Newton's Third Law says: for every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction.
That was the inspiration behind the boy's skill:
[Action and Reaction {0}]
A skill that copies a technique only after receiving its blow.
Not the ability itself.
Not the skill rank.
Just the movement and the energy flow.
A beautifully designed concept.
The reader who created it clearly put effort into naming it and giving it purpose—almost the same way I tried with Celestial Library.
But the boy had no idea how to use it.
He didn't understand his own ability.
He didn't even realize he wasn't copying fire—he was copying my circulation pattern.
Which meant he was dead wrong about how his power actually worked.
"That's comforting," I muttered as I walked away. "At least he's not from Earth."
A petty thought… but true.
In a world where the plot was already changing, I needed every advantage I could get. If another transmigrator existed, they'd remember every major event. Every loophole. Every weakness.
I couldn't allow that.
But now?
Now I was the only one with that knowledge.
And I intended to keep it that way.
After classes ended, students scattered across the Triangle.
Some ran to train.
Some headed to the combat rooms.
Others grouped together into factions and cliques.
As for me—
"I should check my room."
Class A didn't get luxury suites, but we didn't get trash either.
When I opened the door, I found a small space:
a single bed, a desk, a closet.
Simple, clean, barely lived in.
The room was meant for sleeping, nothing else.
Triangle students trained more than they rested.
But I didn't come here to admire the bed.
I came to read the book I fought so hard to take.
Magic Control.
The key to increasing Magic Energy.
The key to becoming stronger.
The key to not dying.
I opened the manual carefully.
"The first step is to create an energy core… located on the right side of the chest, parallel to the heart…"
I sat on my bed, closed my eyes, and began.
Darkness filled my vision.
My magical energy flowed slowly—blue sparks drifting through the darkness like fireflies waiting to be guided.
I commanded them, gathering the sparks to the right side of my chest.
The moment the first sparks touched each other—
Pain.
White-hot.
Sharp.
Like my skin was peeling from the inside.
"Grr—!"
I gritted my teeth.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted it to stop.
But I couldn't.
If I interrupted the process now—
I could cripple myself permanently.
The sparks compressed tighter… tighter…
merging into a glowing core of swirling light.
And then—
It formed.
A bright sphere pulsed at my chest.
The pain vanished instantly.
I exhaled violently, sweat running down my face.
"…Damn."
Then came the real test:
energy circulation.
Green sparks—representing ambient mana—and blue sparks—my own energy—began to swirl toward the core.
This was where most people failed.
The stronger the magic control, the longer and more complex the circuit.
I pushed the energy through each path…
slowly building rhythm…
feeling the core pull harder and harder…
A winding river of power ran through my body.
For two hours, I repeated the process over and over.
Finally, I opened my eyes.
"Status."
A glowing screen appeared:
===== Status =====
Strength: 12
Toughness: 15
Agility: 13
Intelligence: 20
Perception: 17 (+7)
Magic Energy: 102 (+72)
===== Skills =====
[Celestial Library {0}]
Stored Books:
• Eyes of Truth {1}
• Fire Fists {7}
• Action and Reaction {0}
• None
=================
My breath caught.
"…That's insane."
72 points.
In two hours.
Low-level controls gave +1.
Medium gave +2 or +3.
Family-level controls gave +7.
But this one?
This one was on another level entirely—exactly like the novel described.
I was now officially one of the strongest magic energy users in Class A1.
Not in raw power.
Not in technique.
But in potential.
And that was enough.
I grabbed my student ID from the desk and checked my merit balance:
Name: Dreyden Stella
Class: A1
Score: 165,983
Balance: 1600 Merits
History:
+500 Merits (Entrance Reward)
+1000 Merits (Class A Admission)
+100 Merits (Mr. Lean's Reward)
Every student got 500 Merits to buy a level 1 skill.
A psychological trick to tie the powerless to the academy.
I wasn't falling for that.
I tucked the ID into my pocket and left my room.
Time to explore.
The Triangle's hallways were wide and metallic, filled with tension and unspoken rules.
It didn't take long to find it:
A Class D boy pinned against a wall by another student.
The attacker's fist was bruised—
the victim's face was even worse.
"Do you think you can bump into me and just apologize!?"
He slammed his fist into the kid's face again.
The boy whimpered softly but didn't fight back.
Students pretended not to see.
Looked away.
Kept walking.
I understood the rules here.
But this?
This wasn't dominance.
This was a coward beating someone weaker just to feel big.
I walked past them—
just close enough to shoulder-bump the attacker.
Hard.
He stumbled.
"What the hell—!?"
He turned, rage on his face—
until he saw the gold stripe on my uniform.
Class A.
His anger evaporated instantly, replaced by fear.
"C-Class A—"
Before he could finish, I drove my knee into his stomach.
WHAM!
He choked, collapsing to the floor, gasping for air.
"Look at you," I said coldly. "Afraid of the strong. Bullying the weak. Typical trash behavior."
The beaten boy on the ground flinched when I approached, raising his hands in panic.
"P-please don't hurt me—!"
I loosened my expression and stepped back.
"You're fine. Go."
He blinked.
Then bolted like his life depended on it.
Other students watched from a distance.
They didn't say anything.
They didn't dare.
They simply moved out of my way.
I slipped my hands into my pockets and kept walking.
"Tsk. My mood's ruined."
Beep! Beep!
"Ugh… stupid alarm clock."
I slapped the desk instinctively, but it wasn't my old world—
this wasn't a phone.
It was the Triangle's internal alarm system.
6 a.m.
Time for breakfast.
"My stomach's killing me," I groaned, hand over my gut. "Should've eaten yesterday."
I dressed quickly and headed to the cafeteria.
It was massive—rows of tables divided by class rank, modern cooking stations, and long lines that wrapped around the room.
Except when higher-ranked students cut in.
No one complained.
No one even looked at them.
It was normal here.
I grabbed my tray and walked to the Class A section.
Empty table.
As expected—
nobody wanted to sit with the "unknown" A-Class kid.
Not Silvius.
Not Dogers.
Not the kids from influential families.
I ate in silence.
Until—
"Hey. Can we sit here?"
A soft, calm voice.
I looked up.
Lucas Væresberg.
Tray in hand.
Red right eye quietly observing me.
Next to him—
Arlo Stanford, the strongest student in Class B.
Lucas smiled politely.
"You saved us a spot. Thanks."
Right on cue.
The protagonist had finally approached me.
I leaned back in my seat and nodded.
"Make yourselves comfortable."
And just like that…
my life in the Triangle officially began.