A quiet murmur spread through the room, the kind born not of gossip but of realization. The lineage of thought. Sagiri and Renge, then Saki, then Kazuki. Formed a visible thread in their minds.
Saki spoke at last, her voice clear even from the balcony.
"Sagiri taught us to ask the right questions," she said. "And you, Kazuki, answered them with tools. Your Scientific Theory is, for now, the most complete of our attempts."
For a heartbeat, the lecture hall fell into silence. Then, like a tide, the awe returned. Deeper, steadier, filled with respect.
Kazuki allowed himself a faint smile. For the first time in years, surrounded by the students' wonder, he felt a quiet, genuine sense of accomplishment. It wasn't pride in the applause or the title, it was the satisfaction of standing at the end of a long, shared journey of discovery.
Kazuki exhaled softly, his tone easing from lecturer to something more casual.
"Well," he said, closing his notes with a quiet thump,
"I guess that's enough for now."
A few students blinked, still half-caught in the lingering awe of the discussion. He gave them a faint smile.
"First period will end in a few minutes. Go clear your heads before we move on. When we come back, we'll continue with the Fundamentals of Spellcasting and Pacts."
The moment the words class dismissed left his lips, the hall erupted in hushed conversation. Chairs scraping, notebooks closing, and half-whispered theories bouncing off the walls. A few students lingered, stealing one last glance at Saki on the balcony before filing out.
Saki, still leaning casually on the railing, watched Kazuki as he gathered his notes.
"You've got their attention now," she said softly, a knowing glimmer in her eyes.
Kazuki smirked faintly.
"Let's hope I can keep it until lunch."
As the students spilled into the corridors, their excitement filled the air. A buzzing mix of curiosity, admiration, and anticipation for what was to come. The lecture hall, moments ago brimming with theory and revelation, fell quiet again, leaving behind only the faint trace of Arcana still humming from Kazuki's aura.
He walked the corridor slowly, letting the students pass like a river around him. Their faces bright with questions, hands still smelling of chalk and burnt candle wax. The sun slanted through the glass, catching in a boy's hair and turning it to copper for a heartbeat. Kazuki let himself smile.
You're right, Sak. This is pretty fun.
The memory rolled under his ribs like the tide.
— Flashback —
Evening, after the long, dusty day they'd spent expanding Saki's farm.
They had been bone-tired and bloody with honest work: setting new irrigation sigils, laying a small ring of arcane-laced stones to steady the north field. The harvest yields would be better for years because of that one day's work, and everyone smelled of earth and sweat and the kind of quiet that follows something worth doing.
Saki had been ridiculous. She always was when she was pleased.
She kicked off her boots against a crate, laughed at a crooked post they'd set, and then, as if the idea had arrived fully formed on the back of her mind, she turned to him with that sudden bright smile that made even the tired think it might be morning.
"Kaz, let's build an Academy next."
He blinked at her, surprised and still half full of field dust.
"What...?"
She shrugged like she'd been thinking about it for years.
"It'll be fun. You can be 'Professor Kaz', what do you think? Besides, you wrote an entire theory, so you're basically asking for it."
Kazuki had felt the heat behind the word theory. The half-remembered scribbles on parchment, nights of testing resonance curves with Sagiri and Renge, the way an equation could become a prayer and a tool all at once. He shifted the weight of his satchel and let a small, crooked smile surface.
"Don't tell me you published my.."
Saki's grin went wicked in a way that never suited a headmistress but suited her perfectly.
"Nope. Renge did all the work."
He had made a face.
"I have my theory. Sagiri and Renge have theirs. We'll be the three houses of thought,"
"A Trinity!"
There had been something bright in her voice then. Not strategic, not a calculation like the ones she sometimes kept for colder days, but as careless and absolute as a child deciding to name the sky.
Renge had only raised an eyebrow and said, deadpan,
"I suppose I'll be the archives if this turns into chaos."
While Sagiri was already kneeling in the dirt, arguing passionately about which lab benches to use and what to smash first for experimental results.
Kazuki remembered the way the light had hit Saki's face in that instant. It was not the same as it did when she stood in her seat as headmistress, but warmer, accidental. He remembered feeling something loosen inside his chest, a small permission to believe in the absurd for a moment.
"A Trinity!" Saki crowed again, stamping her foot like she meant it.
They'd laughed. He'd humored her with a small bow then. The kind of bow that meant he'd be there, whatever there turned out to be. At that moment, building a farm and then an academy sounded like the sort of thing two tired fools might promise each other over a shared meal.
Days passed, weeks. They had stayed later than usual that evening. The new wing rose behind them in pale stone and glass, its ribs still exposed to the sky, scaffolding cut the air into a lattice of shadow and light. A breeze carried the scent of wet mortar and crushed herbs from the farm below.
Saki wandered the half-finished corridor with the careless grace of someone inspecting a toy. She tapped a column with a fingertip and caught a mote of light between two fingers like it was something pliant.
"That didn't even take a month," she said, grinning. "You're excited, Kaz?"
He wiped a smear of dust from his sleeve and gave her a look that could have been tender or exasperated—it was often both.
"Halt your tongue," he muttered. "If this world didn't have magic, I'd still be digging holes for the foundation."
She laughed, soft and bright, and leaned her back against a stack of planks. The laugh bounced off the stone and made the whole half-built hall feel smaller, friendlier.
"Sak,"
He said after a breath. The work and the weeks had loosened something in him, made him blunt in a way he wasn't with most people.
"We've been living in seclusion for decades. We told ourselves not to interfere in mortal affairs. So why build an academy now?"
She considered the question like one considering a particularly good piece of fruit, rolling it in her hands until the answer came with a pop.
"Hmm…"
She tilted her head, pretending to rummage for the right words. Then she quoted him — slowly, precisely, as if tasting each syllable for meaning rather than echo.
"To put it in your words…"
"It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the Beauty and Strength of which his body is capable"
"...Wouldn't you say?"
The color of the setting sun caught her profile. The phrase hung between them. Kazuki froze as if someone had read a page of his buried journal aloud.
He opened his mouth, closed it, then let out a sound that was half a scoff. The question was not answerless. It slid up through his ribs and landed somewhere near the place that still remembered battlefields and ruined altars.
"Don't start quoting me to cozy crowds," he said finally, and the edge of his voice softened.
"You know I can't speak like that without meaning it."
Saki's grin broadened into something almost like triumph.
"Good. Then who better to teach them?"
Her hand brushed the bare stone and left a faint warmth, a sigil of a joke and a plan in one motion.
Around them the others leaned in, drawn by the impossible domesticity of the scene. Renge, always composed, had a ledger open and had already penciled a probable curriculum. Sagiri was arguing the merits of "practical implosions" for chemistry class with the sort of excitement that made even Kazuki's stern features crack.
Kazuki felt the strange, quiet thing settle inside him again. He glanced at the rising walls, at the scaffold shadows, at the way Saki watched the work like it was a story she was telling in real time.
"Fine,"
He said at last, and his voice held the tired kind of resolve that had carried him through worse nights.
"An academy it is. But Professor Kaz is not an honorific. Don't make me wear a mortarboard."
Saki snorted.
"Mortarboards are ugly," she said.
They laughed then, the sort of laugh that stitches two people into something like a family. The half-built academy kept its patient rise into the dusk as they planned. Rooms named, classes jotted on the back of a ledger, future disagreements already being sketched in the margins.
— Present —
When Kazuki's memory slid back into the present. There were lessons to prepare, wards to check, and a draft to write before dusk. The academy was already alive with tiny, human things: schedules, complaints, jokes. For the moment, that life was all the answer he needed.
[1] Kazuki's absorption speed