It was dismissal time. The second day ended without incident.
Class 1-F had fallen back into their usual pattern: showing up in the morning, skipping out in the afternoon.
Only Roy Bellvace and Clarisse Vientrel seemed to care enough to stay until the final class.
As Roy was about to leave, Lucien called out to him again. "Would you mind helping me with something, Mr. Bellvace?"
"Extra lessons?"
"Just a small technical favor," Lucien said with a shrug. "You're not scheduled for any club activities today, are you?"
"I hope this comes with extra credit."
Taking that as a yes, Lucien quickly packed up his books and started walking. "I have candy and tea, if that helps."
"Not a bad deal."
When they reached Lucien's office—a small, cramped room right next to the first-floor public restroom—he didn't use a keycard or even a key.
He kicked the door open instead.
THUD!
It took three strong shoves before the rickety door finally gave way, revealing the chaotic mess inside.
Two stacks of paper piled near the entrance.
Ten dictionary-sized books lined up on either side of the desk.
A pair of wooden chairs facing each other.
"So…" Lucien staggered in like the effort had drained all the strength from his body. "What do you think of Professor Ianosa?"
Roy frowned, arms crossed. "Is this an interrogation?"
"Just some small talk."
"Then I think I'll pass."
"That only makes me more curious. Would you really leave me tossing and turning at night, wondering about it?" Lucien dusted off a chair and gestured for Roy to sit.
"You have feelings for him or something?" Roy scoffed, but sat down anyway, slipping one hand into his pocket.
"I just want to know what it takes to stay sane. Especially now that I'm the homeroom teacher of your class." Lucien switched on an old electric kettle. "Or maybe he came under different circumstances."
Roy shrugged and picked up one of the books.
The title on the cover read: STUDENT ACADEMIC REPORT.
Complete with names and school years beneath it. "You should know better. Anyone who ends up here was a write-off."
"You included?"
There was a pause before Roy answered, his voice tinged with reluctant anger. "Yeah. Me too."
"Is that why you told Professor Varenthal about where I was going that afternoon?"
The kettle whistled. Lucien poured hot water into two mugs—one with coffee, one with tea. Neither had sugar.
He handed both to Roy. "Your silence makes it sound like I'm right."
"Professor Varenthal just asked. Like you're doing now."
"Oh? I thought it was because you both shared something in common—a mutual grudge."
"Do those reports track our personal feelings, too?"
"Oh no, not at all. That's just me guessing. Professor Varenthal didn't exactly take Professor Ianosa's resignation well. And you? You had to give up your one shot at moving to a better class."
Roy chuckled, put the report back, and picked up the mug with tea.
Lucien watched him closely.
Roy Bellvace wasn't a hidden genius. He wasn't some high-ranking noble's son being sabotaged by rival families.
He was just too average for a school like St. Eliria. From the start of the year, he had been stuck in Class 1-F.
But he hadn't stayed idle.
His report showed consistent academic growth every month.
By November, he had a 50% chance of being promoted to Class 1-E.
Then a self-important professor stepped in, saying the timing wasn't right—that it might disrupt his academic momentum.
'Promotion means heavier expectations,' the professor probably said.
A new, idealistic professor named Lucien Arkwright.
"Don't tell me you came to apologize."
"If I did, would you accept it?"
"Depends. If you can get me into Class E… maybe."
Lucien was surprised that Roy still held onto that ambition—along with his resentment—even after two months. "Unfortunately, that's out of my hands. But I can offer you something just as satisfying."
He bent down, rummaged through a battered drawer, and slid a tabloid across the table.
It was Annales Arcanae.
St. Eliria was wealthy and influential enough to have its own newspaper—read not just by students and staff, but by locals too.
And the writers? Members of the student journalism club.
The same club Roy belonged to.
"What's this?" Roy didn't see the connection to their conversation.
"This, Mr. Bellvace… is revenge."
*#$
"… and it said to make this future Mrs. Ianosa scowl even more, sounds good?"
Celeste Varenthal scoffed. Ridiculous.
The engagement had ended a year ago. Ever since their families no longer shared the same vision, the alliance had become questionable at best.
She never felt the need to mourn it.
There was no love between them. Even though they worked in the same place, they barely spoke.
Sure, they had gone on dates—but they were formal, nothing more. The twenty-year age gap alone was enough to drive a wedge between them.
Still, people loved to assume.
Celeste didn't think she needed to clarify that her warnings were genuine concern—not some veiled affection.
But he sure was stubborn. Just as she expected. Just as she imagined.
The Application of Catharsis in Mana Balancing.
It took someone that stubborn to convince people that mana was directly tied to one's mental state.
Though it stirred controversy in its first month, the book eventually became a cornerstone of modern magical theory.
Even Celeste admitted the insights were brilliant—and written simply enough for a child to grasp.
You never belonged here.
St. Eliria was never the right place for him. And those he tried to 'save'? Just walking corpses with noble blood.
Celeste finished her morning tea ritual at exactly seven. Thirty minutes before the first class. Enough time to prepare.
She gathered her things and headed to her classroom.
Only to find a crowd gathered around the hallway bulletin board.
Another sensational rumor?
The bulletin board was made for official announcements, but most eyes were drawn to Annales Arcanae.
They were known for delivering the hottest scoops every week.
"C-Celes…"
Hurried footsteps approached. A tousled head of blonde hair bounced with each step.
"Professor Ainsworth, how many times do I have to say—don't call me that during work hours."
"T-this is bad!" Mireille Ainsworth gasped for air, one hand on her hip, the other clutching a newspaper.
A fresh issue of Annales Arcanae. "This is really bad!" she exclaimed, shoving the paper into Celeste's hands.
The headline made Celeste's eyes widen.