The status plate ritual ended not with a march into training hell or some dramatic chosen-one speech, but with something completely unexpected.
A week off.
"One week of free time," Knight-Commander Meld had announced. "Within reason. You'll be given a stipend, restricted access to the royal capital, and a curfew. Use it well. Learn how this world works. Explore. Observe. Get used to Tortus before we start turning you into 'heroes.'"
No one complained.
Priests and palace attendants distributed small leather pouches of coin, thin wooden pass-plates for identification, and simple maps of the capital.
Aiko-sensei nearly cried with relief.
Kouki immediately declared they should all explore together—half the class agreed before he even finished the sentence.
The other half scattered like inmates fleeing an open gate.
Hajime tucked his coin pouch into his jacket and kept his expectations low.
A Week in Heiligh
The capital of Heiligh was… overwhelming.
During the day, the upper district bustled with merchants selling all manner of enchanted trinkets, potion hawkers shouting over each other, and street performers juggling balls of glowing mana.
Knights patrolled the polished roads, their armor humming faintly with enchantments. The lower districts were louder and rougher—open markets, smelling of spices and fried dough; taverns filled with rowdy mercenaries; workshops where sparks and mana both flew freely.
Kaori and Shizuku stuck to Hajime's side like it was a natural formation.
"Hajime-kun, look at this!" Kaori said, pointing to a stall lined with shimmering crystals. "They glow brighter when they absorb mana."
Hajime picked one up, feeling the faint enchantment woven through it. "Cheap detection stones. Magical flashlights. Fragile."
The vendor blinked. "You… know your craft, boy."
Not craft, Hajime thought. Resonance cheating.
His Soul Core hummed constantly, quietly mapping the mana flows in everything—from reinforced armor and enchanted blades to street charms that were mostly placebo wrapped in sparkles.
They visited a bookshop. Hajime camped in the Basic Magic Theory and Monsters of the Northern Continent sections until Kouki got bored and dragged half the class to go "look at cool swords."
The city became a classroom.
Hajime watched how people used mana in daily life—lamps that flared to life with a touch, water arrays that redirected flow, small conveyor spells moving crates in workshops. He compared beginner grimoires to what his Resonance sensed directly.
He learned coin values, common phrases, and how quickly merchants tried to overcharge "foreign nobles."
Shizuku's deadpan glare saved them from being swindled at least three times.
By the end of the week, Hajime had:
a rough mental map of the capital
a slightly less rough sense of its politics
and a growing certainty that Tortus's magic system, for all its spectacle, was… sloppy.
Inefficient. Redundant. Plenty of room to break magic later.
The week disappeared in a blur of exploration, awkward moments, and attempts at finding normalcy in a world that wasn't normal.
Then training began.
Training Grounds.
The "training camp" was a fortified compound outside the city walls, pressed against the edge of a lightly monster-infested forest. Stone lodges for living. Open fields for drills. Target ranges. Obstacle courses. A small sparring arena.
"From today," Meld called out, standing before them in full armor, "you begin learning to survive. Sword, shield, magic, formation, tactics. You're not tourists anymore—you're trainees."
The church provided magic instructors. The knights handled weapon training and physical conditioning.
For most, it was exhausting but exciting.
For Hajime, it was just another system to analyze.
His stats were higher than a normal Synergist baseline—nothing like Kouki's absurd numbers, but solidly above average. His Reflexes, enhanced by Resonance, let him read trajectories faster than they had any right to. His Soul Core fed him subtle sensory feedback—pressure changes, mana shifts, micro-movements of opponents.
And on the first day, that difference showed.
"Pairs!" Meld barked. "Wooden weapons only. Light contact. No dying on day one."
Kouki fought some knight apprentice and turned the field into a shounen highlight reel. Kaori worked the shield line. Shizuku's elegant sword drills drew quiet admiration.
Hajime got assigned a mid-level knight for sword basics.
"Synergist-turned-Alchemist, huh?" the knight said. "Don't expect miracles, kid, but your stats aren't bad. Let's see your form."
They exchanged a series of light blows.
