Leo's first day of classes at the Royal Academy of Aethelgard began with what he considered to be a perfectly reasonable goal: achieve a level of academic mediocrity so profound that no professor would ever remember his name, no student would ever seek his help, and no one would ever suspect that he possessed any knowledge beyond what could be reasonably expected from someone who had presumably been studying magic for less than a week.
It was, he reflected as he made his way through the academy's labyrinthine corridors, a beautifully simple plan. All he had to do was answer questions incorrectly, perform spells badly, and generally conduct himself with the kind of academic incompetence that would mark him as utterly forgettable.
The plan lasted approximately fifteen minutes.
"The fundamental principle of elemental magic," Professor Thaddeus Grimwald announced to his Introduction to Magical Theory class, "is the concept of sympathetic resonance between the caster's internal magical matrix and the external elemental forces they wish to manipulate. Can anyone explain what this means in practical terms?"
Leo, who had positioned himself in the back corner of the classroom specifically to avoid being called upon, kept his head down and tried to look like someone who was either asleep or suffering from a severe case of academic confusion.
Around him, other students shifted nervously in their seats, clearly hoping that someone else would volunteer to answer the professor's question.
Professor Grimwald's eyes swept across the classroom like a hawk searching for prey.
He was a tall, thin man with the kind of beard that suggested he took his scholarly appearance very seriously, and his robes were decorated with enough magical symbols to stock a small library of arcane texts.
When his gaze fell on Leo, it lingered for a moment longer than Leo found comfortable.
"You there," Professor Grimwald said, pointing directly at Leo with the kind of precision that suggested he had been planning this moment. "In the back. The young man who appears to be attempting to achieve invisibility through the power of slouching. What's your name?"
Leo's heart sank. "Leo Vance, sir," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Ah, Mr. Vance. The famous bucket-thrower." Professor Grimwald's eyes gleamed with the kind of academic interest that Leo had learned to fear. "I've heard quite a bit about your... unconventional approach to magical problem-solving. Perhaps you could share your thoughts on sympathetic resonance?"
Leo felt the eyes of every student in the classroom turn toward him.
This was exactly the kind of attention he had been trying to avoid. He needed to give an answer that was wrong enough to demonstrate his ignorance, but not so spectacularly wrong that it would be memorable.
"Well," he said slowly, buying time while his mind raced, "I suppose it's... when you feel sorry for the elements? Like, you sympathize with them, so they... resonate with your feelings?"
It was, Leo thought, a perfectly terrible answer. It demonstrated a complete misunderstanding of both magical theory and basic vocabulary. Any reasonable professor would mark him down as a hopeless case and move on to a more promising student.
Professor Grimwald stared at him for a long moment, and Leo began to hope that his strategy was working.
Then the professor smiled.
"Interesting," Professor Grimwald said, stroking his beard thoughtfully.
"A highly unconventional interpretation, but not entirely without merit. You're suggesting that the emotional connection between caster and element is the primary factor in magical manipulation, rather than the traditional focus on technical precision and formulaic structure."
Leo blinked. "I... what?"
"It's quite revolutionary, actually," Professor Grimwald continued, warming to his subject. "The idea that magic is fundamentally an empathetic art rather than a technical discipline challenges centuries of established magical pedagogy. Tell me, Mr. Vance, have you been reading the works of Archmage Cornelius Heartweaver? His theories on emotional thaumaturgy are remarkably similar to what you've just described."
"I haven't read anything by anyone named Heartweaver," Leo said honestly, which was true since he had invented Professor Grimwald and his entire curriculum during a particularly uninspired writing session three years ago.
"Self-taught development of parallel theoretical frameworks," Professor Grimwald murmured, making notes on a piece of parchment with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for major academic discoveries. "Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating."
Leo felt a familiar sense of dread settling over him like a heavy blanket. This was not going according to plan.
From his pocket, Sir Reginald provided unhelpful commentary in a voice so quiet that only Leo could hear it. "Congratulations, giant. You've managed to accidentally revolutionize magical theory. This is exactly the kind of low-profile academic performance you were aiming for."
The rest of the class passed in a blur of increasingly uncomfortable attention. Professor Grimwald called on Leo three more times, and each time, Leo's attempts to give wrong answers were interpreted as brilliant insights into the nature of magical theory.
By the end of the lecture, half the class was taking notes on his "innovative approaches to elemental sympathy," and Professor Grimwald had invited him to attend an advanced seminar on "Experimental Thaumaturgical Methodologies."
"This is a disaster," Leo muttered as he fled the classroom, pursued by the eager questions of students who wanted to know more about his "groundbreaking theories."
"It's certainly not boring," Sir Reginald agreed from his pocket. "Though I have to admire your ability to accidentally become an academic sensation while trying to be forgettable. It's a talent that few people possess."
Leo's next class was Practical Spellcasting with Professor Millicent Sparklebottom, a cheerful woman whose name suggested that she had either been cursed by a particularly whimsical fairy or had chosen her profession based on the principle that magic should be fun above all else.
Leo had written her as a minor character whose primary function was to provide comic relief through her tendency to turn simple spells into elaborate magical disasters.
"Today, class," Professor Sparklebottom announced with the kind of enthusiasm that made Leo want to hide under his desk, "we'll be practicing the basic illumination charm. It's a simple spell that every first-year student should master, and it's perfectly safe as long as you follow the proper incantations and gestures."
Leo looked around the classroom, which was filled with students who seemed genuinely excited about the prospect of creating magical light.
He positioned himself at a workstation in the back corner, hoping that he could perform the spell so badly that Professor Sparklebottom would assume he needed remedial instruction and ignore him for the rest of the semester.
The illumination charm was indeed a simple spell Leo had designed it that way specifically so that beginning students could experience early success and build confidence in their magical abilities. All it required was a basic gesture, a simple incantation, and a small amount of focused magical energy.
Leo decided to sabotage his own spell by deliberately mispronouncing the incantation and making the gesture with his non-dominant hand. The result, he hoped, would be either a complete failure or a light so dim that it would demonstrate his obvious lack of magical talent.
"Lumos Illuminatus," he said, carefully mispronouncing every syllable while waving his left hand in what he hoped was an appropriately clumsy manner.