Amon sat up in the infirmary bed, letting out a long, deliberate stretch. His gaze drifted over to the digital clock mounted on the wall, reading the glowing blue digits: February 27, 2194 — Wednesday, 08:00 AM.
"A full week-long coma," Amon murmured, scratching his messy hair as he processed the lost time.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress, he slipped his feet into a pair of comfortable Crocs and made a beeline for the infirmary's private bathroom. A minute later, he stepped back out into the room, looking significantly more refreshed.
"I'll take a proper bath once I get back to my dorm room," he thought, striding toward the exit.
However, just as his hand reached for the handle, the heavy door suddenly burst open with violent force, revealing his two Primordial familiars standing in the doorway.
Before he could utter a single word, Amou and Tiamat lunged forward in unison, tackling him back into the room and wrapping their arms around him in a desperate, crushing embrace.
"We missed you so much, Master!" both of them cried out together, their voices thick with overwhelming emotion.
"I can tell," Amon chuckled softly, hugging them both back as his hands gently caressed their backs to soothe their trembling shoulders.
"Master, please... never do something like that ever again!" Amou sniffled, burying her face against his neck. "The sight of your lifeless body... it gave me horrific nightmares! Please, you need to prioritise your safety and rely on us more!"
"Alright, alright... I hear you," Amon murmured gently, continuing to stroke Amou's hair.
However, he quickly realised that breathing was becoming a serious physical challenge under the sheer strength of their combined hug. Tiamat caught the slight shift in his posture and immediately released her grip, quickly coaxing a reluctant Amou to let go as well.
"Thank you, Tiamat," Amon said, rising back up from the floor and offering her a soft, genuine smile.
"It is never a problem, Master," Tiamat replied politely, her steady posture betraying the slight waver of emotion lingering in her voice. "Ensuring your comfort is—and always will be—my top priority."
"That makes me really happy."
Amon extended his hand, gently patting her head and running his fingers through her hair with effortless warmth. "Good girl."
The sudden, intimate gesture completely caught Tiamat off guard. Her composure shattered instantly as a deep, brilliant crimson flush spread across her cheeks, turning her entire face tomato-red. Yet, despite her intense embarrassment, she leaned directly into his palm, closing her eyes and secretly wishing that the moment would never end.
"Oh, Amon," a familiar voice called out from the threshold.
Amon, Amou, and Tiamat turned toward the doorway to find Khalia standing there, leaning lightly against the frame with her arms crossed. "It's good to see you finally awake."
"It's nice to see you again, Miss Twilight," Amon replied politely, his tone exceptionally calm and gentle. "Though I must say, it's quite strange to see you here in the medical wing."
"I recently started working here as a Professor," Khalia explained, a small, subtle vein popping on her neck as she recalled her forced assignment. "Mainly because a certain individual practically coerced me into taking the post, and I'm stuck working here until you graduate."
Amon's mind immediately deduced the entire situation and the exact person behind her predicament.
"I sincerely apologise to you for the inconvenience," Amon said softly. Taking a small step forward, he placed a hand over his chest and bowed deeply toward her. "My mother can be extraordinarily overprotective, which often leads her to make rather irrational demands. I hope you can understand her perspective and look at this whole ordeal with a bit of sympathy."
Khalia stood completely frozen, her mind momentarily short-circuiting. It was the first time in her life that anyone had ever apologised to her so earnestly—and what shattered her brain even more was that the person bowing before her was an heir of the Crown lineage.
However, her brief moment of shock was instantly replaced by a wave of cold, agonising dread as her eyes drifted past Amon's shoulders.
Behind him, both Amou and Tiamat were glaring at her with raw malice. Their eyes glowed with murderous intent, sending a wave of aura through the room that threatened to tear the floorboards apart.
Two terrifying realisations hit Khalia at once:
First, the high-density Dark Magium quietly fusing with Amon's biology had already begun altering his personality.
Second, his Primordial familiars were profoundly offended that their Master was bowing and apologising to someone they viewed as inferior and repulsive.
"If I don't defuse this situation right now, I am in for a lot of hell," Khalia thought, her spine turning to ice as she forced a stiff, incredibly nervous chuckle.
"A-Ah, you really don't have to do that, Amon!" she stuttered slightly, taking a tiny, cautious step back while waving her hands frantically. "I... I completely understand Grand Duchess Crown's motives! She was just looking out for her son! So please, there's absolutely no need for you to bow or apologise!"
"I see." Amon smoothly straightened his posture, offering her a warm, reassuring smile. "Though you really don't have to feel pressured by my familiars to say those words, Miss Twilight. You should always speak your true mind."
"It's fine, Amon." Khalia waved her hand dismissively, the remaining edge in her voice finally easing up.
"Alright," Amon said, stepping toward the doorway. "I'll speak with you later, Miss Twilight." He passed her and made his way down the central corridor toward his private dorm quarters.
His Primordials fell into step right behind him, each offering Khalia a chilling, lingering glare as they walked past.
As they navigated the wide hallways, Amon couldn't help but notice the sudden, heavy presence of fully armoured soldiers wearing the crest of the Crown Duchy patrolling every major intersection. Every single soldier snapped to attention the moment they spotted him, bowing deeply in formality.
