Elective classes at Serendia Academy were open to all three grade levels, but the third-years chose their electives at the very start of the semester. By the time the observation period arrived, they had already spent half a month refining their skills, while the first- and second-years were only beginning to consider their options. The tour was meant to give the younger students a chance to move freely between third-year classes and observe the lessons firsthand.
Unfortunately, more movement meant more accidents.
With students dashing between buildings, tripping over unfamiliar equipment, or attempting to mimic techniques they had no business trying yet, the number of injuries spiked sharply—leaving Lillian far busier than usual in the infirmary. Whether it was twisted ankles, fainting spells, minor burns, or bruised egos, she tended to each case with her usual calm efficiency, though even she had to acknowledge that the observation week stretched her workload far beyond the norm.
By midmorning, the infirmary felt less like a quiet medical wing and more like a bustling corridor of chaos. Lillian moved between beds with steady, practised efficiency—applying compresses, administering salves, and quietly admonishing students for attempting techniques far beyond their level.
"Miss Lillian, I didn't mean for it to explode—" a red-faced first-year stammered as she smoothed ointment onto his forearm.
"I'm aware," Lillian replied gently, tying the bandage. "But intention does not lessen danger. Observe properly next time."
He nodded meekly.
A pair of boys walked in next—one limping, the other half-carrying him—and Lillian directed them toward the nearest bed without breaking rhythm.
Just as she finished wrapping a sprained ankle, the infirmary door opened once more. This time, the steps were elegant, unhurried—familiar.
"Lady Lillian," Prince Felix said brightly as he strolled in. "You're already swamped? Classes only began two hours ago."
Lillian straightened before turning to him. "Good morning, Your Highness. The observation tour increases injury frequency by approximately thirty percent."
Felix's smile deepened, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Then I've arrived at the right time. I'm here to pick you up."
Several students froze mid-whine, staring. Lillian stayed composed.
"…Pick me up?" she repeated.
"For the elective class observation tour," Felix said lightly. "You said yesterday it was a good idea."
Ah. That moment. The accidental agreement.
"I did say that," she admitted, face calm while mentally bracing herself.
Felix looked thoroughly pleased. "Then let's be off. I've already informed the professor I'm borrowing you for a little while today."
At that moment, Theodore, the academy's medical officer—and Lillian's uncle—stepped out from the back room carrying a tray of freshly prepared salves. His brow rose slightly at the sight of the prince, but he did not look surprised. He had the sturdy, unflappable demeanor of a man who had worked too many years in medicine to be startled by anything less than limbs falling off.
"Lillian," he said, voice rumbling with quiet authority. "If you're leaving, I'll handle the rest. These ones," he nodded toward the row of injured students, "need ten minutes of rest after the salve sets. Monitor for swelling. And no magic practice until tomorrow."
A collective groan rose from the beds. Theodore ignored it.
Lillian gave a small, respectful nod. "Please call me if symptoms worsen."
"I always do," Theodore replied, giving her a look that hovered between fatherly concern and resigned exasperation—the expression of a man who knew his niece had a talent for stumbling into trouble she didn't consider trouble.
Felix, watching the exchange with interest, commented lightly, "You're quite close with the professor."
"He is family," Lillian said simply, slipping off her lab coat and folding it neatly.
Once ready, she stepped toward the door. "Shall we go, Your Highness?"
Felix offered her a faintly mischievous smile. "Let's. Today's lessons should prove… very enlightening."
And with her uncle's steady gaze following them out, Lillian left the infirmary—fully aware that the 'tour' ahead was likely to be more complicated than educational.
"Are you taking the magecraft class as well?" Lillian asked.
"No. I don't have any talent for it," Felix replied casually, shaking his head. He didn't sound disappointed in the slightest.
The answer surprised her. The world viewed Felix Arc Castina as a perfect prince—talented in swordsmanship, horsemanship, academics, dance, diplomacy…you name it. He excelled at everything.
But he couldn't use magecraft?
Huh…
Innate talent—especially the quantity and quality of mana one was born with—played the biggest role in magecraft. It wasn't something even a prodigy could brute-force. Still, since he'd once commented that it resembled mathematics, she'd assumed he had some aptitude.
