How do I know that what he's showing is real?
I have no clue.
Even if he looks like he's pretending to be weak.
It should be fine for the time being.
He's still just Caelum Veldt, a soyboy loser with all the presence of a napkin.
Isaac watched as the boy fumbled with his utensils, nearly upending his goblet of water, a mistake that drew snickers from Tleli's table.
His shoulders hunched, as though he might fold himself small enough to escape notice.
When a servant dropped a platter nearby, he startled so violently that his elbow struck the Esyphyr student beside him, earning a glare sharp enough to carve stone.
Yes, this awkward fool sat among the Esyphyr.
And yes, Isaac disliked the unwanted attention his clumsiness was already attracting.
Tsk.
He's doing a good job at least.
God help me.
He looks like a damn twink.
It's painful to witness.
The future Unifier currently looks like he'd rather be at home playing games.
He won't even meet anyone's eyes, let alone rally them to his cause.
But Isaac knew how the story ended.
One day, the boy would stand tall.
One day, that hesitant voice would ring with conviction, and those nervous hands would wield power capable of shaking continents.
One day, the very nobles who laughed at him now would laugh with him without hesitation, their pride replaced with his kindness.
For the moment, however, Caelum remained nothing more than a clumsy commoner at a crowded table, destiny hidden beneath his boots and secondhand cloth.
Ughhh…
Today is not that day.
Today, he's just a boy. A boy who—
Behind You.
Isaac's head snaps toward the Yves tables, and a primordial instinct kicks in before logic catches up.
"Temporal Anchor: Activate!"
His world shifts to grids of blue.
There.
A flicker of something sharp in the dim hall light. A gaze that lingers a second too long, heavy with intent. From the First-Years' section, where the Yves Students sat like boulders at rest. But when he tries to pin it down—
Nothing.
Just a sea of turned backs and idle chatter.
Yet his skin prickles.
Someone was watching.
Who the fuck had such a glare?
Who?
Was it killing intent?
It was potent to the point that the System had to deliberately use 'authority' to warn me.
What the fu一
"Is he good?"
"No way they let someone with schizophrenia into the Institute, right?"
Ah shit…
My social image…
A gong reverberates through the hall.
"Temporal Anchor: Disable."
Conversation dies mid-sentence. Chairs scrape against the marble floors; every head turns toward the raised dais at the front of the room.
Headmaster Orthellius steps onto the stage.
He moves like a man who's never hurried in his life.
His broad shoulders squared beneath robes of midnight blue embroidered with stitched constellations and sigils that shimmer like battlefield medals.
At first glance, you'd mistake him for a retired general, a jawline like a fortification, and silver-streaked black hair cropped close to his skull.
His posture is parade-ground perfect, the kind of straight spine that makes the back bones of chairs obsolete.
His hands were scarred across the knuckles, one finger slightly crooked from an old complete phalangeal fracture, yet they rested on his cane.
The scholar who met Isaac now adorned himself with his awards and prizes.
This isn't some frail, old scholar from Earth's fairy tales; this is a man who's marched through countless battles and wrung wisdom from it by force.
God… Stop aurafarming…
The air thickens. Even the nobles straighten in their seats.
Then he smiles and spreads his arms.
"Welcome to the first night of your time at my Institute."
A pause, as his eyes swept across the hall, a general surveying his troops.
"Some of you come bearing names that echo through history. Others carry only your ambition and the clothes on your backs."
His gaze lingered briefly on Caelum before continuing.
"Here, those distinctions mean nothing. You are to treat each other as of the same status, even the nobles."
The First Years looked quite shocked. But the upperclassmen look as if they're used to it.
The cane struck the stage with a crack.
"The weak will be forged in fire. The arrogant will be humbled by the wind. The rigid shall learn to flow like water, and the reckless will find their roots in earth."
He leaned forward, the constellations on his robes pulsing faintly.
"You are not students. You are aspiring Wave Binders, Kynetics, Catalyxi, and Concordants in a world overflowing with them, yet woefully short of truly exceptional ones."
A beat of silence. The lights of the hall dimmed as if anticipating his next words.
Wait. Kynetics?? Concordants??? The fuck? Okay nevermind.
Kynetics sounds similar to Kinetic, so I can assume they're the Mana Swordsman. Concordance means an agreement, so that would then be the remaining Spirit Tamers.
Jeez…
Media always trying to make the simplest things sound cool, but it's so fucking complicated for what?
"Before you feast, meet those who will teach you the remarkable... or watch you crumble under the weight of your own mediocrity."
With a wave of his hand, the shadows behind him parted to reveal the Academy's elite professors:
"Professor Aldrick St. Clair - Head of Practical Noësis, Concordance, and the infirmary."
DAMN… He's a mountain of a man.
A permanent lightning burn across his left cheek, Aldricks St. Clair's very presence was that of a retired War-Wave Binder who still wore his military greaves over academic robes. Ironically, the head nurse of the school was due to his concordance with a multitude of Nature Concordees.
"Archivist Orlan Peña Quintana - Head of Noësical Theory and History."
The oldest among them, his "robe" was actually a tapestry of parchment that constantly rearranged itself with theorems.
"Magister Silas Ren - Head of Kynetism."
Hmmm… Mr Hidden Intent himself.
The Kynetic stood with his hands folded behind his back because letting them rest at his sides had proven too dangerous for nearby objects.
A well-built man with an exquisitely crafted sword and a terrifying secret.
"Doctor Chessie Harrington - Head of Catalyxical Studies and Chemistry."
Ooh… Chessie Harrington.
She'll eventually develop great creations and contributions to MagiTech.
I'll try to get closer to her.
Her protective goggles and dozens of vials clicking at her belt contained things that were definitely, absolutely, not allowed in civilised company, but still trusted in her hands.
But what Isaac could never anticipate would be the following Professors.
There's more?
"Professor Eamon Ó Cinnéde - Head of Noësical Mathematics."
Huh?
A hawk-like man whose very presence suggested calculation. A sharp nose, pale eyes, and neatly ordered hair. His authority was less imposed than inevitable, the kind of authority born when one represents the discipline they have practised.
He wasn't in EAA...
"Doctor Azucena Esquivel - Head of Biothaumic Studies."
A woman of striking poise, tall and lean. She carried herself as though every motion was an experiment in grace, the kind that stemmed from knowledge so deeply internalized of her own body it seemed part of her very anatomy.
She wasn't in EAA…
"And finally, Doctor Hao. Hao Zhenxu - Head of Noësical Physics."
A man with a sharp face with equally sharp eyes, as sharp as his physics. In him, Noësical Physics had not only a scholar but an oscillating and vibrating wave of every ontology.
He wasn't in EAA…
Three teachers who were not in the original story.
Three extra probabilities…
Sighhhh…
FUCK.
I hate this shit, man…
The Headmaster's smirk returned, sharper this time.
"Study their syllabus well. By year's end, you'll either thank them... or curse their names in your nightmares."
He brought his cane down with a thunderous crack.
"Now. Feast. Tomorrow. Orientation at 7:30. To the future scholars of the world!"
The headmaster's voice boomed through the grand hall. The chandeliers above flared brighter, casting golden light upon rows of long, oakwood tables brimming with platters of roast meats, fresh breads, jewel-toned fruits, and desserts dusted with sugar as the second round of feasting arrived.
Everyone raised their cups high as their voice mingles in a thunderous chorus:
"To us!"
Thus, the second supper began.