Section 1: The Hardworking Girl with Crimson Eyes

  “Damn it! Give me a break!”

  With a sharp bark, the girl slammed her Converged Gauntlets against the locker—an action far too seasoned for someone her age.

  “This sucks.”

  “My, such foul language first thing in the morning,” came a voice.

  “Shut up.”

  “Let me guess—that silver-haired girl again?”

  “Of course it is. Dammit, we're both in Year Six—so why the hell is there such a gap between us!?”

  “Well, darling, she is a genius noblewoman after all. It’s hardly fair to compare her with a self-proclaimed scrappy Wizard.”

  “I know, I know… But it still pisses me off. Why does it always end up like this? You think so too, don’t you, Liz?”

  The girl called Liz gave her a look that said, Here we go again.

  “I mean, while you’re barely managing to spit out one scrawny little fireball, she’s flinging ten or twenty ice masses like it’s nothing. How are you supposed to beat that?”

  “Yeah, but still—we’re the same age, right? Are you telling me talent really matters that much? If that’s all there is to it, then what the hell’s the point of effort...?”

  Her voice faltered slightly.

  “Maybe it’s not talent. Maybe it’s just fate.”

  Liz said it with a teasing smile.

  “Yeah, well… Screw this.”

  The young blonde Wizard slumped, completely deflated.

  “I don’t think you need to be so down about it,” Liz said gently. “You’re still one of the top names in the Wizard Division. You’re the only one in the junior curriculum who was allowed to wear the Converged Gauntlets, remember? That’s proof your hard work has paid off.”

  “This sucks…”

  Grumbling, she rose from the bench and began changing into her uniform.

  Wizards were practitioners of magic—thus called sorcerers. But compared to Warlocks born with innate magical ability, or Sorcerers who inherited extraordinary power through lineage, their natural gifts were meager at best. That’s why, in mock battles or magical competitions, Wizards were so often forced to bite their tongues. Especially during their early years at the Academy, when their efforts had yet to bear fruit, the gap in ability between them and the others was stark—and left them struggling with a quiet, painful sense of inferiority.

  And yet, for all her complaints, this girl was among the most exceptional students in this year’s Wizard Division. She had nearly no innate magical talent, but the Academy recognized her perseverance and achievements. While most students in the junior curriculum were only permitted to wear Protective Gloves to guard against magical feedback, she had already earned the right to don the Converged Gauntlets, a pair of gloves designed to enhance magical output. That distinction, especially at her age, was no small feat.

  She and her peers were currently preparing for the upcoming Academy-wide Magic Mock Battle Tournament, held next month. Students from each class—Warlocks, Wizards, Sorceresses, and Necromancers—would form teams to battle one another in simulated magical combat. In many ways, it was their equivalent of a sports festival, and the entire Academy was abuzz with anticipation. Many students staked their future and dreams on this event, for it was often attended by scouts from professional guilds. Those who caught a scout’s eye could receive direct offers of employment. Exceptional talents were sometimes even drafted into the Custodians of Mystic Order, the Academy’s own elite enforcement corps—a status symbol as well as a lucrative opportunity, and for some, a chance to feed their young and fragile pride.

  The conversation just now had taken place after one such morning training session. During this season, those chosen to represent their classes in the tournament trained relentlessly both before morning lectures and after afternoon classes. The young Wizard was one of them.

  After changing, she slung her schoolbag over her shoulder with a sour look and headed for the door.

  “Wait a sec,” came a voice.

  “Huh?”

  “Your reward for effort this morning. Here.”

  Liz held out a small vial of potion.

  “Hey, is this Monster Nutrient? You sure?”

  “You’re our hope, after all. We need you to keep going strong. Drink it and wipe that scowl off your face, okay?”

  Liz beamed, her smile as bright as ever.

  Monster Nutrient was a popular energy tonic among the youth—a kind of magical energy drink. It wasn’t cheap, and the fact that Liz would hand one over so casually showed how generous she was. That little act of kindness soothed the girl’s wounded pride.

  “Geez…”

  The Wizard flushed slightly, clearly embarrassed.

  “…Thanks.”

  With that, the young Wizard stepped out of the locker room.

  The blazing summer sun was already scorching from the morning sky. September was just around the corner, but the heat remained merciless, a punishing late-summer blaze. The harsh training sessions drained the students’ stamina and magical reserves alike—but that too was a vital discipline, a step toward becoming a true mage. The sun climbed ever higher. A distant bell signaled the start of morning lectures.

  The young magic-wielders filed out of the changing room, making their way briskly toward their respective classroom buildings.

  A new day had begun.

  ＊ ＊ ＊

  By the time she reached the classroom, the young Wizard was already utterly exhausted.

  The Monster Nutrient she’d received from Liz had been enough to quench her thirst—but not quite enough to transform her into a monster, as promised.

  The main bell rang, signaling the start of the morning lectures.

  This was supposed to be where the real learning began—but an overwhelming wave of fatigue and drowsiness crashed down upon her.

  True to her earnest nature, she rubbed her eyes desperately, but silver sand danced uncontrollably across her beautiful crimson gaze.

  “Can’t fall asleep… Not now.”

  She was hanging on by sheer willpower.

  “There has to be some hint in today’s lecture on Magical Element Theory. Some clue I can use to stick it to that damn silver-haired princess. If I don’t listen properly, I’ll just be humiliated again like this morning.”

  She bit her lip and dug her fingernails into her thigh.

  But the exhaustion and sleepiness showed no mercy to her small frame.

  By the time she came to, the first period had already ended.

  “…I blew it.”

  Regret weighed heavily on her chest.

  To some, her talk of hard work might now sound hollow.

  But it wasn’t so simple. Being selected as a representative for the Academy-wide Magic Mock Battle Tournament was no easy feat.

  It required grueling training and the strengthening of magical aptitude—day in and day out, without fail.

  It wasn’t rare for her to be completely overwhelmed by the more experienced Sorceresses, like this morning.

  For a young Wizard, casting even the basic spell Fire Ball remained both mentally and physically taxing.

  In contrast, the Ice Balls favored by Sorceresses belonged to a lower-tier beginner spell, despite their impressive power and effect.

  Thanks to their superior inherited magical ability, Sorceresses could unleash them effortlessly and relentlessly.

  In truth, Liz’s “You don’t stand a chance” was a brutally accurate assessment.

  The fact that a Wizard with no strong counterspells could hold her own at all against Sorceresses of the same year was already something to be proud of.

  And yet, that very effort served only to underscore the unbridgeable gap that talent could create.

  The professor who had refrained from scolding her for nodding off knew this bitter reality well.

  “I’ve still got second period. I’ll make up for the first one tonight!”

  With that, she straightened herself up and downed the rest of the Monster Nutrient in one go.

  The silver sand in her eyes vanished.

  For the entirety of second period, she leaned forward over her desk, eyes locked on the professor, ears straining, scribbling notes at a breakneck pace with a desperation that bordered on manic.

  Her focus was so intense it seemed to bend time itself, and in what felt like mere moments, the bell signaling the end of class rang.

  “Yes!”

  She was satisfied with her second period.

  “Fire Ball isn’t all I’ve got. If I want to bring that icy bitch down, I’ll need a different tactic.

  The key has to be denying her the time to conjure those damn Ice Balls.

  There’s got to be a spell out there that can do that.”

  Muttering to herself, she sprang from her seat and dashed off toward the dining hall.

  But on her way down the hill that led from the Wizard classroom building to the cafeteria, she ran into the last face she wanted to see.

  The silver-haired princess’s little minion.

  She hated the princess, sure—but at least that one had talent.

  This sycophant, on the other hand, was a pathetic little lapdog, riding her mistress’s coattails and sneering down at the Wizard Division without an ounce of merit of her own.

  “I heard you got crushed by Milady again this morning.”

  “So what?”

  “Don’t you get it yet? You lesser types challenging Milady is like a snail trying to race a thunderbird.

  Hopeless.”

  That smug, oozing tone—pure mockery.

  “Shut the hell up. If you’re so eager, I can give you a match right here.”

  “Oh please, spare me. I may look like this, but I have high ideals and a peaceful heart.

  Fighting a Wizard like you would just scratch my precious rod. I’ll pass.”

  God, what a piece of work.

  And a rod, no less? Who the hell carries a proper rod in the elementary division?

  “You’re not special, you’re just rich.”

  “That’s right. My father’s a high official in the Ministry of Magic.

  Like I said—we pure-blooded magi and you lesser breeds don’t belong on the same playing field.

  Honestly, the fact that you keep pestering Milady is just a nuisance to our team.

  Don’t you get it? Milady and I are aiming to get scouted by the Sorcerer’s Guild this year—seriously aiming.

  If we get scouted in the elementary division, it’ll be a huge honor for the entire Sorceress curriculum.

  And for that, we’ve got a mountain of things we need to do.

  We don’t have time to waste on you. So would you kindly stop clinging to Milady?”

  Every word of it was condescending and grating.

  “That’s none of your damn business! Just you wait.

  This year’s tournament—I’m gonna make your precious Milady cry like a baby!”

  “How pathetic. Well, fine. I’ve wasted enough time already. Run along.”

  “If you want me to stay away from your precious princess, then you better quit screwing with Liz!”

  This girl had been mocking and belittling Liz, too.

  It was textbook bullying.

  Her cronies joined in as well.

  They hadn’t gotten physical—yet—but their methods were petty and vile.

  Liz, in her usual way, pretended not to care, but it made the young Wizard’s stomach turn.

  With that bitter taste in her mouth, she ran the rest of the way to the cafeteria.

  “Hmph. Filthy little mongrel.”

  The girl known as the silver-haired lackey sneered at her retreating back.

  The noonday sun still beat mercilessly down across the Academy grounds,

  as if to burn away the last remnants of the young Wizard’s fragile pride.

  “Stupid.”

  With that single word, she disappeared into the cafeteria.

  A brief moment of rest.

  Afternoon lectures were waiting, and after that, more brutal training.

  There was no time to feel sorry for herself.

  She simply had to keep going.

  That’s what she told herself—firmly, stubbornly, fiercely.

  The sun edged ever so slightly westward.

  ＊ ＊ ＊

  The two afternoon lectures following second period were just as enriching.

  They were again focused on Elemental Theory, but the young Wizard had learned something important: there was more to success than just doggedly mastering the element of one’s guardian archangel.

  For Wizards, that guardian was the Archangel Michael—ruler of fire and light.

  He was an austere angel, who refused to bestow power until one’s efforts had borne sufficient fruit.

