Chapter 2: A Name That Shouldn't Matter
The Royal Academy did not sleep.
Even after the mana collapse was contained, the campus remained flooded with light as barrier arrays hummed overhead and instructors moved like shadows across the ruined west wing. Emergency squads sealed off damaged areas while healers treated the injured.
Aren Valerius Arcanveil stood at the edge of the courtyard, quiet and unremarkable among the crowd of students.
Exactly where an extra belonged.
He lowered his head slightly, allowing exhaustion to show on his face while carefully suppressing his breathing. His mana circulation slowed, sword intent sinking deep into his body until even trained observers would see nothing more than a shaken noble youth.
First rule, Aren reminded himself calmly.
Survive without standing out.
Around him, whispers spread like wildfire.
"Did you see the explosion?"
"They said the mana array almost reached overload!"
"Several students were injured… I heard some died—"
"The instructors arrived just in time…"
No one mentioned names.
That was normal.
Extras rarely had them remembered.
Aren's gaze drifted toward the central plaza, where a familiar figure stood surrounded by instructors and senior students.
The protagonist.
Even now, the man looked composed, his robes barely torn, golden mana still faintly radiating from his body as healers fussed over others instead of him. He listened as instructors spoke, nodding with confidence, already being positioned as a key witness.
Just like the novel, Aren thought.
In every crisis, the protagonist became the axis around which events turned. Fate didn't even try to hide it.
Aren turned away.
Staring too long was dangerous.
An instructor's voice rang out across the courtyard.
"All students involved in the incident will be accounted for. Remain where you are until your names are called."
A ripple of tension passed through the crowd.
Names meant records.
Records meant attention.
Aren exhaled slowly.
I survived the collapse. That alone already deviated the plot.
If I attract unnecessary notice now, the system won't save me.
The blue panel flickered into existence, subtle enough that only he could see it.
[World Convergence System]
Status: Monitoring
Plot Engagement: 7%
Warning: Excessive Visibility Increases Risk
"Understood," Aren murmured.
He adjusted his posture—neither too confident nor too timid—and waited.
One by one, students were called forward. Some were nobles with prominent surnames, others commoners whose talent alone earned them a place in the academy. A few were escorted away by healers, pale and unconscious.
Then—
"Aren Valerius Arcanveil."
His name echoed through the courtyard.
Several heads turned.
Not many.
But enough.
Aren stepped forward calmly, bowing slightly to the instructor who stood before him—a stern middle-aged mage with sharp eyes and a silver insignia pinned to his cloak.
"Status?" the instructor asked.
"Minor mana exhaustion," Aren replied evenly. "No serious injuries."
The instructor's gaze swept over him, briefly probing with mana.
Aren allowed just enough instability to be detected.
"House Arcanveil," the man noted. "Which branch?"
"Third minor line, sir."
That earned him a flicker of disinterest.
"Very well. You were fortunate."
Fortunate.
Aren nodded. "Yes, sir."
The instructor waved him away.
Just like that, he was dismissed.
No praise.
No suspicion.
No follow-up.
Aren returned to the crowd, heart steady.
[Evaluation Complete]
Visibility Level: Acceptable
Result: No Correction Triggered
He didn't smile.
This wasn't victory.
It was merely postponement.
That night, the academy sealed the west wing permanently.
Students were reassigned to new dormitories, schedules reshuffled, and security tightened. The official announcement blamed an ancient array instability—no culprits named, no deeper investigation promised.
Just like the novel.
Aren lay on his new dormitory bed, staring at the ceiling.
Four beds occupied the room, though only two were currently filled. His roommates whispered excitedly across the room, replaying the day's events in hushed tones.
"…did you see that senior from the Durnhart family?"
"They say his sword aura split the flames!"
"And the golden-haired one—he didn't even flinch…"
Aren closed his eyes.
Kael Durnhart. The sword prodigy.
And the protagonist.
Two names that would shape the academy's future.
Two rivals he couldn't avoid forever.
The system responded to his thoughts.
[Rival Nodes Detected]
Primary Candidates:
– Kael Durnhart (Sword Path)
– Plot Protagonist (Fate Anchor)
Recommendation: Gradual Engagement
"So even thinking about them matters," Aren muttered internally.
He shifted onto his side and focused inward.
Mana responded instantly.
Clean. Stable. Abundant.
Sword intent followed—sharp, restrained, coiled like a blade kept in its sheath.
Dual Path Sovereignty.
The authority skill rested quietly within him, not roaring for dominance, not demanding usage.
It waited.
Aren understood instinctively.
This power would not carry him unless he pushed it.
And pushing it recklessly would kill him faster than fate ever could.
Slow, he decided.
Precise.
And competitive.
The academy was built on comparison.
Rankings.
Duels.
Examinations.
If he wanted to grow without being erased, he had to walk a narrow path—strong enough to matter, restrained enough to survive.
His lips curved slightly.
"That's fine," Aren whispered. "I've read the script."
Outside, the academy bells rang softly, marking the end of the day.
Somewhere in the vast campus, geniuses trained, protagonists prepared, and fate advanced toward its next major chapter.
And in a quiet dorm room, an extra opened his eyes.
Not as a background character.
But as a rival waiting for the right moment to step forward.