The second Noel stepped inside, he stopped.
Music pulsed through the floors—sharp, quick beats that made the whole room feel alive. Lights danced across the stone walls, splashing blues, reds, and purples from mana crystals hanging overhead. Laughter echoed over the rhythm, the smell of spiced alcohol and grilled meat wrapping around the crowd like a second skin.
There were students everywhere.
Hundreds, by the look of it. Some crowded around the bar. Some shouting over the tables. Some already half-drunk and dancing near the edges of the room.
And none of them—none—wore the stiff academy uniforms.
Shirts, loose jackets, dresses, leather boots. Like they'd all stepped out of a different world.
For a second, Noel just stood there, blinking like an idiot.
Next to him, Roberto let out a low whistle.
"Man, this place is packed," he said, clapping Noel on the shoulder. "Come on, drinks first."
They pushed through the crowd and found a gap at the bar.
The bartender—a tall woman with two nose rings and mana tattoos glowing faintly on her arms—slammed two shot glasses down in front of them without even asking.
Noel eyed the glass suspiciously.
Then glanced at Roberto.
"You do know it's illegal to drink under eighteen, right?"
Roberto grinned like he'd been waiting for it.
"Yeah. And?"
He pulled two fake IDs from his jacket pocket and wiggled them between two fingers.
"See? Totally legit."
Noel stared at him.
Then at the IDs.
Then back at him.
Roberto shrugged. "What they don't know won't hurt 'em. Besides—we earned this."
Noel exhaled a breath through his nose, fighting a grin.
The memory hit him harder than expected: blurry nights sneaking into clubs back on Earth, a shitty fake ID tucked in his wallet, laughing too hard with friends he'd never see again.
'Fuck it. After two and a half months of grinding, paranoia, and exam hell, I deserve this.'
He picked up the shot.
"Cheers, dumbass."
"Cheers, overachiever."
They clinked glasses and threw back the drinks.
The burn hit like a punch in the chest.
Noel coughed once, laughed, and slammed the glass back on the bar.
The second shot hit harder.
Not just the burn—the warmth.
It crawled down Noel's throat and settled somewhere in his chest, melting the tension he didn't realize he'd been carrying. The stress, the calculations, the mental red alerts that never left him since waking up in this world… all of it softened, like the edge had been filed off.
He leaned against the bar, elbows back, staring out over the crowd of students celebrating like exams never happened.
'I've been in this world two and a half months.'
'Faked a life. Fought off assassins. Spied on cultists. Prepped for a fucking massacre.'
'And now I'm in a bar, drunk on whatever-the-hell that was, watching teenagers dance under glowing crystals like nothing's wrong with the world.'
He let out a breath that wasn't quite a laugh.
Next to him, Roberto slammed his empty glass upside down on the counter.
"Okay," he said, voice slightly hoarse. "That was terrible. Let's do another."
Noel snorted. "Absolutely not."
"Coward."
"Responsible adult."
"Bullshit."
Noel grinned.
Not his usual smirk—the sharp, guarded one he used to keep people guessing.
A real one.
Small. Tired. But real.
'Screw it. Just for tonight... I'm not a planner. I'm not a manipulator. I'm not a saboteur hiding in shadows.'
'I'm just a guy.'
The music thumped louder as the tempo shifted, and the floor beneath them vibrated like the whole building was moving with it.
Roberto gestured to the stairs in the corner, where students filtered down toward a second level—laughing, shouting, drinks in hand.
"Come on," he said. "We're not done yet."
Noel didn't hesitate.
He followed.
The staircase to the lower floor was wide, carved from polished stone that shimmered faintly under colored light. As Noel and Roberto descended, the noise changed—not louder, exactly, but deeper. Heavier.
Bass.
Real bass.
Noel stopped halfway down and just stared.
The room below looked like it had been ripped straight out of some modern fantasy fever dream. Crystals mounted on the walls projected shifting lights in every imaginable color, bouncing and splitting through hanging glass shards to create ripples across the crowd. The floor thumped with every beat, a deep rhythm pulsing through mana-infused tiles that glowed with each footstep.
'This… this is not supposed to exist.'
At the far side of the room, a platform held a DJ-like figure, twisting knobs on a rune-covered console. Waves of enchanted sound blasted through speaker-crystals arranged in the corners, coordinated perfectly with the lights.
The music wasn't orchestral, or refined.
It was fast. Punchy. Modern.
And it was good.
Noel blinked slowly.
'This world… it's medieval in style, sure. But this? This is something else.'
'They've skipped tech. Just went straight from torches to mana-powered clubs.'
The crowd was packed—students dancing, shouting, moving like they didn't have a single care left in the world. The way they dressed didn't help either. Dresses, sleeveless tunics, boots, cropped jackets, jewelry that glowed faintly with enchantments—nobody looked like they came from a stuffy academy.
And Noel?
He felt out of place for all of five seconds.
Then he smiled again.
'Not bad, Valor.'
'Not bad at all.'
Roberto bumped him with an elbow. "Wanna dance?"
