The hallways of the Royal Academy felt undeniably majestic. Tall walls rose high, lined with polished white marble that gleamed beneath the sunlight streaming through vast, arched windows. Every step echoed faintly, as if the building itself wished to remind its students of the weight of history it carried.
The very foundation of its design drew from the grandeur of old imperial architecture—symmetrical columns, domed ceilings, and a perfection that left no room for flaw. Well, it made sense. With nobles and royals alike walking these halls, appearances had to be flawless.
As I walked through the hall toward my class, streams of students passed by. Some faces I recognized; others blurred into the sea of uniforms. A few greeted me along the way—polite nods, casual remarks about the weekend, the usual meaningless chatter. I returned their greetings in kind. That's what you do. Keep it simple. Keep it civil.
Before long, I reached my destination: the first-year classroom, the so-called Phoenix Nest. Yes, that's really the name they decided on. Someone probably thought it sounded grand and inspiring. Personally, I found it a bit overdramatic.
Stepping inside, the sheer size struck me once again. The room was massive—built to hold not dozens but hundreds. Rows of desks fanned outward like an arena, each polished surface waiting for its occupant.
The academy's system was as straightforward as it was ambitious. Students were divided by the path they intended to pursue: Warriors who trained with swords, spears, bows, daggers—whatever weapon suited their hands. Mages, channeling power through staffs and arcane theory. Support classes too—healers who kept people alive, alchemists who dabbled with concoctions and catalysts. A neat little web of professions to fit us all into tidy categories.
As for me, I fall under the category of the warrior type, and I've already told you, my main weapon of choice is the spear. Our classes are usually separated based on the curriculum we choose, but some subjects overlap.
The first class today happens to be Mana Theory, a foundation course that's both compulsory and necessary. After all, whether you're a warrior who fights with a blade, a mage wielding a staff, or one of those bookish types who rely on runes and formulas, everything begins with the fundamentals of controlling mana. Without that base, you're nothing but dead weight swinging wood and steel around.
Honestly, I feel a little cheated. I was transmigrated into this world far too late to enjoy the early "fun" parts of the academy life—the entrance examinations, the grand orientation, the excitement of experiencing a first class.
All of that had already happened. The boy who originally lived in this body, Evan, already went through those moments. From the memories I've inherited, he even did fairly well—holding a solid position in both academics and class rank. In other words, he left me with a decent reputation to coast on.
I was lost in these thoughts as I made my way toward my seat when a familiar voice called out.
"Evan! Evan, hey, buddy! What's up?"
I looked up, startled out of my thoughts. Standing there was a boy around my age, with short blue hair and striking blue eyes—one of my acquaintances. Or perhaps calling him a friend would be more accurate.
"Hello, Ryan. You're quite energetic today," I greeted, offering a faint smile.
"Well, duh. That's just me." He grinned widely before tilting his head at me. "By the way, I've been calling you for a while now. But you looked like you were completely lost in your head. Something on your mind?"
"None, actually. Just… simple thinking," I replied casually.
"Oh really?" Ryan's grin widened as if he'd just thought of something mischievous. "Don't tell me—you were daydreaming about your fiancée again, huh? I bet the date went well. Nobody dared to interfere, right?"
"The meet-up was good," I admitted, trying to sound nonchalant. "But that wasn't what was on my mind."
"Oh really? Or are you just too embarrassed to admit it?" Ryan smirked knowingly. "Either way, man, you didn't even contact us the whole weekend. Looks like you've already forgotten about your friends now that you've got the girl."
"That's not it, man. I've been busy with my estate work, okay."
"Yep, yep. Totally believe you," Ryan said, clearly not buying it.
I sighed. "Seriously."
He smirked. "Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that."
"Well anyway, where are the others? Didn't see them on the way."
"Hmmm… mostly late, or probably skipping. You know them, right? They think the basics are for the immature who didn't get to learn early, or just toss the usual excuse—'this class is beneath them.'"
