The last bell of the day echoed through the academy halls like a sigh of relief for most students.
But not for Noel.
For him, it was the start of the real work.
He walked the now-quiet corridor toward Daemar's office, satchel over his shoulder, half a notebook already filled with increasingly chaotic notes tucked under his arm. His eyes were sharp, but the tired sat behind them like a weight.
One knock.
A pause.
Then the familiar, dry voice:
"Come in."
Noel stepped inside.
The office was exactly like the last time he visited it—neat, cold, filled with books, organized shelves lining the walls with zero dust in sight.
Except for one thing.
At the center of the room now stood a sleek magical apparatus—a metallic pedestal made of black steel and obsidian, with three softly glowing orbs suspended above it, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Daemar stood beside it, adjusting the settings with one hand and flipping a rune key with the other. The glow intensified. With a low hum, the orbs flared and projected a large, rotating sphere of mana diagrams and spell circuits into the air. Layers of runes and flow lines spun around a central anchor like a living constellation.
Noel stared.
'Okay. That's badass.'
"You're early," Daemar said without looking up.
"I'm desperate, I need to pass the exams," Noel muttered, dropping his notebook on a side desk and rolling his shoulders.
At that, Daemar tapped one of the orbs. A glowing arc lit up on the projection.
"Start here. Internal mana cycling. Explain the process. Out loud."
Noel stepped closer, eyeing the glyphs.
No fear this time.
Just focus.
And maybe, underneath it all, just a little bit of fire.
Noel stood just a few feet from the floating projection, eyes scanning the spiral of runes and mana channels shifting slowly in the air.
He pointed at the core node.
"This is the anchor, right?" he asked. "Everything flows out from here."
Daemar gave a curt nod.
Noel continued, tracing one of the glowing lines with his finger.
"This branch handles initial distribution. If the cycle breaks here,"—he tapped a secondary glyph—"you get instability in the outer cast. Feedback loop, maybe even backfire if your focus isn't solid."
Daemar said nothing.
Just watched.
Noel kept going.
"And the outer ring—this is the regulation channel. Controls flow rate. It's tied to breath and heart rate during casting, yeah?"
Still no reply.
So Noel kept talking, his voice a mix of curiosity and certainty. Not reciting—connecting. Piece by piece. Question by question. Like he was building the structure in his head as he spoke.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
And by the time he finished walking through the full cycle diagram, Daemar slowly stepped forward and deactivated the projection with a single tap.
Silence.
Then—
"You read ahead."
Noel shook his head.
"Nope. Just... listened. Picked things up. Pieced them together."
Daemar stared at him for a long second.
"You understood that faster than most second-years."
Noel blinked. "Huh."
"Don't let it go to your head."
Noel smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it."
But inside?
'Hell yeah.'
The training chamber beneath Daemar's office was smaller than the main field but saturated with layered enchantments—runes in the floor, faint lines etched into the walls, suppression wards woven into the ceiling.
It was built for focused spellcasting, not showmanship.
Daemar stood in the center, coat off, sleeves rolled. His hand moved in a slow circle through the air as he began channeling mana.
"Watch closely."
Noel stood back, eyes locked on every detail.
Daemar's mana gathered cleanly, no excess. His movements were precise, efficient—nothing wasted. A soft orb of light flared into existence in his palm.
"Basic illumination. Mana thread formation. Minimal core drain," he said. "Your turn."
Noel nodded.
He took a breath.
Closed his eyes.
Focused.
He let his mana stir, like he'd practiced during physical training—but now it had purpose. A shape.
He moved his hand the same way Daemar had.
And a light formed.
Perfect size. No flare. No flicker.
Just like Daemar's.
The professor blinked once.
Didn't say anything.
Moved on.
Next spell—a soft breeze, conjured from a twist of elemental wind.
Daemar showed it.
Noel copied it.
Flawlessly.
Then again with a barrier ripple—low-tier defense magic.
Same result.
Each time, Daemar demonstrated, expecting to correct something.
But there was nothing to fix.
'He's mimicking perfectly. That shouldn't be possible at Novice level. His core can't handle complexity—but his execution is flawless.'
Daemar folded his arms as Noel held the final barrier steady.
Still not speaking.
Noel raised an eyebrow.
"…Did I do something wrong?"
Daemar's tone was dry. Controlled.
"No. You did everything exactly right. That's what concerns me."
Daemar stepped back, his expression unreadable as he re-tightened the cuffs of his sleeves.
"Alright," he said. "One more."
