The air was damp and foul inside the underground prison.

Before a row of battered men stood Alberto, head of the Academy.

“How… how could you idiots handle things this way?!”

Alberto’s furious roar shook the cell walls. The prisoners opened their mouths, desperate to speak, but the silence spell bound on them allowed only strangled groans to slip out.

—Crash!

A spell flew from Alberto’s hand, only to fizzle uselessly against the prison’s protective barrier.

The captives were unharmed, but their trembling faces betrayed a terror deeper than any wound could inflict.

—Thud.

Something small dropped to the ground before them. A pouch.

“Consider this the master’s final mercy. At least your heads will remain intact.”

One of the men reached for the pouch with a shaking hand. Inside were eight tiny orbs—poison pills.

“Gghhk… mmph! Uuugh!”

The man clutched the pouch to his chest, tears streaming down his face like marbles rolling loose. The others joined in, gagging and choking through the spell’s gag, their lips working soundlessly as if to beg for their lives.

“Whether you accept it or not, it changes nothing. You know well—things always unfold exactly as he wills.”

Clicking his tongue, Alberto turned his back and strode out of the prison.

“All of them…?”

“…Yes. All.”

“What the hell were the guards doing?!”

“They’ll be punished as well.”

Aman’s nostrils flared at Alberto’s answer. His hands itched to grab those men and wring the truth out of them himself.

But when they’d been captured, he’d been too furious—he’d beaten them until the fragile humans fainted.

And now, before he could get another chance, they had all swallowed poison and died in the night.

Alberto had even cast tracing magic himself, but no trail could be found. It left Aman seething with frustration.

‘I should have gone first!’

But regret always came too late. Who could have expected this turn?

“Don’t trouble yourself. I give you my word as headmaster—we will uncover the one behind this.”

Alberto’s eyes burned with conviction as his fist tightened.

“…Fine.”

Aman exhaled heavily and stepped out of the headmaster’s office.

‘That old man… I need to find out exactly what game he’s playing.’

“You’ve come again today, Master Lucas.”

Since that day, even the librarian’s gaze carried something like reverence when it landed on the boy.

Though Lucas was technically a count’s son, the librarian had never shown this level of respect before. Now, he treated him as though Lucas were a true teacher and he the disciple.

The constant bowing and deference made Lucas more uncomfortable by the day.

‘If someone sees this, what the hell are they supposed to think?’

To all eyes, he was nothing more than an eleven-year-old child. No one could guess that within him lay the soul of a five-thousand-year-old dragon.

“There’s no need for such formality…”

“On the contrary. At this point, am I not practically your student? Hehehe…”

The old man’s kind smile earned only an awkward one in return, as Lucas sat down. As promised, he had been coming daily, guiding the librarian through basic magical training.

But there was something off.

When Lucas had first picked up the magic stone, mana had stirred within his body despite its absence before. Yet the librarian, no matter how hard he tried, could not sense a single spark.

“Again, focus here. By the heart. Search there.”

“I’ve tried, but… nothing. I don’t feel anything.”

“No, no! Imagine an unseen hand reaching out!”

“I don’t have any unseen hand.”

“Then your senses! Concentrate on your senses!”

Lucas wanted to tear his hair out.

“Grrrhh…”

Brandy groaned, face contorted, as he forced himself again and again. This had gone on for weeks. Vacation was nearly over.

“Just… try one more time.”

Lucas sighed, looking at him with a mix of pity and exasperation.

‘How the hell can you not find it?!’

Tracing a circle over his own chest, Lucas rubbed his face in frustration.

‘It’s right there! How can you not feel it?!’

Before the new semester began, Aman appeared in Lucas’s room with news that left him speechless.

“Lucas? Yoo-hoo, Lucas~”

‘Damn that annoying lizard! And stop saying my name so casually!’

Aman waved a hand in front of him with a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying the sight of Lucas sitting in stunned silence.

“So… I’m in the beginner’s class…?”

“That’s right! Downgraded to the beginner class.”

He emphasized the word downgraded, and Lucas had the sudden urge to smash his smug mouth in.

Somehow, the damned lizard always slipped into casual speech whenever they were inside the Academy, as if deliberately trying to get under his scales.

And it was working. His pride was raw and bleeding.

‘Me… in the beginner class? After everything?!’

His original plan had been simple: resolve his personal puzzles here, raise his magical level to something respectable, then leave. The outside world offered better training grounds anyway.

But to be told he’d been forced down a level? It was an insult to a noble magical being.

“Are you absolutely sure… it’s a downgrade?”

“Of course! A downgrade!”

How had this happened? His grades had been comfortably in the middle.

The beginner’s class was for students who didn’t even know the “M” in “Magic.”

