Yeah, she's good at getting under the skin. Concedes Eric in his mind.
...Who is this. Asks Lena. Flat. Unimpressed. She looks at Sara the way one looks at a fly that landed on an open textbook.
Just a fellow classmate with a penchant for bad timing. Let's keep walking, shall we? Eric doesn't stop. Doesn't even slow. His eyes slide past Sara like she's part of the architecture—a pillar, a banner, nothing worth acknowledging. He angles his body toward Lena and keeps walking.
The spatial pressure parts the crowd ahead. They move forward.
Sara's smile freezes.
...
For one second—just one—something flickers behind those green eyes. Not anger. Something smaller. Quieter. The twitch of a ledger that doesn't balance.
Then it's gone. The merchant's mask snaps back into place.
How rude. She says it to his back, voice light, practiced. And here I thought nobles valued courtesy.
But they're already past her. She doesn't follow. Her arms stay folded, fingers pressing into her sleeves just a fraction too tightly.
Lena glances back over her shoulder—once—then forward again.
She's a mage. Quiet. Observational. Two circles. But her mana control is... oddly refined for that level. Merchant house?
She doesn't wait for confirmation.
She resisted your spatial pressure. Not with mana—with awareness. She noticed the discomfort and chose to stay. A pause. ...That's not normal for a two-circle.
They find seats near the front of the Magic Department section. The bench is polished oak—worn smooth by years of students. Lena slides in beside him, close enough that her knee almost touches his. She pulls her legs up, tucking them beneath her on the bench like a cat settling into a sunbeam.
The hall continues to fill. The noise swells—then dims as the chandelier overhead pulses once. A signal.
On the stage, the silver-haired woman—Headmaster Emily—pops something into her mouth, crumples the paper bag, and stands. She's shorter than expected. Her smile is wide, bright, utterly disarming.
The hall falls silent.
Eric's fingers brush the bench's surface, feeling the latent wards in the hall—and there it is. The hum. Deep, layered, ancient. Wards woven into the very grain of the wood, the stone beneath, the air above. Surveillance magic so embedded it's become part of the building's identity. Most students would never feel it. He does.
The chandelier pulses again—softer now. A heartbeat. Each pulse maps the mana signatures below it like sonar painting the ocean floor.
She's a problem for later. For now, pay attention to the chandelier—the mana pulse it just emitted... it’s tracking every single one of us.
Lena's eyes drift upward at his words. Her purple gaze fixes on the crystal structure—and Eric watches her pupils dilate as she reads its architecture in real-time.
...Mm. Passive resonance array. It's cataloguing circuit signatures—not just presence, but capacity. Her voice drops to a murmur meant only for him. Every student's mana profile is being recorded right now. Baseline measurements.
A yawn threatens to escape. She suppresses it. Probably feeds into the grading system. Clever.
Her legs shift beneath her—knees folded to one side now, the hem of her skirt riding just above her ankle. Small feet in academy-issue shoes that look a size too big. She's entirely unaware of the picture she makes—curled up on an oak bench like a sleepy cat who wandered into a lecture hall.
Eric catches himself looking. She doesn't notice.
On stage, Headmaster Emily steps to the podium. The wards in the walls thrum—amplification magic activating. Her voice fills the hall without effort, bright and warm as morning sunlight.
Good morning, everyone~! A wave. Casual. As if addressing friends rather than six hundred students. Welcome to Lumena Academy! I'm Emily, your headmaster. Yes, I know—I look young. No, I won't tell you my age. Yes, that question is on the banned list.
Scattered laughter. The tension in the hall eases.
This year, we have one hundred and ninety-four new first-years across both departments. Knights— she gestures right, —mages— left, —and a few theology students who I'm told are here by divine mandate, so I legally cannot comment.
More laughter. He catches a flash of gold hair on the far side—a girl in white-and-gold vestments grinning broadly.
I'll keep this brief, because I know you're all nervous and half of you skipped breakfast. Emily's eyes sweep the crowd. For one instant—barely a heartbeat—her gaze lands on Eric. On his mana signature. The smile doesn't change, but something behind it sharpens. Three rules. One: don't die. Two: don't kill each other. Three: if you're going to break rules one or two, do it off campus so the paperwork isn't mine.
She claps her hands together.
Now—department heads, if you please.
Eleanor Zarwin rises with liquid grace, gold eyes half-lidded, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. She moves sensually to the podium as Emily steps aside, still chewing something.
Magic Department first-years. Her voice is silk over steel—warm, unhurried, carrying effortlessly. You'll receive your class schedules this afternoon. Core subjects: Mana Theory, Elemental Foundations, Circle Construction, and Practical Application. Electives begin week three.
Her gold eyes sweep the left section—lingering, appraising.
A word of advice from your department head: talent without discipline is a lit match in a paper house. I've seen geniuses burn out before midterms. A pause. Was that aimed at Lena? Eric can't tell. Don't be that student.
She steps back. Deimos rises next—sharp, military, wasting nothing.
Knight Department. Clipped. No pleasantries. Training grounds, dawn. Every day. No exceptions. If you can't keep up, transfer to Magic.
