Not the Hero, Not the Villain — Just the One Who Wins

The classroom door slammed open with a bang that made three unsuspecting students jump in their seats. Twenty heads, a collection of the most powerful and privileged youths in the empire, snapped toward me as I strode in. My shadow, a loyal and dramatic extension of my will, stretched unnaturally long across the polished floorboards, a creeping tide of darkness in the sunlit room.

[System: Dramatic entrance check: Success!]

The usual suspects were all there, a veritable who's who of future legends and tragic villains. Liora and Noora, seated together near the front, immediately started whispering behind their hands, their smirks sharp enough to flay skin. Rin, the golden boy, was holding court with his usual sycophants, his back to me; he barely glanced my way before dismissing me as yesterday's trash. Nyx's crimson eyes, however, locked onto me like a predator spotting wounded prey, her lips curling with a dark, knowing amusement. Cecilia, the Ice Blade Princess, pointedly turned her head away, a thin layer of frost creeping across the surface of her desk in a clear, cold dismissal.

Eren was too busy glaring daggers at Sasha Whitehall—daughter of the Whitehound Knight Commander and his apparent new obsession—to even notice me enter. Interesting.

And then there was Seraphina. She sat primly in the front row, a perfect, elegant doll flanked by her entourage of elf and half-elf nobles. They all looked at me like I was something they'd scraped off the bottom of their boots, their disdain as palpable as the magic in the air.

Three empty seats waited, each a strategic choice with its own set of consequences. One beside Nyx—basically volunteering for a slow and painful poisoning via my morning coffee. One next to Cecilia—a guaranteed frostbite in uncomfortable and inconvenient places. And one adjacent to Sasha—the only survivable option.

I slid into the chair beside the knight's daughter, my movement silent and fluid. "This seat taken?"

She flinched as if I'd pulled a dagger, her brown eyes wide with a familiar, nervous energy. "N-No... Lord Crimson."

Before I could enjoy her discomfort, the air in the room crackled with ozone.

The Headmaster's Welcome

Evelyn materialized at the lectern in a flash of brilliant, blinding lightning, her silver braids coiled tight as whipcord.

"Well, well," she purred, her violet eyes, sharp and predatory, locking onto mine. "Our esteemed Rank One has graced us with his presence for the... let me check..." She made a show of consulting a shimmering, holographic scroll. "The third time this semester. Though I hear he's made a solemn vow to attend every class until finals."

Her smile turned razor-sharp, a promise of pain.

"And if he fails?" She mimed waving goodbye with a flick of her wrist. "Poof. No more academy."

That absolute bitch.

[System: Checkmate.]

Mana Shield Lesson

The lesson on Tier-3 Mana Shield formulas should have been interesting. Key word: should.

As Evelyn droned on about "nodal resonance frequencies" and "inverse mana vectors," my attention wandered. I found myself cataloging the subtle power dynamics of the room: the way the elf contingent's ears actually twitched when they were angry—hilarious; Sasha's white-knuckled grip on her quill, as if she thought I might spontaneously bite her; and the growing, almost irresistible urge to test if my shadow magic could make someone's perfectly coiffed hair fall out.

Then it happened.

One of Seraphina's lackeys—a particularly pointy-eared bastard named Lirien, whose arrogance was matched only by his ignorance—made a show of whispering something to his companion while staring straight at me. The words "disgrace" and "filthy human" carried across the silent classroom with perfect clarity.

My fingers twitched. My shadow pulsed. One Shadow Bind around his throat. Just one. Who would even—

[Memory Fragment Activated]

My mother's voice, soft but firm, a memory from a lifetime ago, echoed in my mind: "No discrimination, Ashen. No violence based on race. Every life is precious in God's eyes."

I exhaled sharply through my nose, the anger receding, replaced by a familiar, hollow ache. I flipped open a fresh notebook. With deliberate, almost violent strokes, I wrote:

"Mother's Rules:

No discrimination.

All races are equal.

God loves everyone.

Even arrogant elf bastards who deserve to be strangled with their own entrails.

Be a good boy.

Don't murder classmates (unless absolutely necessary).

I love you, Mom."

[System: ...Are we having a moral crisis?]

Fuck off.

Around me, quills scratched against parchment as students diligently copied formulas. I stared at my notebook, at the words that felt like chains around my instincts.

Then, very deliberately, I drew a crude stick-figure elf. And a shadow spear piercing its chest. And a smiley face.

Balance.

The Headmaster's Eye

As class ended, Evelyn's voice cut through the noise like a blade. "Crimson. A word."

She waited until the room had emptied, leaving just the two of us in the vast, silent hall. "Interesting notes you took."

I didn't bother asking how she knew. With her power, she probably heard every thought in the room. "A philosophy lesson."

Her gaze dropped to my doodle. "And this?"

"Advanced art theory."

For the first time, something like genuine amusement flickered in her violet eyes. "Just remember," she said, her voice a low purr, "no dismembering classmates before finals."

"Even the elves?"

"Especially the elves." She vanished in a crackle of lightning.

[System: I think she likes you.]

Unfortunately.

The classroom emptied like rats fleeing a sinking ship. I turned to Sasha, who was gathering her books with trembling hands.

"Why's everyone scattering?" I asked, feigning an ignorance I didn't feel.

She blinked up at me, her brown eyes wide. "It's... elective week, Lord Crimson. We're free to choose our classes for the next four days before submitting our final applications."

Shit. Ashen's fragmented memories surfaced—he'd signed up for Physical Combat Training, a glorified brawling session that Rin and Eren dominated. A class designed to weed out the weak through brutal, relentless sparring. No fucking way was I stepping into that pit.

"And you?" I asked, leaning against her desk with a casual air I didn't feel.

"R-Research Methodology," she stammered.

A slow grin spread across my face. Perfect. "Lead the way, my lady."

[System: Since when do you do research?]

Since never. But it beats getting punched.

The Research Class Farce

The research hall smelled of dust, desperation, and the faint, cloying scent of failed potions. I lingered at the doorway, scanning the room—until I spotted Aurelia, hunched over a stack of ancient tomes in a far corner, her golden hair tied in a messy, studious bun.

I backed out before she could notice me.

[System: Coward.] The original source is M|V|L5EMPYR.

Tactical retreat. I adjusted my collar. "Actually," I said to no one in particular, "I should focus on my weaknesses. Like... not dying."

I wandered the halls, weighing my options. Alchemy? Too many explosions. Ancient Runes? Too much reading. Beast Taming? Too much fur.

Then—

"Crimson."

Evelyn materialized from a crackle of lightning, her silver braids coiled tight. "You're wasting time."

I opened my mouth to protest—

"Special training. Lightning resistance. Now."

She grabbed my wrist, and the world dissolved into a maelstrom of blue-white agony.

The Lightning Crucible

We reappeared in a cavernous, subterranean training hall, the air thick with the sharp, clean scent of ozone. Towering mana batteries, forged from obsidian and silver, lined the walls, their crystalline surfaces crawling with captured storms.

Evelyn released me, and I stumbled, my vision swimming. "You survived thirty minutes at 20% output," she said, her voice devoid of any sympathy. "Today, we try 40%."

I wiped a trickle of blood from my nose. "What if I say no?"

She smiled, a terrifyingly beautiful expression. "Then I revoke your dorm privileges. You can room with Rin."

[System: She's diabolical.]

Lightning, raw and untamed, gathered in her palm. "Begin."

The first bolt hit me like a runaway carriage. My bones vibrated. My teeth sang. My shadow screamed.

[Lightning Resistance: B → B+]

Evelyn's eyes gleamed with a chilling, academic curiosity. "Again."