Chapter 2: Valsington Institute
"On one hand, I recognize it as my own… and on the other, everything feels foreign," Beltrán murmured.
Two days had passed since his last breakthrough. Beltrán attempted to resume his reading, hoping to gain a deeper understanding of the nature of Prana. However, he quickly ran into a wall of knowledge, mostly due to his lack of clear concepts regarding certain words and terminologies used throughout the text. For that reason, he decided to postpone his reading until he could find material that would provide the assistance he needed.
This really makes me miss the internet—though 'miss' might not be the right word. A couple of hours would have saved me the time I've wasted over these past few days.
At that moment, Beltrán stood before a thick, full-length mirror in his room, doing something he had not dared to do until now, as his attention had been almost entirely focused on physical recovery. At last, Beltrán decided to examine himself.
With memories and sensations from another life lingering in his mind, he found it difficult to recognize himself. From time to time, the thought of inhabiting a body with entirely different features filled him with a quiet unease.
Beltrán had pale blond hair, straight and fine, and eyes of a color he had never thought possible—an indistinct shade of orange. His skin was fair, and as expected for a child his age, his build was slender.
He was currently eight years old, just three months away from turning nine. Slightly furrowing his brow, he removed the plain white shirt he commonly wore indoors, revealing a torso as pale as his face, though marked with faint scabs—wounds still in the process of healing. They no longer caused real pain, yet were uncomfortable to look at.
To think that children here undergo such strict training compared to that other world.
Thanks to his new memories, Beltrán understood basic concepts of ethics and morality as they were known in that other world. From a practical standpoint, he knew that world far surpassed this one, making the present reality feel like a fantasy penned by a seasoned author.
In this world, it was customary for the children of influential merchants and political figures—such as nobles—to attend academic institutions where they spent most of their day studying subjects far more advanced than those taught to common folk. In keeping with its medieval undertones, education and social classes were far more rigidly developed, prioritizing the early years of youth by providing them with foundational knowledge across a wide range of disciplines. While these did not compare to the achievements of the other world, they were nonetheless impressive.
For the privileged, subjects such as etiquette, ethical training, basic mathematics, languages, grammar, geography, and physical conditioning were considered essential. Some nobles preferred to hire private tutors, though this was understood to potentially foster antisocial behavior, making it an unpopular choice.
Who would've thought that after finishing university, I'd end up returning to an institute all over again…
Thoughts of schooling sent Beltrán's mind spinning. Just a day after his near-complete recovery, Eliette informed him that, following his father's instructions, he would need to return to the institute once the current Alba ended, so as not to fall behind. He found it amusing, recalling the sheer number of subjects he had already mastered in elementary school, middle school, high school, and university in his previous life.
Turning his gaze toward the window, Beltrán noticed the opaque mist slowly thinning as the days passed. Albas varied in nature and typically lasted less than three days, during which most people remained sheltered inside their homes.
Cities were equipped with protections against the adverse effects of the Albas, though Beltrán did not yet understand their exact nature and preferred not to inquire too deeply for the time being.
Sir Aliss… I wonder what my father intends by assigning one of his apprentice knights to stay with me.
Every respected noble possessed at least one personal knight or a group of squires. Sir Alissander was an apprentice knight, still in training, tasked with duties of lesser importance—yet he remained an extension of his father's eyes and ears.
Beltrán reflected on this for a long while, unable to uncover the true reason behind Sir Aliss's presence. The thought of being watched by an armed stranger filled him with unease, his neck tensing as darker thoughts crept in.
My stomach hurts… I'm still such a coward.
Disgusted with himself, he shook his head, trying to convince himself that if things were truly dangerous, his father would have sent someone far more threatening. For now, there was nothing he could do.
"The Alba has finally ended," Beltrán said quietly to himself as he looked out the window.
As the light filtered in, Beltrán realized that the waiting had finally ended the following morning. After spending five days bedridden and another three recovering almost completely, he estimated that his full recovery had taken just over a week.
His body felt much better now, and every trace of weakness had vanished. Without much reluctance, he began his day by getting out of bed, noticing that Eliette had left his academy uniform neatly arranged on the desk.
It's definitely a stark contrast to the uniforms used in schools back in that other world.
Having known the comfort of institutional clothing from his previous life, the elegant uniform felt somewhat restrictive. It consisted of a black shirt, a grayish vest, dark trousers, and brown boots suited for most terrains. Around his neck he wore a scarf, partially hidden beneath the shirt. The vest, tightened with corset-like straps at the back, forced him to maintain a straight posture.
Still… I have to admit it looks pretty good.