  Because of that, even the basic spell Fire Ball was inferior in raw performance to Ice Balls, the lower-rank elemental spell favored by Sorceresses.

  It was a deliberate trial imposed by Michael.

  To move beyond it, one would need to learn Flaming Cannon Balls, a mid-tier spell.

  Mastering that would be ideal—but for an elementary division student, it was an unrealistic goal.

  The range of elements required for mastery was vast, and even a student with talent couldn’t catch up to the theoretical understanding needed.

  Michael was, in that sense, almost too strict—one of the reasons Wizard students often dropped out.

  Many simply lost heart.

  But giving up wasn’t an option.

  Not if she wanted to see that damn silver-haired girl cry.

  She needed another route—some other approach.

  That’s when it struck her: perhaps she could broaden her studies beyond just her patron’s domain.

  Choosing Uriel, the patron of Sorceresses, would only weaken Michael’s influence and put her at an even worse disadvantage.

  No way she could win on equal footing against a genius.

  So, she needed an alternative.

  Gabriel was well-known for his mercy and for generously granting power.

  But his domains—healing, restoration, summoning—were entirely off-base. She had no idea how to apply them to combat.

  Then what about Raphael?

  He governed time and space, lightning and radiant flashes.

  Time and space were out—those were Warlock disciplines, and only for the intermediate division.

  But lightning and radiant flashes? Those could synergize well with fire and light.

  “This is it!”

  She nearly shouted in the middle of class, but barely held it in.

  She could do this.

  Raphael’s element also covered weather phenomena.

  With some ingenuity, she might be able to scorch that arrogant silver-haired brat with a rain of fire.

  Burn that glorious hair of hers to a crisp—that would make her bawl for sure.

  Fueled by such thoughts, she immersed herself in the lecture.

  Most students hated Elemental Theory, finding it dull and overly theoretical.

  But to this ambition-driven Wizard, it looked like a treasure trove.

  Before she knew it, both afternoon classes were over.

  She had learned a great deal.

  With a satisfied expression, she left the classroom.

  Her day wasn’t done yet—she still had team preparations for the tournament.

  These after-class sessions were like club activities in other countries.

  They didn’t just involve physical and magical drills.

  Morning practices focused on strengthening the body and honing magical output.

  Afternoons were often spent deepening one’s magical theory with teammates.

  That was the plan for today as well.

  When she arrived at the designated classroom, Liz and the others were already there.

  “Rough morning, huh?” Liz said with a smile.

  “Guess that potion didn’t quite turn you into a monster.”

  “I totally blew first period,” she laughed. “But second period? Nailed it—thanks to you!”

  She took a seat, and Liz sat beside her.

  “Let me guess—you were planning to stay up half the night reviewing again, weren’t you?”

  Saying that, Liz handed her a copy of the first period lecture notes.

  “What’s this?”

  “Come on. Like I said this morning—you’re our hope. Supporting our hope is part of our job.”

  And just like that, Liz patiently walked her through everything she’d missed while dozing off.

  For once, the Wizard could avoid pulling another late-night cram session.

  “All caught up?” Liz asked gently once she’d finished.

  “Yeah. Seriously… Thanks. You really saved me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  An hour and a half had passed since Liz began her explanation.

  The sun had dipped low in the sky, casting orange rays across the classroom floor.

  “Well, I say that’s enough for today.

  Rest is just as important, you know.”

  Liz really was kind.

  Most people couldn’t offer this kind of consideration.

  She’d make a great nurse, the Wizard found herself thinking.

  “Yeah… Maybe I’ll call it an early day for once.”

  “Let’s.”

  They stood up and bid farewell to the others.

  “Sorry, we’re heading out early!”

  Everyone knew how hard the Wizard worked. No one gave her any grief.

  “See you tomorrow! Be sure to break that silver-haired princess’s nose, yeah!?”

  Voices of encouragement followed them.

  “You got it!”

  As the two stepped out of the classroom building and into the path toward the dormitories, the sun sank even lower, casting long shadows before them.

  “Don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”

  Liz’s voice was soft.

  “I’ve got you—and the others. I’ll be fine.”

  She said it with confidence, walking across the cobbled path.

  Their shadows stretched even farther in the western light.

  Turning a corner, they finally reached the dormitory.

  “I’m this way.”

  Liz turned toward her own quarters.

  “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

  With that, they parted ways.

  Even at this hour, the late-summer heat showed no sign of relenting.

  The air was thick, the stones shimmering with heat haze.

  Autumn still felt far away.

  In the west, one, then two stars twinkled into view.

  The crimson sky above them was gradually being painted over by deep navy.

  And the stars—shining more brightly as the dusk deepened—what did they mean?

  Fate is often spoken of in terms of stars.

  “To be born under a star”—they say only those born under the right star can live a blessed life.

  But… that can’t be all there is. Surely not.

  Telling herself this, the young Wizard stepped inside her room.

  Nightfall descended fully now.

  A warm breeze stirred the grass in front of the dorm.

  The day of the tournament drew one step closer.

  Section 2: The Silver-Haired Prodigy Sorceress

  Good grief. You’d think she’d get tired of it.

  Once again, the girl from the Wizard Division came at me, ready to pick a fight.

  Am I really that awful a person?

  I don’t remember doing anything to make her hate me… at least, not knowingly.

  Staring into the mirror of the changing room, the silver-haired Sorceress pondered this alone.

  Honestly, even if we’re going to fight, does it have to be the same routine every time?

  Sure, Fire Ball is technically a higher-tier spell than the elementary-grade Ice Balls, but in mock battles, what matters most is speed and number of attacks—not raw power.

  Each of her fireballs packs a punch, sure, but the slow cast time and low volume of fire make them a fatal liability.

  Meanwhile, I can launch Ice Balls one after another.

  Eventually, she gets so overwhelmed that she can’t even finish her chants.

  It’s all about strategy.

  If she understood that much, she’d be doing a lot better…

  Pity.

  But still, when it happens every single day, it starts to become a problem.

  Especially with how irritable Hanna and the others have been lately.

  Individually, none of them are bad kids.

  But when they’re together, they tend to get carried away.

  And that worries me.

  Yes, the Wizard Division interfering with our training is a real issue, but if we’re shaken by something like that, then it just proves our own weakness.

  If we don’t have the focus and adaptability to ignore background noise and adjust on the fly, we’ll never survive against the upperclassmen of the intermediate division.

  I wish Hanna and the others could understand that.

  But I suppose they’ve got their own thoughts on the matter.

  No point pushing it.

  Truthfully, I wouldn’t mind sitting down and talking with that girl sometime.

  But… not with her charging at me like that. That’s a bit much.

  Just as that thought crossed her mind, Hanna and her entourage came bursting into the changing room, instantly filling it with noise.

  “You really showed her again this morning, Milady! That blonde dunce never stood a chance!”

  Hanna said it bluntly.

  Well, it’s true I won the duel.

  “We told her just yesterday, didn’t we? That we don’t have time to mess with lowborn Wizards.

  But she never learns. It’s exhausting having to deal with idiots.”

  …So that’s what happened.

  I hope it doesn’t escalate any further.

  The conflict between me and that girl isn’t such a big deal.

  It’s just mock battles under official rules, and since we’re both chosen competitors, we have the right to challenge and accept matches.

  I’m just accepting her challenges.

  But Hanna’s hostility… sometimes it even scares me.

  Especially the way they keep going after her friend—the girl who’s always with her.

  It’s bothered me for a while now.

  So far, it’s only been words. No serious harm done.

  And the girl herself doesn’t seem too fazed.

  Still, if things heat up now, of all times, it’ll be a real problem for me.

  “Hey, Milady. Maybe it’s time we teach them a lesson—properly, I mean.”

  Hanna’s tone was sharp.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I want nothing to do with that kind of mess.

  Besides, the Wizard Division students in our year aren’t even worth the effort.

  You saw it yourself this morning.

  We need to aim higher.

  If we’re going to take on Wizards, it should be the upperclassmen from the intermediate division.

  Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “That’s our Milady! Always thinking ahead.

  Don’t worry—we won’t let anyone interfere with your meteoric rise.

  This year, we’re going to show the Sorcerer’s Guild what we’re made of and land those scouts!”

  Cheers of “Yeah!” and “Let’s go!” echoed throughout the room.

  Honestly, I don’t really care about that.

  Okay, maybe that’s not entirely true.

  But unlike Hanna and the others, I’m not driven by some grand ambition.

  And I don’t like looking down on others, either.

  Everyone has their own circumstances.

  Everyone’s doing their best in the place they’ve been given.

  Me included.

  Sure, they call me a “noble’s daughter” and fawn over me.

  But reality isn’t that rosy.

  Bloodlines, tradition, decorum, restrictions.

  Do this. Don’t do that.

  It’s exhausting.

  What I really want… is someone who’ll treat me like a person—not a title.

  If my family lost its status, if we fell from grace, no one here would give me the time of day, no matter how skilled I was as a Sorceress.

  I know that much.

  Sigh…

  “What’s wrong, Milady? You look a little down.”

  “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Bet it’s that girl again, huh?

  You’re sick of her always clinging to you, right?

  Leave her to us. We’ll make sure she never bothers you again.”

  “No, it’s really not like that…”

  The warning bell for morning lectures rang in the distance.

  “We’ve gotta hurry or we’ll be late.”

  As the team leader, she called out to the others.

  “Anyone late gets a special training menu. You’ve been warned!”

  “Ugh, no fair, Milady!”

  Laughter broke out as the girls scattered from the changing room like startled spiders.

  Time for me to go too.

  ＊ ＊ ＊

  It happened around lunchtime that day.

  Near a clearing beside the cafeteria, I happened to spot members of our championship team gathered together with Hanna’s entourage.

  They seemed to be planning something—but since no one had called me over, I figured it wasn’t something I needed to concern myself with.

  Still, what could they possibly be doing with over ten people?

  Hanna’s words from earlier that morning suddenly came back to me.

  “We won’t let her interfere ever again,” she had said.

  What did she mean by that?

  She told me yesterday that directly confronting her hadn’t worked.

  Could it be…?

  No.

  Surely not.

  Even Hanna and the others wouldn’t be so reckless.

  Especially not now, with the tournament only a month away.

  If they stirred up trouble as a group, it could jeopardize our participation entirely.

  They had to understand that.

  I told myself that—and turned away from the scene.

  I couldn’t have known, then, that this decision…

  would become the source of a bitter, irreversible regret.

  ＊ ＊ ＊

  "Hey, you little shit—don't you dare look down on us!"