Then she remembered what Nero had said. When Felix carried Lord Ashley back to the dormitory, a mid-level water spirit had been with him. Considering his middle name Arc, perhaps the spirit was contracted to someone else in the Castina line…someone proficient in magecraft.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a shout from ahead. Lillian looked up to see a young man with dirty-blond hair sprinting toward them.
"Oh." Lillian stopped walking. Felix paused beside her, glancing her way as if silently asking whether she knew the boy.
Before she could reply, the young man skidded to a halt in front of her and burst into a grin. "It is you! I knew it! Hi!"
Lillian blinked. This was the mage she and Lana had encountered in Craeme two days ago.
He's a student here?
He'd been wearing simple clothes then, speaking with a commoner's accent. She had never imagined he might attend Serendia Academy.
Another voice came rushing down the hall. Neil, from the student council, looked horrified. "Glenn! No running in the halls!" He froze when he recognized the pair. "President—? Lady Lillian? Do you two know Glenn?"
Lillian hesitated, but Glenn jumped in cheerfully. "I ran into her in Craeme two days ago!"
He stood about as tall as Felix, but judging from Neil's reaction, he was a second-year. And—
"I'm Glenn Dudley! I just transferred in this autumn. Neil's my classmate."
So he transferred in around the same time I did… Louis must be involved, Lillian thought.
She composed herself. "I'm Lillian, assistant medical officer."
"Pleased to meet you!" Glenn shook her hand vigorously, then turned to Felix with bright curiosity. "And nice to meet you too! Are you a third-year?"
Lillian and Neil both stiffened. How could someone at Serendia Academy not recognize Felix? Mr. Louis… please teach him basic common sense before magecraft.
Felix didn't seem offended. He gave a calm smile. "Pleased to meet you, Dudley. I'm Felix Arc Castina, the student council president."
"President—?! Wait, wait, are you the prince?! That's insane!"
"Glenn! That's rude!" Neil hissed, face pale.
But Felix simply said, "Don't worry about it," with practiced gentleness—the patience of someone accustomed to improper greetings on a daily basis.
Still smiling amicably, Felix added, "Craeme, you said? I heard an earth dragon appeared there two days ago. A passing mage helped the town guard defeat it… You weren't caught up in that, were you?"
Lillian wasn't the only one startled. Glenn's eyes darted away.
"Oh—nah, I was nowhere near that!" he declared, voice too loud.
Huh…? Lillian had used her magecraft alongside Glenn's to slay the earth dragon and intended for everyone to assume he was the hero. She expected him to be bragging about it.
But he was desperately trying to hide it.
He noticed her staring and leaned closer. "Oh, right! Lillian, what electives are you taking?"
"Um…well—"
"I'm bringing Lady Lillian to the fundamental magecraft class," Felix answered for her.
Glenn lit up instantly. "Neil and I are headed there too!"
"What a coincidence," Felix said pleasantly. "Shall we go together?"
"Sure thing!" Glenn agreed without hesitation—mannerless, perhaps, but too friendly for anyone to take offense.
Lillian quietly stepped behind the group, relieved she wouldn't have to walk beside Felix alone. Glenn slowed to join her, putting a little distance between them and the others before beckoning subtly.
He wanted to talk.
When she looked up, Glenn bent down and whispered, "Hey. I've got a favor to ask, Lillian."
"Y-yes?" she straightened instinctively.
His expression turned serious. "Keep it a secret that I used magecraft in town."
The flight spell? Being able to use magecraft was considered prestigious, especially among nobles. Lillian understood concealing her own ability due to her position, but Glenn…? Why would he hide it?
He scratched his dirty-blond hair awkwardly. "I'm actually still an apprentice. My master told me not to use magecraft unsupervised."
"Huh? Y-you're an apprentice…?"
Apprentices didn't even possess a beginner's mage certification. Yet Glenn could use flight—a spell requiring delicate control.
At her astonishment, Glenn grimaced. "If my master finds out I used magecraft without permission… he'll wrap me in a mat and hang me from the rafters. Or toss me in a river."
"H-he sounds terrifying."
"Oh, he's terrifying. So please—keep it a secret! I'm begging you!"
Lillian felt a strange sense of kinship. She, too, hid her talent. Though their reasons differed, the pressure felt similar.
