Curse of Lysertis

Adam shut the classroom door behind him, his exit drowned out by the laughter and jeering of his classmates. Without a destination in mind, he simply walked, letting his feet carry him wherever. The academy's hallways were unusually empty, and the sound of his footsteps echoed eerily through them.

He climbed a staircase and stopped in the doorway at the top. There, an enormous window bathed the corridor in pale light. Without thinking, he sat on the windowsill, his gaze distant as he replayed the events in his mind.

It wasn't the first time he'd felt like an outsider—like he didn't belong. A stray, unwanted. He knew all too well that no matter how much he pretended not to care, no matter how indifferent he acted, it still hurt. It hurt that they hated him for something he never did.

"Dad… tell me, why?"

Adam muttered under his breath.

"Why did you have to do it? Was it just so I'd suffer for your mistakes?"

He leaned back, resting his head against the cold glass, staring up at the ceiling with empty eyes.

In the distance, the muffled sound of doors opening spread across the corridors. The students were pouring out of their classrooms, their voices quickly filling the academy's halls.

"Lecture's over." Adam noted flatly, still unmoving.

Within minutes, the stairwell was packed with students, all going about their day. He didn't acknowledge them. Didn't react to the stares or the murmured conversations about him. He simply sat there, waiting for the next lecture to start.

Then, suddenly, a hand rested on his shoulder.

"Adam."

Fubuki's voice was calm.

"What do you want, Fubuki?" Adam exhaled, not even looking at him.

"I want to help."

"Don't bother. I'm fine."

"But the way they treat you—it's awful. How can you say you're fine?"

"Listen, Fubuki," Adam sighed. "I've been here for six years. This is my seventh. Every single year, it's the same thing. You'd think I'd be used to it by now."

"Have you ever tried speaking up about it? Berendor was on your side, wasn't he? When they beat you up, four students got expelled. Clearly, someone here cares about what happens to you."

"They got expelled because they started a fight. That's just how it works here—if you fight outside of combat classes or tournaments, you're out. As for Professor Berendor, standing up for people isn't about me, it's just his principle—he doesn't tolerate insults, no matter who they're aimed at. So no, Fubuki, I'm an outcast, a freak, a disgrace. No one here gives a damn about me."

"Well, I do." Fubuki's voice was firm. "I've seen what kind of person you are. Yeah, you've got your quirks and hang-ups, but who doesn't? You're a good guy—kind, funny, always willing to help. Maybe a little thick-headed sometimes, but even that can be fixed. I just don't want to see you like this."

"Why do you even care?" Adam snapped, finally looking at him. "You don't know me. We've known each other for, what, three days? And now you think you understand me? Look, I appreciate the thought, but I don't need your pity or concern. I've lived without it my whole life, and I'll keep living without it."

Fubuki was silent for a long moment, clearly taken aback. Then, finally, he sighed.

"Alright. I get it." He set Adam's bag down against the wall. "I brought your bag."

"Thanks," Adam replied, his voice cold, not even glancing at him.

Without another word, Fubuki turned and walked away.

Adam remained on the windowsill, staring up at the ceiling. He sat there for so long that time slipped away from him. When he finally glanced outside at the academy's grand clocktower, his stomach dropped.

His next lecture had started thirty minutes ago.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, grabbing his bag and sprinting toward the inner courtyard.

Adam's entire class had been practicing swordsmanship for a while now. Wooden swords swung through the air, striking against training dummies as students honed their techniques.

Adam arrived at the training grounds, completely out of breath. He was panting so hard he could barely get a word out.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up!" Professor Aldric's booming voice echoed across the field as he leaned in slightly. "What's with the delay?"

Still catching his breath, Adam braced his hands on his knees and raised a single finger, silently asking for a moment to recover. Once he managed to steady himself, he finally spoke:

"Sorry, Professor. I was in the bathroom. Had some serious stomach issues. No clue what I ate, but it really did a number on me."

The moment those words left his mouth, the entire class—and even the professor—grimaced in sheer disgust.

"Ugh, Adam, could've spared us the details." Aldric wrinkled his nose.

"Just grab a sword and start training," he ordered, pointing toward the weapons rack.

"Got it!"

Nodding, Adam walked over and picked up a wooden sword.

The training session continued as usual. Some students handled their weapons with skill, while others flailed awkwardly. Adam, however, found himself doing surprisingly well—one of the few subjects besides history where he actually showed some promise.

