The magic academy operated under strict boarding rules, requiring students to reside on campus five days weekly.
"They should have two days of school and five days off!" The woman grew increasingly agitated, tugging at her husband's sleeve.
"Go talk to the headmaster tomorrow!"
Nick massaged his temples with a sigh.
This mother was truly something else.
At dawn's first light, Nick Adams unusually threw off his velvet covers himself.
While warm oatmeal still rolled down his throat, his father's family-crested carriage was already carrying him toward Maltz Magic Academy five miles away.
The youth's hands trembled slightly as he clutched his clothes.
Those elemental resonances and chantings he'd read about in ancient texts - today he would witness them firsthand.
A familiar carriage stood before the academy's gilded gates.
Nick narrowed his eyes at the silver serpent emblem coiling around the shaft - it belonged to the mayor's household, that McArthur who always gave him trouble.
The rotund, pumpkin-shaped mayor stroked his belly with a chuckle.
"Baron Adams, have you also come to send off your son?
Your boy looks even more radiant than a few days ago."
"My son naturally takes after me!
He'll grow into a mighty warrior!" Stevenson slapped his chestplate-solid torso with pride.
Nick inwardly shook his head.
Just as he remembered, his father remained the straightforward warrior who couldn't detect subtle mockery.
"Indeed," old Rubin's face crinkled into smiling folds.
"How enviable to have an heir as outstanding as Nick."
Stevenson finally caught the acidic undertone, a cold snort escaping his nostrils.
Everyone knew his son was the town's infamous wastrel—this "outstanding" remark was clearly a whip crack across his face.
Nick spotted MacArthur hiding behind the mayor, secretly smirking.
Flames of anger suddenly ignited in his chest.
In his previous life as heaven's favored son, when had he ever endured such ridicule?
He originally thought the wastrel's enemies might not be villains, but now this father-son pair deserved to be recorded in his little black book.
What infuriated him most was their audacity to publicly undermine his father's dignity.
Since fate granted him a second chance at life with this adorably blunt father who cherished his son above all, how could he allow outsiders to bully them?
"Father," Nick suddenly leaned in to whisper, "if I recall correctly, you're a legitimate baron, aren't you?"
Stevenson froze.
Why would his son ask something every three-year-old in town knew?
His rugged brow twitched before sudden understanding dawned—old Rubin was merely a baronet!
According to imperial law, he must kneel before higher nobility.
The baron's spine straightened abruptly, his gilded epaulets flashing sharply in the morning light.
In that instant, Stevenson grasped the situation perfectly.
Adjusting his collar, he lifted his chin slightly.
"Lord Rubin Prewitt, I am Baron Stevenson Adams of the Maltz territory..."
Old Rubin had sensed trouble when he heard Nick's earlier remark, hoping the brute wouldn't catch on.
But now the man was suddenly playing the noble card.
The mayor could only force a stiff smile, dropping to one knee in imperial etiquette, palm pressed against his portly chest as his voice squeezed through clenched teeth.
"Greetings, my lord Baron..."
Stevenson emitted a light hum from his nose, waving dismissively.
Watching the plump mayor struggle unsteadily to his feet, he felt like setting off fireworks inside.
This old fool usually looked down on everyone from his mayor's pedestal, even disregarding Maltz's only noble.
Today, he'd finally been put in his place.
Nick lightly rubbed his fingertips against his sleeve.
So this was the delightful taste of looking down on others—no wonder the original owner became the town's public enemy.
His peripheral vision caught MacArthur's venomous glare from the crowd.
The young man narrowed his eyes.
Since he'd inherited this body, he ought to settle some old scores for the original owner.
"The mayor is unusually courteous today."
A gentle voice came from near the carriage as Pastor Curtis helped a white-robed girl alight gracefully.
Old Rubin's face instantly turned liver-purple, but the pastor appeared not to notice, carefully straightening the girl's wind-tousled silver-white hair ribbon.
The girl stood like a freshly bloomed white rose, her breathtaking beauty already evident though not fully matured, childhood innocence still lingering between her brows.
Gazing at Miss Sylvia—the girl who haunted the original owner's dreams—Nick suddenly understood why the former wastrel always fantasized about sharing intimate moments with this beauty.
He gently touched his chest.
Since fate had granted him a second life, it was only right to fulfill the unfinished business left by the original owner of this body.
In his previous life, Nick had been the brightest rising star in the scientific community, receiving piles of confession letters daily—many containing bold declarations of love from beauties of various races.
Yet back then, his eyes were only on experimental data; he'd hand even the most heartfelt love letters directly to his assistant for disposal.
Who would have thought that after crossing into this new world, not only would he gain doting adoptive parents out of thin air, but he'd also be "gifted"
a girl who made his heart race?
But after merging with the original host Adams's memories, Nick realized this dream girl was actually his nemesis.
Sylvia had trained in magic under her father, a pastor, since childhood.
Though still in the beginner's class, she had already mastered Fireball—a spell so refined it drew admiration even from senior mages.
The last time Adams tried to steal a kiss, a fireball from her burned half his trousers off, forcing him to sprint bare-bottomed halfway through the town.
That embarrassing memory was now Nick's burden to bear.
Just as Nick was digesting this awkward recollection, the carriage curtain lifted, and that familiar figure leaped down gracefully.
McArthur, who had been waiting at the academy entrance, immediately stepped forward with a flawless smile.
"What a coincidence running into you.
About yesterday's magic theory class—could I trouble you for some guidance?"
Nick snorted inwardly.
*Who in this academy doesn't know McArthur perpetually holds second place in our year?
