Twelve years old.
Dressed in a hand-sewn uniform, boots two sizes too big, and the long Draco strapped to my back like a broken dream still breathin'.
This was "The Silver Crest Academy."
For nobles.
For prodigies.
For mages born with bloodlines, titles, and ancestors too proud to die.
And then there was me:
Braken. Born in slums. Reborn in mud. Son of no one.
I walked through the front gates.
The grass was too green.
The sky too calm.
Fountains danced with glowing water.
Then I saw 'em.
The noble kids.
Capes, rings, floating spellbooks, mana scent strong like perfume.
One of 'em looked over with his nose turned so high I thought he was sniffin' clouds.
"Who let a slum rat in here?" he said.
"That thing on your back… what is it, a metal club?"
Another noble girl laughed, "Maybe he uses it to dig for trash."
I stopped.
Took a deep breath.
Then smiled.
"Nah," I said.
"It's a Draco. Shoots mana rounds."
"First one in the world."m
They blinked. Confused.
"I built it with my hands. Y'all ever built anything? Or y'all too busy polishing your daddy's rings?"
The air got quiet.
A few students turned. Whispers began. Some laughed.
But I saw it — in one dude's eye — fear.
Inside the hall, the walls shimmered with enchantments.
Floating candles. Spirit paintings. Armor that saluted when you passed.
And damn…
There were girls everywhere.
Older-looking. Curvier. Strong auras.
But the sign said: "Age Range: 12–16."
I froze up.
"Damn…" I muttered under my breath, eyes wide.
"It's alotta older bitches here."
"I'm only 12… but they my age when I died."
I bit my lip.
"I want all of 'em. I need it."
We all got gathered in a huge marble courtyard.
An instructor floated down — silver hair, cloak woven with mana fire.
"Welcome, young talents," he boomed.
"Today begins your journey toward mastery. But first… show us what you're made of."
Each student had to step up to the arena circle and display a spell or technique.
Nobles flashed ice roses. Lightning wings. Flame swords. Applause followed each.
Then it was my turn.
I stepped up with the Draco.
Loaded a mana vial.
Heart thumping. Hands steady.
Whispers started.
"Is that… a weapon?"
"What is he doing?"
"He can't seriously—"
I knelt.
Aimed at a stone dummy.
Click.
Energy surged.
Crystal flared red.
"C'mon, baby… don't let me down now…"
BOOM!
A burst of wind and heat ripped through the dummy's chest. Left a burning hole in the middle.
Silence.
The instructor blinked.
"…You built that?"
"Yeah."
"With junk metal and a dream."
Some kids laughed. Some glared.
One girl with a single black glove tilted her head and smirked.
"You're strange," she said. "I like strange."
After the test, I sat under a tree alone, watching the sun dip low.
I wasn't accepted yet.
But I wasn't ignored either.
And in a world like this?
That's a win.
No dorm key.
No bed.
No mattress.
Just me, my Draco, and the night breeze.
"Slum kids don't get rooms," the clerk had said with a smirk.
"You'll earn it… if you survive a term."
So I walked.
Found a fat oak tree at the edge of the academy gardens.
Laid back, arms folded behind my head.
Grass soft. Air clean. Moonlight dancing through the leaves.
"Damn…" I whispered, eyes locked on the stars.
"This world really is beautiful."
Better than old world … better than running gas station missions just to eat.
But I still had hunger. Different kind.
Then suddenly—
My vision went dark.
Something warm, soft, and heavy landed across my face like a spiritual pillow from the heavens.
"W-what the—?"
I sat up, nearly choking.
A tall woman stood over me, cloak half open, hair like fire, eyes glowing silver.
She had curves that could rewrite a man's moral compass — and a stare that said she'd seen a hundred Brakens before.
"You're the boy with the boomstick, huh?" she said, cocking her head.
"You looked cold under that tree."
"…You a student?" I asked, half hoping.
She smirked.
"I'm a professor."
Pause.
My brain glitched.
"You wanna… stay in my quarters tonight?" she said, folding her arms.
"Not like that. Just a bed. Warm meal. No funny business unless you beg."
I blinked.
"Hell yea," I said with zero hesitation.
She laughed. Not cruel — almost warm.
Ten minutes later.
I sat at a real table for the first time in this world.
She slid me a bowl of stew, bread, and something fizzy in a mug.
"Eat up. You'll need strength," she said.
"This academy eats kids like you alive. You've got one shot to climb."
I looked at her — at the flicker of firelight in her eyes.
"Why help me?" I asked, wiping my mouth.
She leaned back.
"Because you looked at this world like it was worth something."
"Most nobles think they own it. You looked at the stars like you were trying to earn it."
I stared at my food.
"…Aight then," I whispered.
"Guess I got a reason to really go crazy now."
Day one of classes.
Braken sat in the back, arms crossed, hood low, Draco blueprint tucked in his coat.
"I don't need nobody," he muttered.
"Friends get you killed."
But peace?
Nah.
It ain't his destiny.
"Hey!" a girl popped up beside him, 12 like him but with fire in her eyes. "You're Braken, right? I'm Tali! You sat under a tree, right? And then Professor Iris carried you off like a prince!"
"You talk too much," Braken replied, trying to look bored.
"You look like you try too hard to look bored," she shot back.
He sighed.
Persistent.
Braken wanted to be alone, but Tali kept showing up:
• At breakfast
• In training drills
• Even during magic theory
"We should spar sometime," she grinned. "I bet you cheat."
"Cheat?" Braken blinked. "Yea shut the hell up squirt ."
Weeks passed.
Braken didn't want to make waves, but somehow… he always did.
He peeked at the older girls' dorm hot spring once —
Tali dared him.
He accepted.
SPLASH!
CRACK!
SMACK!
He got launched halfway across campus by a 3rd-year fire enchantress.
"Damn. Worth it," he wheezed, nose bleeding, Tali laughing so hard she cried.
Next week? Braken invented something.
Dice.
And a new game: Spirit Hustle.
"Bet you 5 silver he peeks again."
"10 silver says he makes it out alive."
Tali became a slumbook bookie.
Braken became… a legendary menace.
Until—
Professor Iris snapped.
"One. More. Time," she said, cold as ice.
"I don't care how strong you are. You cause chaos again, you're out. Back to the slums. Under trees. No baths. No food. No fun."
Braken froze.
Silence.
"Yes, ma'am."
From that day on…
Braken started playing it low.
Not soft.
Just smart.
He moved like a ninja in a noble school.
Trained in the woods, cleaned up in the pool, slept like royalty.
The dorms were luxury.
Hot food. Real beds. Magic lights. Laughing girls. Even books.
"This the best thing I've ever had…" he thought one night, stretching in his room.
He didn't trust it.
But he'd keep it.
"I just gotta keep it cool," he whispered.
"Play low. Play smart. Play the game."
Braken was chilling under the academy's sun tree when a voice said:
"So… you're the slum rat everyone's whispering about."
He looked up.
Silk shirt. Gold pin. Green eyes. Sharp smirk.
"Name's Caelis," the noble boy said. "Your reputation's gotten ahead of you."
Braken stood up, cracking his neck.
"I ain't tryna impress you."
"Good. Impress me and I might kill you," Caelis said with a grin sharper than a dagger.
Ever since that day, Caelis watched Braken in class.
Mocked him during sparring.
Even got professors to side-eye him.
But Braken didn't fold.
He grinned back.
"I'll handle you soon, rich boy. In my own ring."