Part I: Glass in the Mirror
The heavy door shut behind him with the finality of a sealed tomb.
Zane Kingslay stepped onto a circular obsidian platform, polished so perfectly it mirrored the ceiling above — a cavernous dome lined with glowing veins of sapphire mana. At the center hovered a jagged mirror shard, slowly spinning like a lazy predator sizing up prey.
A chill trickled down his spine.
There was no explanation. No instructions. Just silence, pulsing with quiet, magical tension.
Then the mirror fragment shimmered. The platform rippled like disturbed water.
And something stepped out.
Zane blinked.
It was him.
His exact form — same face, same height, same unkempt uniform… only neater. Sharper. Balanced.
But there were no words. No mocking.
The clone didn't speak.
It didn't need to.
It stood there, perfectly still, like a puppet waiting for a string to be pulled.
> [System Notification: Mirror Trial Initiated]
Opponent: Reflection Construct
Type: Illusion-Mimic (Tier 1)
Control: Pre-Programmed Combat Response
Affinity: Illusion / Mana Pulse
Your Status:
Level: 1
Ring: None
Known Spells: None
Magic Affinity: Not Awakened
[Combat Capabilities: 0]
"This'll be fun. Like punching a smarter, better-looking mirror."
Zane shifted his feet cautiously. The puppet clone copied the movement, instantly and precisely.
He stepped left. It mirrored him. He raised a hand. So did it.
The first few seconds were almost comical.
Until it lunged.
A blur. A foot slammed into his gut — not with great force, but with enough precision to knock the wind out of him.
Zane gasped, stumbling backward, clutching his stomach.
The clone didn't pursue. It merely reset its stance, staring blankly.
"Right. So… no banter," Zane wheezed. "Just violence. Great."
He rushed forward, throwing a punch. The clone didn't flinch — it dodged, almost perfectly timed, then countered with a shoulder into his ribs.
Zane hit the floor, again.
The air escaped his lungs in a pathetic wheeze.
> [System Alert: HP not visible. But your dignity is definitely bleeding out.]
---
Observation Hall – Above the Trial Grounds
Inside the crescent-shaped golden hall, lined with professors and students watching through a massive scry-glass, silence gave way to snickering.
Professor Elowen adjusted her glasses. "The construct's response time is better than expected."
Aldric smirked. "Doesn't take much to outmatch a non-mage. This boy's not even circulating mana."
Garron Redhook, arms crossed and amused, muttered, "Is he trying to wrestle it?"
Even some of the first-years began laughing.
The clone hadn't even cast a spell. It didn't need to.
---
Trial Platform
Zane rolled to the side, barely dodging the puppet's heel aimed at his face. He scrambled to his feet, only to be met with a silent elbow jab to the jaw.
Stars burst across his vision.
His knees buckled.
> [System Advisory: Consider forfeiting. You are currently getting demolished by yourself.]
Bonus Tip: "Trying not to die is not the same as fighting."
Zane growled. "I get it, alright! Shut up!"
He tried grabbing the puppet's arm, but it twisted, slipped, and brought its knee up into his sternum. Zane gasped and crumpled.
The clone didn't follow up.
It simply stood again, still, waiting.
Emotionless.
Empty.
That made it worse somehow.
It didn't even hate him.
Zane coughed blood. The taste of iron filled his mouth. He tried to laugh, but it came out as a pained wheeze.
Professor Thales tapped his quill, unimpressed. "He's barely lasted two minutes."
A first-year boy whispered to a friend, "Is he crying?"
"No," Garron said with a smirk. "Just leaking shame."
Only Headmistress Veyra remained quiet, her eyes narrowed—not in sympathy, but in calculation.
---
Trial Platform
Zane forced himself to stand.
He was shaking. His fists trembled. He had no mana. No magic. Not even a ring.
All he had was… himself.
But even that wasn't enough.
He charged once more — a desperate, clumsy rush.
The clone sidestepped. Swift. Precise. Its foot swept under his heel.
Zane hit the ground — hard. His face smashed against cold stone. His lip split. His vision blurred.
