The carriage glided along the stone road smoothly, its wheels rolling with a hollow beat.
Yves Yahn sat inside alone.
He adjusted the collar of the academy uniform he had been forced to wear and looked down at himself. The fabric, a subdued grey, almost charcoal, was clean and perfectly fitted, but it did not help his disposition any.
'This looks like ass'
"…Whatever," he muttered
The pace of the carriage was reduced as it got closer to the academy area.
Through the window, Yves observed students moving towards the towering gates that lay at some distance. Some of them laughed and chatted with each other, comparing what they had learned, with their mana signatures openly displayed and shining with excitement and apprehension.
Some of them were confident, while others faced some anxiety. However, they had one thing in common: they were loud.
Yves sat back in his seat and closed his eyes.
"Stop the carriage."
The driver stiffened.
"…Young Master? We're only a short distance from the academy gates. Are you sure?" the man asked cautiously.
Yves opened his eyes.
"Yes
The carriage came to a stop.
"Hold me steady," he ordered, and as he stepped out without hesitation, a side bag was slung neatly across his shoulder, its fabric brushing lightly against his uniform as his boots touched the stone road.
He didn't look back right away.
"Return," he said.
The driver bowed from his seat. "As you wish, Young Master."
The reins snapped, and the carriage started to move away. Yves stood for a time, watching it go, his ears following the distant roar of the wheels.
Only then did he turn.
Before him, the academy stood.
Matia Academy.
The most prestigious institution within the Necan Empire.
Their gates rose up as a fortress wall, carved with marks of authority and heritage. This was the monument where monsters had been fashioned—mages who manipulated the laws of mana, sword-wielders whose blades had redefined history. Geniuses had been bred here, polished, crushed, and remade beyond their own potential.
Yves gazed at it in silence.
Magic? Swordsmanship?
He already knew both.
He had mastered them in isolation, in a space where time screamed and reality bent. He had fought mock wars, perfected techniques beyond modern standards, pushed himself until even failure became routine.
What was the point, exactly?
What could he possibly get from a school like this? For a moment, behind his composed expression stirred irritation.
Sully the wish of the family head… and you won't see tomorrow.
Yves exhaled slowly, the irritation settling. Replaced by something quieter. Sharper.
"…Tch."
He adjusted the strap of his bag and stepped forward. Whether or not the academy had anything to teach him, he didn't know, but one thing was for sure-he was here and he was going to take that top spot because he was ordered to do so.
Yves went through the gates of Matia Academy without problems.
At first, it was. normal.
Students entered in groups, their eyes fixed on forms, uniforms, and nervous comments about the upcoming exam. No one intervened to stop him. No one looked at him either. To them, he was merely another student entering late, dressed in gray, and walking alone.
Exactly as he wanted.
Yves maintained his pace, attitude, and look – all casual and expressing himself like a regular student.
'So far, so good.'
The voice was hushed and uncertain.
Yves didn't turn.
"Are you crazy? That's the younger brother of Lady Yvette Yahn," a second voice cut in, a voice that seemed offended.
The step hesitated for no longer than a fraction of a second.
"…Yves Yahn"
Annoyance emerged in his eyes.
'Already'
He had never released a single drop of mana. He had done nothing remarkable. And yet, his name had been brought up anyhow.
He breathed slowly out through his nose. There was nothing he could do about it. Stopping it would attract more attention. Reacting to it would be admitting it. Pretending not to hear it was the only way to go.
And so Yves continued moving.
A horde of freshmen was herded into a gigantic circular arena.
Yves entered and allowed his gaze to roam around.
Many of them had hardly developed beyond a stable mana core. Their stances were sloppy. Their skills were inconsistent. Some of them were stronger, but not much stronger. Even those seemed unpolished, rough blades not yet sharpened.
None of that interested him. There was only one thing on his mind.
First place. That was all.
"…Yo, move over. Make way."
The sudden shift in tone had caught his attention.
"It's Miss Sylviane Chau
A ripple moved through the crowd. Heads turned. Words were exchanged. Space was made almost at once.
Yves watched the movement with his eyes.
A girl came towards her.
She had golden-colored, wavy hair that was neatly braided and styled in a manner that highlighted her face and showcased her refined yet uniquely un-aging features.
Her violet eyes reflected the arena lights, appearing calm and confident. Her silky skin and relaxed demeanor offered an impression that seemed. calculated.
She was the type of heroine you would find in a fantasy novel: beautiful, undeniably so. At least, that was once acknowledged by Yves.
'Fairly rated
He put his hands into his pockets and looked away as she walked past him, with a small group of fanboys following her like loyal shadows.
Sylviane Chauveau melted into the crowd. Yves didn't turn back.
High and removed from all that noise and confusion below a VIP seating platform commanded a view of the entire field.
An old man sat there, calm and collected, his hand on the armrest of the chair and the other holding a simple glass cup holding water. His posture indicated he was completely calm, yet there was something about the old man that caused the air around him to seem. heavy.
He took a slow sip.
"Come on, Clovis loosen up a bit. At least have something stronger to drink."a woman's voice called out as she walked up behind him.
The old man Clovis had not immediately turned. He had kept his gaze fixed on the arena below, where hundreds of freshmen shifted nervously in place.
"My body is old, so it requires healthy things. Even water has value." he said evenly, lifting the cup slightly.
Only then did he look in her direction.
"And then there's you so afraid of growing old yourself, you put a permanent spell on your own body." he went on, still speaking calmly.
The woman stopped beside him.
Her face seemed no older than in her early thirties with smooth skin, keen eyes, and a confident smile that hadn't lost its former radiance.
"Thirty-two on the outside, fifty-one on the inside. Clovis said flatly."
He took another sip.
"What stupidity."
The woman clicked her tongue, but she smiled anyway. "You say that every time,"
"And I'll keep saying it, tampering with time, just to soothe vanity, is the fastest way to regret eternity," Clovis replied.