A ripple of nervous energy from the right side. Deimos sits back down without another word.
Emily retakes the podium, beaming.
Wonderful! Now—one last thing before dismissal...
Mildly bored, Eric starts circulating his mana. He settles into the rhythm. Breath in—mana draws inward from the ambient field, threading through his circuits. Breath out—it cycles, refines, compresses. The Void method. Not bilateral. Radial. A spiral pulling inward toward his core axis, then expanding outward in controlled waves.
To anyone watching, he is simply sitting still. Attentive. A noble student paying polite attention to the headmaster's speech. But beneath the surface, his circuits hum—quietly, steadily, like a mill wheel turning underwater.
Lena's tracking spell nestled in his system feels the shift. Beside him, her head tilts—a fraction of an centimeter—but she says nothing. Her knee presses against his. Acknowledgment.
The radial circulation is harder than bilateral. It demands constant spatial awareness of his own internal mana architecture—where the spiral thins, where it thickens, where the pressure needs relief. Every rotation builds a fraction of density. Imperceptible. But cumulative.
On stage, Emily continues.
—this year's first inter-departmental evaluation will take place at the end of Month One. Both departments, all years. The format will be... well. She grins. A surprise. But I suggest you make friends outside your department before then. You'll need them.
Murmuring ripples through the hall. Knight students glance at mages. Mages glance back. The divide between the two sections feels suddenly very physical.
Additionally—club recruitment begins this weekend. Student Council, Azure Knights, and White Rose Society will all hold open sessions. I encourage participation. Strongly. The word 'strongly' carries the weight of someone who could level the building if she wished. That's all from me. Schedules will be posted in your dormitory halls by this evening. Classes begin tomorrow. Dismissed~!
She waves. The chandelier pulses one final time—a full-body scan, recording the end-state of every signature present.
The hall erupts into noise. Six hundred students rising at once.
Eric's circulation continues beneath it all. Steady. Patient. Every second counts.
Lena unfolds her legs and stretches—arms above her head, spine arching. His eyes follow her. A small sound escapes her. She blinks sleepily at the chaos around them.
...Inter-departmental evaluation. Month one. She's already thinking about it. They're testing cooperation. Or forcing it.
She looks at him. Then at the Knight Department side, where red hair and gold eyes are visible in the crowd—Irina of House Velen, standing a head above most, laughing at something a classmate said.
...You were circulating the entire time. Not a question. Your mana density increased by... 0.3 percent in twenty minutes? She frowns. That's—unusually efficient for passive meditation. Is that the radial method?
She's studying him again. That analytical gleam.
Show me later.
Not a request.
Eric leans in closer, whispering into her ear. Maybe I'll show you, but only if you promise to show me how you bypass those chandelier scans.
His breath grazes her ear. She goes rigid—a full-body stillness, like a rabbit caught in open ground. The tips of her ears flush from pink to deep crimson in the span of a heartbeat.
I—
She turns her head a fraction. Their faces are close. Too close. Her purple eyes are wide—unfocused for one uncharacteristic moment. Then they sharpen.
...How did you know I bypassed them.
Not a denial. Confirmation through deflection. Her voice is barely audible beneath the roar of six hundred students standing and shuffling toward exits.
I may be just a three-circle, but that doesn't mean my mana sense is blind.
She leans back as he replies—putting a few centimeters of distance between his mouth and her ear. Her hand comes up, pressing against her earlobe as if checking its temperature. Finding it scalding. Dropping it immediately.
The chandelier reads mana signatures passively. It catalogues what you present. She's speaking quickly now—the academic torrent she defaults to when flustered. I didn't block it. I just... compressed my upper four circles into dormant resonance. It read me as a three-circle.
A three-circle. The same tier as him. She fed the academy's surveillance system a false baseline.
She stands abruptly, smoothing her skirt with sharp movements.
It's not—it's not complicated. Any mage with sufficient circle independence could do it. Theoretically. A pause. ...In practice, you'd need at least five circles with individually stabilized mana layers.
She starts walking toward the exit, not looking at him. And stop doing that.
...The ear thing.
Her pace quickens.
The crowd thins as they exit through the grand archway. The main corridor stretches ahead—vaulted ceilings, marble floors worn smooth by generations of footsteps, tall windows casting long rectangles of sunlight across the stone. Students scatter in clusters, voices echoing.
Eric, walking beside her with an amused smirk, continues their previous exchange.
Theoretical or not, that was brilliant. Teach me how to stabilize those layers and I'll drop the ear thing.
Then his voice drops its amusing quality, settling around a more serious tone. I cannot teach you the radial method.
Lena's pace slows as his tone shifts. She catches it immediately—the weight behind those words. The difference between 'won't' and 'cannot.'
...
She walks in silence for several steps. Processing. Her eyes are fixed ahead, but Eric can see the gears turning—the way her brow creases, the slight purse of her lips.
Cannot. She repeats the word quietly. Testing its shape. Not 'won't.' Cannot.
Another few steps.
The restriction. She doesn't look at him. It extends to teaching the method itself. Not just the history—the technique is sealed behind whatever binds you.