"Same as ever, huh. Probably get in trouble later. What about you? Not joining them? Trying to play the ideal student now?"
"Nah man, I just came so you wouldn't have to feel lonely."
"Fuck off, you gay freak."
"Oi, don't call it that, asshole. Call it love."
"Same shit either way."
"You—"
"Well, moving on… did you save us some seats while you were here?"
"Yeah, yeah, I did. So our shit of a young master doesn't have to feel inconvenienced."
"Good work, my humble servant. You can suck my dick as a reward."
"Now who's the gay one, fucker?"
"Obviously you. Well, anyway, I'm taking the window seat—you'll be the one left behind."
"Tsk. Always grabbing the good stuff for yourself. Selfish bastard, like usual."
A quiet chuckle escaped me as I dropped into the seat, Ryan sliding into the one right behind me.
Ryan's one of the few friends I'd put in the "decent" category. Can't say the same for the others. He comes from the Count of Sterling, a house famous for their sea coast and cruises. Second son. Always bitching about the expectations dumped on him—same as his older brother.
Maybe that's why he drifted into our little group of misfits. Friends, but not too close. He keeps his distance, and maybe that's why he tolerates me. We're alike, but not entirely.
"Why are you staring at me so long?
Don't tell me you're falling for my charm."
"Go look in a mirror and then say that again, bitch."
"Then stop staring and losing yourself in thoughts, you whore—"
But before Ryan could finish his sentence, the door creaked open and the teacher walked in.
He looked to be in his late forties, with a thick frame of glasses perched on his nose. His gaze carried the weight of experience, and his presence alone was enough to mark him as the quintessential lecturer.
"Well, take your seats. The class is about to begin," he said, and that was all it took for the scattered chatter to die down as students scrambled back to their places.
"I can see many of you still present here… and many who decided to skip. Either way, that's their choice."
He set a heavy, leather-bound book down on his desk with a soft thud.
"Okay, I assume you all enjoyed your weekend, had your fun. But the break's over—it's study time. Today, we'll start with the fundamentals of mana control."
With that, he turned to the blackboard, chalk in hand, and began the lecture in the old, classic way.
"As you're already aware, the fundamentals of control begin the moment you realize what you're trying to control, and where you intend to lead that control.
For us, the matter is simple: the bond between mana and the body. When a person reaches a certain age—what I call the Age of Awakening—they feel mana for the first time. And no, it isn't some divine trumpet or angelic choir. It's… unsettling. Like stumbling upon something you never knew existed, yet was inside you all along. Some describe it as warmth. Others as pressure. A few unlucky ones as nausea."
He adjusted his glasses, scanning the room.
"Whatever it is, it's a feeling reserved only for the awakened. The unawakened, well—they can read all the books they want, but it'll still be like describing color to the blind."
He tapped the chalk once against the board.
"Now then. How do we control it? Most of you think: 'Through the mana core, of course!' And you wouldn't be wrong. But you wouldn't be entirely right either. The core is just the reservoir. The real trick lies in how mana flows through your veins. Think of it as water moving from high concentration to low—it will spread, with or without you.
Our job is not to merely sit back and let it slosh around. The true effectiveness lies in how well you understand your own body, your own mana pathways, and—dare I say it—your own stubbornness. Passion, as some of you romantics like to call it. Without that, you're just a leaky bucket with fancy wallpaper."
"Well, to truly grasp control, you must first understand how mana from your surroundings funnels into you—through your core, like a sieve straining out the grit. The purer the flow, the steadier your control. From the core, it moves to your body, and from there... well, it's up to how you actually choose to use it.
And yes, before anyone asks, this is where most people mess it up—because half of you still think mana just magically behaves if you glare at it hard enough."
The lecture began to find its rhythm after that. The professor droned on, chalk squeaking across the board, while our pens scratched notes in uneven lines.
The first day had officially begun.