  The scream echoed behind the research building, a place usually devoid of people.

  It was just past five in the evening.

  The sun hung low, casting orange light on a group of more than ten figures forming a circle around… something.

  "You get it, don’t you? Because of you, Milady—and all of us—have been put through hell."

  At the center of the ring, a single girl was crouched on the ground, trembling.

  Her face twisted in pain and streaked with tears, she had clearly been beaten.

  "That’s probably enough," someone said.

  "She may be a lesser breed, but it’d be a pain if she actually died."

  The speaker was Hanna.

  She stood slightly apart from the group, watching the entire scene unfold.

  Apparently, they had lured Liz here after school—and assaulted her as a group.

  They had crossed a line.

  Hanna stepped forward, grabbed a fistful of Liz’s hair near the scalp, and yanked her head up.

  "That blonde idiot of yours is such a fool.

  Well, I knew that from the start.

  This is exactly why I can't stand your kind."

  Her voice dripped with contempt.

  "If you'd just listened to my warning yesterday, this wouldn’t have happened.

  So don’t blame me—blame her.

  She ignored me. That’s the real crime."

  With that, Hanna shoved Liz roughly to the ground.

  "A lowborn like you standing up to nobility? Disgusting.

  If you're so upset, then do something about it, you filthy little worm!"

  Hanna’s words grew more and more venomous.

  Even some of her own followers looked uneasy.

  "What can you even do?

  You’re one of the lesser breeds.

  This is your fate.

  No talent, no aptitude—yet you have the audacity to call yourselves magic users?

  Don’t lump yourselves in with us.

  You’re beggars in robes."

  What had twisted Hanna’s heart so deeply?

  Her sneer wasn’t just arrogant—it was deranged.

  There was madness behind her scorn.

  "Doesn’t it hurt?

  I wonder if creatures like you can even feel emotions like shame.

  Hah!"

  She laughed—loud and proud.

  Her eyes gleamed with something unnatural.

  "Tell me, what’s it like to grovel on the ground forever?

  We nobles will never understand.

  Enlighten us, would you?

  Ahahahaha."

  The stream of insults showed no signs of stopping.

  "For a pitiful thing like you, I have a gift.

  Let me show you what true power looks like."

  Hanna knelt before Liz.

  "This is a forbidden artifact—Crystal Skull.

  It channels power directly from the underworld.

  But since you lesser breeds are hollow to begin with,

  I bet you could absorb a lot.

  Might even make you stronger.

  Wanna try?"

  She waved the magical artifact before Liz’s face.

  "See this? This is power.

  The absolute wall between us and your kind.

  But maybe—just maybe—with this, you could get a little closer to our level."

  Hanna grinned with a grotesque smile, leaning closer.

  Liz, in too much pain to respond, remained silent.

  "Figures.

  Still just a lesser breed.

  Not even a word?

  You’re pure trash.

  Fine—I'll leave it here for you.

  Use it or don’t, that’s up to you.

  But remember—we have limits too.

  If that blonde idiot bugs Milady again…

  Next time, she might not walk away."

  At those words, Liz glared up at her, eyes blazing.

  "What? Still not enough?

  Well, there’s no point hurting you more.

  If you think you can do anything—try using that.

  See if you can stop us."

  Standing up, Hanna turned to her group.

  "We're leaving."

  Obediently, the pack followed her away.

  The sun had fully set.

  In the fading light, only Liz and the magical artifact remained.

  A dry wind, whispering of early autumn, passed through.

  Liz lay curled on the ground, her lips clenched, tears streaming in thick drops from her eyes.

  Her lips were cut, and blood seeped faintly from the wound.

  Darkness deepened.

  Eventually, Liz forced herself upright, pain radiating through her limbs.

  She grasped the artifact in her right hand.

  The bruises and stiffness of her body told the story more clearly than any words could.

  She began to limp slowly toward the dormitory, dragging her injured foot.

  Above, the sky seemed just a little higher.

  Stars and constellations flickered in the dusk like drops of frozen tears,

  coloring the night’s void with quiet light.

  ＊ ＊ ＊

  The next morning, in the Wizard Division’s changing room.

  The day’s morning training was just about to begin when a girl came bursting in.

  “Hey! Did you hear!?”

  “Geez, it’s early—what now?”

  “They finally did it!”

  “Did what?”

  “Are you seriously this dumb? Doesn’t it bother you that Liz isn’t here at this hour?”

  “…Wait. You don’t mean—!”

  “Exactly what you think. Yesterday, those bastards jumped Liz behind the research building!”

  “What!?”

  “Damn it! That’s it!”

  Without another word, the young Wizard shot out of the room, sprinting straight toward the Wizard Division training field.

  If they had a problem with her, they should’ve come at her.

  Why go after Liz?

  Unforgivable.

  Her fury surged like a storm, blotting out all sense and reason.

  She raced up the stairs—and soon, the Sorceress Division field came into view.

  “Get out here, you silver-haired bitch!”

  The Sorceress was in one corner of the field, warming up for morning drills.

  “Oh, it’s you again? You seem more worked up than usual today.”

  “Don’t you dare play dumb with me, you bastard!

  You think you can pull that shit—using your little lapdog to beat up Liz!?

  That’s low, even for you!”

  At those words, the Sorceress flinched.

  The image of what she had seen yesterday suddenly resurfaced in her mind.

  “No… It can’t be…”

  “Don’t give me that!

  This is for Liz. You better be ready!”

  “Please, wait!

  Just calm down for a second—”

  “Calm down!? Are you fucking kidding me!?”

  “Please… I’m begging you!”

  The shouting drew the attention of the Sorceress Division’s championship team.

  Naturally, Hanna was among them.

  “Well, well. Still not done whining, are you?”

  The Wizard turned toward that voice with a deadly glare.

  “You… YOU did that to Liz! I swear I’ll KILL you!”

  “Oh, so you really are going to ignore my warnings again?

  You damn lesser breed.

  Fine. It’s your funeral!”

  “Cut the crap.

  No more jokes.

  This time, I won’t hold back!”

  Just as the two were about to come to blows, a voice rang out—clear, forceful, and commanding:

  “Stop it! Both of you, STOP!!”

  It was the Sorceress.

  No one could believe that such a powerful voice had come from someone normally so serene.

  Everyone on the field turned, stunned.

  “Hanna… What is the meaning of this?”

  “I told you, didn’t I?

  We couldn’t just sit back and let that girl keep pestering you—”

  SLAP!

  A sharp, echoing crack split the air.

  “O-Ow… Milady…?”

  Clutching her left cheek, tears brimming in her eyes, Hanna recoiled.

  The Sorceress had slapped her—hard.

  “Who asked you to do that?”

  “But I—she—”

  “Who told you to do that, Hanna!?”

  Her voice rang out again, just as fiercely.

  “I… I’m sorry…”

  “This isn’t something you can fix by saying sorry.

  Hanna, do you even understand what you’ve done?”

  “…!”

  From that point on, Hanna said nothing more.

  Then, the Sorceress turned toward the Wizard.

  And quietly, she dropped to her knees.

  “I know that an apology isn’t enough.

  But right now… this is all I can do.”

  Her voice trembled.

  “There was a moment when I could’ve stopped them.

  I saw it—I knew.

  But I looked away.

  That was my failure.

  In the end… it’s all my fault.

  I’m truly sorry.”

  The noble-born Sorceress—said to be the most gifted of their year—bowed low, pressing her hands to the ground before the Wizard.

  Her silver hair swept down, touching the dirt.

  Those around them stared in disbelief.

  Even the Wizard was at a loss for words.

  “…Goddamn it…”

  That was all she could manage at first.

  “Lift your head.

  I get it now.

  It wasn’t you who ordered that scumbag to do it.

  So yeah—I’ll settle the score with her, don’t worry about that.

  But having you kneel like this?

  It doesn’t sit right.

  Please… lift your head.

  I was stubborn too.

  Guess I share some of the blame.

  I’m sorry.”

  With that, the Wizard knelt before the Sorceress and gently took her hand.

  The Sorceress slowly raised her head in response.

  “Truly… I’m sorry.

  I don’t even know how to face your friend…”

  “You’ll make it right.

  Eventually.

  But for now… I understand.”

  With those words, the Wizard helped the Sorceress to her feet.

  Straightening herself, the Sorceress spoke in a calm, dignified voice.

  “I sincerely apologize.

  As a representative of the Sorceress Division, I formally offer an apology to everyone in the Wizard Division.

  I understand your anger.

  But please—give us the chance to take responsibility for this incident within our own ranks.

  I ask this with all my heart.”

  Her voice was like water seeping into stone:

  soft, yet resolute—commanding in its quiet strength.

  No one objected.

  Even those who had likely participated in yesterday’s attack shifted awkwardly, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

  The warning bell rang in the distance.

  “You there! What are you all doing?! The bell’s already rung! Get to class—now!”

  A supervising professor had arrived on patrol.

  The members of the Sorceress Division scattered toward their classrooms.

  The Wizards, too, were forced to return to theirs.

  Thus, the morning’s chaos drew to a close—for now.

  And then…

  ＊ ＊ ＊

  After school, when I arrived at the training room, Liz was already there—surrounded by our teammates.

  “You’re late,” she said with her usual mischievous grin.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Of course I am. That was nothing.”

  She said it like it was no big deal, but her body told a different story—bruises all over, bandages stuck here and there. She looked like she’d been through hell.

  “Liz… I’m sorry. Really. I’m so sorry.”

  “And why are you apologizing?”

  “Because if I hadn’t been so damn stubborn, none of this would’ve happened.

  It’s my fault. I’m really sorry.”

  “Forget it,” Liz said, smiling gently like always.

  “By the way… you want this?”

  She held something up—Crystal Skull—in one hand, showing it to the Wizard.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Well, according to Mystic Cloud, it’s a forbidden artifact that grants insane magical power from the underworld in exchange for your rationality and capacity for compassion.

  With this, I might even be able to beat that silver-haired pain in the ass.”

  “I don’t want that crap.”

  “Knew it. You’ve never had much compassion to begin with, but if you give up that thimble’s worth of rationality too, you’d be… I dunno, a fire-throwing monkey?”

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Shut up. I’ll show you next time—I’m not just about fire!”

  “Oh? Big words.”

  “You better believe it. I can get serious when I need to!”

  “I’m counting on you.”

  To lose one's compassion and rationality…

  This world really does have some terrifying taboos.

  The Wizard was truly grateful—grateful from the bottom of her heart—that Liz hadn’t used the artifact in the depths of her pain and humiliation.