Watching himself in the mirror, Beltrán noticed how his silhouette was compelled into proper alignment. Even as a child, he sensed that he would grow up without the back problems he had suffered in his other life.
"Master Beltrán, please don't forget your books."
Eliette approached in a hurry, lightly lifting the edges of her skirt. Beltrán, already prepared to return to class, was standing just outside the residence when she handed him a leather bag filled with books and supplies.
"Thank you very much, Eliette."
She replied with a radiant smile. More often than not, she found ways to slip him extra snacks—a quiet expression of her affection.
And here ends the only good part of the day.
As he stepped outside, Beltrán saw Sir Aliss waiting beside a prepared carriage beyond the estate's metal gates. The creature pulling it immediately caught his attention.
It's strange how Sifralions share so many similarities with horses.
While absorbing his new memories, Beltrán had noticed countless differences between the two worlds. One of the most obvious was the existence of Sifralions—creatures similar to horses, yet far larger and stronger.
The Sifralion pulling the carriage was sturdy, its body covered in milky-white scales marked with pale blue patterns. Its mane seemed to swirl constantly, as though caught in an invisible gale. It was a Wind-Trotter, capable of using Prana to reduce air resistance and travel vast distances without tiring.
"Young Master Beltrán," Sir Aliss greeted him.
The knight had a stern face, striking despite the scar that crossed the bridge of his nose. His gray—almost white—eyes observed Beltrán with sharp intensity.
There's something unsettling about how deep his gaze is.
Sir Aliss opened the carriage door and took a seat across from Beltrán. Once the door closed, silence settled between them.
"From now on, I will be overseeing your progress at your father's request. I will pick you up after your classes to conduct an additional four hours of training," he said in a serious tone.
Beltrán feigned enthusiasm.
"I appreciate my father's concern. For how long?"
"The duration has not been determined. It will depend on your individual progress."
After a moment of thought, Beltrán asked with apparent innocence:
"Is there something my father is worried about?"
Sir Aliss studied him for a few seconds before turning his gaze toward the window.
"I truly do not know."
Beltrán frowned slightly.
He hesitated… or am I imagining things?
The rest of the journey passed in silence.
Upon arrival, Sir Aliss offered a brief farewell.
"Take care of your health, young master. I will be waiting for you once your academic activities conclude."
Beltrán stepped down from the carriage and looked up at the imposing structure before him.
I can't help being impressed by this place every single time.
Valsington Institute was a prestigious academy—vast, even larger than the university campus he remembered from his alternate life. It was located far from the city, forcing students to travel long distances each day.
The institute provided mandatory formal education, while the academy referred to specialized courses taken from the age of ten onward. Beltrán, at only eight years old, belonged to the former.
Large iron gates guarded the entrance. Beyond them stretched dark-toned Gothic buildings, manicured gardens, statues, and stone pathways.
Beltrán moved forward in awe as other students passed around him with rigid manners.
If I had to compare it to anything, it reminds me a lot of Germany—and Europe in general.
His thoughts were interrupted by hushed whispers.
"…did you hear what happened to…?"
"…Larson's toy is back…"
"…poor kid…"
A chill ran down his spine. Anxiety threatened to take hold, but he recalled techniques he had learned in his other life. He inhaled, held his breath, then exhaled, regaining control.
The theoretical classes won't be a problem… but when it comes to Prana and physical conditioning, I need to be ready.
Beltrán arrived at the building where students of his age attended classes. Standing before the entrance was a statue of a woman drawing a bow, her aim fixed upon the heavens. Like most of the institute's structures, the building had three floors and several classrooms. After identifying his own, he noted the sturdy dark-wood door, its number carved into the frame.
Let's just try to avoid trouble.
Upon entering, he found a spacious classroom with rows of benches arranged in ascending sections, much like an auditorium. The teacher's area was elevated, allowing everyone to hear without difficulty.
"Well, well… look who finally showed up. What's wrong, did you recover from your little illness already? Princess."
Beltrán heard the remark coming from a group of five boys seated in the upper rows. Ignoring them, he moved toward the lower seats, doing his best to remain calm.
"Is he really ignoring us? Who does he think he is?" the murmurs continued, deliberately loud.
One of the boys jumped down from between the seats and approached him.
"Hey! Idiot! I'm talking to you, you bastard."
Beltrán's heart began to race. Anxiety threatened to overwhelm him, but he forced himself to stay composed.
This definitely won't be as easy as ignoring them.
Remembering his past, Beltrán understood how his former naïveté had been exploited. What had started as insults had escalated over time into shoves and blows.
Nothing will change if I don't do something about it.