"Amou, did my mother place the entire jurisdiction of this Academy under her wing?" he asked casually, though he was already certain of the answer.
"Yes, Master," Amou replied, her tone dripping with her usual playfulness.
"Your mother officially stripped the former Headmistress of her executive authority and took complete jurisdiction over the Academy right after your assassination," she explained breezily as they passed more patrolling guards, wide-eyed students, and bewildered faculty members. "The current Headmistress of this Academy is now Jacqueline, while the previous Headmistress has been demoted to Vice Headmistress. She has personally deployed two hundred and ten of the Crown Duchy's most elite soldiers across campus to ensure your safety."
Hearing her detailed summary, Amon let out a long, quiet sigh. "How do I convince her that I'm not a child anymore?"
"You simply can't, Master," Tiamat chimed in smoothly, her tone calm and reassuring. "To a mother, her child never truly grows up. However, the reason your mother went to such extreme lengths this time was due to Amou's direct provocation."
Amon shifted his glance back toward Amou. "I am assuming you said something along the lines of how my mother is quick to threaten people, yet failed to do anything to actually keep me safe."
"How in the world did you know that, Master?!" Amou let out a theatrical, fake gasp, her expression shifting into dramatic, wide-eyed shock.
"When a Primordial's core alignment consists of the Original Virtue of Wisdom and the Original Sin of Lust, I wouldn't expect anything less from you," Amon offered her a thin, amused smile.
Every Primordial entity fundamentally embodies a balance of one Original Virtue and one Original Sin. Amou naturally embodies the Original Sin of Lust alongside the Original Virtue of Wisdom. Tiamat, on the other hand, embodies the Original Sin of Envy paired with the Original Virtue of Chastity.
Passing students stared in utter bewilderment at the trio. It was a surreal sight: one of their first-year peers strolling casually through the grand corridors wearing white hospital garb and Crocs, flanked by two towering, ethereal women who radiated an equal measure of otherworldly beauty and danger.
After a short walk, the three of them finally arrived outside Amon's private dorm room door.
"Amou, you are strictly prohibited from entering my room," Amon instructed as he unlocked the door. "Tiamat, could you assist me with ironing my uniform?"
"Understood, Master," Tiamat nodded, bowing her head in compliance.
Amou's playful demeanour vanished instantly, replaced by a deep pout as she crossed her arms. "Why am I the only one banned from entering your room, Master?" she asked, sounding deeply offended.
"Because you will inevitably steal my personal belongings and use them to do questionable acts," Amon stated plainly, looking at her as if explaining a basic law of physics. "You are the literal embodiment of Lust—it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if half my wardrobe mysteriously went missing thirty seconds after you stepped inside."
. . .
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Amon skimmed the glowing notifications, his thoughts adrift. "Amou took my belongings while I was unconscious. Forbidding her from my dorm is useless now—she already has what she needs for her 'pleasure'.'"
He turned toward the classroom window. Beneath his signature crimson blindfold, his hidden gaze tracked a flock of birds darting through the open sky.
Beside him sat Seraphina, her expression radiating relief and warmth. "It's good to see you, Amon." Her voice carried a quiet, innocent joy.
"Likewise, Sera." Amon turned from the window to face her, a rare, genuine smile softening his features. Yet, as he looked closer, the faint dark circles bruising the skin beneath her eyes didn't escape him. "You haven't slept in days, have you?"
Seraphina let out a sheepish, nervous chuckle, looking away. "Well..."
"I appreciate your concern, but you don't need to push yourself to the point of collapse for my sake." Amon's tone was remarkably soft, brimming with a gentle, reassuring warmth. He reached out and rested his hand atop her head, lightly smoothing her hair.
Simultaneously, a faint pulse of magic surged through his fingertips. A subtle restoration spell washed over her, flushing away the deep-seated fatigue, erasing the dark shadows beneath her eyes, and restoring the natural glow to her complexion.
Flustered by the affectionate gesture, a faint blush dusted Seraphina's cheeks, though she made no move to pull away. Almost instantly, as the sudden wave of relaxation overtook her body, a heavy yawn escaped her lips.
"Rest, Sera. I'll wake you when the professor arrives."
Reassured by his words, Seraphina let her eyelids flutter shut, resting her head against the cool wooden desk, and immediately drifted into a peaceful, deep sleep.
"Yo, Loverboy."
The familiar voice cut through the air from behind. Amon turned, finding Jeanne leaning casually against the adjacent desk, an amused smirk playing on her lips.
"Must you insist on these absurd nicknames?" Amon asked smoothly, entirely unfazed.
"Aw, don't tell me you hate it?" Jeanne teased, her tone dripping with mock affection. "It suits you flawlessly, considering how effortlessly you string these girls along."
"You speak as though I were some cheap charmer," Amon replied, his lips curving into a mild, unbothered smile. "Or are you simply displeased with how I express my affection to Seraphina?"
"Hm?" Jeanne raised a brow, crossing her arms as a flicker of genuine curiosity mixed into her playful stance. "And where on earth did you pull that theory from?"