  Before she knew it, she had wrapped her arms around Liz’s bruised, aching body.

  “Hey, cut it out. I’m not into that sort of thing, you know.”

  Liz laughed.

  “I’m not either, idiot. Call it, I dunno—team-building skinship.”

  “Well, thanks. I’ll take it.”

  Warm applause spread naturally through the room from their surrounding friends.

  “Alright, everyone! This year’s tournament is now Liz’s revenge match! Let’s go all out!”

  “Hey! Don’t go killing me off just yet!”

  Laughter filled the training room, warm and genuine.

  The time was almost exactly the same as the day before—when everything had gone wrong.

  The sun was sinking low once more.

  The stars and constellations shimmered in the sky like tears.

  But today, everything felt different.

  The warmth in the air… it wasn’t the same as yesterday.

  Even if we’re trapped by circumstance, by heritage, by fate—

  People can still choose their own will, their own potential.

  Nature, fate—they’re just vessels.

  And it’s not the vessel that defines what’s inside.

  It’s what’s inside that gives the vessel its color.

  The warmth of that laughter lingered in the training room until late into the night.

  Section 3: Encounter on the Way to Arkham

  How foolish I’ve been.

  There were so many chances to notice—but I missed every single one of them.

  No—that’s not true. I didn’t miss them.

  I deliberately refused to see.

  The blame for everything that happened lies squarely with me.

  When Hanna said something suspicious in the changing room, I should’ve taken her seriously.

  I should’ve taken the time to talk things through.

  If I had cleared up even that one small misunderstanding, this whole disaster might have been avoided.

  And again—at lunchtime, too.

  If I’d just said a single word to her, none of this pain might have happened.

  Thinking about it filled me with overwhelming guilt.

  But I’m the team leader.

  This is my burden to carry.

  At the very least, I need to bring resolution to what happened within the Sorceress Division.

  That much is my duty.

  Resolute, I headed toward the Sorceress Division’s training field.

  As I approached the staircase leading up to it, I saw someone familiar standing there.

  “Yo. About yesterday…”

  It was that Wizard girl.

  “No—please. I should be the one saying that. I’m truly—”

  “Don’t worry about it. That’s over with.

  More importantly, there’s something I want you to see.”

  I tilted my head, curious.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out an object that looked like a glass skull—clear and gleaming.

  “You know what this is?”

  “No, I’ve never seen anything like it. What is it?”

  “They say it’s called a Crystal Skull—a forbidden magical artifact.

  Your lapdog offered it to Liz, saying, ‘Use this if you want power.’”

  My heart clenched.

  Hanna… had done that?

  “I looked into it.

  Turns out it’s a dangerous piece of work.

  It grants magical knowledge from the underworld—but only in exchange for compassion and rationality.”

  That’s horrifying. I couldn’t believe it.

  “If Liz had actually used this thing…”

  Her voice trembled.

  “…the thought of her losing that gentle heart and steady mind of hers scares the hell out of me.

  That’s no different than killing her.”

  She was absolutely right.

  A stabbing ache ran through my chest.

  “So I have a favor to ask.

  This whole mess started because I went off and challenged you like an idiot.

  I’m really sorry.

  I swear I won’t do it again.

  But in exchange—I want you and your people to stop doing reckless crap like this. Please.”

  The fierce girl bowed her head—awkward, but sincere.

  “You’re completely right.

  And I’m so sorry as well.

  We’ll deal with this properly, from within the Sorceress Division.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.

  And there’s one more thing I’d like to ask.”

  Her expression turned serious.

  “I can’t stop wondering where the hell that girl even got something this dangerous.

  It’s not just about Liz—if she has that thing, she might be in danger too.

  So I want you to find out where it came from—and why she had it.”

  “Understandable.

  But… I’m sorry.

  When it comes to forbidden things and mystical matters like this, I’m pretty clueless.

  I’ll make sure it never happens again—that’s my responsibility.

  But when it comes to investigating… I honestly don’t know where to start.”

  “Yeah… me neither.”

  She paused, then continued:

  “So, listen. I heard there’s this Warlock in our year who’s weirdly knowledgeable about troublesome artifacts and magical crap.”

  I’d heard those rumors too.

  “I was thinking of going to see them at lunch today.

  And I’d really like you to come with me.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “You know how I am.

  I’m not exactly great at explaining complicated stuff to strangers.

  So I need someone smart—you, preferably—to back me up.”

  “I understand.

  This whole thing did start on our side, after all.

  I’m deeply responsible for Hanna’s actions too.

  It’s not your problem alone anymore.

  Let’s go together.”

  “Thanks.

  Luckily, the Warlock Division’s classroom is right next to ours.

  If we head over right after morning lectures, we should be able to catch them.”

  “Alright. I’ll come find you as soon as class is over.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “There’s no need to thank me. I should be the one apologizing.”

  “Still… thanks.”

  The tension drained from her face, replaced by relief.

  “Well, I’d better get going.

  I have to talk with my team about everything that’s happened—

  We need to come to a proper conclusion.

  I’ll share the outcome with you another time.”

  “Got it. I’m counting on you.”

  With that, the Wizard turned and headed off toward her training field.

  As for me—I steeled myself once again and started up the stairs toward the Sorceress Division.

  It was still quite hot, but there was a faint hint of autumn in the breeze that blew past.

  Outside the windows, the branches of the trees danced slowly in the wind, vibrant green and full of life.

  Between their leaves, sunlight flickered and shimmered gently.

  ＊ ＊ ＊

  Morning lectures had ended.

  Even the ever-diligent Wizard—usually the very embodiment of focus—had spent most of class distracted today.

  When she exited the classroom, the Sorceress was already waiting for her.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “It’s fine. The Warlock Division is just next door. Come on, let’s go.”

  It was lunchtime, and the halls were abuzz with students.

  As the two approached the Warlock Division’s classroom, the very Warlock they were looking for happened to emerge from it.

  “Uh, excuse me,” the Wizard called out.

  The Warlock turned toward her with a carefree smile. “Yes?”

  “Sorry for the sudden approach.

  I’m a sixth-year from the Wizard Division, and this here’s my classmate from the Sorceress Division.

  We wanted to ask if you’d take a look at this.”

  She pulled the forbidden artifact—the Crystal Skull—from her pocket.

  The Warlock’s expression shifted immediately.

  “Oh wow. A Crystal Skull.

  Where in the world did you get something so dangerous?”

  Bingo.

  They could tell—this girl knew something.

  “Well, actually…”

  They explained everything that had happened over the past few days.

  The Warlock listened, her expression serious, brows furrowed in concern.

  “I understand.

  What I can say for certain is that yes, this is a Crystal Skull.

  But as for where it came from… I can’t say.

  Though—one thing I do know: it didn’t come from Arkham.”

  Arkham!?

  The Wizard and the Sorceress exchanged a glance.

  So she knew about that place…

  Their distinctive eyes sparkled with curiosity and anticipation.

  “You… you know Arkham?” the Wizard asked, wide-eyed.

  “Of course. I’m a regular customer,” the Warlock replied with a teasing grin.

  “Is there any way we could find out more about this artifact?” the Sorceress asked.

  “Well, like I said, I don’t know everything about forbidden relics myself.

  We’ll need to consult a real expert.”

  “There’s someone like that?”

  “Definitely.

  But to meet them, we’ll have to go to Arkham.”

  “Please—take us with you,” the Wizard said, urgency in her voice.

  “We have to find out where this thing came from. We need to do something about all of this.”

  “‘Do something,’ huh?

  That’s not very specific,” the Warlock chuckled.

  “Yeah, sorry. I just… Please. We really need your help.”

  “Please,” the Sorceress added, bowing her head beside her.

  “From what you’ve told me, this can’t wait.

  How about we go after classes today?”

  “That’d be amazing! Thank you!”

  “Then let’s meet at the main gate.”

  “Got it!”

  “You bet.”

  Their faces lit up with hope.

  Maybe—finally—they could start making progress.

  “Oh, one more thing,” the Warlock said, stopping them just as they turned to leave.

  “There’s another regular I know who might be helpful.

  Mind if they come along too?”

  “No problem at all,” said the Wizard.

  “The more the merrier,” added the Sorceress.

  “Great. Then I’ll see you both later.”

  With that, they parted ways with the Warlock.

  Afterward, the Wizard and the Sorceress walked together to the cafeteria for lunch.

  It was hard to believe that just days ago, they’d been clashing every morning in mock battles on the Sorceress Division’s training field.

  The sun now stood high in the sky, casting a bright, golden light across the Academy.

  Students laughed and chattered all around them.

  It was a moment of calm, of peace.

  ＊ ＊ ＊

  The appointed hour had come.

  The Wizard and the Sorceress stood at the Academy gate, sharing a mixture of anticipation and unease as they waited for the Warlock to arrive.

  Perhaps it was the approach of autumn, but it felt as though the sun was already dipping lower than usual.

  Still, there was plenty of time left before dusk.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting!”

  The voice was familiar from earlier that day—and it was followed by another, softer one.

  “My apologies for the wait.”

  That second voice must have belonged to the person the Warlock had mentioned—the one she wanted to bring along.

  It was a girl, a Necromancer, with beautiful black hair and deep black eyes.

  “Sorry to trouble you both,” the Wizard said to the newcomers.

  “We appreciate it,” added the Sorceress with a polite nod.

  “No trouble at all. Now, let’s go.

  It’s a bit far—though also very close,” the Warlock said cheerfully.

  A curious statement. Far but close? What did she mean?

  Still a bit bewildered by her whimsical tone, the four of them began following the trail marked by the M.A.R.C.S.

  As they passed beneath the elevated Creeper Bridge, a mist began to gather around them.

  The farther south they went along South Avenue, the thicker it became.

  By the time they returned to the Academy Front Crossing, the fog had grown so dense that they could barely see anything around them.

  “Damn, this fog is thick,” the Wizard muttered.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” said the Sorceress, clearly impressed.

  “Arkham is just up ahead,” the Warlock said, pointing.

  And indeed, there was the faintly glowing sign that read Arkham.

  “Wow…”

  The Sorceress’s golden eyes gleamed with wonder.

  “This is insane… Wait, isn’t this where the Curios Curiosity Shop is supposed to be?”

  “Hehe, it is—in the world we usually know, at least,” the Warlock replied with a mischievous smile.

  “But this place is just a little… special.”

  She pointed to the ground.

  “This whole area is usually paved over, right?

  But now… don’t you smell it?

  Earth, grass, even the scent of water?”