And he has to ask Sylvia, the undisputed top ranker?
* Not to mention, classes were starting in fifteen minutes—such a clumsy pickup line was inexplicably irritating.
"Please direct your questions to the instructors," Sylvia replied coolly, not even sparing him a glance.
McArthur bowed slightly, expression unchanging.
"But your explanations are always easier to understand than the teachers'." As he spoke, his gaze flickered toward Nick, a faint, mocking curl at the corner of his lips.
That provocative attitude instantly ignited Nick's competitive spirit.
In his past life, he'd stood at the pinnacle of scientific research—a genius looked up to by all.
Now, some brat dared look down on him?
Though he had little interest in an immature girl, since this guy was asking for trouble, Nick didn't mind playing along with this so-called "rival."
As Nick plotted his countermove, Sylvia suddenly turned toward the carriage.
"Father, I'm heading in first."
Watching the girl stride into the academy without a backward glance, then catching sight of McArthur's frozen smile, Nick's mood suddenly brightened.
*Looks like life in this new world won't be too boring after all.
*
Pastor Curtis waved cheerfully at his daughter.
"Go on, remember to study hard!"
McArthur bowed respectfully to his father.
"Father, we'll be on our way."
Old Reuben, his beer belly prominent, pulled out a handful of gold coins from his purse.
"Is that enough money?
Want a bit more?
Our family isn't lacking in coin."
Nick hesitated, wondering if he should mimic the original host's crude farewell, but Stevenson had already thrown a brawny arm around his shoulder.
"Listen, you rascal—if anyone gives you trouble at school, you tell me.
I'll break their legs!" He even shot a deliberate glare in McArthur's direction.
Nick broke out in a cold sweat.
*This old man's way of spoiling his son really knows no bounds.
He's treating something as serious as schooling like it's a game.
*
The three of them walked side-by-side into the campus, Sylvia in the middle flanked by the two boys like guards.
The air in the magic academy thrummed with strange energy fluctuations, and Nick gazed around curiously, taking in this place where one could grasp supernatural power.
According to the memories he inherited, the Maltz Town Magic Academy was a private institution, but its scale was pitifully small.
The entire school—students and faculty combined—numbered less than fifty, including even the cooks and cleaners.
Despite this, the tuition was shockingly expensive.
A year's tuition alone cost ten gold coins, not to mention the exorbitant prices of magical materials and experimental tools.
Only children from prominent families in town could afford to study here.
The academy was divided into just two classes: the senior class for fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds, and the junior class for twelve- and thirteen-year-olds.
Naturally, the three of them were placed in the senior class.
When they entered the classroom together, they immediately drew the attention of their classmates—after all, these three clique leaders rarely appeared side by side.
The moment Sylvia stepped inside, she began carrying out her duties as class president.
"Homework collection,"
she announced.
Nick froze at her words.
In Adams' memories, there was no such thing as doing homework.
Thinking back carefully, he realized the guy had never once turned in an assignment since enrolling.
In his previous life, Nick had been a prodigy who never bothered with homework either—repetitive exercises held no value for him.
But the original Adams was even more outrageous: he had never scored above thirty points on any exam, relying purely on multiple-choice guesses.
Sure enough, Sylvia bypassed Nick entirely when collecting homework, not even bothering to ask.
Nick couldn't help but smile wryly.
It seemed there were certain conveniences to being the class slacker.
This scene made Wood, seated nearby, rub his hands together in envy.
The butcher's plump son leaned over excitedly.
"Boss, you're just too awesome!
When will I ever be as carefree as you?"
Nick couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes.
This was the same guy who, just yesterday, had egged everyone on to steal the magical apples from Adams' family orchard.
The misadventure ended with Adams getting caught in a thunderstorm on his way home, nearly scared out of his wits by a sudden lightning strike.
This "buddy"
of his firmly held the title of second-to-last in class rankings—while last place, of course, belonged to none other than Nick himself.
Just as Sylvia finished gathering the assignments, the classroom door swung open.
Teacher Delia strode in with graceful steps, her silver-embroidered mage robes shimmering under the sunlight, the hexagram emblem on them gleaming faintly.
Though past thirty, her magical cultivation preserved her slender figure, and her delicate face always carried an air of detached elegance.
To these fifteen- and sixteen-year-old boys, Teacher Delia's mature charm as a female mage held far more allure than Sylvia's youthful energy.
A sudden memory surfaced in Nick's mind—Adams had once schemed to peek at the teacher while she bathed.
Nick shuddered at the absurd thought.
On his very first day at the Magic Academy, Nick realized the curriculum went far beyond teaching students how to harness mana.
His first class turned out to be mathematics—in this otherworldly realm devoid of physics or chemistry, magic encompassed the wisdom of numerous scientific fields.
A mage's strength was judged by three criteria: mana reserves, mental control, and most importantly, the skill to craft magical artifacts.
A mage overflowing with mana but lacking artifacts was like a fully charged battery with no socket to plug into—all show and no substance.
It was those meticulously crafted artifacts that truly unleashed mana's destructive potential.
*Isn't this just the principle of a transformer?
* Nick scoffed inwardly.
Watching the professor laboriously explain linear equations on the podium, he couldn't suppress a yawn.
Knowledge he had mastered by age nine in his previous life now felt like a colossal waste of time.
The second period, Magical Array Design, finally piqued his interest.
But within ten minutes, he realized so-called magic arrays were nothing more than using monster cores and mithril wires to replace capacitors and resistors on circuit boards.
While the lecturer was still explaining basic energy circuits, Nick was already spinning his quill out of sheer boredom.