> [Trial Conclusion: FAILURE]
Combat Performance: 3%
Tactical Efficiency: 0%
Magic Use: 0%
Result: Defeat
XP Gained: 0
Trait Gained: Echo of Failure (Minor debuff – Peer perception penalty)
"Congratulations. You lost to yourself. No really. That takes talent."
The mirror fragment hovered again, pulsing once.
The puppet clone faded.
Laughter echoed as the trial's image faded.
Professor Aldric shook his head. "Pathetic. He's not even a footnote."
Students began dispersing.
But Veyra lingered. Her gaze lingered on Zane's still form, unmoving on the platform.
The obsidian platform cooled beneath his skin. Zane lay still, cheek pressed to the stone, blood drying on his split lip. The silence returned, heavier than before.
It was over.
No applause. No sympathy. No congratulatory pat from the system.
Just the quiet throb of bruises, a reminder that the Trial of Reflection hadn't shown him something new… just confirmed what he already knew.
He was nothing here.
And that hurt more than the clone's hits.
A soft chime echoed from the ceiling. The platform began to sink slowly back into the floor, vanishing beneath the polished surface like it had never existed.
Zane coughed, spat a tooth fragment, and dragged himself up on shaking arms.
---
Hallway Outside the Trial Chambers
The air outside the chamber was colder. Or maybe it just felt that way now.
He limped out through the arched doorway, head low, hoping the crowd had moved on.
They hadn't.
A group of first-years clustered by the benches—some watching curiously, others barely holding back grins.
A few upper-years passed by, barely sparing him a glance.
He liked that. Being ignored was better than being laughed at.
Then came the voice he'd expected.
"Well, well. Look who got flattened by his own reflection," drawled Garron Redhook, lounging with one leg over a bench like it was a throne. His red hair caught the light like a banner of war.
Zane didn't stop walking. His cracked knuckles flexed once at his side.
"You couldn't have lasted any longer, Kingslay?" Garron went on, voice lazy and loud. "I've seen drunk alley dogs fight better. That was just sad."
Zane kept walking.
One of Garron's friends—broad-shouldered and twice as dumb—snorted. "He even bled from the nose. Thought the puppet was gonna slap the color off his soul."
A few chuckles followed.
Zane stopped. Turned halfway.
Looked at them—not long. Just enough to meet eyes. Then he tilted his head and smirked through the blood still leaking from his lip.
"Congratulations," he rasped. "Took four of you to comment on something a mirror did. Real impressive."
There was a beat of silence. Garron's smile faltered.
But Zane didn't wait for a comeback. He turned again and walked on, slower now, letting them watch him limp away.
They'd get their moment.
Later.
---
Dormitory – South Wing, Level F (The Trash Tier)
Zane pushed open the creaking door to his room. It was more of a closet with a mattress and a cracked window pretending to be a view.
The mattress groaned as he collapsed onto it. No spells to dull the pain. No potions. No support system.
Just him. His aching body. And the ever-charming system.
> [System Update]
Condition: Bruised, Exhausted, Bloodied Ego Detected
Suggestion: "Apply one (1) metaphorical bandaid and reconsider your life choices."
He groaned and covered his face with his arm.
"I didn't even get XP."
> "Well technically, you earned a new trait. 'Echo of Failure' boosts emotional damage when people gossip about you. Very on-brand."
He exhaled a laugh that sounded too much like a sob.
Then the voice lowered.
> "But here's the good news, trash prince—now they'll stop watching. You failed. You're not a threat. Which means you get to move in shadows now."
That made him freeze.
And think.
The laughter, the snide remarks… they were good. It meant no one saw him coming.
Which was exactly what he needed.
He sat up slowly. Looked at the faint outline of the city through his broken window. The spires of Eldryn Academy's upper towers shimmered like cold knives under starlight.
Somewhere up there, the elites were congratulating themselves.
Somewhere down here, the failures licked their wounds.
That was fine.
He'd build from the ashes. Quietly.
And when the time came to strike…
He'd make sure the mirror shattered for good.