The morning sun cut clean through the cloudless sky, casting warm beams across the Academy's training grounds. Blades clashed in the distance, spellbursts shimmered from target dummies, and the scent of scorched wood and sweat floated lazily in the air.
Luca stood quietly on the edge of the field, eyes closed, feeling the weight of the sword in his hands.
It felt... lighter.
No—not lighter. He was stronger.
The elixir had begun to take effect.
He had taken it last night, just before falling into a restless sleep. He remembered the item description from the game clearly: "Full effects manifest over seven days. Early benefits include increased vitality, muscle recovery, and enhanced stamina." And it wasn't lying.
Already, his muscles responded faster. His sword swings were sharper, more fluid. The soreness in his limbs from yesterday's battle was fading faster than it should have. Everything felt like it was syncing up.
One real battle... that's all it took.
They say one true fight is worth a month of relentless practice.
Guess they weren't lying.
Of course, it helped that he wasn't just relying on instinct anymore. Somewhere in his mind, fragments of the spirit knight's experience lingered. Muscle memory that wasn't his. Subtle tricks of balance and footwork. It didn't override his own thoughts—but it was there. A silent guide.
Still...
He stopped, raising the sword vertically before his eyes.
"...This isn't it, is it?"
It didn't feel wrong, exactly. But not right either.
It was something he had never questioned—sword equals knight, right? Aiden, the hero, always started with one. And when Luca took over this body, he simply went with it. Big sword. Big hero. Very classic.
Only... Luca Valentine was not Aiden.
And in all his thousands of playthroughs, he'd never once designated Luca as a sword user. In fact, now that he thought about it—
"I don't think I've ever seen you use a sword in the game," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "I just assumed, because… it's a knight, right?"
Maybe not.
But answers would come soon enough. He remembered what was next.
The Weapon's Acknowledgement.
The first official arc of the game.
It wasn't some war or demon invasion—it was more of a tutorial phase in disguise. A personal trial for each student to discover the weapon most attuned to their soul. A rite of passage.
In game terms, it unlocked your true weapon affinity and allowed customization.
In story terms, it was a test of will and identity.
Each student would be drawn into a mind-space illusion and face the past users of the weapon they sought to wield. Not a test of strength alone—but a trial of spirit, compatibility, and intention.
And it was just a few days away.
He lowered his sword and exhaled.
"This'll be interesting."
Then he felt it.
The faint sensation of eyes boring into his back.
Again.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
He turned his head slightly—just enough to catch the unmistakable shimmer of pink hair a short distance away.
Lilliane Fairmoore.
She wasn't hiding behind a tree or trying to be stealthy. She never was. She stood in the open, arms crossed, watching him with a gaze as direct as ever. Unapologetic. Unwavering.
Luca let out a sigh.
She was back. Again.
Luca debated whether to greet her. Maybe just a casual wave? A nod? Something nonchalant, like, "Oh hey, didn't notice you standing there like a silent guardian for the fifth morning in a row."
He half-lifted his hand—then paused.
What if she ignored him? Or worse, waved back? What then? Would they be… acquaintances? Did he want that? Was that a thing now? Did he need to hold a conversation? What if she asked about his form? Or started offering critiques?
What if she didn't blink the entire time again? That was… unnerving.
"Gods, she's like a pink-haired basilisk," he muttered under his breath.
And just as he was about to risk it—a polite nod, maybe—he spotted a familiar silhouette on the far end of the field.
Aiden.
Luca's hand froze mid-air.
Nope. Abort. Abort mission.
He casually scratched the back of his head instead, as if that was what he meant to do all along. He wasn't about to give Mr. Chosen Hero any ammo for awkward questions later.
Besides… how do you even explain it? "She just… watches me. A lot. Every day. Same time. No words. Just vibes."
Not exactly the kind of thing you throw into casual dorm banter.
He turned back to his stance.
The sword still wasn't right for him.
But at least now... he was getting closer.
***
Later that morning, Class A gathered in their lecture hall.
Luca sat near the back, chatting idly with Eric about everything and nothing. Something about yesterday's food tasting like soggy socks and whether the academy's laundry spell was secretly shrinking tunics.
Their banter was cut short as the doors swung open.
Professor Seraphina strode in—graceful, composed, eyes sharp as ever.
"Good morning, class," she said without preamble. "I come bearing an announcement."
Every conversation in the room stilled.
"In two days' time, the Weapon Selection Event will be held."
The class collectively perked up.
Seraphina continued, "Knight-track students will be able to seek acknowledgement from swords, spears, or maces. Mages will be tested for their compatibility with wands and staves. It is not a mere ceremony—it is the beginning of your true path."
Murmurs spread like ripples.
"I heard some weapons have spirits inside them..."
"Is it true you fight them in a vision?"
"What if I fail? Do I get the wooden stick of shame?"
Seraphina held up a hand, silencing them all with a glance.
"You will be briefed on the full process the day before. For now, resume your lessons."
The rest of the lecture passed quickly, though Luca barely paid attention.
As they exited the hall, Eric nudged Luca.
"Hey. About the weapon thing…" he said, eyeing the sword strapped to Luca's back. "You sure that's your fit?"
Luca raised a brow. "What, the sword?"
"Yeah. I mean, no offense—but it just doesn't suit you."
"Oh?" Luca asked, a teasing smirk forming. "And what does suit me then? A spoon?"
Eric grinned. "Maybe. Or a dagger. Or like... shadowy throwing cards. You've got that 'mysterious third-act twist' aura, you know?"
Luca chuckled, shaking his head.
After their theory classes, students in Class A typically separated for their practical lessons—divided by their designated roles. Knights, mages, and priests trained in different fields, each focusing on combat disciplines tailored to their path. These sessions happened three times a week.
But today happened to be an exception.
Then Eric snapped his fingers. "Oh, right! Today's the mixed duel class."
It was a joint training day—mages and knights facing off together in a mixed combat simulation.
Luca blinked. "Mixed duel?"
Eric nodded. "Yeah. Knights and mages—same field. Should be fun."
Luca groaned. "Fantastic. Nothing like being fireballed in the face to start your afternoon."
"Don't worry," Eric winked. "I'll save you if you get roasted."
"No promises I'll return the favor," Luca smirked.
***
The sun beat down across the field as students formed into pairs.
And Luca found himself—sword raised, stance steady—facing off against a certain frost lightening-wielding prodigy.
Selena Weiss.
He stared at her, dryly raising his blade.
"...How the hell did I end up like this?"
[To be continued...]