The Royal Arcane Academy ran on a rigorous six-year curriculum.
First-years (ages 13–15) focused on foundational mana control, basic combat, and social navigation.
Lucien, now firmly thirteen after the passage of time since his transmigration and the intense pre-academy training, had entered as a prodigious first-year thanks to his Nightshade bloodline.
Elara, at seventeen and in her fourth year, carried the poise of an upperclassman who had already survived the academy’s political undercurrents for years.
She was a known figure—beautiful, sharp-tongued, and dangerous with shadows.
The first full week of classes settled into a deceptively calm routine after the entrance ceremony.
Mornings started in the elite dining hall overlooking the manicured central gardens.
Lucien piled his plate high with eggs, fresh bread, and spiced meats, while Elara ate with refined restraint.
“Slow down or you’ll choke,” Elara said dryly, her emerald eyes glinting with mild amusement.
At seventeen, she looked every inch the refined noble villainess—tall, elegant, with perfectly pinned dark hair and a uniform that accentuated her status.
Lucien swallowed a mouthful.
“Combat training later.
Gotta fuel the machine.”
Listen to me, casually bantering with my former bully sister like we’re in a wholesome sibling anime.
Old me is screaming from the afterlife.
“Bro, you went from Truck-kun victim to light novel protagonist with a villainess onee-san route?!” This is peak brainrot.
Elara’s lips curved slightly.
“At least you’re not throwing tantrums over the porridge anymore.”
Classes kept the days brisk.
Lucien attended Mana Theory with the familiar (and still nervous) Mr.
Aldric, where they reviewed affinity basics.
In Basic Combat, he paired with other first-years, his shadow work drawing curious stares.
Elara, in her advanced Shadow Arts seminar, honed techniques far beyond his level.
During a mixed-year elective on Historical Alliances, they sat together near the back.
Cecilia Vale—the original protagonist of the novel he had read as a kid, the golden-hearted Saintess candidate destined to upend noble society.
At fifteen and in her second year as a special transfer student backed by the church, she embodied the heroine role perfectly: kind, determined, with an aura of divine mana that made flowers bloom faintly in her presence.
Her golden hair and warm smile had already made her a topic of whispered conversations.
After the lecture, Cecilia approached them in the hallway with her usual earnestness, accompanied by Marcus—the sturdy, red-haired sixteen-year-old son of a knight captain and one of her budding capture targets in the original story.
“Good morning,” Cecilia said brightly.
“Lucien, Elara—I hope your classes are going well.
The academy is overwhelming at first, isn’t it?”
Elara offered a cool, perfectly polite smile.
“We manage.
Your adjustment seems smooth, Lady Vale.”
Lucien nodded, keeping his tone neutral.
“It’s different, but interesting.
Glad you’re settling in.”
Holy crap, direct interaction with the original MC.
In the novel, this is where original Lucien would’ve sneered and started the bullying arc that leads to our family’s doom.
Instead I’m here making small talk like a nervous transfer student.
Don’t simp, don’t overshare, just survive the conversation!
Marcus eyed them warily but stayed silent, his protective stance clear.
Cecilia, bless her pure-hearted self, simply smiled wider.
“If you ever want to study group affinities or something, I’d be happy to join.
Different perspectives help!”
Elara’s response was measured.
“We’ll keep that in mind.”
As the pair walked away, Elara murmured, “She gathers people effortlessly.
Dangerous trait.”
“Not every interaction has to be a battlefield.”
Elara gave him a long look.
“Spoken like someone who’s had strange dreams.
Just don’t forget whose side you’re on.”
Afternoons belonged to training.
They claimed a private field where their shadows danced in tandem—Elara’s precise, lethal weaves complementing Lucien’s broader reinforcement.
Sweat flew as they dismantled practice constructs, their bond from the ambush paying dividends in coordination.
“Your focus is improving,” Elara noted during a water break, wiping her brow.
At seventeen, her movements were fluid and commanding, but she showed subtle signs of pushing her limits.
“Told you I wasn’t useless,” Lucien shot back with a grin.
Training montages with the villainess?
Next thing you know we’ll be doing power-leveling arcs and calling each other nicknames.
My inner otaku is dying of happiness and terror simultaneously.
Evenings brought quieter moments in the library or dorm common areas.
One night, poring over texts, Elara shared insights on fourth-year politics—the rival factions, the church’s growing influence, and professors with hidden agendas.
Lucien listened, adding observations from his “dream” knowledge without revealing too much.
“You’ve become… reliable,” Elara said suddenly, closing a heavy volume.
“It’s unsettling.
But not unwelcome.”
Lucien smirked.
“High praise from the great Elara Nightshade.”
The week ended with small incidents: Lucien politely declining a duel challenge from a cocky third-year, Elara quelling a rumor with one sharp glare, and another brief, friendly hallway exchange with Cecilia, who remained disarmingly kind.
The academy thrummed with potential—alliances forming, rivalries simmering, and the original story’s heroine fully woven into their daily lives.
Lucien felt the weight of changing fates pressing closer, but for now, they trained, studied, and adapted.