CHAPTER 69: THE FIRST LESSON

Zane’s palm rested firmly on the wooden desk as his lips curled into that signature half-smile.

"Alright, students," he began, his voice casual yet threaded with a weight that pressed down on the room. "Let me introduce myself. I am Zane Creed... and from now on—" his deep purple eyes swept across the class like a blade, freezing each pair of eyes in place, "I’ll be your Class Teacher."

The words lingered in the air. Murmurs rippled across the rows of students—some nervous, some curious, some skeptical.

Zane leaned back slightly, his tone shifting to something light, almost teasing.

"I’ll be teaching you almost everything alongside the other professors. Except history." His smirk widened. "That’s a boring subject."

A few chuckles slipped out, though quickly suppressed by the tense atmosphere.

"Any questions?" Zane asked, his gaze sweeping lazily across the room.

Whispers erupted again, students exchanging glances. Finally, one boy rose from his seat, his posture proud and deliberate. A noble—his crisp uniform and subtle family crest gave him away.

He raised his hand, lips curled into a thin, arrogant smile.

"Professor," the noble began, his tone filled with forced politeness, "some of us saw you during the exam. The Vice Chairman mentioned you were newly appointed. But... no one has ever heard of the Creed family. Are you, perhaps, a commoner, sir?"

The question was laced with mockery, and the noble’s smirk deepened as he sat back, clearly expecting whispers of approval.

Instead, silence filled the room. All eyes shifted toward Zane.

Zane chuckled softly, shaking his head as if amused by a child’s attempt at wit. Little kid trying to play clever, huh?

He stepped forward, his smirk sharp.

"No," Zane said calmly, "I am not a commoner... nor am I a noble."

His eyes gleamed, catching the light, their deep purple pulling the air taut.

"I come from a far country," he added, his tone low but commanding. "A place most of you can’t even imagine ."

The room fell silent again, but this time it wasn’t just curiosity—there was unease, a subtle pressure that weighed on their chests.

Zane leaned back into his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. His deep purple eyes swept across the classroom, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"So," he drawled, "no one has any questions? Then let’s do something simple. Introduce yourselves. One by one. Let’s see what kind of people I’ll be teaching."

The students glanced at each other before the introductions began.

Lia stood up first, her brown hair swaying softly as she bowed lightly.

"My name is Lia Isolde," she said with a calm smile.

Several whispers spread across the class — most students already knew her. After all, she was one of the winners of the entrance exam.

Next, Ron rose from his seat, his calm smile and sharp golden aura instantly recognizable.

"Ron Volkov.That’s all." he declared bluntly.

The murmurs grew louder this time. His name carried weight among the new students.

Then came the nobles. Each stood tall, chins slightly raised, introducing themselves with long strings of family names and titles.

"I am Darius Vencrest of the Vencrest House..."

"Selian Drevos of House Drevos..."

It was obvious they expected Zane to show respect at the mention of their bloodlines.

Instead, Zane yawned loudly, leaning his chin onto his palm, making sure everyone saw. The nobles stiffened, clearly offended, but he didn’t spare them a second glance.

And then... the atmosphere shifted.

From the back, one of the five invited students rose from her seat. like the rest, she hadn’t spoken a word until now.

She stood tall and poised, her presence immediately commanding attention. Her dark purplish-black hair cascaded in untamed waves down her back, wolf-like ears tipped with fur twitching slightly atop her head. Her sharp olive-gold eyes gleamed with a predator’s awareness, piercing yet confident.

Dressed neatly in the academy’s first-year uniform, she wore the fitted navy blazer over a crisp white shirt. A pleated skirt with opaque black tights completed the look, along with polished black loafers. Tied around her collar was a soft pastel ribbon of light blue, lending her an unexpectedly gentle accent despite her sharp aura.

The entire classroom seemed to grow quieter as she spoke.

"I am Maera Stormheart."

Her voice was clear, confident — yet calm, like a wolf asserting its territory.

The classroom buzzed the moment Maera finished her graceful introduction.

"Stormheart family...!"

"A grand ducal house...!"

"She’s one of the invited students..."

Excitement rippled through the rows as whispers filled the air. For most, meeting someone from such a lineage was a once-in-a-lifetime event.

