I reclaimed my seat—that same unremarkable chair in the middle of the crowd—and let out a slow breath. Around me, the auditorium gradually refilled with students, their chatter layering into a buzzing hum.
This moment of quiet was a gift. With my hands folded in my lap, I let my mind wander: This is it. The first day. Kael's performance matched the original timeline. Lysandra's interest is secured. Alyssa's... well, Alyssa's still herself.
But what about me?
I traced the grain of the wooden armrest with my thumb. Intermediate-Class. Unlike those generic OP MC's who seek to seem weak. I am not noteworthy enough to draw attention, not weak enough to be pitied. The perfect place to observe.
A hush fell as the headmaster ascended the podium, his robes whispering against the steps. His presence commanded silence—not through magic, but through sheer gravitas.
"Students," he began, his voice resonating in the vaulted space like a bell, carrying the weight of centuries of tradition. The lights dim once again to emphasise the speech.
"Today marks the end of your orientation, but the beginning of your true journey at this academy." His gnarled staff tapped once against the podium, sending a pulse of golden light shimmering through the room. Light Magic.
"What you've seen so far are but the polished halls and curated lessons - the stage before the play."
A murmur rippled through the crowd as his piercing gaze swept across us, lingering just a moment too long on Kael and I's section.
"Tomorrow, the real work begins. Tomorrow, you'll learn that magic isn't simply spells and formulae, but the art of reshaping reality itself."
His voice dropped to a near-whisper that somehow carried to every corner.
"Some of you will soar to heights unimaginable. Others will learn the price of ambition."
The silence that followed was thicker than any spellbound quiet, weighted with the futures of 200 hundred young mages. Even Alyssa sat straighter in her seat, her usual smirk forgotten.
"But for this afternoon?" The headmaster's expression softened marginally. "You are simply students who have passed their first test. Treasure this innocence."
"You, my future geniuses. Are dismissed. Please head to the dining hall for the lunch provided."
And with that. Applause. Then the exit,
I stepped into the corridor, the last echoes of the headmaster's voice faded behind me. The stone halls, so imposing this morning, now felt like the ribs of some slumbering beast—holding its breath, waiting.
A glint of afternoon sun hit the stained-glass windows, fracturing the light into emerald and sapphire ghosts across the floor. For a heartbeat, the academy looked less like a school and more like a cathedral—a shrine to stories yet unwritten.
Then the moment passed as I exited the main building. I bask in the sunlight with my eyes closed. The joy of the First-Years heading to the dining hall. The sorrow of the cohort heading for their classes. And me?
Unseen. Unremarked. Perfect.
It still feels fake. All the more affirmed by Temporal Anchor. I am an outsider. But. But is it wrong if I just enjoy it for abi—
But remember. She said magic was real, then it had to be. Otherwise, she lied. And dying people don't lie. Isaac. It all came too late. I hate magic because it shouldn't exist. Because it means my old life was an illusion. Because it came too late to save my mother.
I didn't come here to cast fireballs. I'm here to finish MY equation. To test the limits of this world and its magic. So that I can finally say. Magic is a metaphor. It was impossible to save her. My science is superior to your spells.
The world snapped back into motion, ordinary and relentless.
Ah… Fuck…
I sigh
Well, I can always appreciate food.
Lunch it is.
.
.
.
The remnants of lunch—a hearty stew laced with herbs warmed my belly as I lingered at the edge of the bustling dining hall. Around me, students clattered plates and debated optimal casting methods in duels, their voices weaving a tapestry of ambition and anxiety. Full, I mused, but restless. This quiet hour between obligations was a gift—and a crossroads.
Option 1: Train.
My fingers flexed unconsciously. Magic? Passable. But strength… Pathetic. "Yesterday's" encounters with the goblins and Viperstag haunted me—the way neither of them even shuddered when I'd struck them. My stats glared back from memory like an indictment. Strength, still 1-Star
Goran House's gym loomed in my mind—a cavern of grunting earth mages hoisting boulders. No. Humiliation wasn't pedagogy. My dorm would suffice a homemade pull up bar? Push-ups on the wooden floor. A prince's regimen for a pauper's physique.
Option 2: Research.
This world's divergence from EAA's lore nagged at me. Original EAA was a more steampunk mysticism; this version hummed with MagiTech. Mana and lighting-powered trams snaked between towers. Dummies analyzed Newton per centimetre square in real-time. Even the cafeteria's stew pot regulated heat via an early version of the stove. How deep did the science run? The library could explain these differences. After all, knowledge was armor. But right now? My eyelids already felt heavy. I probably wouldn't read.
Option 3: Stalk the Main Cast.
A glance confirmed it: Kael still sat at the central oak table, shoveling down roasted eel while Lysandra dissected his MCAT technique with surgical precision. Searphyne and Leona. Both nowhere in sight. Observing them felt… safe. Predictable. But intervening? Dangerous. "Gauge Invariance" was a real thing in this version of EAA. It would warp causality around them like gravity around a star. If I nudged Kael toward the "wrong" dessert, would he miss meeting the alchemy professor? Unlikely. But the butterfly effect wasn't a myth here—it was a loaded gun.
I snorted. Priorities.
Survival demanded brutal honesty. Magic might flow smoothly enough to fake competence, but strength was an unforgiving liar. In the original game's Act I Finale, the Stormbreak Spiral trap arc was a 4-Star rated quest. Of course, players enter with Kael's kit and therefore just overpowered the entire arc. Me? I'm not Kael. I'm weak.
I sigh. Back to the dorms.
I slipped out of the dining hall—a ghost in a house of fireworks. House Sylvas' corridors welcomed me with the scent of pine resin and ozone. My room. My safespace, and now my gym.
Doorframe Pull-Ups: One… One… ONE!!!!. Fucking hell, not even one.
Floor Push-Ups: One. Two. Muscles screamed by seven. Pathetic.
Wall-Sits: One Mississippi . Two Mississippi . Three Mississippi… Twenty-Nine Mississippi and I collapse.
Sweat stung my eyes. Every tremor in my quads mocked me. Why bother?
[ Stamina: 71% ]
Jeez this body sucks.