"…I will," she promised.
"You two seem close," Felix's voice came from ahead.
Both Lillian and Glenn stiffened.
Lillian smiled lightly, offering no explanation. Glenn, flustered, raised his voice. "Yeah! We totally clicked in town! Oh—speaking of, if you're taking fundamental magecraft, are you interested in it too?"
"No, I'm only observing," Lillian replied.
I just need to sit through today. Then I can choose something else.
Felix stopped in front of a classroom. "Personally, I recommend this one. The new teacher is quite famous."
"They are…?" Lillian felt dread creep up her spine.
Felix added, "He arrived only recently."
Mr. Louis said nobody who knew me would be here… He said he checked…
Felix opened the door.
At the podium stood a short old man in a robe, gripping a staff. Thick white brows, mustache, beard—so long they nearly swallowed his face.
He looked up, squinting.
Lillian's blood ran cold.
…M-Mr. Macragan?!
William Macragan—the Waterbite Mage. Her former practical magecraft instructor at Minerva's Mage Training Institution. She'd heard he'd become a professor emeritus after she graduated.
But now—
Now he was here.
Mission failed. Everything is over.
She stood stiffly, a corpse awaiting burial, as Macragan peered at them before asking, in his gravelly voice:
"…Who's that?"
Felix stepped forward, speaking on behalf of the group with his characteristic clarity. "I am Felix Arc Ridill, student council president."
Macragan tilted his head slightly, squinting through his curtain of white brows. "Ah yes, the student council president… Mm… Thank you for guiding them… Two observers? Three? I'm sorry, but my eyes aren't that good."
"Three observers. I'm serving as their guide."
"Three? I see, I see. Feel free to take a seat anywhere you like."
His absentminded tone, the drifting way he spoke, and the way his gaze never quite landed where it was supposed to—all of it matched what Lillian had heard of him. Professor Macragan's poor eyesight was famous among magecraft scholars, though she had never personally studied under him.
At least, she noted, he hadn't looked too closely at her. Her current identity as assistant medical officer blended easily into the student body.
"Hey, Neil! Lillian! Over here! There are empty seats over here!" Glenn's voice boomed down the rows.
Lillian suppressed the sigh rising in her chest and turned her eyes toward the professor again—checking if he reacted.
Macragan didn't so much as blink at Glenn calling her name.
Good. He clearly still hadn't registered her existence past a vague blur.
With composed steps, she took the seat beside Glenn. Felix—despite not being an observer—sat down next to her as well, wearing an amused look. She supposed even the student council president sought occasional entertainment.
Macragan cleared his throat, then began his lecture.
"Uhhh, ahem. How to begin? Ah yes. A mage's aptitude, I suppose. Mages all need to be excellent in three areas: mana capacity, magical formula comprehension, and mana control."
He wrote the three terms on the board in large, looping strokes, circling mana capacity first.
"And the most important is this—one's mana capacity. Without a decent amount of mana, you can't use magecraft at all. These days, with the right equipment, we can easily measure a person's capacity. For apprentices, we would be looking for around fifty, at least. Over a hundred, and you're fairly talented. With over one hundred and fifty, you could even become one of the Seven Sages."
Lillian sat without outward reaction, though she noted Glenn straighten in interest. Neil listened with earnest focus.
"Next is magical formula comprehension… Magical formulae have much in common with mathematics, so many who are skilled at math are also skilled at grasping magical formulae. After all, they are essentially the blueprints and frameworks of magecraft. The more precisely you understand them, the more precise the spells themselves will be."
Macragan paused. His eyes drifted unfocused for a moment, like he was peering backward through time.
"Yes, yes. I once had a student who possessed an outstandingly high level of such comprehension. She understood everything very quickly and eventually learned how to cast spells without even chanting… She's one of the Seven Sages now. The Silent Witch, they call her."
Glenn let out a quiet gasp. Neil muttered a note under his breath.
Lillian simply folded her hands on her lap and listened.
"Oh, and incidentally, the Silent Witch along with some of the magical formulae she created will appear on written exams, so be sure to remember them."
Glenn visibly wilted at that. Lillian resisted the urge to rub her forehead.
