When the bell rang, no one moved.
Not at first.
Professor Elian had already left the room in silence, her cloak swaying behind her like a falling shadow. But the real storm stayed seated — in the form of forty students, now buzzing with restrained confusion.
They didn't know what to make of me.
So they filled the void with whispers.
"Logic? Seriously?"
"He just got lucky. The Clawrat must've been old."
"Still… he did kill it."
"Barely. Did you see how he staggered back?"
I kept my head low as I pulled on the extra cloak I'd stuffed in my bag. My arm still throbbed beneath the fabric, wrapped tightly now to stop the bleeding. I refused to show it — not out of pride, but strategy.
Let them keep thinking I was wounded worse than I was.
Let them think I was on the verge of collapse.
I moved to the exit slowly, forcing my steps to be even. From the corner of my eye, I saw Eran Vellhart — the noble boy with the sharp tongue — watching me like a hawk sizing up prey that got lucky.
"Pathetic," he muttered to the girl beside him. "One claw and he's already limping."
"He did win, Eran."
"So what? Let's see him last five seconds against a real mage."
I didn't look back.
---
The hallway outside was quiet, less ornate than the central ones but still wrapped in rune-lit arches. I followed the blue line etched across the floor that led toward the infirmary wing. But halfway there, I turned into a side corridor and leaned against the stone wall.
I didn't need treatment yet.
I needed time.
The ache in my arm pulsed with a dull rhythm, but it was the eyes I remembered most — the way they'd all looked at me in that classroom. Not with fear. Not even respect.
Just confusion.
They didn't get it.
They didn't understand what they saw.
> "Logic… huh?"
The voice came from behind me.
I turned slightly. A girl with short white hair and round spectacles stood a few feet away. Her robe was too big, sleeves halfway down her hands. She had a soft way of standing — like someone who spent more time in books than battles.
"You took the hit on purpose, didn't you?" she asked.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"The cut on your arm. You calculated the trajectory. You knew you'd survive it… barely."
I stared at her.
She smiled faintly. "I like puzzles."
"…and who are you?"
"Arin Deyel. Mind affinity. Level 13. Third seat in the logic theory class."
She held out a small paper cloth. "You're bleeding through again."
I took it, pressed it to the wound under my cloak. "Thanks."
She tilted her head. "They think you're weak."
"I am weak," I said. "At least, that's what they should believe."
She blinked. "That's dangerous."
"Exactly."
Arin didn't laugh or smile at that. She just nodded, like something clicked.
"You'll survive here," she said quietly. "Eventually."
Before I could reply, she turned and walked away, cloak dragging just slightly against the floor.
---
By the time I reached the infirmary, the blood had mostly dried.
The healer — a tired woman with bright green runes glowing around her hands — barely looked up as she waved me in.
"Sit. Remove the wrap."
I obeyed.
Her fingers hovered above the wound, and I felt a warm pressure seep into my arm. The pain eased instantly.
"You're lucky. Two inches deeper and you'd be unable to grip your casting hand for a month."
"I'll remember that next time I face a rabid rat."
She snorted softly. "You're the logic kid, huh?"
"…That obvious?"
"You're the only one bleeding after a simple intro test."
She finished the healing and covered the wound with a light mana band. "Careful, boy. Academy's full of monsters sharper than that rat."
"I know."
"No," she said, eyes hard now. "You don't."
---
Later that day, in the dorm dining hall, the whispers hadn't stopped.
"Did you hear? Logic kid stabbed a Clawrat with furniture."
"Sounds like a street brawler, not a mage."
"I bet he fails the first student duel."
And yet... for all their mockery, no one sat near me.
No one dared challenge me yet, either.
They didn't respect me. They didn't fear me.
But they were watching.
And sometimes… that was enough.
Let them think I'm weak.
Let them laugh.
Because someday, their smiles would crack — just like the bones of the monsters I'll tear through.
And when that day comes… they'll finally understand what Logic really means.
---
And when that day comes… they'll finally understand what Logic really means.
Not just numbers. Not just cold calculation.
But control. Precision. Foresight.
They'll see that in a world of chaos and magic, there's something more terrifying than raw power—
A mind that sees ten moves ahead.
---
I sat in the far corner of the dining hall, untouched food cooling before me.
The others had already moved on — laughter rising at clustered tables, jokes flying about their spells, their cores, their bloodlines.
But my table stayed empty. Eyes flicked toward me every few minutes, subtle, uncertain.
Not fear. Not yet.
But awareness.
Let them talk.
I replayed the battle in my mind again. Over and over.
Every leap. Every hiss. Every twitch of the Clawrat's movement.
The trajectory of the broken desk leg. The timing of the thrust. The exact moment it died.
And still…
There were flaws.
Too much blood lost. Too much strain. Too close.
Next time, there would be no mistakes.
Next time, I wouldn't need a second chance.