Why is Background Character the Strongest Now?

The apartment was silent—choked in darkness, the curtains drawn, the lights off.

Only the glint of blood shimmered in the glass held by the man lounging in the velvet armchair. He sat cross-legged, swirling the crimson liquid as though it were wine, savoring the scent with an aristocratic grace.

A sudden shift of shadows—then a blur materialized beside him.

A kneeling figure appeared, clad in black from head to toe.

"My Lord," the figure said, head bowed.

The man didn't look. He simply raised the glass to his lips and took a slow sip.

"What's the news?" His voice was cold. Eerie. Like something that belonged in a crypt.

"The attack on Etherlight Academy has failed," the figure replied, voice steady. "Just as you predicted."

A smile tugged at the corner of the lord's mouth, faint but sharp.

"Of course it did. Blowing up the academy? Childish," he said. "The humans aren't that weak. But it served its purpose. A distraction… while the real pieces move."

"They're all in place, my lord," the figure confirmed. "Everything is set. When do we begin?"

"Patience," the vampire lord whispered. "The humans are alert right now. Watching every shadow. We strike not when they're awake… but when they start to sleep again."

A pause.

"What of the agents in the districts? Those sent to stir chaos?"

"Most have been eliminated or captured," the figure admitted. "Even… Isolde."

The glass paused mid-air. The smile vanished.

"Isolde?" the lord repeated, his voice sharp as glass.

"A Rank 5 vampire… captured in the Lower District?" he said slowly, as if trying to digest the absurdity. "Who?"

"We're not sure. Demon Hunters issued a C-rank mission, but… from the aftermath and reports, it looks like someone close to Rank 5 engaged him."

"Hmph."

He leaned back, tapping the glass gently.

"So even the slums are starting to breathe fire," he muttered. "Humans rarely send real hunters to the gutter. I expected filth to be ignored."

He waved a hand dismissively.

"No matter. It changes nothing."

The servant said nothing, awaiting further orders.

"Keep your eyes on Etherlight. Watch the cracks. When the city begins to relax… we strike."

"Yes, my lord." The figure bowed low and vanished into shadow once more.

The room fell silent again.

The vampire lord raised the glass to his lips and sipped once more, crimson coating his pale lips.

The blood was rich… but not enough.

Soon, he thought.

Soon, they would taste despair.

——————

Ezra walked calmly across the pristine marble tiles of Etherlight Academy, his footsteps echoing faintly in the morning breeze.

He wore a sharp white uniform—blazer and pants lined with black threading, paired with a black shirt and a deep blue tie. The outfit marked him as a student of the Azureus House, one of the four noble houses of the academy.

Thanks to his master, Ren Kurogane, the bureaucratic hurdles had been cleared in advance. He was re-admitted without delay.

Still, he remembered the stunned faces of the staff when they saw him alive.

Can't blame them, he thought. I went missing for an entire semester.

Before accepting his return, the academy had subjected him to a full screening—high-grade anti-demon enchantments, holy detection arrays, and a psychic scan to confirm he wasn't corrupted or replaced. Only after he passed every test did they allow him back.

And now… here he was again.

Etherlight Academy spread before him like a city of knowledge and power—vast, sprawling, ancient, and majestic.

Grand towers of ivory stone rose into the skies, adorned with flying sigils, floating lampposts, and stained-glass windows depicting famous awakeners of old. The bridges connecting buildings shimmered with magical runes, glowing faintly beneath the students' feet.

The air was alive with enchantments—barriers humming, surveillance glyphs flickering, messenger familiars darting through the sky like magical pigeons.

Despite the futuristic tech, the place still retained an ancient aura. Ivy crawled along the aged walls, and bell chimes echoed every hour like a cathedral.

Students walked in crisp uniforms just like Ezra's—white with black trim—but each wore a different colored tie:

• Blue for Azureus House,

.

• Red for Ignis House.

• Green for Sylvaris House.

• Yellow for Luxmare House.

Each house had its own dormitory, unique architecture, and deep history tied to one of the Four Founders of the Academy.

Ezra had been placed in Azureus House, though he suspected it was merely to keep him in the least suspicious house—quiet, loyal, controlled.

He climbed the floating stone staircase to Block-B's fifth floor, where his new class awaited.

Class 1-D, he read on the doorframe.

He let out a small sigh. "So I've been dumped into the lowest section of first-years… Probably because I have no evaluations on record."

Still, the faculty had said if he performed well in assessments, he could be transferred into a better class.

No problem, Ezra thought. I've cleared civil service. I can handle a classroom.

He pressed his ID card to the glowing scanner beside the door. The crystalline panel blinked green, and the thick, rune-etched classroom door slid open silently, folding upward like an arcane vault.

The room inside was vast—more like a magical combat hall than a classroom.

Rows of desks floated slightly off the ground, infused with mana. One wall was entirely enchanted crystal, designed to project visual spells and tactical diagrams. The floor had layered runic circuits beneath transparent tiling, allowing for controlled spellcasting during lessons.

Training dummies rested on racks at the back. Magic suppression zones lined the walls in case of misfires. Spellbooks floated in the air within sealed cases, awaiting instructor commands.

Ezra stepped inside.

The room was empty. Not a single student had arrived yet.

He walked toward the back and chose the window seat—his favorite.