Maybe his mana reading from the crystal stone had been too low? But no—that had shown first-circle levels. Enough for the intermediate class.

‘Then why?’

While Lucas stared off into space, Aman beamed from ear to ear.

“Oh, and guess what? I’ll be the homeroom teacher for the beginner’s class!”

“…What?”

“That way, I can keep a close eye on you, Lucas~”

He twirled his silvery-blue hair and smiled sweetly.

‘This bastard lizard!!!’

The April semester’s entrance banquet had begun.

Each semester, Arant Academy admitted new students, and at the same time, the returning students were reorganized into new levels.

Lucas found himself seated at a different table than in his first semester. He had moved from the second table to the first, once again drawing the eyes of both new and returning students.

“Isn’t that him? The so-called prodigy?”

“Pfft! Told you. Not a prodigy.”

Lucas, who had spent the previous semester in relative quiet, unintentionally drew attention back onto himself before the crowd’s curiosity could fully shift elsewhere.

“Hey! Remember me?”

Lucas frowned at the voice that called across the table.

It was the same man from the entrance ceremony—the one who had brazenly placed a hand on his shoulder and ruined his mood on the very first day.

“What’s with the scowl, little lordling?”

The man smirked slyly and strode toward him.

“Looks like we’re classmates now.”

“Get lost. Before I blast your skull off.”

“Ha! Feisty brat. A demoted ‘noble’ who doesn’t know his place. What’s in a name if that’s all you’ve got?!”

But before he could finish sneering, a flash of light sparked at his throat, and he collapsed, clutching his neck and rolling on the floor.

“You dare. A lowborn cur, insulting a noble?”

The light came from a boy barely taller than Lucas.

‘And what’s this? …That wasn’t magic. A magical device?’

Indeed, clutched in the boy’s hand was an artifact, its tip glowing faintly. Lucas hadn’t heard a single incantation.

It seemed to be a protective charm of some kind, yet one capable of inflicting harm—a rarity. Even trivial artifacts, like ones that simply gave off fragrance, sold for a fortune among noble ladies.

But this boy wielded one that could injure. He had to come from a house of considerable wealth.

“Tch. Arrogant whelps. Just because the Academy doesn’t divide by status doesn’t mean—bah.”

The boy turned away sharply, only to halt a few steps later and sit awkwardly at Lucas’s table, two seats down. Clearly, he too belonged to the beginner’s class.

Meanwhile, the man who had collapsed earlier finally staggered upright, hacking and coughing.

“You… you little bastard! Cough—cough!”

As he staggered toward Lucas, clearly intent on violence, Lucas’s mind ticked over rapidly.

‘Do I take him down here and earn a transfer to the advanced class? …No. Too troublesome.’

The man reached for him—

“You cur!!!”

The boy with the artifact leapt to his feet, stick raised, making the man reflexively clutch his neck in panic.

“You arrogant brat!!!”

The boy braced himself to strike, but before he could unleash the artifact, someone stepped between them.

Aman.

“That’s enough, Samont Sigitt. Unless you’re looking to be expelled, I suggest you stop right here.”

“Grr…”

At Aman’s words, the man—Samont—backed down, unwilling to cross a professor.

‘Do I actually thank him for that?’

Lucas’s gaze shifted to the boy still gripping the artifact tight, his face flushed with indignation. Aman approached and held out a hand.

The boy blinked, smiled faintly, and extended his hand too—thinking it was for a handshake.

“No. The artifact.”

Aman tapped the boy’s hand and smiled.

“This—this was a gift from my father, Duke Cyrus O’Neil! I won’t give it up!”

The boy hurriedly hid it behind his back, loudly invoking his father’s name.

The surrounding gazes snapped to him.

The O’Neil dukedom.

A house famed for its power, having supported a bastard prince’s rise to the throne. Their influence rivaled none in the empire.

“Fine. I’ll return it when you go home~”

Aman grinned wickedly and, with a flick of magic, snatched the artifact straight from the boy’s hand.

“Tch. Nobles. Even here, I can’t escape this nonsense.”

The sharp, girlish voice made both Aman and the boy turn.

A girl with long, light-brown hair tied up messily, her bright golden eyes fixed on the boy—Skir.

—Thud!

She plopped down right beside Lucas as if nothing were amiss. Skir’s eyes narrowed, his face darkening.

“You insolent wretch. Do you even know who I—”

“Yuu insulent wretch~ Do you evun kno who I aaam~”

Mocking his tone, twisting her face in a ridiculous mimicry, she dragged a hand through her tied-up hair.

“You crazy—!!!”

“Bleeh~”

She stuck her tongue out at him for good measure, then spun to beam at Lucas.

“Hi! Are you a noble too?”

“……”

Two strange kids had appeared.

(End of Chapter)