  Now that she mentioned it, everything felt different—not just the smell, but the faint glimpses of the landscape and terrain visible through the fog.

  Something was subtly… off.

  Just as the two were trying to make sense of it, the Necromancer stepped forward and placed her hand on the shop’s door.

  She pushed. Then pulled. It didn’t budge.

  With a look of understanding, she said, “Today, it’s her turn.”

  Then, she casually slid the door sideways—and it opened smoothly and silently.

  “Perfect timing,” the Warlock said with a grin.

  Inside, Arkham was exactly as expected: a single narrow corridor, with shelves on either side piled high with dusty, strange magical and arcane objects.

  “Whoa… This place is huge. Well, the hallway’s narrow, at least.”

  The Wizard couldn’t hide her surprise.

  Indeed, the shop’s interior extended far deeper than its physical footprint should have allowed.

  It was a magically-constructed space.

  Magic—especially in the domain of Raphael—could manipulate time and space.

  It could slow time, stop it, reverse it, or stretch and shrink spatial dimensions.

  Some even whispered of miraculous spellcraft capable of erasing time and space entirely.

  Whether those rumors were true… no one could say.

  Entranced by the arcane energy of the place, the two newcomers followed the seasoned pair toward the back counter as if in a dream.

  “Welcome.”

  A voice rang out from behind the counter—familiar to two of them, and entirely new to the others.

  It was Akina.

  “Oh my, it’s you two.”

  She smiled as she caught sight of the Warlock and the Necromancer.

  “And today you’ve brought friends, I see.”

  “It’s been a while, Akina,” said the Necromancer, offering a greeting.

  The Warlock followed suit.

  Even though they were regulars now, it seemed they hadn’t been here in quite some time.

  “Hey.”

  “Good afternoon.”

  The Wizard and the Sorceress offered brief greetings of their own.

  “Oh my, how lively today!

  Welcome to Arkham, purveyor of forbidden magical artifacts.

  I am Akina—Akina Sprinkle, the proprietor.”

  At the mention of her name, both newcomers tensed visibly.

  “Wait—Akina!?”

  “You mean the Akina? The top-ranked wanted criminal!?”

  “Not quite,” the Warlock chuckled. “Well, sort of, I guess.”

  “Don’t worry,” she added. “You can trust her. She’s safe.”

  “Yes, we can vouch for her,” said the Necromancer gently.

  The newcomers looked half-relieved, half-confused—but at least they weren’t panicking anymore.

  “So then—what brings you here today?”

  “We’d like you to take a look at something, Akina,” the Warlock said, taking the lead.

  “Go ahead. Show her.”

  Prompted by the Warlock, the Wizard pulled the artifact from her pocket.

  Even in this room full of magic, it radiated a deeply sinister aura.

  “Akina, can you tell us where this came from?” the Warlock asked.

  “Hm… It looks like a Crystal Skull…”

  Akina took the object and examined it carefully. After a long moment, she finally spoke:

  “It’s fine. Well-crafted, but it’s a fake.

  It’s not one of the genuine Crystal Skulls we keep here.

  Most likely, it came from one of the shady back-alley artifact shops that have been popping up recently.

  Fortunately, while it does contain a few narcotic enchantments, they’re minor.

  Nothing like the catastrophic side effects the real ones carry.”

  “So… you’re saying it’s safe to use?” the Wizard asked, her voice rising unintentionally.

  “Yes. Nothing dramatic will happen.

  No serious side effects—but also no serious power.

  At most, it might give a slight boost to magical capacity and spell potency.”

  A palpable wave of relief passed through the group—especially the two who had carried the burden of the artifact.

  “Well, actually…”

  The Sorceress began to explain the events that had led them here.

  Her calm, logical, and precise delivery showed why she was often called the top student of her year.

  She explained everything to Akina in perfect clarity.

  The Wizard could only sit there, stunned by her composure.

  As the Sorceress spoke, Akina’s expression shifted several times—some details seemed to disturb her deeply.

  “I see…”

  Once the story was told, Akina looked thoughtful.

  “This Hanna girl… has she always been like this?”

  The Sorceress flinched at the question.

  No, not really.

  Yes, Hanna had always been a bit haughty, a little overbearing.

  But she had never gone this far.

  Never looked down on others with such cruelty.

  And certainly never resorted to violence.

  If anything, she had once seemed lonely—like someone searching for a place to belong.

  Come to think of it, wasn’t she the illegitimate daughter of a noble family?

  Her relationship with her family was… strained.

  Maybe she had been struggling all along.

  The Sorceress relayed these thoughts to Akina.

  “I thought as much,” Akina said softly.

  “To be honest, I’ve been concerned about her.

  Now that I’ve heard this, I’m certain—she may be under the influence of Kelendus’s Poison.”

  A shocked murmur swept through the room.

  “The hell is that!?” the Wizard barked.

  “Kelendus’s Poison is a magical drug, created with low-level alchemy and a touch of enchantment.

  It’s been making the rounds in those shady back-alley shops lately.

  It numbs discomfort and relieves stress—a kind of magical narcotic.

  But the side effects are serious.

  Over time, it erodes the user’s mind, turning their personality aggressive and destructive.”

  “Have you seen any strange sigil-like marks in her eyes?” she added.

  “Not yet,” the Sorceress replied quickly, her body trembling slightly.

  “Then that’s good.

  In the late stages, the mark appears—and they lose all rational thought.

  They become obsessed, violent, and attack their targets without restraint.”

  “Is there any way to save her?”

  The Sorceress’s voice was thick with tears.

  “There is,” Akina said gently. “But it won’t be easy.”

  “What do we have to do!?” the Wizard pressed.

  “To create the antidote, we’ll need a sample of the poison itself.

  From that, a magical detoxification agent can be synthesized.

  But even that’s not a perfect solution.

  Treatment takes time—long-term, consistent use.

  Stopping midway can cause relapse.

  And full recovery? That’s only possible if the person chooses to live.

  They must accept who they are now—and want to move forward.”

  Akina’s voice was calm, but solemn.

  “So… she’ll never be totally cured? That’s so damn pointless…”

  “I understand how you feel,” Akina said.

  “But in the end, it’s up to her. Her will to live will determine everything.”

  “…I understand.”

  The Sorceress was doing her best to hold back tears.

  “By the way,”

  Akina spoke again, her tone shifting slightly.

  “Lately, this Kelendus’s Poison has been turning up all over in those back-alley artifact shops. Both that person and I are quite concerned about it.

  It seems someone is distributing it en masse—likely to make a quick and dirty fortune.

  That Crystal Skull you brought in is probably part of the same trend.”

  She paused, then gave them a thoughtful look.

  “So, I’d like to ask a favor.

  Would you be willing to investigate where these things are coming from?”

  “Because you can’t leave this shop… and that person can’t be associated with it publicly, right?” the Warlock interjected.

  “And since this place isn’t exactly the sort you can report to the authorities,” the Necromancer added with a teasing smile.

  “My, you two really are regulars now,” Akina chuckled in response.

  “In any case, that’s the situation.

  Can I count on you?”

  “Of course,” the Sorceress answered without hesitation.

  “You two will help too, won’t you?”

  The Wizard and Sorceress exchanged a look.

  “I’m in,” said the Wizard.

  “Me too,” nodded the Sorceress.

  It seemed the matter was settled.

  After all, to save Hanna, they would need to get their hands on Kelendus’s Poison anyway.

  Akina’s request was, in a sense, conveniently aligned with their goal.

  “We’ll be back soon,” the Warlock said, turning toward the door.

  “I’ll be waiting.

  You know the way out, right?”

  “Reverse the coils!”

  The Warlock and Necromancer answered in unison.

  By the time the four retraced the M.A.R.C.S. path in reverse and returned to the Academy gate, the sun had completely set.

  Yes—autumn was definitely approaching.

  They now had a mission.

  Tomorrow would be busy.

  Passing through the gate, each of them exchanged quiet goodbyes and walked toward their respective dorms.

  The sky had risen even higher, scattered with stars and constellations that painted the heavens like an open canvas.

  And in the distance—perhaps just a trick of the mind—the faint chirping of autumn insects could be heard.

  Night deepened, quietly, around them.

  Section 4: The Morning of Reckoning

  Ugh, this is unbearable.

  I’m furious—boiling with rage.

  Why me? Why am I the one who has to be humiliated like this?

  And Milady, she’s no better!

  Did she really have to slap me like that in front of everyone?

  It was a disgrace!

  That woman—I’ll never forgive her.

  Not even Father has ever laid a hand on me!

  …Hah. Of course not.

  Father has always given me everything—everything except his attention or affection.

  Not for me. Not for Mother.

  Keeping us around is just for appearances.

  I’ve known that since the beginning.

  My elder sisters, the daughters of his lawful wife—they’re the ones who get his real love.

  Me? I’m just… tolerated.

  No. Forget that.

  What really makes my blood boil is that filthy blonde Wizard, and that woman who made a fool of me.

  Neither of them will ever be forgiven.

  But first… I have to deal with the one who started all this—the stupid, lowborn blonde.

  If she had just kept her distance from Milady, none of this would’ve happened.

  We would’ve continued training smoothly, crushed the upperclassmen at the tournament, and gotten scouted by the Guild.

  And if that had happened—even Father might have acknowledged me.

  Maybe… maybe then he would’ve treated Mother with more respect too.

  But that idiot ruined everything.

  And that woman—going on about “atonement” and “taking responsibility,” withdrawing her entry from the tournament like it was nothing.

  Who the hell does she think she is!?

  Everyone calls her the genius of our year, but if we hadn’t helped her, she wouldn’t have even been able to handle that blonde brat.

  She always acts so superior, like she’s on some different plane.

  It’s disgusting.

  I’ll settle the score with her eventually too.

  But first… that damn blonde.

  I won’t let her off easy.

  I’ll tear her apart with my own hands!

  If I let her keep living, my life will just spiral further into misery.

  I have to protect myself.

  And that means erasing every obstacle in my path.

  Yes… It’s time to give that filthy blonde her final send-off!

  Eyes blazing, Hanna grabbed the cup sitting on her desk and downed it all in one gulp.

  Just watch me, you pathetic worms.

  I’ll slaughter every last one of you.

  As she set the cup down, the mirror before her caught a glint in her eye—

  a glimmer that was not born of light.

  ＊ ＊ ＊

  On the morning training field, the Wizard and her teammates were preparing the grounds for drills.

  It was still hot, but a dry, pleasant breeze blew across the field.

