The scent of sulfur still lingered in Ansel's clothes as he walked back from the alchemy lab. But it wasn't the stench of failure that burned in his lungs—it was the stares.
He's the one…
The manaless boy…
Why would the Greenal even let him in?
By the next morning, the rumor had spread like wildfire. The truth that Ansel had no mana wasn't just whispered among the first-years anymore. It was discussed over lunch trays in the grand dining hall, gossiped about in noble dormitories, and even muttered behind fan-covered faces of aristocratic daughters.
In the northern tower, where senior students trained in advanced magic, two noble scions exchanged amused glances.
"Did you hear?" said a tall boy clad in a dark blue cloak. "That kid from Class F—he's manaless."
"Seriously?" his friend replied, laughing. "How is that even possible? They usually don't let insects into Valeon."
"Apparently Count Greenal begged the Headmaster to let him in. Some bastard son, they say."
"Hah. What a disgrace to the noble name."
Down in the servant quarters, some of the working students whispered in worried tones.
"I heard he tried the combustion draft and it didn't even smoke."
"That's dangerous, isn't it? Shouldn't someone without mana be expelled?"
"No… they say he's related to the Greenal family. They probably gave him a special pass."
"But what can he do without mana?"
Even among his peers, Ansel became a ghost of a boy. The students in Class F began avoiding sitting near him, afraid his "lack of talent" might somehow reflect on them. When he walked through the corridors, conversations would die like extinguished flames. No one dared speak directly to him. They just watched, judging, mocking.
And he felt every stare.
Ansel sat alone beneath a leafless tree in the academy courtyard, holding the book his mother had once given him. "Freedom and Friendship." The pages were well-worn now, and his fingers had memorized every crease and fold. His eyes traced the lines without reading them. His thoughts were louder than the text.
I knew I was different. I knew I had no mana. But why… why does it hurt more here than it ever did at home?
Footsteps approached. He didn't look up, expecting another insult or cold glance.
But instead, a familiar voice spoke gently.
"Are you alright?" Reena stood beside him, clutching her satchel.
Ansel gave her a faint smile. "Everyone knows now."
She nodded, lowering her eyes. "I… I don't care what they say."
He looked at her.
"You should," he said. "You'll be mocked just for talking to me."
Reena shrugged. "Let them. I'm not strong like them either."
For the first time since arriving at Valeon, Ansel felt a flicker of warmth that didn't come from magic.
Not from power, prestige, or noble blood.
But from kindness.
Still, the storm of whispers would not end.
The professors had heard it. The seniors had judged it. And Ansel knew—this was only the beginning.