"Come in, Orianna."
The knock had barely sounded before Ryan spoke.
Orianna stepped into his office, carrying a stack of documents.
She gave a small bow toward the figure standing by the window.
Her soft, electronic voice carried an energetic tone.
"Dean Ryan, all 2,018 students across the six departments have officially enrolled. The schedules for each department have been finalized."
Academy of War didn't bother with opening ceremonies.
Instead, each department introduced itself through demonstrations led by its professors.
In Noxus, strength is the only credential. A professor or mentor who couldn't prove their power had no place here.
As Orianna spoke, Ryan turned around.
With a flick of his hand, magic flowed from him, lifting the papers from Orianna's hands into his own.
While he scanned the documents, Orianna continued:
"Each week follows a seven-day cycle—six days of classes and one day off. Most departments report four days dedicated to core subjects. Of the remaining two, one day is reserved for veteran lectures, and the other for elective activities."
The Academy of War currently has only six departments: Warfare, Administration, Magic, Machinery, Hextech, and History.
The Warfare Department boasted the highest number of students, while the Magic Department had the fewest—its students were not only younger but also less experienced.
"Young minds are more adaptable," Seraphine had remarked after joining the academy.
In addition to each department's core classes, all students were required to attend the veteran lecture—a shared curriculum element.
A different veteran spoke each day, recounting their battlefield experiences and military achievements.
Unless excused by a professor, students were required to attend a minimum number of these talks every seven days.
Failure to comply would result in a dismissal notice.
And in Noxus, being expelled was worse than failure—it was humiliation.
"This schedule looks good. Let's go with it," Ryan said, setting the papers aside.
He glanced up.
"The Machinery Department isn't overwhelmed, I assume?"
Orianna, who served both as the Machinery Department's mentor and Ryan's personal assistant, nodded.
With her expertise, she could easily have held a professorship—but she had chosen to remain at a lower rank, two steps beneath.
At the Academy of War, professors led departments directly, supported by associate professors, while mentors focused solely on instruction.
"Not overwhelmed," she replied.
"Professor Furnace is showcasing his skills today."
Ryan looked intrigued. "What do you think of him?"
Orianna tilted her head slightly, processing the question.
"He's stubborn. They say his ancestors were once the greatest smiths in the Furnace family. But I don't think he's fond of the term 'Machinery Department.'"
Ryan shook his head. "That family's long gone. Whatever legacy he claims—it's just scraps he picked up while chasing their ghost."
He turned back toward the window, watching the world outside.
"Forging and mechanical engineering are the same at their core. And in my eyes, you have more potential than he ever will."
Orianna nodded. "Understood. I'll study his forging techniques."
"The empire has no shortage of craftsmen," Ryan said, his tone level.
"What we lack are the exceptional ones."
"To reach that level," Orianna replied, "I need to create something perfect. A masterpiece that will make the name of Noxian machinery known."
Orianna had a smile in her pale blue eyes.
Compared to the quiet girl she once was, becoming fully mechanical hadn't dulled her emotions—they had only grown deeper.
In the constant reconstruction of her body, in the melding of gears and parts, she had rediscovered the joy and purpose that once made her human.
"You believe in your talent, Orianna," Ryan said.
"If Piltover can make mechanical dragons soar through the sky, then it's only a matter of time before a masterpiece bears your name."
"Thank you for believing in me, Mr. Ryan." Orianna's smile softened, her voice tinged with sincerity.
Facing the tall, imposing figure, she bowed slightly and left the office.
Once the room was silent again, Ryan's form shimmered—then dissolved into a stream of water.
It hadn't been him. Just a clone—one of many he used to handle routine matters while his true self remained elsewhere.
At that moment, he was still immersed in research with Syndra, diving deep into their shared study of the Celestials—mysterious cosmic entities known only to a few.
--------
In a wide open space, dozens of students stood scattered around, facing an array of practice dummies in the distance.
"Professor LeBlanc, aren't you going to show yourself?"
Seraphine stood bored atop the platform, glancing toward the shadows where LeBlanc watched the students with amused curiosity.
LeBlanc—the Pale Lady, the master of the Black Rose—was a natural fit to be the professor of magic.
At least in Seraphine's opinion. Her instructors back in the Floating Castle had been woefully uninspired.
At this hour, they were probably still obsessing over the Celestial studies, likely forgetting to eat or sleep.
"No, Miss Seraphine," LeBlanc said with a faint smile.
"Today is your stage. I'm only here as a placeholder."
She hadn't come to teach to remind people she was still around.
"Fine, fine… Poor Seraphine."
With a dramatic sigh, Seraphine shook her long pink hair and floated forward, resigned to her role.
She was still underage by Piltover standards, yet here she was—mentor, organizer, talent scout—all of it.
But she had personally recruited most of the students in this department. Many were even younger than she was. And despite the grumbling, she was proud of what they were building.
"Hi, everyone! I'm Seraphine—your future mentor!"
"Hello, Sister Seraphine!" Annie called out first, waving her small hand while clutching her teddy bear with the other.
"Hello, Teacher Seraphine!" the rest of the children chimed in, their voices respectful and eager.
They had all met her before the semester began, during the academy's orientation.
They still remembered how gently Seraphine had spoken with their parents, and those moments had left an impression.
Back home, those same parents reminded them to respect the pink-haired mentor.
There were no older mages in the Magic Department.
Most experienced ones had joined the Administration or Warfare Departments, wanting to be trained directly under Swain or Draven.
In the crowd, only one girl remained silent. Dark-skinned, with short blond hair, her eyes didn't leave LeBlanc's direction.
Her gaze was steady, focused—not on Seraphine, but on a modest-looking woman standing quietly behind LeBlanc.
Someone she knew.
"Rell, right?"
Seraphine had given a short welcome, then asked Annie to help manage the students who still hadn't learned to control their magic.
Afterward, she approached the girl.
Rell looked older than most other students, perhaps even older than Seraphine.
The data confirmed it: Rell was 14 and already adept at manipulating metal magic.
She was also the only student Seraphine hadn't personally recruited.
"Who am I supposed to fight next?" Rell asked flatly.
"Fighting isn't what we teach here," Seraphine replied gently.
"Your mother's way of teaching you was... harsh."
"Mother... right…"
A trace of irony curled Rell's lips—a quiet, bitter smile.
"Can I ask something?" Rell said suddenly.
"She loves you," Seraphine replied softly, before the question could even be voiced.
The "That's why she did it."