  Then—

  “Come out, you filthy blonde reject!”

  It was Hanna’s voice—but it wavered unnaturally.

  Something was wrong.

  “What the hell’s your problem? You wanna go!?”

  “Yes, you. First you—then every last one of you here! I’ll paint this field with your blood!”

  That wasn’t the voice of an ordinary girl anymore.

  Liz was clearly terrified.

  And when the Wizard got a clear look at Hanna’s face, she froze.

  “A curse mark…!”

  Yes—there, floating in Hanna’s eyes, was the ominous sigil Akina had warned them about:

  a sign of late-stage Kelendus’s Poison.

  The time had come.

  The Wizard had to stop her—and quickly.

  At the very least, she needed to buy time until the Sorceress could be notified.

  “…Fine. I’ll knock some sense into you myself.”

  She clenched her fists and stepped forward.

  The two of them slowly advanced to the center of the field.

  “You think you can keep ignoring me, you lowborn scum?

  I’ll make you pay!”

  Her face was twisted with fury and madness, her eyes glowing with that cursed mark.

  “Hah! Bring it on.”

  “Oh, I know your weakness. This won’t take long.”

  “O spirits of water and ice, grant me the power to unleash frozen shards from my hand—

  Ice Balls!”

  From Hanna’s hands flew four or five large projectiles, along with several smaller fragments.

  “Heh. That’s it? Pretty weak!”

  The Wizard dodged with ease.

  “You dare mock me!?”

  Hanna fired again.

  Though the quantity was nothing compared to that of the genius sorceress—who could summon fifteen to twenty shards in one chant—Hanna’s casting speed was fast.

  If the Wizard slipped up, she’d be caught.

  “Come on!

  Show me your pathetic little fireball!”

  Hanna taunted her while keeping up a steady stream of attacks.

  As an elementary-tier spell, Ice Balls had short chants and low mana cost.

  A Sorceress’s mana reserves could handle that kind of rapid-fire spellwork without issue.

  The Wizard darted around the field, dodging left and right, looking for her opening.

  I can do this, she told herself.

  But the Fire Ball spell was too slow to chant and hard to aim.

  Even against Hanna, it was practically useless.

  It also consumed more mana than Ice Balls.

  She couldn’t afford to miss her opportunity.

  Her only hope was to wear Hanna down—wait for her rhythm to break—then strike.

  “I see now!

  You really thought you could beat her with crap like that?

  Don’t make me laugh!

  You were never anything more than a joke to me!”

  Hanna kept casting relentlessly.

  But the Wizard noticed—her form was wavering.

  The rhythm was starting to falter.

  “Haa… haa… damn you… Take this—Ice Balls! Damn it—again—Ice Balls!”

  The casting was clearly getting sloppy.

  Where she’d once been firing 10 shards at a time, now she was struggling to manage five or six.

  Almost time.

  “You stupid little fire monkey!

  Stop running and fight me!”

  Her voice had grown shrill—hysterical.

  Perfect.

  “Heh. Don’t underestimate me.

  Wizards don’t just use fire and light.

  Let me show you what else I’ve got!”

  She began to chant.

  “O keeper of the skies, join with the one who rules water and ice,

  and form the clouds in my grasp.

  Stir the air—let the winds rise—

  Engulf the field—

  Tornado!”

  Everyone present stopped breathing.

  That wasn’t a spell from Michael’s domain.

  Lightning burst from the Wizard’s hands in both directions—upward and down.

  A dense thundercloud swelled instantly around the bolts,

  and from it roared a massive tornado.

  It struck true—aimed directly at the reckless path Hanna had been charging along.

  The whirlwind swallowed her and the flying shards whole.

  “KYAAAAAAAAHHHH!”

  Hanna was hurled high into the air, then slammed violently into the ground.

  She didn’t move.

  Her body twitched—convulsing.

  “Someone! Anyone—!”

  The Wizard’s voice shattered the stunned silence.

  “Get… get the silver-haired one!

  No—her! Get her here, now!”

  She sprinted to Hanna’s side.

  “You okay!?”

  Hanna’s face was frozen in terror and madness.

  The convulsions were worsening.

  In her eyes, the curse mark of Kelendus’s Poison shimmered like heat haze.

  “This isn’t good—where is she!?”

  There were others around, sure.

  But how could she explain Hanna’s condition?

  If the Sorceress were here, they could move Hanna somewhere safe together.

  Just then—

  “I’m here!”

  The Sorceress came running. Liz must have gone to get her.

  “What happened!? Wait—!”

  “I took her down. She went berserk.

  Look at her eyes—the symptoms have started!”

  The sigil glared back at them—dark and alive.

  “Let’s move her—now!”

  “My room. It’s the closest one with privacy!”

  That was Liz.

  “Got it!”

  They lifted Hanna, still twitching.

  The Wizard and Sorceress each took a side, Liz leading the way.

  They reached Liz’s room.

  She opened the door, and the others carried Hanna in, laying her gently on the bed.

  Her convulsions had subsided slightly, but her face was still twisted in pain.

  The sigil in her eyes had not disappeared.

  “Can you go get them?” the Wizard asked.

  She meant the Warlock and the Necromancer.

  “Right. I’ll be back soon.”

  The Sorceress darted out.

  Within minutes, the door opened again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Is she okay?”

  The Warlock and Necromancer rushed inside.

  One look at Hanna told them everything.

  “This is bad,” the Warlock said. “Can we do anything?”

  “Yes,” the Necromancer replied.

  “With healing and recovery spells, we might stabilize her.”

  She began to chant.

  “O angel of mercy who watches over us,

  grant your tender compassion—

  Mend this wound.

  Healing Light!”

  Hanna’s spasms softened.

  “Keep going. We need healing too.”

  “I know, but I’m not certified for healing magic at our level yet.

  But I have something else.”

  She pulled out a vial of Universal Elixir and a syringe from her bag.

  Drawing the liquid into the syringe, she disinfected Hanna’s arm with another solution and injected the potion.

  She moved with such practiced precision that everyone in the room stared in awe.

  Soon after, Hanna’s spasms stopped completely.

  The curse mark faded from her eyes.

  Her gaze returned to normal.

  “Hanna. It’s me. Do you know who I am?” the Sorceress asked softly.

  “Mi… Milady…?”

  She was conscious.

  “Wh-what… what happened to me…?”

  “It’s okay.

  You’re alright now.”

  “Yes… the pain’s gone.

  I feel… I feel better, I think.”

  Slowly, she pushed herself upright in bed.

  Relief swept over everyone’s faces.

  ＊ ＊ ＊

  “Hey, Hanna…” the Sorceress began gently.

  “Do you know what Kelendus’s Poison is?”

  Hanna’s eyes widened, surprised she even knew that name.

  “You really are Milady. Nothing gets past you…

  I’m always just the empty little fool in the corner, aren’t I?”

  “Don’t say that about yourself… Please.”

  The Sorceress’s voice trembled.

  “I… I guess you could say I’m a habitual user of Kelendus’s Poison,”

  Hanna said quietly, a self-deprecating smile on her lips.

  Everyone around her fell silent.

  “…But why?”

  The Sorceress took Hanna’s hand.

  “You already know about my family, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was always… lonely.

  No one at home ever really cared about me.

  Mother was too busy trying to cling to Father’s affection to have time for me.

  My older sisters—they looked down on both of us.

  So yes… I guess I was desperate.”

  The Sorceress tightened her grip.

  “And even at the Academy…

  I was jealous of you.

  Isn’t that pathetic?

  I knew I’d never match you—not really.

  You’re the legitimate daughter of a noble Sorceress family, a genius of our generation.

  If I were like that…

  I thought maybe my family would finally see me.

  Maybe Father would… finally look my way.

  I admired you… and envied you to the point of hate.

  I’m sorry.

  And you—” she looked at the Wizard, “I hated you because you could speak to her so honestly, so purely.

  I was jealous of that too…”

  “…So I guess I took it out on you,” she added with a pained smile.

  “That’s not just ‘taking it out’ on someone,” the Wizard muttered gruffly.

  “Don’t you have something to say to Liz?”

  “You’re right.”

  Hanna looked toward Liz with guilt in her eyes.

  Liz, as always, wore her gentle, forgiving smile.

  “Liz, I’m really, truly sorry.

  I know an apology doesn’t begin to cover it…”

  “It’s fine.

  I mean, I don’t really get it all, but it was the drug, right?

  It’s not like you did it on purpose.”

  “I’m so sorry…”

  And with that, Hanna broke into sobs and collapsed in tears.

  Liz gently placed a hand on her trembling shoulder.

  “So… just to be sure I’m following this,” Liz said after a moment, “we need to get this poison out of her system now, right?”

  “Exactly,” the Sorceress replied.

  “Hanna, you’ll need to undergo detoxification for Kelendus’s Poison.

  Right now, thanks to the treatment, the symptoms have eased.

  But it’s only temporary. The poison will return.”

  “The treatment will take time, and it won’t be easy…”

  She paused, then spoke firmly.

  “And even then, it can’t be fully cured.

  But if you accept yourself for who you are now—

  If you’re willing to forge a new life with your own will—

  Then it will get better.

  That’s why we need to start treatment.”

  “…Thank you, Milady,”

  Hanna whispered through her tears, bowing her head.

  “And for that—” the Wizard cut in, “we need to get our hands on that poison.”

  “Exactly. And also,” the Sorceress added, “we need to know where you got the Crystal Skull.”

  “…Right.”

  Hanna nodded.

  “It was last autumn. The day of the tournament.

  We’d lost in the semifinals to the Wizard Division’s middle-school team.

  We missed our chance at a Guild scout.

  I’d staked everything on that match.

  So I was furious—completely out of sorts.

  I wandered down Scatche Street to blow off steam…

  That’s when a strange man approached me.

  ‘You seem quite upset, miss. Drink this—you’ll feel better,’ he said.

  That was the first time I encountered Kelendus’s Poison.

  I didn’t even realize it was a forbidden magical substance.

  But it worked.

  After drinking it, I forgot everything. The tournament, the Academy, my family…

  I felt blissful.

  And before I knew it, I was heading back to Scatche Street over and over,

  looking for that man…”

  Everyone listened in pained silence.

  “One day, he said,

  ‘If you like it that much, I’ll tell you how to find it anytime you want.’

  Actually, I bought that information.”

  “What kind of method?” the Sorceress asked.

  “There’s a stairway of thirty-five steps on one of the alleys off Scatche Street.

  You start on the far left side—go up, then come down the far left.

  Then go back up the far left again, and come down the far right.