He raised his hand again—slower this time, fingers moving with more complexity. The mana in the room shifted, denser now. The glyphs he traced in the air were more intricate. The circle took longer to build.
A faint spiral of fire ignited above his palm—hovering, pulsing in sync with his breath. Brighter. Heavier. A quiet hum filled the chamber.
"This is called Crimson Coil," he said. "Controlled combustion, triple-weaved mana flow, multi-layered stabilization. Watch the structure."
He didn't mention it was Adept-level—a full tier above Novice.
Noel, still steady, nodded.
He focused.
Started building the circle.
Line by line.
He followed Daemar's structure exactly—curves, anchors, stabilizers. The glow of his own mana began to rise around his hand, threading into the glyphs with unnatural clarity.
Daemar stepped closer, eyebrows lifting slightly.
'He's actually building it.'
'He shouldn't be able to build it.'
The final symbol was halfway formed when Noel's breath caught.
His shoulders tensed.
His skin turned pale—very pale.
Sweat broke across his forehead.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, hands shaking. "Too much..."
The spell cracked—just a flicker—and fizzled out before full formation.
He stumbled a half-step back, gripping his thigh, chest rising and falling as if he'd sprinted a mile.
Daemar didn't move.
Just watched the after-image of Noel's spell fade from the air.
'That circle was perfect. Everything but the fuel.'
Noel looked up, jaw clenched, eyes sharp despite the dizziness.
"...What the hell was that?"
Daemar's voice was calm, but his mind was racing.
"A bit advanced," he said. "Wanted to see something."
Noel narrowed his eyes. "That wasn't Novice-level."
"No. It wasn't."
"You trying to kill me now?"
Daemar almost smirked.
"You didn't die. You almost cast it."
Noel blinked.
And then, despite the nausea, he smiled.
'Damn right I did.
Noel sat on the edge of the bench, wiping sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his uniform. His hands were still trembling slightly from the mana drain.
The air in the training chamber had gone still.
Daemar stood a few steps away, arms crossed, watching him—not with the cold scrutiny of a teacher waiting to scold, but with something quieter.
Something measured.
Thoughtful.
'That spell should've collapsed halfway through the circle. Should've fallen apart before the glyphs took shape.'
'But it didn't. It held.'
Daemar stepped forward and reactivated the projection array.
Noel looked up, still breathing hard. "We done?"
Daemar didn't answer right away. Instead, he tapped through the glowing interface until it displayed a standard mana circuit model—Novice level, simplified. He adjusted it slightly, then pointed to the node Noel had strained on.
"You didn't fail," he said. "Your output collapsed because your core isn't built to sustain Adept-tier glyph compression. But the formation itself... was clean."
Noel raised an eyebrow. "So... I did good?"
"You did better than expected," Daemar said flatly. "That's not praise. It's observation."
Noel smirked. "Noted."
Daemar turned the projection off and stepped away.
"I'm not going to water things down for you. If you keep showing this level of control, I'll expect results to match it."
"Works for me," Noel said. "I don't need handholding."
Daemar paused at the door, half-turning back toward him.
"I know."
And just like that, he walked out, coat trailing behind him with sharp precision.
Noel leaned back, letting the silence settle.
The corridors were quiet when Noel left the training chamber. Most students were already in their rooms or passed out on their desks. The air had that still, heavy calm that only came after a day of doing too much.
He didn't rush.
Didn't limp, either.
His body still felt like it had been wrung out like a towel, but it wasn't pain that slowed him—it was... something else.
Something that kept replaying in his mind.
The circles.
The mana flow.
The way it had all come together in his head without needing to think about it.
Like instinct.
He reached his room and stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Tossed his coat over the chair. Didn't even bother lighting the lamp.
The glow from the window was enough.
He sat on the bed, elbows on knees, staring at the floor.
'I shouldn't be able to do that.'
'That spell was above my level. My core couldn't sustain it. But I built the damn thing like I've been casting it for years.'
He rubbed his hands together, slow.
Then stared at them.
'What the hell is this?'
'I don't know how I know. But I do know. Like it's just… there. Like breathing.'
He let out a quiet, breathless laugh.
Not amused. Just—stunned.
'This body. This mind. It's like I was made for this shit.'
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling now, eyes wide in the dark.
The [Quest: Save the World] flickered faintly in the corner of his vision.
He didn't look at it.
Not this time.
Because now?
For the first time since waking up in this world...
He felt like maybe, just maybe—
He could actually do it.