"For starters, your choice of words," Amon observed casually, turning his body slightly to address her directly. "You used to call me 'good boy' with patronising amusement. Yet today, it is 'loverboy.' Beyond that, the shift in your eyes is rather hard to miss. You used to look at me as if I were nothing more than an inconvenient pest. Right now, however, your gaze carries a remarkably different weight."
"You're letting your imagination run wild, loverboy~" Jeanne let out a light, melodious chuckle, waving off his deduction with an airy flick of her wrist. "I suppose when you spend all day suffocating in the adoration of beauties, you start misreading every interaction you have with a real beauty."
"Your jealousy is showing, Jeanne." Amon kept his tone dangerously soft, his smile broadening just enough to spark a reaction. "That retort lacked your usual bite. Normally, your sharp tongue actually manages to get under my skin. But just now? You sounded defensive—as if you're quietly resenting the women surrounding me. Especially Sera~"
"It's surprisingly entertaining to ragebait the ragebaiter," Amon thought, a quiet smirk playing out in his mind.
"It's cute watching you try to goad me," Jeanne said, a dangerous gleam of amusement flickering in her eyes. "Did you really think I'd fall for something so transparent?"
Before Amon could press her further, the heavy front door swung open.
"Settle down, class," Khalia ordered smoothly. She sauntered to the lectern with practised grace, turning to sweep her gaze over the quieted room.
"Today's lesson is simple," Khalia announced, whipping her wand with a sharp flick. Behind her, glowing magical runes coalesced into bold letters: Magic Invasion. "We are covering the fundamentals of Magic Invasion."
A student promptly raised her hand and stood up. "Professor Khalia? Professor Judy just wrapped up Elemental Theory, and she mentioned our next topic would be Null Magic. Aren't we supposed to tackle duel mechanics much later in the term?"
"Miss Carol, do I look like I care?" Khalia's gaze snapped to the girl, her tone dropping to absolute zero. "Just because Judy and I share a department does not mean I chain myself to her curriculum."
With another flick of her wrist, a grand, intricately embroidered banner materialised behind the lectern, emblazoned with the words Inter-Academic Exchange Program.
"The IAEP is a mere three months away, yet you half-baked lumps of quartz lack even a rudimentary grasp of Magic Invasion," Khalia said, her piercing glare fixing on the girl. "How do you expect to represent the prestigious R.S. Advanced Academy when you're ignorant of something so fundamental?"
"I... I apologise, Professor," Carol mumbled, cheeks burning as she shrank back into her seat.
"Moving on," Khalia addressed the silent room. "Magic Invasion, at its core, dictates your ability to control a battlefield using crowd-control magic. It sounds simple on paper, but it is a discipline every elite mage—including Prosecutors—must master."
She paused, letting the silence hang heavy before posing a scenario. "Imagine you are running dangerously low on Magium, facing an entire horde of enemies. Casting high-tier, flashier spells will instantly drain your remaining reserves and leave you dead. What is your play?"
She let the question hang before answering it herself. "You rely on Magic Invasion. The essence of the technique lies in driving spellwork entirely without tapping into your personal Magium reserves."
With a sudden, violent snap of her wand, dozens of complex magic circles erupted into existence throughout the classroom, ringing the air with an ominous, suffocating aura.
"Manifesting an array of this scale requires immense energy," Khalia concluded, her voice cold and deliberate. "I know for a fact that over half of you in this room would collapse from Magium exhaustion just attempting to form the first line of arrays."
A murmur swept through the lecture hall, the students caught between awe and cold realisation. Khalia's raw display of power was mesmerising, but her assessment was brutally accurate—attempting even a fraction of that array would leave most of them passed out on the floor.
"Executing a technique of this scale relies on two core fundamentals," Khalia said, dismissing the floating spellwork with a wave of her wand. In their place, two glowing symbols hovered on either side of her: a gleaming human head and a radiant crystal.
"First, tapping into environmental Magium. Second, using your mind." Khalia paused, letting her sharp gaze sweep the silent room. "I won't waste breath on the first—a toddler can grasp the concept of drawing power from their surroundings. The second, however, demands exceptional memory and razor-sharp visualisation. You must hold a flawless, absolute mental image of every spell circle required to manipulate the battlefield, then force the ambient Magium to manifest your design."
Amon raised his hand.
"Yes, Mr Crown?" Khalia shifted her gaze to him.
"Professor, what if the environmental Magium is depleted as well?" Amon asked, a faint, calm smile on his face.
"A valid question." Khalia nodded, turning back to address the class. "In a sparse environment, you are forced to invest a fraction of your own Magium to seed the area. Think of it like the Law of Conservation of Energy—energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transformed. When you cast a spell, your spent Magium doesn't vanish; it dissipates back into the atmosphere. By initiating smaller spells and immediately recycling that lingering energy alongside whatever ambient Magium remains, you can still execute the technique efficiently."
Surprise rippled through the room as the realisation set in.
"There's a reason she commands the Magic Research Division," Amon thought, eyeing her with silent respect. "Discovering a breakthrough like that at just eighteen—and revolutionising modern spellcasting in the same year. In five short years, she's advanced the entire field further than the previous two centuries combined."