  Finally, go up the far left once more.

  If you’ve done it right, the shop will appear on your left.

  It’s called the P.A.C. Store.

  And when you come down the right side, count the steps.

  If there are thirty-six instead of thirty-five, it means you’ve succeeded.

  Then go back up the left again, and the entrance should be visible.

  I bought the Crystal Skull there too…”

  After saying all this, Hanna looked again at Liz with guilt, then quietly closed her eyes.

  “I think she should rest,” said the Necromancer.

  The Sorceress gently laid Hanna down on the bed.

  “In order to create an antidote for her,

  we’ll need to go to that shop and obtain the same poison.

  The four of us need to leave as soon as possible.

  But Liz—

  I have a favor to ask.

  We’ll need you to give Hanna this Universal Elixir every three hours.

  Even during the night.”

  The Wizard and the Sorceress both watched Liz nervously.

  They knew how much they were asking.

  “Got it,” Liz said with a smile, not a trace of hesitation in her voice.

  “If this’ll help her, then leave it to me.”

  “She’ll be okay,” the Necromancer said warmly.

  “You can count on us.”

  “Alright, everyone,” said the Warlock, stepping forward.

  “Let’s move out.”

  The three others nodded with resolve.

  Scatche Street was about a thirty-minute walk from the Academy—

  a quiet, somewhat run-down area.

  The Scatche Bridge above it was a popular tourist spot,

  but the street itself was far less traveled.

  No doubt that’s why the back-alley artifact shops had taken root there.

  The four of them slipped out the Academy gate and ran as fast as they could.

  They were skipping morning lectures, but this wasn’t the time to care.

  They had to hurry.

  Section 5: Effort and Talent, Possibility and Its Boundaries

  “This is it.”

  The four of them stood before a stone stairway tucked into a cluster of narrow back alleys off Scatche Street.

  It matched exactly what Hanna had described.

  The narrow staircase climbed from the lower street to the upper alley, and when counted from the bottom—yes, there were exactly thirty-five steps.

  The upper street was lined with old, crowded apartment buildings, but there was no sign of anything resembling a storefront.

  It looked like they would need to follow the magical sequence exactly as instructed.

  “Alright. Let’s do exactly what Hanna told us,” said the Warlock.

  At her lead, the four began ascending the stone steps.

  Despite the narrow width, a visible crack ran down the middle, dividing the stairs distinctly into left and right sides.

  The instructions had been clear: start by climbing the far-left side.

  They counted carefully as they went.

  Indeed, there were thirty-five steps.

  Next—descend the left side.

  Again they counted—thirty-five.

  Of course, that was expected.

  Hanna had said to ascend the left side once more.

  As they reached the middle of the climb again, a subtle chill crept into the air—unnatural for the late summer season.

  By the time they reached the top, the cold was undeniable.

  Now came the critical step.

  The next instruction was to descend the right side—while counting the steps very carefully.

  They did just that.

  One, two, three…

  As they reached the bottom, the four of them exchanged glances.

  “Thirty-six steps!”

  The chill in the air deepened.

  A pale mist began to gather around them.

  “This should be it,” said the Warlock.

  Tension flashed across their faces.

  “This kind of thing’s happening way too often lately,” the Wizard muttered.

  The Sorceress’s golden eyes sparkled—not with fear, but with curiosity.

  “Let’s go,” said the Necromancer, stepping forward.

  As they began climbing the stairs again, the cold intensified.

  It was no longer chilly—it was cold.

  “Damn, this is freezing,” the Wizard grumbled.

  The mist thickened around them.

  Their feet were soon lost beneath the swirling white.

  They could no longer see the steps clearly.

  Above them, the upper street was now completely engulfed in fog—impossible to discern from mid-climb what awaited at the top.

  Still, they pressed forward.

  Finally, they reached the top.

  A thick white fog blanketed everything.

  They couldn’t even tell where they were.

  Scatche Street was usually a rundown but active area, with enough warehouses and stray pedestrians that noise never fully disappeared.

  But now… silence.

  Not a sound.

  Just an eerie, suffocating quiet.

  The four looked around cautiously.

  “There,” said the Sorceress.

  “See the small sign above that door? It says P.A.C. Store.”

  “This must be the place,” the Necromancer confirmed.

  “Everyone ready?” the Warlock asked, hand reaching for the doorknob.

  “Always,” the Wizard replied with confidence.

  Push or pull?

  She tried pulling it—just like she had the first time she visited Arkham.

  Click.

  The latch gave easily.

  The wooden door, surprisingly new despite its rustic appearance, swung open with a quiet creak.

  ＊ ＊ ＊

  The shop interior was lit by a pale, bluish indirect glow.

  Despite its outward appearance, the inside was much larger—perhaps the size of a tournament field.

  That eerie vastness added to the sense of unease.

  It was clear the interior had been magically expanded.

  Shelves lined the circular interior walls in neat rows, each packed with ominous-looking wares—

  desiccated black bones that resembled human remains,

  glass vials filled with oddly glowing magical liquids,

  strange garments and equipment,

  and even what looked like fake magic stones.

  Rather than mystic, the items exuded an unsettling aura—distinctly inferior to what one might find at Arkham.

  It was a matter of quality.

  Of particular note was a dedicated section in one corner featuring the newly emerging alchemical firearms and their specialized magic cartridges.

  The selection was expansive.

  From standard alchemic rounds to rare ones made of enchanted silver or flame-iron, the store proudly showcased its illicit weaponry like a black-market arms dealer.

  “I found it!”

  The Wizard called out quietly.

  The others gathered around.

  Inside a showcase stood an exact replica of the counterfeit Crystal Skull.

  “This is definitely the place,” she said.

  “Yeah. Now we just need to find Kelendus’s Poison,” the Sorceress replied.

  It was then that the store’s dim, bluish atmosphere suddenly flared to full brightness.

  “Welcome. Looking to make a purchase?”

  A smarmy, unfamiliar voice echoed from the depths of the oversized shop.

  Soon its owner appeared—a gaunt man in his thirties wearing a pitch-black robe, shuffling forward with a drunken gait.

  “Welcome to the P.A.C. Store.

  What are you looking for today?” he asked, grinning unpleasantly.

  The Wizard looked ready to lunge at him, but the Sorceress quickly held her back.

  The four now stood facing the man in silence.

  “We’re looking for Kelendus’s Poison.

  Do you carry it?” the Necromancer asked evenly.

  “But of course,” the man replied with an oily smile.

  “You all seem so tense, despite your youth—especially the blonde girl over there. You look quite irritated.

  That product is perfect for someone like you.”

  Still grinning, he added, “Right this way.”

  They followed him to a large central display—clearly marked as a featured item.

  “And how much would you like?”

  “All of it,” the Warlock said firmly.

  “My, my.

  What a generous offer.

  By all means, I’ll sell you every last vial on this shelf.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said coldly.

  “Oh? Then how shall I interpret your request?”

  “We’re taking everything—not just what’s on the shelf, but the raw stock too.

  Every last trace of it.

  We can’t allow this poison to circulate anymore.”

  “I see, I see…

  So that’s how it is,” the man said, his tone shifting suddenly.

  “Am I correct in assuming you’re with the Custodians of Mystic Order?

  You all look a bit young for that.”

  “We’re not,” the Warlock said flatly.

  “Then what’s the meaning of this?”

  “We’re doing this for a friend.

  And maybe…”

  She leaned in,

  “…because I’d really love to shut that smug little mouth of yours.”

  “Ah. I see.

  But you know—this is a business.

  And anyone who interferes with our trade must be given a fitting welcome.”

  The man whistled sharply.

  From the back room emerged seven thugs, armed and ready.

  “Get them!”

  His voice now rang with menace.

  But the four were prepared.

  They quickly spread out and took combat stances.

  The men drew weapons—real ones, gleaming under the lights.

  “Not magic-users, huh?” the Sorceress said.

  “In that case—”

  She began to chant.

  “O spirits of water and ice, grant my hand the power to conjure frozen shards—

  Ice Balls!”

  As expected of the so-called genius, the number of ice projectiles she summoned easily surpassed Hanna’s.

  Nearly twenty shards shot forth, smashing into two of the attackers with brutal precision.

  The men collapsed instantly.

  “Nice work!

  Guess it’s my turn now.

  And who cares if we wreck this place—right!?”

  The Wizard grinned and chanted:

  “O keeper of weather, join with the lords of water and ice.

  Form clouds in my grasp.

  Stir the air and raise the winds.

  Engulf it all—

  Tornado!”

  A howling twister tore through the shop.

  Shelves were overturned, items hurled into the air, then crashed down with a cacophonous roar.

  Two more of the attackers were caught in the whirlwind, slammed against the walls, and fell still.

  Three to go.

  The man who’d summoned them had taken cover behind the back counter.

  “We can’t fall behind now.

  Let’s end this quickly!”

  The Warlock raised her hands and chanted:

  “O spirits of water and ice, defile the waters and render them into poison.

  Turn to mist and consume my foes—

  Poison Cloud!”

  From her palms, a thick green mist spread, enveloping the last three thugs.

  They flailed their weapons uselessly at first, but their movements slowed…

  then stopped.

  One by one, they collapsed—gasping, choking, defeated.

  “That’s that,” the Warlock said.

  No sooner had she spoken than the Necromancer began her own chant:

  “O lingering souls of this world,

  form a pact with me.

  Heed my call and I shall grant you temporary form—

  Summon of Ghosts!”

  With that, five or six spectral figures rose from the air,

  swirling around the smirking man who had hidden at the back.

  They pinned him in place—cornered and alone.

  “Damn useless thugs,” he spat.

  The four approached.

  “Now then,” the Warlock said.

  “Hand over every last vial of Kelendus’s Poison.”

  “Move it,” the Wizard growled.

  “Or else…”

  “Think you’ve won?

  Don’t be so sure,” the man sneered.

  “Oh? What’s your next trick?”

  “Heh. This.”

  He began to chant.

  “O cursed ones, gather at my side.

  Use your tainted power to destroy my enemies—

  Summon of P.A.C.!”

  Magic circles of all sizes flared across the floor.

  From each, emerged ghastly figures clad in jet-black robes—unholy abominations.

  The Warlock and Necromancer recognized them instantly.

  But it was the number that defied belief.

  There had to be thirty of them—at least.

  The four quickly fell back, regrouping.

  This wasn’t just a fight.

  This was war.

  “Heh. What’s wrong, ladies?

  Where’s all that fire from earlier?”

  The man laughed, stepping forward—

  his summoned legion trailing behind.

