The sky was still wrapped in darkness when I woke.
Nearly morning—yet far too early for any sane person to be conscious.
I glanced at the small mana clock beside my bed.
4:00 a.m.
"…Of course," I muttered.
My body protested the moment I moved. Muscles ached dully, joints stiff and heavy, as if they were quietly begging me to lie back down and pretend discipline was optional.
I stretched anyway.
A sharp pull ran through my back, and I winced. "Alright, alright. I hear you. Complaints noted."
My body wanted rest.
Unfortunately for it, I was stubborn.
I swung my legs off the bed, washed my face with cold water until my mind cleared, and slipped out of the dormitory. The academy was eerily quiet at this hour. Mana lamps glowed faintly along the stone paths, casting pale halos of light that barely pushed back the darkness.
The training ground greeted me like an old enemy.
"Let's get this over with," I said softly.
I started jogging.
One lap.
My breathing was steady.
Two laps.
The chill air burned my lungs just enough to keep me alert.
Three laps.
My legs began to complain.
Four laps.
My stride shortened, shoulders tensing.
Five laps.
I stopped.
Hands on my knees, breath coming faster now, chest rising and falling as sweat trickled down my spine.
"…Still terrible," I said between breaths.
But not as terrible.
After a short rest, I walked toward the weapon rack and picked up my familiar wooden sword. Its surface was worn smooth from weeks of use, the grip molded perfectly to my hand.
Horizontal slash.
Vertical slash.
Diagonal cut.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The blade cut through the air with dull whistles. My movements were still rough—far from refined—but they no longer collapsed after a few swings. My arms trembled, yet they held.
I'm improving.
Just a little.
But enough.
I trained, rested briefly, then trained again. Time blurred. The sky slowly lightened, darkness thinning into gray.
When the academy bell rang in the distance, I finally stopped.
7:00 a.m.
I left the training ground exhausted, soaked in sweat, and walked back to my dormitory. After a long shower, I dressed in my academy uniform and stood before the mirror.
Blonde hair—still messy, but cleaner now. Crimson eyes clearer than before. My face, once pale and sickly, had gained a hint of color.
I tilted my head, examining myself.
"…Damn," I said seriously. "I look handsome."
I leaned closer. "I should be careful not to kill anyone just by existing."
I smirked, fully aware of how ridiculous I sounded.
Narcissism was a coping mechanism. Probably.
With that thought, I left for class.
Unfortunately, fate had a cruel sense of humor.
I was assigned to the same class as that damn male lead.
The classroom was spacious, rows of desks arranged neatly, sunlight pouring in through tall windows. I walked in quietly and took a seat at the back, near the window—my preferred position for observing without being observed.
A few minutes later, the door opened again.
Viola entered.
And Aurelius… with her.
They were talking quietly, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. Viola was smiling—an expression I had rarely seen directed at anyone but family.
She didn't notice me.
She sat beside him.
I looked away.
"…This isn't my feeling," I muttered under my breath.
Or at least, I hoped it wasn't.
It felt like a lingering echo—residual emotions from the original Rias, stirring uncomfortably in my chest. I clenched my fingers slightly, forcing the sensation down.
Focus.
Then—
The room fell silent.
Footsteps echoed from the front.
A woman entered.
She was tall, clad in a fitted academy coat reinforced with light armor plates. Her long raven-black hair was tied high, exposing sharp features and eyes like tempered steel. A staff rested against her shoulder, and a sword hung at her waist.
Both.
At once.
She radiated pressure.
The air itself seemed to tense.
"Good morning," she said calmly.
Her voice was firm, commanding, yet strangely measured.
"I am Instructor Seraphina Valencrest."
A ripple ran through the class.
Valencrest.
I stiffened.
That name…
"She's the Warrior Mage," someone whispered.
"No—she's the Warrior Mage."
"They say she fought a dragon alone."
Seraphina's gaze swept across the room, sharp enough to cut.
"I hear rumors travel faster than discipline," she said flatly. "Let me be clear. Titles mean nothing here."
She tapped the floor lightly with her staff.
"In this class, you are all equally incompetent."
A pause.
Then—
"You will learn," she continued, "or you will be broken and reforged."
Several students swallowed.
I smiled faintly.
Yeah. She's exactly how I wrote her.
Seraphina Valencrest—ranked just below Sword Master, one of the empire's strongest hybrid combatants. A woman who believed magic without physical strength was cowardice, and strength without magic was waste.
Her eyes landed on Aurelius briefly.
Then… on me.
For half a second, they lingered.
I felt a chill run down my spine.
"…Interesting," she said quietly.
The class straightened instinctively.
"Today," Seraphina announced, "we begin with fundamentals."
She smiled.
It was not comforting.
"Survive my class," she said, "and you may survive the academy."
The bell rang.
And just like that—
My real struggle began.