The moment Rion stepped into the ceremony hall, it felt as if the world tilted.
Warm lights floated near the ceiling like glowing fireflies; enchanted ribbons danced from beam to beam; laughter rippled across the crowd like waves rolling toward a shore. Tables overflowed with pastries and roasted meat. Students stumbled into friendships, arguments, and ridiculous bets, all in the span of minutes.
Kael was already chewing three things at once.
"Rion—hic—you gotta try this chicken—hic—it's like it grew up knowing it'd be eaten!"
Andrea, standing a few steps behind, wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"Disgusting," she muttered.
"Honestly, why did I get stuck with these two?"
Kael waved a sausage at her.
"Wanna share? I can cut it in half!"
Andrea's eyes went dead.
"Get away from me before I stab you with that fork."
But sitting a little away from them, Rion only watched.
Not out of sadness.
Not out of loneliness.
But because something inside him refused to settle.
The lights.
The magic.
The excited faces.
It all felt distant—yet painfully vivid.
He had once stared at scenes like this in books, imagining what they might feel like… dreaming of worlds that were brighter and kinder than the one he had lived in. Back then, his imagination was a joke for others. Children in his old life mocked, bullied him, calling those dreams "escapism," "delusion," "childish."
And now those same dreams were walking around him. Breathing. Laughing. Smiling.
How does a person react when his fantasy suddenly grows a heartbeat?
Rion didn't know.
So he stayed quiet.
Silent in a hall full of noise.
Teachers watched from the edges—some chatting with groups of students, some sipping wine, some standing alone with unreadable eyes. None of them looked surprised or amused by the chaos as he was. Their expressions held something deeper… a quiet weight, as if they had seen countless nights like this and countless students who dreamed too loudly.
Then the room dimmed.
Not magically—just subtly, as if the air itself recognized who was approaching.
Balthazar stepped onto the raised platform.
His gentle smile reached the far corners of the hall, yet something older lingered behind his eyes. Students near the front straightened unconsciously. Conversations thinned out. Even the floating lights steadied, as if waiting for him to breathe.
He clapped once.
Sound disappeared.
"Dear students," he said, voice soft enough to sound like a whisper—yet every ear caught it. "Seeing you enjoying yourselves brings me more happiness than you can imagine."
His tone was warm, but the air around him pulsed with a weight Rion couldn't place—like a vast presence hidden politely behind a teacher's robe.
"Now," Balthazar continued, "your room numbers will be available in the receptionist hall. However, I have a small request."
Murmurs rose.
"You may not tell anyone your room number. Finding your roommates is your first challenge. Perhaps they are people you know already. Or…" he smiled as if knowing a secret,
"…people who will become important to you someday."
Excitement burst among the crowd.
The ceremony resumed, louder than before.
---
Chaos.
Students pushed, shouted, waved papers, begged the receptionist for "just one more check." Somehow, after surviving five elbows and a near-decapitation by a flying satchel, Rion got his room number:
027.
Three-person room.
He exhaled slowly.
"…I just hope they're normal."
He added another thought with silent gratitude:
"And at least boys and girls dorms are separated. My personal space survives… somehow. Thank you God."
He started walking toward the dormitory wing when someone suddenly collided with him.
Rion immediately grabbed the boy's arm to steady him.
"Are you hurt? I'm sor—"
Before he could finish, a fat boy shoved him backward.
Two others rushed forward, helping the boy Rion caught. One grabbed Rion's collar.
"How dare you hit Lord Dorian Morcant!?"
Rion blinked once.
The boy called "Lord Dorian" stood straight, brushing invisible dust from his uniform. White-blond hair, pale ice-gray eyes, posture dripping with arrogance. A snake tattoo wrapped elegantly around his wrist—mark of the Morcant family. One of the ancient pillars of nobility.
Dorian gave a small, rehearsed sigh.
"It's fine, Tom. He's a commoner. They often lack the manners to express gratitude for our… assistance." he murmured loudly enough for half the hall to hear, "the Academy really is accepting anyone these days. Next year they'll probably let in stray dogs… although, to be fair, dogs have better posture."
Rion's fingers tightened slightly around his bag.
Not anger—just annoyance.
Dorian's gaze slipped over him like he wasn't a person but a misprinted page.
"You really should be more careful," he said, tilting his head in mock concern. "If you break, who will sweep the floors? Oh—wait. You're here as a student." He smiled the kind of smile that wasn't a smile. "Adorable."
A ripple of laughter again.
The fat boy added, "Lord Dorian, should we report him?"
Dorian pretended to consider. "Hmm… report? No, that sounds tedious. And besides—he clearly didn't do it on purpose. I mean, why would he attack me? I doubt he even knows how to spell the word 'attack"
Now Rion glanced at Tom, the boy still holding his collar.
"Let me go," Rion said calmly.
Tom sneered.
"And if I don't—"
"You'll regret it. I won't say it twice."
Tom's hand tightened.
Rion's hand moved.
He gripped Tom's wrist—gently.
But Tom let out a scream sharp enough to make nearby students look over.
"AAARGHHH!"
He dropped Rion instantly, stumbling backward.
Bob, the second subordinate, gasped when he saw Tom's wrist.
Huge black fingerprints darkened the skin—a fracture already blooming.
"Lord Dorian! He—he crushed Tom's wrist!"
For a moment Dorian's eyelids twitched.
Then he smirked, covering it with mock politeness.
"Interesting. Very interesting."
Rion walked past them without another word.
---
The corridor walls were lined with portraits of former students—moving, smiling, frozen in time yet alive through magic.
Rion looked casually… until one portrait made his heart stop.
A large group picture.
He moved closer, hands trembling slightly.
It was real.
Not an illusion, not a coincidence.
His entire understanding of his own past shook.
There—sitting on a chair—
his mother.
Next to her—
his father.
Beside them—
his teacher, Lorn.
Two other girls sat with them.
Four more people stood behind—faces Rion didn't recognize.
He whispered, "…So Mother, Father, and Teacher Lorn were classmates… in this academy."
He laughed weakly.
"And Father didn't even know Mother was in the same class? He must have been too busy chasing girls."
He sighed.
"Teacher mentioned this… but Father didn't recognize her at first. Later he did."
His fingers moved to another portrait.
The man reappeared—blonde hair, blue eyes, unmistakable. Rion recognized him from the group picture, yet something was different. Now he was dressed in a white robe, giving him an almost ethereal presence.
"Who the hell is that man supposed to be…?"
He stared a moment longer.
Then he stepped away.
Some questions were better left for later.
---
The hallway leading to his room grew quieter, warmer. Floorboards polished to a soft shine reflected dim candlelight.
Rion found the door.
27.
He took a slow, steady breath and pushed it open.
Warm air greeted him.
The room was wide—surprisingly wide—with deep wooden floors and soft golden lights floating near the ceiling. Three beds stood neatly with silver-stitched covers. Two couches formed a small corner near a low table. Shelves, wardrobes, a large study desk spread beneath a window overlooking the academy grounds.
A place designed for comfort.
A place designed for beginnings.
Rion walked inside and sank onto the bed near the window.
He stared quietly at the ceiling.
For once, his chest felt light.
"So… this is it," he murmured.
"My new life begins."
And for the first time since morning…
he allowed himself a small, genuine smile.