Daniel Hayes had been staring at the same math problem for thirty-seven minutes.
The numbers swam on the page like mocking hieroglyphics. He sat hunched at his desk, long legs folded awkwardly under the cheap wooden chair. The lamp cast a sickly yellow glow across the clutter of papers, energy drink cans, and doodled-on notebooks that testified to a senior year slowly slipping away from him.
"Find the value of x," he muttered under his breath. "Yeah, sure. If I could do that, I wouldn't be failing this class."
The tall, broad-shouldered eighteen-year-old had always looked like he should be good at something—sports, academics, anything really. His height made him stand out in hallways, and his sharp features made people assume he had his life together. But looks never solved quadratic equations. They didn't explain why every time he tried to calculate slope or probability, his brain flatlined like a broken radio.
With a groan, Daniel leaned back and dragged both hands down his face. He could ace history exams without trying, write half-decent essays when he cared enough, even cook a passable dinner for himself when his mom worked late. But math? Numbers hated him. They always had.
He glanced at the clock: 11:48 p.m. If he turned the assignment in blank tomorrow, his grade would crater even further.
Maybe I'll just fake sick, he thought. Or better yet, fake dead. No math in the afterlife, right?
The light above his desk flickered. Daniel frowned, tilting his head back. The old bulb buzzed faintly, the kind of sound you ignored until it drove you insane. Then, with no warning, the shadows in the corners of the room began to stretch.
He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. The geometry of the room twisted—corners bending, walls sliding, like space itself had been quietly replaced with something else. A thin circle of pale blue light appeared across the surface of his desk, humming softly.
Daniel's stomach sank. "Nope. Too much caffeine. I'm hallucinating."
The circle brightened, symbols crawling outward in patterns that looked suspiciously like the doodles he sketched during math class. Only these were alive, glowing, locking into place like puzzle pieces he couldn't solve.
The air pressure dropped. His ears popped. Papers scattered.
And before he could shove his chair back or call for his mom, the circle flared with blinding light and dragged him through.
Stone. Cold, unyielding stone slammed against his shoulder as he hit the ground. His head rang, and when the dizziness cleared, the smell of candle wax and incense filled his nose.
Daniel pushed himself onto his elbows.
He was not in his room.
He was in some kind of cathedral-sized chamber, all high vaulted ceilings and marble pillars. Dozens of robed figures stood in a circle around him, holding staffs that glowed faintly at the tips. Banners stitched with strange sigils hung overhead, swaying though there was no wind.
For a long moment, no one spoke. Then, a voice broke the silence:
"…That's him?"
The words echoed, half hopeful, half disappointed.
Another voice—older, steadier—answered. "The soul has crossed. That much is clear."
Daniel staggered to his feet, towering over some of the robed men closest to him. "Uh. Hi. Sorry, I think you've got the wrong guy. I was in my room, and then—"
A ripple of magic surged in the air. Letters formed above his head in shimmering silver light, arranging themselves into words he didn't understand but somehow knew were meant to be read aloud.
The elder mage stepped closer, peering up at them with grave eyes. "Danyl Haevyn."
Daniel froze. "Excuse me?"
"That is your true name," the elder declared, as though announcing a prophecy. "The world has spoken it for us."
"No, my name is Daniel Hayes." His voice cracked a little. "With an 'e.' From Louisiana. Look, can someone just—"
But the robed figures had already begun whispering to each other. "He looks ordinary." "Tall, but unimpressive." "Are we certain this is the prophesied soul?"
Daniel—or apparently Danyl—felt his chest tighten. Every instinct screamed that this wasn't a dream. The chill of the stone floor, the weight of the air, the smell of burning wax—it was too real.
The elder raised a hand for silence. "He will be enrolled at the Arcantheon Academy. The rest will reveal itself in time."
Enrolled? Daniel thought. I just failed algebra back home, and now they want me in a magic school?
The circle of robed figures parted, revealing a set of towering doors carved with runes. Two armored guards stepped forward, gesturing for him to follow. Still dazed, Daniel stumbled after them, every nerve buzzing.
The academy was less like a school and more like a fortress. Towers spiraled into the night sky, their windows glowing with golden light. Bridges arched between spires, and gardens of luminous plants spilled over balconies. Students in robes of varying colors hurried across courtyards, their chatter rising like a thousand overlapping spells.
Daniel felt like he'd walked into a painting—and somehow been dropped into the role of an extra who didn't know his lines.
By the time he was led into a dormitory room—spartan but strangely comfortable—his mind was still reeling. He collapsed onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
"Great," he muttered. "Isekai. Magic school. And they gave me a knockoff fantasy name."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "If this is real, I'm screwed."
The next morning, reality set in with cruel efficiency.
Classrooms were grand lecture halls, their walls etched with moving diagrams of runes and circles. Professors scrawled equations across enchanted chalkboards that rearranged themselves mid-sentence. Students filled rows of desks, notebooks open, wands or staffs resting nearby.
Daniel sat near the back, already lost. The professor's voice boomed:
"To stabilize a Class I mana construct, one must align the outer rune sequence with the internal mana fraction. As you see here…"
Complicated numbers and symbols danced across the board. The rest of the class scribbled notes furiously.
Daniel stared at the glowing formula. His stomach dropped. It was math. Glorified, glowing, arcane math—but still math. Fractions. Ratios. Geometry.
He tried to copy it down, but the symbols made no sense. His hand cramped. His eyes burned.
Then the professor's gaze swept the room.
"You there. The new student." A long finger pointed directly at him. "Danyl Haevyn. Solve this equation."
Every head turned. Daniel froze. His mouth went dry.
"I—uh—" He looked at the board again, desperately trying to piece something together. He recognized a fraction, maybe? A circle divided into quadrants? It might as well have been Martian.
Still, with everyone staring, he forced himself up. Walked to the board. Picked up the chalk.
He copied the equation as best he could. Hesitated. Wrote what felt like a guess. The circle lit briefly—then warped, sparks sizzling. The entire chalkboard rattled before exploding in a harmless puff of smoke and chalk dust.
The class erupted in laughter.
Daniel coughed, cheeks burning. "Yeah. Kinda saw that coming."
The professor pinched the bridge of his nose. "Another miscalculation. Sit down, Haevyn."
Daniel slumped back to his seat, heart pounding. His first day, and he was already the joke of the academy.
But as he brushed chalk dust from his sleeve, he couldn't help noticing something: when the sparks had flared, the circle had almost… shifted. For a split second, it felt like it wanted to become something else—something alive.
Maybe it was just his imagination.
Or maybe, just maybe, he hadn't been entirely wrong