Hajime's technique was raw, but his timing sharpened rapidly. Resonance mapped his opponent's rhythm. Footwork adjusted automatically.
After a few minutes, the knight's brows rose. "...You learn fast."
Hajime shrugged. "Good teacher."
Things were going well. Too well for certain people.
Late afternoon. Sweat. Soreness. The class took a short break. Knights moved aside to discuss schedules.
Hajime walked toward the edge of the field, rolling his shoulders, mentally noting which muscles needed form corrections.
That was when Hiyama and his three idiots approached, Perfect.
"Oy, Nagumo," Hiyama drawled, wooden sword resting on his shoulder. "You've been acting pretty confident today."
"I'm literally following instructions," Hajime said.
One lackey snorted. "You think you're hot crap 'cause you didn't trip swinging a stick?"
Hajime remained calm. "If you're tired from drills, don't waste your energy here."
That did it.
Hiyama stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Funny. Your job's still Alchemist. Support. Not hero material." He jabbed the wooden blade against Hajime's chest. "Remember your place."
Hajime looked down at the blade, then up again.
His Resonance trembled—a plucked string.
"Do that again," he said quietly, "and it counts as a spar."
Hiyama shoved the sword again.
Around them, students backed away, forming a loose circle. Kouki was too far to notice.
Ryutarou tensed, ready to intervene, but hesitated.
"Fine," Hajime said. "A spar it is." One of Hiyama's goons snickered. "This'll be good."
The Clash
Hiyama lunged first—aggressive, fast, leaning forward like he wanted to bulldoze through.
His stats were good. His form was trash. The world slowed.
Resonance flared—not boosting Hajime, but sharpening perception. Angles. Weight shifts. Openings wide enough to drive a truck through.
Hajime sidestepped by inches. The wooden sword missed.
He brought his own blade down—clean tap to Hiyama's wrist.
"Gh—!"
The sword flew.
Hajime didn't stop. He pivoted, swept Hiyama's leg, and guided his momentum into the dirt.
Hiyama hit the ground with a thud. Silence fell.
One lackey rushed forward with a yell. Hajime's blade touched his ribs before he got close. Another tap to the ankle. Another to the shoulder.
Three clean hits in a heartbeat.
The second lackey froze.
Hajime kept his stance closed—blade still up, posture calm.
"I told you," he said, "push it, and it becomes a spar."
Hiyama pushed himself up, face red, eyes hateful. "You… got lucky."
"Try again," Hajime said. He didn't.
Because Kaori broke through the circle, hands spread.
"That's enough!" she snapped. "We're classmates! We're supposed to be allies! Why are you picking fights?"
Hiyama flinched. "Kaori, he—"
"He defended himself. You provoked him."
She turned to Hajime, panic melting into awe. "Hajime-kun… that was incredible. Your movements were so smooth, and you read his attacks like you've been training for years."
Whispers rippled through the students.
"I didn't even see those counters…" "Is Nagumo actually strong?" "Maybe Hiyama's just bad?"
Hiyama's jaw clenched hard.
Shizuku watched from behind Kaori—her calm gaze sharp, thoughtful.
Kouki finally noticed the scene, but the moment had already solidified.
Hiyama looked at Hajime—not with mockery anymore, but with something darker and tighter.
A grudge.
A deep one.
Hajime met his gaze long enough to silently say: Try this again. I dare you.
Then he lowered his sword.
"We done?"
"Break time is over!" Meld bellowed from across the field. "If you've got enough energy to pick stupid fights, I'll add extra laps!"
Students scattered.
Kaori leaned closer to Hajime as they re-formed. "Really… that was amazing. Don't let them get to you, okay?"
"Don't worry," Hajime said. "That wasn't a fight. Just swatting flies."
Kaori stifled a laugh.
Hiyama rejoined formation, shoulders stiff, killing intent seeping through even his attempts at composure.
Resonance flickered—Hajime felt that malice clearly.
So this is how it begins, he thought. Not bullying. Something worse.
But for now, training resumed.
And Hajime Nagumo—"just an Alchemist"—continued to evolve one quiet victory at a time.