But Zane didn’t even blink. He rested his elbow lazily on the desk, propping his chin on his knuckles.

"Next," he said flatly.

Maera’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Her family name usually drew admiration, fear, or at least acknowledgment. Yet this man hadn’t even spared it a thought.

Before the remaining invited students—or the rest of the class—could introduce themselves, Zane straightened up, brushing his coat sleeve.

"That’s it." His voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. "Too boring. No need to introduce yourselves. I’ll look into your records later."

A hush fell over the class.

"I’m more interested in what you can actually do." His deep purple eyes swept the room again, cold and unyielding. "Strength doesn’t lie in names or titles. I want to see your current level of ability. Once I’ve seen that, I’ll know perfectly what to do with you."

The students shifted uneasily, some offended, some nervous, others oddly thrilled.

Zane stood from his seat, his hand resting on the table, voice echoing with calm authority.

"Let’s go to the training ground. There, you will show me what you all can do."

The twenty-five students followed, some nervous, some excited, and some skeptical. The training ground was massive—wide dirt tracks circling around, dummies for target practice lined up neatly, and open fields for sparring. It was the perfect space to break both body and pride.

Zane walked to the center, his coat swaying lightly in the breeze. He looked around at the gathered faces—nobles and commoners, geniuses and mediocrities. All equal before him.

"Alright," he said, voice casual yet firm, "to test your strength, let’s start simple. Running."

He raised a finger.

"Magic users—twenty laps. Combat and weapon users—forty. Mana usage is banned."

A collective gasp broke through the students.

"Twenty?! That’s torture!"

"Forty rounds?! Is he insane?!"

"This isn’t training, it’s punishment!"

"How can we run so much without using mana...???"

Murmurs and complaints spread quickly. Only Ron and Lia remained silent, exchanging glances—they already knew what Zane was like.They started running.

Zane’s smile deepened. He snapped his fingers casually, and a faint white magic circle flickered in his palm before disappearing.

A soft pop echoed, and suddenly glowing white seals appeared over the mouths of the complaining students, silencing them in an instant.

Eyes widened in shock.

"H-he sealed our mouths?!"

"A teacher can even do that?!"

Zane’s gaze swept across them, calm and amused. "If you have the energy to whine, then you have the energy to run."

The students quickly turned pale and began moving, feet hitting the dirt track.

But one girl—an invited noble student, a promising magic-user—gritted her teeth. She tried to cast a spell to undo the seal.

For a brief second, her mana flared—only for her body to suddenly feel heavier. A magical weight pressed down on her shoulders, forcing her knees to tremble.

"Ugh—what... is this?!"

Zane smirked. "Resistance earns you a bonus. Five kilograms. Run with it."

Her face went pale, tears stinging her eyes as she stumbled forward, forced to join the others in running.

The rest of the students didn’t dare test him anymore. The sound of footsteps filled the air as twenty-five figures began their grueling run around the track.

Zane simply folded his arms and watched, eyes gleaming with amusement.

The students dashed forward reluctantly, the thud of dozens of feet echoing around the wide training ground.

By the seventh lap, some were already faltering—sweat dripping, lungs burning. A few clutched their sides, gasping desperately, while others dragged their feet, their pace slowing with every step.

But among them, Ron and Lia stood out. Their breathing was steady, their strides rhythmic, almost relaxed. Every lap they ran felt controlled, almost effortless, as though their stamina had no bottom. Maera too held her ground, her expression calm though her pace wasn’t quite as fluid as Ron and Lia’s.

The invited students, handpicked for their potential, were managing better than most of the regulars, though even their faces had started to twist with discomfort.

Except for one.

The same girl who had dared to resist Zane’s seal earlier struggled visibly. The magical weight pressing on her body made every step a torment. Her arms shook as she ran, her pace painfully slow. Tears pricked her eyes, not just from the strain but from the humiliation. The sting of anger burned in her chest—anger at Zane for punishing her so unfairly.

But Zane simply watched with that calm smile, hands folded, eyes sharp as if dissecting every movement, every weakness, every bit of resolve.

Zane leaned back in his chair, watching their uneven strides. Some were already gasping, faces red and drenched in sweat. Only a handful—Ron, Lia, Maera, and two others—still held steady. His lips curled into a observing smile.

"Most of them are pathetic."