  “The tables have turned, haven’t they?”

  Indeed, they had.

  The earlier fight hadn’t drained them too badly, but taking on this many at once was beyond impossible.

  Worse, the store was needlessly vast—making any tactical retreat near impossible.

  As the tension rose, the four of them were gradually pushed into a corner.

  Their escape route was gone.

  It was over.

  Everyone braced themselves for the worst.

  That’s when it happened.

  “O spirits of water and ice—

  I am your devout protector.

  Form a thousand blades in my hands.

  Let ice-swords whirl through the air.

  Rain judgment upon those who defy your sanctity!

  Perish—

  Squall of Ice-Swords!”

  Bathed in radiant light, the Sorceress raised her arms high.

  All around her, countless crystalline blades of ice materialized in the air.

  Then, in an instant, they rained down upon the summoned horrors.

  Each monstrous figure was shredded to pieces in a heartbeat.

  Even the smirking shopkeeper, caught in the storm of blades, fell—his body slashed to ribbons.

  Silence fell upon the shop.

  “…Whoa.”

  The Wizard’s crimson eyes were wide as saucers.

  The Warlock and Necromancer were no less stunned.

  The silver-haired genius stood perfectly still, wrapped in the fading residue of dispersing magic.

  “That was… a high-tier spell,” murmured the Necromancer.

  “And a large-scale area-of-effect assault magic at that,” added the Warlock.

  They exchanged glances.

  The Wizard could only stare, dumbfounded.

  For a sixth-year in the Elementary Division to wield advanced group attack magic?

  This Sorceress was no rumor—she was the real deal.

  “Give me a break,” the Wizard muttered.

  “What are you?

  How the hell can you do something like that?”

  “That was my trump card,” the Sorceress replied calmly, yet with a warm smile.

  “I’ll use it on you next time—just for fun.”

  “Please don’t…” the Wizard mumbled, completely disarmed.

  “You’re seriously a damn genius…”

  And with that, the famously hotheaded Wizard fell completely silent.

  Still, they had survived.

  The air was thick with disbelief for a time, but gradually they remembered their original mission.

  “Let’s take all the Kelendus’s Poison back with us,” said the Warlock, steadying her breath.

  “Agreed,” said the Necromancer.

  The Wizard’s tornado and the Sorceress’s ice storm had utterly destroyed the shop’s interior.

  Fortunately, the poison was easy to locate.

  “Let’s just gather everything we can find,” said the Sorceress.

  “Yes.”

  They carefully picked up every scattered vial and packet they could find and bundled them together into a large sack.

  “Alright,” the Warlock said at last.

  “Let’s head to Arkham next.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  They left the now-devastated artifact shop behind.

  They weren’t quite sure how to leave—but simply descending the left side of the stone stairs restored the temperature and lifted the mist.

  Apparently, a full reverse sequence wasn’t required.

  From there, the four made their way back to Martin Street, and then, as usual, followed the M.A.R.C.S. to reach Arkham.

  ＊ ＊ ＊

  Today, the door pushed open easily.

  And there, as always, stood young Akina behind the Arkham counter, waiting to greet them.

  “Welcome back. Looks like you managed to secure the Kelendus’s Poison, didn’t you?”

  For the Wizard and the Sorceress—this was their first time seeing Akina in this form.

  They were understandably confused. It was practically tradition by now.

  The Necromancer offered them a brief explanation to clear things up.

  “Yes, we did,” said the Warlock, opening her satchel and handing over the poison.

  Akina examined the contents.

  “Yes, this is it. With this, I can make the antidote. Please give me a moment—I’ll prepare a starter batch right away.

  The rest will be kept here in stock, so come by regularly to pick it up.”

  With his usual cheerful air, he vanished behind the counter into what looked like a kitchen area.

  Since it would take some time, the group wandered the shop.

  The Wizard and the Sorceress were fascinated.

  Recalling her past visits, the Warlock sternly warned them not to pick anything up—certainly not to wear anything.

  The artifacts here were that dangerous.

  Roughly thirty minutes passed.

  When Akina returned to the counter, the four gathered quickly.

  “Thanks for waiting. Here it is.”

  He handed over a glass bottle containing the treatment.

  “Three times a day—morning, noon, and night. Without fail.

  There might be side effects at first—heightened anxiety, nausea.

  But those will fade as the body adjusts.

  Whatever you do, do not stop taking it.”

  “Understood,” said the Sorceress, taking the bottle from him.

  “What’s most important is this:

  Don’t reject who you are now.

  Hold onto hope for your future as you begin this treatment.

  That’s the hardest part—not because the medicine is weak, but because many fail to believe in their own recovery.

  She’s going to need your support.”

  “We know. Leave it to us,” the Wizard said confidently.

  The Sorceress’s expression grew firm, as if silently vowing the same.

  “…By the way,” said the Necromancer, “Akina, have you ever heard of a summoning spell called P.A.C.?”

  “P.A.C., huh. That explains it. So the place you found this was the P.A.C. Store, I take it?”

  He seemed familiar with the name.

  “We recently confirmed that shop is part of a chain of back-alley artifact dealers run by a certain organization for profit.

  We’re still gathering details, but they seem… troublesome.

  Still, from what you’ve told me, it sounds like you took out their main store today.

  Things should stay quiet for a while.

  Both I—and that person—will keep an eye on things.

  As for the P.A.C. summoning spell…

  Did you get a good look at what was summoned?”

  “Not really,” the Wizard replied.

  “She blew them all to pieces before we had a chance.”

  “I see… Then for now, think of it as a spell that summons a unique type of undead.

  You’ll likely run into it again.”

  “Seriously? I really don’t wanna deal with those freaks again…”

  The Wizard grimaced.

  “How are they different from the undead I summon?” asked the Necromancer.

  “Well…”

  Akina hesitated a moment.

  “I can’t go into details just yet, but let’s just say—they’re not your typical undead.

  The fact that water and ice magic worked on them so effectively should tell you something.”

  That was true.

  Most undead, corporeal or not, were resistant to water and ice.

  Even with area magic, taking them down was rarely so efficient.

  But against these, the Sorceress’s spells had worked extremely well.

  “In short,” Akina continued, “they’re technically undead—but far closer to twisted humanoids than anything else.

  I’ll explain more when the time comes.

  For now…

  Would anyone like some tea?”

  “I’ll have Tears of Einston today,” said the Warlock.

  “Same for me,” the Necromancer chimed in.

  “Sounds fancy. We’ll take the same,” said the Wizard, glancing at the Sorceress.

  “Yes, please,” she nodded.

  “Four Tears of Einston. One moment, please.”

  “Alright then… off I go.”

  A short while later, Akina returned with a tray of tea.

  “Here you are. Tears of Einston, freshly brewed.”

  “Wow… it’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it,” the Sorceress murmured, gazing into the pot.

  The five of them—four students and one enigmatic shopkeeper—shared a quiet, heartfelt moment around the Arkham counter.

  It was a gentle time, one that made the world outside feel far away.

  Later, the four followed the familiar path back in reverse through the coiled cipher and returned to the Academy gates.

  Their first stop was Liz’s room, where they administered the first dose of the medicine to Hanna.

  That night, all four stayed to watch over her together.

  The sky that night seemed even higher than usual.

  The celestial dome above was dotted with stars and glowing constellations.

  The breeze that passed through was unmistakably autumnal now.

  The heat of late summer still lingered…

  but autumn had begun its quiet arrival.

  The sound of soft, unending laughter filled the space between seasons—

  a warm chorus to carry them into the future.

  ＊ ＊ ＊

  Afterward, Hanna was admitted to the Academy’s infirmary under the pretext of a chronic illness flare-up.

  To everyone’s surprise, it was the Necromancer—and, most astonishingly, Liz—who took on the responsibility of caring for her.

  It seemed Liz had volunteered for the role entirely of her own accord.

  Hanna, for her part, faithfully continued her daily doses of the treatment, and slowly, she began to regain a sense of calm.

  ＊ ＊ ＊

  Now, the setting shifts.

  Today is the long-awaited All-Academy Magical Mock Battle Tournament.

  In the end, both the Sorceress Division and the Wizard Division chose to withdraw from this year’s sixth-year championship matches.

  Instead, they now sat side by side in the stands, cheering loudly for the battles unfolding on the field below.

  The mock battles for the lower years in the Elementary and Junior Divisions mostly involved simple walking or running across the field.

  But as the upper-year students of the Junior and Senior Divisions took the stage, things began to soar—literally.

  Aerial battles filled with dazzling spells lit up the sky, transforming the tournament into a true spectacle.

  The matches between upperclassmen in the Senior Division were particularly popular.

  The crowd erupted with every breathtaking clash.

  Spells were refined, and their application had become strikingly tactical—an ever-enthralling display of magical combat.

  Amidst that spectacle, the Wizard and the Sorceress sat side by side, eyes sharp and voices spirited.

  Beside them, Liz and Hanna watched with equal intensity, eyes locked on the action above.

  “I never thought I’d end up sitting next to you, watching this tournament like this,” said the Wizard.

  “Same here,” the Sorceress replied. “We were always fighting, weren’t we?”

  “Don’t remind me. I was awful. Really… I’m sorry.”

  “Haha, I was only teasing.”

  The Wizard chuckled, then added, “Still… talent is something else. For a sixth-year in the Elementary Division to pull off an advanced large-scale group attack magic—that was insane. I’ve got nothing on you.”

  “That’s not true,” said the Sorceress.

  “I was stunned when you cast that spell from Raphael’s domain.

  Studying magic outside your primary discipline—especially something like that—is such a hassle. Most people wouldn’t even try.

  But you did. I finally understand why people call you the girl of unyielding effort.

  Hard work really does expand the boundary of what’s possible.”

  The two of them laughed quietly.

  Beside them, Liz and Hanna sat close together, eyes fixed on the brilliant mock battles of the Senior Division.

  Next to Hanna’s seat rested her bottle of medicine—still a part of her daily life.

  She hadn’t missed a single dose.

  That small glass vial glimmered in the autumn sunlight—

  a quiet, delicate light, symbolizing her resolve to leave the past behind and begin walking her new path.

  Cheers roared across the stadium.

  The air shimmered with heat and excitement.

  But the wind that passed through had already taken on the unmistakable hue of autumn.

  Summer had ended.

  A new season had begun.

  Author Note:

  Chapter 3—will be released this Friday at 10:00 PM (JST) / 6:00 AM (PDT).

  Thank you for reading, and I hope you’ll enjoy what comes next!