"Ah yes. It would not be an overstatement to say that she upended the whole of modern magecraft theory—a truly incredible mage."
Lillian kept her expression composed and unreadable. Students around her whispered excitedly; Glenn shot her a look of awe, as if the very idea of a student becoming a Sage made him want to run outside and start training immediately.
Macragan moved on.
"The last of the three is mana control. This refers to the skill with which one weaves their mana based on magical formulae. It's something you have a sense for. Those who have the sense can weave their mana without difficulty, but those who don't will let their mana slip away without ever casting anything. Those who can still use some magecraft despite low comprehension of the formulae are mostly people with excellent mana control. To draw an analogy with architecture, these are the type of people who can put something together even if their blueprints and framework are shoddy. Their spells usually lack polish, however."
Glenn puffed out his chest—subtly. Lillian hid her amusement behind a neutral blink.
"Still, if you want to be a first-rate mage, you would ideally have all three. Well. The most important condition is mana—if you don't have any, you can't use magecraft. I'll be measuring everyone's mana capacity who wishes to take this class."
Macragan set a crystal ball onto the podium. The ball rested atop a metal pedestal labeled with a clear scale from 0 to 250.
"This crystal ball is called a mana capacity gauge. When you lay your hand on it, it measures your mana capacity. Just like this, see?"
He placed his hand on the crystal. Blue light glowed within, and the scale slid up to 160.
"My mana capacity is 160, and the light is blue, which means the element I have the highest affinity with is water… This gauge provides an easy way to understand your magic power. Amazing, right? Now all of you can have a turn."
Lillian examined the gauge quietly. She knew exactly how these devices behaved—and how to avoid revealing more than intended.
Neil stepped forward first. Felix observed kindly from his seat.
"Officer Maywood," he commented, "it looks like your most compatible element is earth, with a mana capacity of 96. That's a pretty good number. You've never studied magecraft before, have you?"
Neil smiled shyly. "I've only studied it a little in the classroom. My father is apparently quite talented, though."
"Ah yes. House Maywood is famed for its generations of powerful earth mages, after all," Felix said.
Before Lillian could calculate the best moment to decline participating—
"Me next!" Glenn declared, already reaching for the crystal.
Lillian watched sharply. A harsh krrrrk sounded. The part of the ball Glenn touched glowed bright red—and cracked.
"A-ah!" Glenn yelped. Another crack splintered across the surface.
"Mr. Macragan! This thing's broken!"
"You're kidding. How much do you think those cost, young man?"
"Gyah! I-i-i-it wasn't my fault! It must be defective! Yeah, that's it!"
The class erupted in noise. Students leaned forward, whispering and gawking.
Lillian saw her window. She stood calmly, leaned toward Glenn, and said quietly: "I'm going to step out for a moment."
"Gotcha!" Glenn replied instantly, too distracted to question anything.
With smooth, measured steps, Lillian slipped out of the classroom—without a tremor, without hesitation, her expression cool and perfectly controlled.
W-wow, that was close…
Lillian released a long, controlled exhale as she leaned back against the cool stone wall of the hallway. She didn't allow herself to relax completely—she knew better. There was still plenty of time left in the elective observation period, and if she didn't return to the fundamental magecraft class soon enough, Glenn and Felix would question her absence.
As she began walking, she considered possible explanations.
A stomachache keeping me in the bathroom for the entire period...Clumsy, but passable.
It wasn't ideal, but it would work. Her thoughts were interrupted when she noticed an open classroom further down the hall. The door was wide open, allowing students to come and go at will. Curious, Lillian paused and glanced inside.
Chess?
Students sat in pairs, silently focused on their boards. She had never played it herself, though she knew it was a favored game among nobles. Lillian pulled out her list of electives. There it was—Chess Strategy and Applied Logic. A surprisingly popular class.
I wonder if the rules are as rigid as the nobles who love it.
She was observing the nearest board when someone tapped her shoulder.
"Well, look who we have here. It's the prince's favorite little squirrel, skittering around the halls."
Elliott Howard. Drooping eyes, smug smile—exactly the same expression he wore when teasing her earlier.
"Does the little squirrel have an interest in chess? Well then, I'll show you the ropes."
"There's no need—" Lillian began, calm but firm.
