Elsewhere in the Academy...
While Sora lounged in quiet indifference, the rest of the academy was anything but calm.
Professors gathered in hushed circles.
"Did you sense the anomaly when he entered the courtyard?"
"It felt like two mana signatures superimposed—no, interlaced. Impossible."
"Is the principal serious about letting him attend regular classes? What if something… breaks?"
"What if someone does?"
And in the upper dorm tower—
Second-year nobles whispered among themselves.
A third-year heir to the Dawncrest family clenched his jaw after hearing the rumors.
And in a private, luxuriously furnished study…
A crystal communicator glowed.
A young man with golden hair and cruelly sharp eyes listened to the report, fingers tapping the arm of his chair.
"…the thirteenth prince?" he murmured.
A long pause.
Then a quiet, amused exhale.
"So the ghost brother appears at last."
He smiled.
But it wasn't friendly.
Back in Sora's Room
A soft knock echoed.
"Enter," Sora called.
A kitchen attendant slipped in, setting down a tray of fragrant broth, fresh bread, and a few unnecessary garnishes the chef insisted on adding.
Sora gave a single nod in thanks.
The attendant nearly bowed to the floor before scrambling out.
Sora sat cross-legged, eating slowly, mind wandering again.
Not to politics.
Not to danger.
Not to the "instability" that had Gregory and the principal sweating.
But to a simpler concern:
I hope that theory class isn't boring.
He took another bite of bread, expression placid, almost sleepy.
If the professor drones, I'm tuning out.
He finished his meal, set the tray aside, dimmed the crystal lights, and sprawled back on the bed.
The ambient mana of the academy pulsed softly beyond the tower walls.
Tomorrow would be chaos. He knew that.
But the thought didn't stir his pulse in the slightest.
His eyelids lowered.
His breathing slowed.
And in the silence—
For just a moment—
The pale gold and deep black mana curled faintly around him like twin wings folding into rest.
Then disappeared completely.
...
Morning light filtered through the tall window of Sora's suite, a soft golden glow brushing against the polished darkwood floors.
The academy bells tolled in the distance — deep, resonant chimes that vibrated through the floating island.
Sora blinked awake.
The way someone who never truly slept woke.
He sat up, stretched lazily, and glanced at the schedule Gregory had left last night.
Class Schedule, First Year – Core Rotation
1st Period — Arcane Theory and Mana Structure
2nd Period — Foundational Combat Forms
3rd Period — Elemental Application Studies
Afternoon — Elective Rotation or Free Period
Evening — Dorm Assembly & Orientation
Sora skimmed it.
Arcane Theory first thing in the morning… great.
He had already predicted boredom.
He washed up, changed into the academy uniform — still gaudy, still overdone — and stepped onto the balcony.
The floating gardens shimmered below, mist drifting around hovering platforms of greenery and marble statues. A few early-rising students were walking along the paths.
Some noticed him.
And promptly pretended they hadn't.
Sora shut the door behind him and headed out.
The tower hallway bustled with students preparing for their day — until they saw him.
Conversation died.
Spines straightened.
One boy fumbled his books and almost tripped down the stairs.
Another elbowed his friend, whispering far too loudly, "Is that him? The prince?"
A group of nobles stepped aside respectfully… but not without sneaking curious glances.
Sora walked past all of them without a flicker of reaction, hands in his pockets, eyes half-open in mild disinterest.
He reached the main stairwell — and caught two boys whispering.
"Do you think he's dangerous?"
"I don't know, but I heard he made the principal panic."
"Oh. Then yes. Definitely dangerous."
Sora stepped past them.
Neither of them noticed him until he was already descending the stairs.
One squeaked.
Sora didn't even blink.
The First-Year Lecture Hall
The Arcane Theory lecture hall was enormous. rows upon rows of elevated seating circling a central rune platform. Students filled in quickly, chatter buzzing like bees.
Sora stepped inside.
Instant silence.
Every head turned.
Every breath hitched.
Someone whispered, "Oh gods, he really came."
Someone else whispered, "Why is he in our class?"
A noble girl with long dark hair pulled her friend's sleeve. "Isn't a prince supposed to be in a private tutoring program?"
"Well…" her friend whispered, "this one is… special."
Sora's eyes scanned the room.
All seats were open to him — no one dared sit near the aisle he approached.
He picked a seat by the window and sat, leaning an elbow on the desk.
But even that was enough to keep the entire room stiff and cautious.
Professor Vellin, a thin, elderly man with a white beard and fragile-looking glasses, entered the hall carrying several textbooks.
He paused—
Not at the sight of the class.
At the sight of Sora.
"…oh stars," he whispered under his breath.
Then—He bowed.
Deeply.
To a student.
A collective gasp rippled through the room.
"Y-Your Highness," Professor Vellin stammered. "It is… an honor to have you in my class."
Sora nodded once. "Morning."
The professor almost fainted.
He scrambled to begin class, hands visibly shaking as he wrote the lesson outline on the mana board.
"W-We will cover the principles of early-stage manipulation of elemental threads…"
Half the students weren't listening.
They were watching Sora's every breath.
Sora himself rested his chin on his palm, staring out the window as the lecture began.
Honestly?
He was already bored.
Halfway through the lecture, Professor Vellin turned toward the board, demonstrating a simple mana-thread projection spell.
"Remember," he said, "your thread must remain stable. If you cannot maintain stability for more than five seconds, then—"
The lights flickered.
Several students gasped.
A pulse went through the room — faint, but undeniable. Like a heartbeat syncing the air.
Professor Vellin froze mid-sentence.
Every student looked around.
Sora didn't move.
But the faint trace of… something… coiled around him. Both bright and dark. Gentle and oppressive. A contradiction that made the ambient mana quiver.
Someone whispered:
"What… was that?"
Another voice:
"That wasn't normal."
Sora didn't react.
Not even internally.
…Oops.
That was the extent of his concern.
...
As soon as the bell rang, students scrambled to pack up — but none rushed to leave.
They were too busy glancing at Sora.
Some with awe.
Some with fear.
Some with ambition.
A few nobles hesitated, clearly debating whether to approach and introduce themselves.
Sora's expression didn't change.
He stood, stretched, and casually walked toward the exit.
The crowd split apart instinctively to make space, as if he were a blade sliding through water.
He didn't thank them.
He didn't acknowledge them.
He didn't even think about them.
I hope combat class is at least interesting, he mused as he stepped into the corridor.
Behind him, the moment he vanished around the corner—
The entire classroom erupted into frantic whispers.