Cool morning light filtered through the glass. Beyond it, the academy sprawled like a kingdom of arcane wonders.

Ezra sat down quietly, resting his chin on one hand.

One by one, students filed in. Some talking, others yawning, still shaking off sleep. But all of them stopped when they laid eyes on him.

"Who the hell is that?"

"Did he enter the wrong class?"

"Is he a transfer student from Class A?"

"He looks way too cool for Class D…"

Girls whispered to one another, their eyes widening.

"He's… seriously handsome. Is he from the third year?"

"No way! I've never seen him at the Awakener Grounds."

Boys looked confused, annoyed even.

"We've been training here for half a year. Where did this guy even come from?"

Ezra, as usual, remained quiet. His mana was fully suppressed to Rank 1, his presence soft as a candle—but something about his posture… his stillness… it made people hesitate.

This was Class 1-D, after all—the bottom rung.

Most students here possessed C to F rank cores, labeled as average or below average in potential. But they'd clawed their way here through perseverance and grit.

They were the ones left behind by fate—but refused to accept it.

Suddenly, the energy in the room shifted.

The door slid open again, and a sharp figure entered.

He had slick, side-combed black hair, and slit-like eyes that glinted like blades. He walked with the slow confidence of someone who had never been challenged.

The moment he stepped inside, a strange silence took over.

Ezra turned slowly to look—and immediately recognized him.

Xavier Quinn.

The first major villain of the Second Semester Arc.

Ezra knew him well.

In the original novel, Xavier would eventually massacre dozens of students in a terrible incident—and die in the process. Not evil by origin, but twisted by betrayal and unchecked ambition.

Ezra narrowed his eyes.

Their gazes locked.

For a split second, Xavier's smirk faltered. A strange pressure crept up his spine. His breath hitched. Sweat formed on his temple.

He looked away first.

"What the fuck…" Xavier whispered in his mind, shaken.

"Why… why do I feel dread? Not even that bastard Daelen gave me this feeling. Who the hell is this guy?"

He slipped quietly to the back row and sat down—head lowered. For the first time, the self-proclaimed king of Class D didn't want to draw attention.

Ezra said nothing, but smiled inwardly.

I didn't mean to intimidate him… My mana must've leaked for a second. Still, I've got his attention.

Xavier Quinn… I should try to change your fate this time.

The classroom continued to fill, row by row, until only a few seats remained empty. The giant clock above ticked toward 9:30 AM.

As the final bell chimed, the door slid open again.

A man strolled in, slow and casual, with a loose ponytail and unshaven stubble. His uniform was wrinkled, and his posture slouched—but his steps were confident.

He reached the center platform and leaned lazily against the glowing desk. Yet, when he spoke, his voice echoed cleanly in everyone's ears.

"Morning, brats. I'm your homeroom instructor."

He tapped the desk, and holographic glyphs lit up behind him.

"Name's Professor Kael Arkzen. Former battlefield magus, now stuck with you lot for the next five months."

He sighed heavily.

"First semester, you learned your basics low level spells, mana control, formation circles, the works."

He raised a hand, and with a flick of his finger, summoned a perfect A-rank wind glyph that twisted into flame, ice, and shadow—all in one breath.

"But now… we move to basic high level magic. Real spells. Real risks."

His lazy tone dropped a note deeper.

"And if you can't keep up? You'll be sent packing to the Minor Academy Program. No second chances."

Some students gulped. Others nodded.

Professor Kael's hand glided lazily through the air, flicking mana glyphs that lit the blackboard with spells of flame and frost.

Yet despite his display of control, murmurs began to stir in the classroom.

"Tch, the Sloth Teacher…"

"I heard he barely shows up for practicals."

"Yeah, he used to be a big deal. Now he just sleeps half the time."

The students weren't exactly hiding their discontent. After all, Professor Kael Arkzen had a reputation—the once-great battlefield magician turned… well, slacker.

Ezra, sitting silently near the window, heard the whispers too. And truthfully? He agreed with them.

He wasn't like this before, Ezra thought. Not until he was betrayed…

In the original novel, Kael Arkzen had been one of the academy's most promising instructors—sharp, intense, and deeply invested in his students.

Until one of them, a prodigy he mentored personally, joined the Dark Order and led a massacre that killed dozens.

The betrayal broke him.

Ezra clenched his fist slightly beneath the desk.

He has every right to be like this now. But even so, he's one of the best magicians alive. If I want to improve… I have to earn his respect.

His thoughts were cut short by a sudden call.

"Ah, I almost forgot," Kael said, rubbing his temple. "We've got a new student this semester."

He waved vaguely toward the window row.

"You. Stand up. Introduce yourself."

Ezra rose calmly.

His silver-white hair, freshly trimmed and tousled, caught the morning light. His posture was straight. His eyes—calm, unwavering.

There was no arrogance. Just clarity.

"My name is Ezra Celestrian," he said, voice smooth but polite. "It's a pleasure to be your classmate this semester. I hope we'll get along."

Simple.

Respectful.

But something about his tone made the classroom fall silent again—not out of fear, but… curiosity.

He didn't sound like someone who belonged to Class 1-D.

Kael looked at him for a long second, then shrugged.

"Seat taken, words spoken. Good enough."

He turned back to the board.

But Ezra noticed—just for a brief second—there was the faintest flicker of attention in the professor's gaze. Not full interest… but not the usual indifference either.