Noel looked at him, deadpan. "Absolutely not."
"Didn't think so. Drinks, then?"
"Now you're speaking my language."
They kept walking, the pulse of the music following them like a second heartbeat.
The lower floor wasn't just a dancehall.
It was a full-blown club.
Mana-infused lanterns floated near the ceiling, pulsing with the beat. Glowing runes lined the floor like circuits, reacting to the movement of people dancing above them. Booths lined the edges—some casual, some clearly reserved, elevated with privacy screens that shimmered faintly to block sound from the outside.
The music was sharper down here. Thicker. Like it had teeth.
And it worked.
Roberto grabbed two drinks from a floating tray that zipped by like it had a mind of its own. He handed one to Noel and raised it in a silent toast.
Noel clinked his glass against Roberto's and took a sip.
Sweet. Cold. Definitely alcoholic.
He let it burn down slow this time, eyes scanning the crowd.
And then—he spotted them.
Marcus, sitting with Clara at one of the corner booths, talking with Elena, who wore a low ponytail and casual clothes that somehow still made her look like she ruled the room. Seated next to them were Laziel Varn, green-haired and sprawled sideways like he owned the couch, and Garron Bale, arms crossed, sipping from a mug that looked comically small in his hands.
They looked relaxed. Human. Like classmates, not characters from a war story waiting to happen.
'We're all just kids tonight, huh?'
Across the room, Elyra stood with her usual orbit of noble-born students—fashionable, poised, already deep in some conversation Noel didn't care enough to guess. Her gaze swept the room once, landed briefly on him, then moved on without pause.
Noel exhaled slowly.
'No uniforms. No rules. No titles.'
'This place feels like it's outside the story.'
He took another drink.
Let himself breathe.
Noel leaned on the railing above the dance floor, drink in hand, the music vibrating through his bones like a living thing. For the first time in what felt like months, his brain wasn't spinning with a plan or calculating risk.
He was just… there.
And for once?
That was enough.
Roberto returned from the bar with another drink in hand and an annoyingly smug look on his face.
Noel raised an eyebrow. "Why do you look like you're about to say something stupid?"
Roberto nodded toward the other side of the room.
"There. That's her."
Noel followed his gaze.
There she was. The same girl who always ended up beside Roberto during conditioning class. Short black hair, bright eyes, dressed in something dangerously close to illegal for academy standards. She was laughing with a couple of friends, drink in hand, swaying slightly to the beat.
Noel turned back to Roberto.
"You've gotta be kidding me."
Roberto just grinned. "This is fate, my dude. I didn't come here to waste it."
"Then go talk to her."
"I'm working on it!"
Noel rolled his eyes. "Go."
Roberto hesitated for half a second—just long enough for Noel to give him a shove toward the girl's direction.
"Hey—" Roberto caught himself, straightened his jacket, and started walking.
Noel watched him go.
'He's gonna crash and burn.'
He smiled into his drink.
Then frowned.
Stomach shifted. A familiar pressure made itself known.
'Ah. Shit.'
He downed the rest of his drink and stood up.
"Alcohol is a piss magnet in this world too, huh."
He muttered it to no one, shook his head, and weaved through the crowd toward the back hall where the restrooms were marked with enchanted glyphs that glowed just bright enough to not be missed.
As he walked, he glanced over his shoulder once at the party behind him.
'One night. That's all this is.'
'One night to feel normal.'
And then he disappeared through the doorway.
The hallway to the bathrooms was quiet compared to the chaos outside. The walls were still stone, but polished smooth, and softly glowing sigils pulsed just above each door—blue for the men's side, red for the women's.
Noel pushed open the door, stepped inside, and sighed.
Silence.
Cool air.
He leaned against the sink for a moment, staring at himself in the mirror.
'Hair's a mess. Eyes look like I haven't slept in a week.'
'Sounds about right.'
He turned on the water, splashed his face, and leaned forward—trying to cool the alcohol buzz just enough to stay sharp.
Then the door creaked open.
Footsteps.
And a familiar voice.
"Noel?"
He glanced over.
Marcus.
Still in casual clothes, sleeves rolled, looking more relaxed than usual but just as solid. He smiled as he stepped up to the sink next to him.
"Didn't expect to find you here," Marcus said. "Thought you'd be back at the dorm, planning the next five years."
Noel snorted. "Yeah, well… even ghosts need a night off."
Marcus chuckled, drying his hands. "You've been quiet lately."
"I like quiet."
Marcus nodded. "I get that."
They stood there for a second. Not awkward—just… easy.
Then Marcus straightened.
"Hey," he said, turning toward the door, "we've got a booth upstairs. Me, Clara, Elena, the others. You should join us."
Noel raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
Marcus shrugged. "Why not? You're Class A, right? Top rank in mana manipulation? You've earned the seat."
Noel blinked once.
Then gave a small, almost reluctant smile.
'That's new.'
'An invite… without expectations.'
He wiped his hands, straightened his jacket, and followed Marcus out.
And just like that, Noel walked out of the bathroom—
and into a circle he hadn't expected to be part of.