He dropped his bag hard onto a bench, the dull thud making the aggressor halt. Turning around, Beltrán fixed him with a silent stare. The classroom fell quiet.
"What's wrong, Stuart? Weren't you going to teach him a lesson?" another boy shouted from the back.
Stuart frowned and stepped forward again—then noticed something off.
Beltrán took a couple of steps toward him.
Doubt crept into Stuart's mind. The boy everyone bullied suddenly felt… different.
"Not worth wasting energy on an idiot," Stuart muttered, feigning indifference as he returned to his group.
The reason was clear: Beltrán had pulled a short metal rod from his bag, no longer than his forearm. It wasn't lethal—but it would hurt. For a brief moment, Stuart understood the unspoken threat in Beltrán's eyes.
You want to attack me? Fine. Be ready to be attacked back.
Beltrán had anticipated something like this. The rod, taken from the garden, was easy to hide or discard. He had no intention of using it unless absolutely necessary, trusting that his classmates' pride would be enough to deter them.
Stuart returned to his friends, visibly unsettled.
"What's wrong with you, Stuart?" one of them asked.
"Nothing…"
Stuart recalled the furious look on his older brother's face just before beating him. He had seen that same expression in Beltrán—no fear, no tears, only restrained anger.
He decided not to confront him directly again, limiting himself to insults from a distance.
Not long after, the teacher arrived: a man nearing sixty, with square glasses, white hair, and a matching beard. For four hours, he taught grammar, writing, and basic knowledge.
Beltrán struggled to stay awake. What once required effort now felt trivial.
Damn it… now I feel kind of empty without a phone.
During the lesson, a few students threw crumpled papers and small pebbles at his back. This time, it was merely irritating.
When the four hours ended, the students were given a half-hour break to eat.
Beltrán stood and stepped into the hallway, feeling eyes on him and hearing whispered comments. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his thoughts.
"So it's true what they said… Aren't you looking for a bit of protection? I see plenty of people picking on you, and it bothers me. How about a little help?"
Beltrán turned to see an older boy, his features more developed, with blue eyes and wavy brown hair.
He knew him well.
Noah Gibraltan—eleven or twelve years old, charismatic, influential… and the true origin of Beltrán's personal hell.
Noah Gibraltan stood before Beltrán with a calm smile and a relaxed posture, as if the scene he had just witnessed were nothing more than mild entertainment. His presence was imposing in a way entirely different from Stuart's—not through direct violence, but through the confidence with which he moved among the other students.
"You don't have to go through this alone," Noah continued in a gentle voice. "There are people in this academy who know how to recognize talent… and protect it."
Beltrán watched him carefully. He knew those kinds of words well; they were the opening notes of a much longer tune. Noah was not someone who offered help without expecting something in return.
"I appreciate the concern," Beltrán replied with measured courtesy, "but I can manage on my own."
Noah's smile widened just slightly, as though he had anticipated that answer.
"Of course, of course," he said, raising his hands placatingly. "I just thought you might need someone to keep things in order. Around here, things work better when you know who you support… and who supports you."
Silence stretched between them for a few seconds. In the distance, laughter and footsteps echoed from other students making the most of their break.
Beltrán understood the game. Noah was no savior; he was a social predator. He offered protection in exchange for submission, weaving networks of influence from an early age.
"I'll keep it in mind," Beltrán said at last.
Noah inclined his head slightly, satisfied.
"I'm glad to hear that," he replied before turning away. "We'll be seeing each other soon, Beltrán."
When Noah walked off, Beltrán released the breath he had been holding.
So that's the real problem…
Noah Gibraltan didn't need to dirty his hands. A single word from him was enough to set others in motion. Stuart and the rest were nothing more than pieces on his board.
The break ended, and students began to return to their classrooms. Beltrán lingered in the hallway for a few moments longer, organizing his thoughts.
Just enduring won't be enough. If I want to survive here… I'll have to learn how to play.
With steady steps, he returned to the classroom. The afternoon passed without major incident, though the tension never fully faded. Every glance, every whisper now carried new meaning.
When classes ended, Beltrán left the building to find the carriage waiting. Sir Aliss stood beside the door, as straight and imperturbable as ever.
"How was your first day back?" the knight asked.
Beltrán hesitated for only a moment before answering.
"Enlightening," he said at last.
Sir Aliss nodded, asking for no further details.
During the ride back, Beltrán watched the landscape drift by. The training that awaited him would be harsh—but it wasn't what troubled him most.
The institute was not merely a place of learning.
It was a battlefield.
And Beltrán had just taken his first conscious step onto it.