After a while, Professor Aldric raised a hand.

"Alright, stop!" His voice cut through the noise of clashing swords. "I think you've all had enough warm-up. Time for something more challenging. Everyone, line up and watch closely."

The students did as they were told, forming a row and focusing their attention on the professor.

Picking up a wooden sword, Aldric held it up for all to see.

"Now listen up. To make your swordsmanship truly effective—to make your attacks dangerous—you need to learn how to channel mana into your blade. But before you can do that, you first have to feel how mana flows within you. It's difficult, I know, but if you master this, the results will speak for themselves.

"Look at this." He gestured to the sword. "Just a simple wooden stick, right? But in the hands of someone skilled, even this can become a deadly weapon."

Aldric turned toward a massive boulder nearby. His stance shifted—perfect form, precise, disciplined. Taking a deep breath, he raised his sword… and swung.

The impact sent up a cloud of dust and sent small fragments of rock flying toward the students. When the dust settled, they saw it: the once-massive boulder, now cleanly sliced in two, with Aldric standing calmly beside it.

The entire class erupted into applause.

"Holy shit," Adam muttered, clapping his hands in amazement.

Aldric turned to him with a sharp look.

"What have I told you about language during my lessons?"

"Sorry, it slipped out."

"Anyway, here's the deal," Aldric continued, folding his arms. "Anyone who manages to split a boulder like this before the session ends? You're exempt from this year's exam."

The class roared with excitement, cheers and applause filling the air.

Aldric smirked, then dramatically gestured toward the boulders.

"Alright, then. Who wants to go first?" He took a seat at his small tea table, pouring himself a cup with a relaxed expression.

"Pfft, easy." A cocky voice rang out from the crowd.

A boy stepped forward, rolling his shoulders.

"Watch and learn!" he announced, gripping his sword. "I—Grimnok Helsvir—will split this rock and earn my exemption!"

The crowd grew even louder, whistling and cheering as he approached the second boulder.

Grimnok took his stance—though anyone paying attention could tell it was far from perfect. He raised his sword, preparing to strike.

The entire class fell silent, waiting in anticipation.

Then, with all his strength, he swung.

Grimnok took his stance—though it was clear he was an amateur. His form was completely different from the professor's, lacking the precision and discipline of a seasoned fighter.

He raised his sword.

The entire crowd fell silent, anticipation thick in the air.

Then, he swung.

A hollow thud echoed across the training grounds as the wooden sword struck the boulder. Nothing happened. No dramatic explosion, no crack forming in the stone—just the dull sound of wood hitting rock.

But then, a second later, a violent tremor traveled from Grimnok's hands, through his arms, down to the very tips of his toes. The shock reverberated through his entire body, making him tremble as if he'd just stepped into a freezing storm. His sword slipped from his grasp, and with an awkward stagger, he collapsed onto his back, completely still.

Laughter erupted from Professor Aldric.

"Easier than it looks, isn't it?" He smirked. "Not so simple after all. Who's next? Remember—this is your only chance to get out of the exam, so if you're going to try, now's the time."

Silence.

Whatever enthusiasm the students had moments ago had completely vanished. No one stepped forward. The sight of Grimnok lying flat on the ground, defeated not by the stone but by his own arrogance, had snuffed out any lingering bravado.

Grimnok groaned, slowly pushing himself up. He dusted off his uniform, his previous confidence completely drained, and trudged back into the crowd without another word.

Aldric took a slow sip of tea, then placed his cup down with a soft clink.

"No one? Hmph. Well, then. I suppose you can all look forward to the exam, and let me tell you—it won't be easy."

Then, a single step echoed in the silence.

Shun stepped forward.

Aldric raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, finally, someone else willing to give it a shot. Think you can cut through the stone, Shun?"

"I don't know." Shun's voice was flat, tinged with irritation.

He grabbed a wooden sword and approached the boulder. The entire class—and even Aldric himself—watched with intrigue.

His stance wasn't great. It was far from perfect, just like Grimnok's had been. But unlike Grimnok, Shun didn't rush in.

He stood there for a long moment, eyes fixed on the stone, breathing slow and deliberate.

The anticipation grew. Students held their breath without realizing it. Even Aldric, though he didn't show it, was interested.

Finally, Shun inhaled deeply, raised his sword, and swung.

And—