The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of the math elective classroom. The lesson crept toward its end, though no one in the room showed the faintest sign of easing their shoulders.

Strange, isn’t it, how a man at the front can hold thirty people hostage with nothing more than his posture and a few clipped words? Mathius didn’t even need to raise his voice. And yet, everyone sat stiff as if one wrong breath might be noticed, tallied, and used against them.

His lectures were less about instruction and more like battle, a barrage of rapid-fire questions designed to corner, prod, and expose. Most scholars approached his sessions as if walking a tightrope over broken glass.

And yet, for the second time since the semester began, Ruvian found himself answering all the questions. Good enough to halt Mathias’s advance barrage of questions, which in itself was something close to a miracle. (+100PP)

As the final minutes slipped by, Mathias’s knuckles struck the podium with a thud, slicing through the classroom’s murmur like a blade. Every head turned. “I will conduct a quiz after your Island Test,” he said, voice clipped and dry.

A groan rippled across the seats, resigned, unified and suffering. His gaze drifted once more, pausing on Ruvian. “So study well,” he said, the barest edge of amusement or perhaps challenge, lurking behind the monotone.

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And Castelor…”

The room fell quiet.

“…keep up your good work.” (+300PP)

A few students blinked in surprise. It wasn’t the quiz that left the students stunned into silence. No, that was expected. Inevitable, even. Marthias’s quizzes were as certain as death, taxes, and his contempt for mediocrity.

What truly left mouths slightly agape and eyes darting across the rows in disbelief was the fact that the notoriously ruthless professor had just… praised someone!

And not just anyone.

Ruvian Castelor.

The name passed between students like contraband, carried in hushed, incredulous tones.

Some squinted as if they’d misheard. Others wore the same look one might give a wild beast seen calmly sipping tea. Praises coming from Instructor Mathias were practically a standing ovation.

Ruvian, for his part, returned the gesture with a simple nod, more formality than gratitude. The bell rang not long after. Chairs scraped, bags rustled, the room filling with the clamour of bodies desperate to flee. He let the noise pass around him, standing, adjusting his cloak. The path to the door was open, and he was halfway there before someone called him.

“Ruvian Castelor.”

His steps halted.

‘Wow. My name’s getting dragged around far too often today…’

He turned, slow enough to make it clear he hadn’t been eager. The playful voice belonged to Silvena, of course. It would. The afternoon light played across her emerald hair, catching in the edges of its layered cut. Her eyes matched, glinting the same way as a jewel.

Her face… he supposed it fit any fool’s definition of beauty. Symmetrical, clean lines, a softness at odds with the bite in her gaze. But every time he looked at her, there was that other edge. A slyness. The sort of face that told you it knew more than you did. And enjoyed the fact.

A breeze crept in from the open windows and past between them.

“What is it?” Ruvian asked.

Silvena smiled, a trace of amusement playing at the corner of her lips. But her eyes held something keener. “I just want to know,” she began, her tone casual, “why did you stand against Julian in the dining hall this morning? You had nothing to gain from it—except making enemies.”

A fair question, though hardly innocent. Ruvian knew it was meant less as curiosity than as a test. Lying would not hold; she had the sort of gaze that would peel through falsehoods without effort. Dodging her would only invite further questions, each sharper than the last. But the truth itself—his truth—was not something he could give freely.

Still, he weighed the air, the way her words pressed against him, the memory of Julian’s laughter clashing with the sudden silence of that hall. Better not to answer at all, perhaps. But better still to let the truth work for him, in a shape of his choosing.

Stolen novel; please report.

So, after a pause that seemed deliberate rather than hesitant, he said, “Suppose I told you my aim is not merely to oppose him, but to challenge him. No—dethrone him as first-year representative. What would you make of that?” (+100PP)

The words struck the space between them like an outlandish declaration. They were absurd, even reckless—but deliberate in their weight. Silvena regarded him in silence, eyes narrowing not with disbelief but with a kind of fascination, as though she hadn’t expected candour yet but was curious enough to lean into it.

At last, she exhaled, her voice softer now, the edge of amusement shading into something close to admiration. “Hmm~ I knew it. You’re insane.”

‘Did I just get called out insane by an insane person?'

Silvena’s eyes sharpened as she stepped closer, her voice deceptively light.

“Anyway… is that all to it? There must be more, right? Why? Is it a grudge? Pride?”

Ruvian didn’t flinch. He didn’t need time to think.

“No,” he said evenly. “Nothing like that.”

He raised his gaze then, meeting the green in her eyes without wavering.

“It’s simple,” he continued. “What if I told you I intend to tear down everything this academy has built? The hollow meritocracy. The favoritism they parade as fairness. The narrative they cling to, broken at its core. I want to burn it all down. So…” His voice dropped. “What would you do if I told you that?”

