After the harsh words of Professor Halric, Ansel had little time to recover. His next class was Alchemy, and the students were already moving toward the lower chambers of the academy.
The alchemy labs were colder than the rest of the academy, built with thick stone walls and no windows. Shelves of glass vials, bubbling liquids, and strange glowing crystals lined every corner. The air smelled of sulfur and dried herbs.
Ansel walked quietly beside Reena, the servant girl he had met earlier. She offered a small smile as they entered, which he appreciated. But his heart was heavy with dread.
This wasn't just another class.
It was another test he was expected to fail.
Soon, the classroom doors creaked open, and in walked a man in a deep crimson coat, with neatly tied gray hair and sharp features. His voice cut through the murmurs like a blade.
"I am Professor Radius, head of Alchemical Studies. My job is to turn raw children into refined minds, but frankly, I don't have much hope for this class."
He adjusted his square-rimmed glasses and eyed the group with disappointment.
"I see low-tier nobles, merchant brats, and servant trash. How delightful."
Several students looked down. Ansel stared forward, unmoving.
"You will attempt the creation of a basic combustion draft today. Fireroot extract. Aether powder. Silver catalyst. Mix it properly, activate it with mana. Fail—and leave."
Radius clapped his hands, and the tables lit up with ingredients.
Ansel blinked at the set before him. He had read about this mixture in books, but reading and doing were worlds apart. Beside him, Reena was already preparing hers, hands slightly shaking but focused.
Ansel tried to follow, but he couldn't sense the way the mana was supposed to flow through the mixture. He had none to guide it, and it showed.
As Reena's flask began to bubble faintly, Ansel's ingredients stayed inert. He whispered the incantation again—quiet, hopeful—but the mixture remained dull and lifeless.
Professor Radius passed by.
"What's this?" he asked, voice cold.
"A failed attempt, it seems," said a snide noble boy nearby.
Radius leaned closer. "What's your name, boy?"
"Ansel… Nighthawk," he replied.
"Ah. The bastard son." Radius straightened, his voice carrying so all could hear. "No mana. No spark. No use."
The room grew silent.
Reena looked away, clearly uncomfortable.
Radius turned, uninterested. "Some students can't be helped. Move on."
Humiliation scorched Ansel's chest, but he didn't show it. He quietly began cleaning his station, ignoring the mocking looks.
As they exited the lab, Reena tried to speak, but Ansel shook his head. "It's fine," he said quietly.
But it wasn't.
Deep inside, a fire had failed to ignite—but a colder flame had started to burn.
A flame of resolve.