Too late. Elliott seized her wrist and unceremoniously pulled her into the classroom. Several players looked up. Lillian simply lowered her gaze out of courtesy, not embarrassment.
"Take a seat. So? How many years have you been playing? Don't tell me you don't even know the names of the pieces."
"I don't," Lillian replied matter-of-factly.
Elliott burst into laughter and sat across from her. He began explaining the pieces, one by one. Lillian listened with steady, focused attention.
When the explanation was done, she raised her hand slightly.
"…What is the condition for winning?"
Elliott barked another laugh. "You capture the enemy's king. Chess is mock war. For nobles, it's important for developing strategy."
"…Mock war," she echoed, studying the board. "What would magic soldiers be?"
"Probably the bishops."
"Then the mages. Do they have standardized magecraft classifications? Attack ranges? Defensive barrier tolerances? And the infantry—what weapons do they carry? How is the food supply managed? What of terrain variations?"
"What?" Elliott blinked.
Lillian continued in her steady tone.
"Is the battlefield set in a specific climate? Altitude? Wind direction?"
Elliott stared at her, dumbfounded, before erupting into laughter again.
"The board can't account for all that! It's just a game, little squirrel. You talk like you've been to war!"
"I haven't been to war," Lillian replied evenly. But I have strategized under real combat conditions. Her training required the ability to read terrain and airflow—necessary for precision spellcasting.
"So the field is flat," she confirmed. "Predetermined movements, no negotiations. You simply eliminate the king."
"Y-yeah," Elliott said, now unsettled.
Lillian studied the board again. "In that case, this seems simple."
Elliott's eyes sharpened. Insolent little girl, he thought. Aloud, he said:
"Do you understand, Lady Lillian, that you've just made an enemy of everyone in this room?"
She did not answer—her attention was still on the board.
"Wait—don't tell me you'll move a pawn and declare victory? Please."
Still silence.
Elliott then arranged the white pieces before her and removed his own queen with theatrical bravado.
"Try a game with me. I'll even remove my queen."
"…Who goes first?"
"White goes first. Whenever you're ready."
Lillian nodded once, and without hesitation, moved a pawn two spaces forward.
Elliott watched carefully. A reasonable opening move—surprisingly disciplined for a beginner. He responded. Lillian immediately replied.
Turn after turn, she played without delay. Not impulsively—efficiently. Calculatedly.
Elliott's brow creased.
She's not thinking slowly. She's thinking quickly.
Her moves were clean. Structured. Textbook perfect.
As the game progressed, students began gathering around them. Elliott no longer noticed. He could only focus on the growing problem before him.
She's pressuring me. No… she's outplaying me.
Piece by piece, she dismantled his formation. Even without a queen, Elliott should have been able to dominate a complete novice. And yet—
She's driving me into a corner.
He began sweating.
This can't be real.
Then he saw it—his one chance. His king and rook were still unmoved. They had a clear path.
I can castle. She doesn't know the technique. This will turn the game around.
His pride wavered.
Should he use a move he hadn't taught her?
The crowd murmured. None of them knew he'd withheld the explanation.
That decided it.
He castled.
Lillian blinked, finally lifting her gaze to him.
He looked away immediately.
"That was called castling. You can only do it if—"
"I've lost," she said calmly.
Elliott stopped.
"If castling is an official rule, then I can no longer win."
Her tone held no resentment. Only logic.
"…I'm sorry," she added quietly. "It seems chess isn't as simple as it appeared. Even with optimal moves, uncertainty remains because the opponent is human."
She reset her pieces with no complaint. Elliott felt his stomach twist. She should have accused him. At least glared. But she didn't.
Before he could speak—whether to apologize or justify himself—a heavy voice cut in.
"You. Female student. Name?"
Lillian turned. The chess instructor loomed over them—tall, muscular, hardened like a battlefield veteran. His stare was sharp enough to pin her in place.
"…Lillian from the correspondance course," she answered steadily, though she could feel the tension in her shoulders.
Boyd placed a paper into her hand—an elective application form.
"Join the class," he said, voice deep enough to vibrate through the table.
Lillian nodded once. Elliott sighed. She probably has no idea what's happening, he thought—but as he watched her calmly fold the paper, he wasn't so sure.