(+100PP)

Silence weighed heavily after Ruvian’s words. Silvena’s sharp expression shifted, not much, just a shade softer. Then she leaned in, the curve of her smile a little crooked, eyes glittering with mischief. Find the newest release on NoveIꜰire.net

“Hmm~ Then what if I say I’ll strike the match with you? If this place burns, I’ll be the one pouring oil over it.”

Ruvian was surprised to hear that, but not much, as he already knew Silvena despised the academy’s twisted order, but the confidence in her voice still rattled him.

‘As I thought, she’s got a few screws loose.’

Silvena let out a laugh, sharp and dry, startling even herself with how genuine it was. Her grin curled into a playful, dangerous expression. “Gods… I think I might like you even more now,” she murmured, eyes glinting.

‘Damn it. This is exactly why I avoid women like her… But, this might be the only chance for me...’ Ruvian’s gaze flicked to the side, then back to her.

“By the way, while we’re on that…” he began, his voice light, but edged with intent. “I believe there’s room for an understanding between us. One that might serve both our interests.”

Silvena’s eyes sharpened. Stillness passed over her; she was reflecting what Ruvian meant by that. “An understanding?” she asked.

Ruvian offered a small shrug, as if to say this wasn’t important, though the way he framed it said otherwise. “Let’s just say, I’ve come across an opportunity, one I suspect might interest you more than most.” (+200PP)

He let the words linger, inviting her to fill in the blanks with her own ambition. He knew better than to spell things out, especially to someone like Silvena. People like her responded to possibilities more. And sure enough, her expression changed. Silvena was no longer skeptical or curious. In fact, she was intrigued by what Ruvian seemed ready to offer.

***

Later that night, Ruvian returned to his private dorm. After a long, arduous period of lectures and personal spells training, finally it was time for him to inspect his new unlocked skill.

Skill activation: [Character Stat Customization]

{}---『RUNEHEART』---{}

◇ Name: Ruvian Castelor

◇ Age: 16

◇ Spellcore: Tier 1

◇ Relevance Tier: Stage II – Wandering Annotation

◇ Plot Points: 7310 (PPs)

◇ Current Arc: Arc 2 – Beneath the Banner of Enrollment

[Mana Resonance: (0/100)]

==[General Attributes]==

Strength: F+

Agility: F+

Endurance: E-

Vitality: E-

Perception: E

==[Mage Attributes]==

Mana Control: E

Casting Speed: F+

Magic Power: F

Mana Sensitivity: E

Mana Essence: [68/215]

==[Innate Blessings]==

- [N/A]

==[Magic Affinity]==

- [Wind]

These past few days, he had been regularly training, improving his general and mage attributes with the help of the system quest and rewards.

Finally, all of those stats increased by +1 stage. Mana Sensitivity from E- to E, Strength from F to F+.

However, this was not enough to help him win against Julian or any of the Class A scholars. Heck, he might have died on Vazrun Island if careless.

So, he needed to get stronger.

Skill Activated: [Character Stat Customization]

A message unfolded before him, its voice as clinical as it was precise.

[Plot Points may now be exchanged to enhance the Bearer’s attributes, magical capacity, and narrative trajectory. Higher levels require greater investment. Choose wisely.]

And then it appeared, rows and rows of numbers, grades, names. The anatomy of his strength, dissected into clean little boxes.

General Attributes:

Strength – F+ → E- (200 PPs)

Agility – F+ → E- (200 PPs)

Endurance – E- → E (300 PPs)

Vitality – E- → E (300 PPs)

Perception – E → E+ (500 PPs)

Mage Attributes:

Mana Control – E → E+ (500 PPs)

Casting Speed – F+ → E- (200 PPs)

Magic Power – F → F+ (150 PPs)

Mana Sensitivity – E → E+ (500 PPs)

Mana Essence – 215 → 265 (250 PPs)

Special Traits:

Mana Resonance – +1 (30 PPs)

Affinity Slot – Locked (20,000 PPs)

Innate Blessing Slot – Locked (20,000 PPs)

//////////

[Total Available Plot Points: 7310]

———————————

Ruvian stared at the screen, silent.

Then:

“…Are you kidding me?”

“Two hundred points to move from F+ to E-? That’s not even a full tier. That’s what—a half-step out of ....pathetic?”

The system did not respond. He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. Truthfully, he should’ve expected this. The System never gave him anything for free. But somehow, watching his stats line up like malnourished orphans begging for food and being told each meal cost hundreds of points still felt personal.

He folded his arms, gaze still fixed on the glowing list of limitations.

“Guess I’ll be playing the long game.”

PP= 7310

Me= 215