[Meridian Academy]
Meridian Academy stood as one of the most prestigious magical institutions in the country, renowned for its unique educational philosophy that seamlessly blended traditional academics with intensive magical training. Unlike conventional schools that focused exclusively on either mundane subjects or magical development, Meridian Academy dared to be different by offering comprehensive education that prepared students for the complex realities of their magical world.
The academy's impressive campus sprawled across several acres, featuring towering spires embedded with mana crystals that glowed softly throughout the day, casting ethereal light across meticulously maintained gardens where students often practiced their abilities between classes.
The academy operated on a distinctive three-year system, with each academic year divided into four specialized classes: A, B, C, and the coveted Special Class. Classes B and C concentrated primarily on fundamental education—mathematics, sciences, literature, and history—providing students with the academic foundation necessary for any career path. Class A focused intensively on magical theory, practical spellcasting, card awakening techniques, and combat applications. However, it was the Special Class that truly embodied Meridian's innovative approach, combining both academic rigor and magical training for students ambitious enough to master both disciplines simultaneously.
This unconventional system had initially faced criticism from educational traditionalists who argued that splitting focus would weaken both aspects of education, but over the years, graduates from Meridian's Special Class had consistently outperformed their peers from other institutions, becoming diplomats, researchers, magical theorists, and innovators who could navigate both the intellectual and magical aspects of their society with equal expertise.
**[Class 3 Special Class]**
The morning sun filtered through tall windows as a young man who appeared no older than eighteen stood before an elegant whiteboard, carefully inscribing elegant elven script with practiced precision. His silver hair caught the light as he worked, and his green eyes held the focused intensity of someone who genuinely cared about his subject matter. The texts where inscribed into English alphabets for easier pronunciation while the main symbols were written by the side.
The classroom itself was spacious and well-appointed, with desks arranged in neat rows and magical lighting that adjusted automatically to provide optimal reading conditions. However, his concentration was abruptly shattered by persistent chatter emanating from the back corner of the classroom.
Elias paused mid-sentence, his brow furrowing with familiar frustration as he recognized the source of the disruption. Turning around with practiced patience wearing thin, he confirmed what he already knew—it was Jason, as usual. The young man was leaning back in his chair with characteristic nonchalance, seemingly oblivious to the disruption he was causing.
Jason was undeniably one of the most gifted students in the Special Class, excelling both academically and magically. His test scores consistently ranked in the top three, and his card abilities showed remarkable potential for future development. Unfortunately, his character left much to be desired. He possessed an almost pathological disrespect for authority figures and carried himself with the insufferable arrogance of someone who believed the world revolved around his existence.
"Jason," Elias said, his voice carrying the strained patience of someone who had repeated this scenario countless times, "if you feel confident that you've already mastered elven linguistics, then you're perfectly welcome to excuse yourself from class rather than disrupting everyone else's learning. Consider this your final warning."
He punctuated his statement by adjusting his glasses with his index finger—a nervous habit he'd developed since beginning his teaching career. Jason responded with nothing more than a casual laugh, the kind of dismissive chuckle that made Elias's jaw clench involuntarily.
"Look around, Elias," Jason said with theatrical gestures toward his classmates, "absolutely nobody here actually cares about linguistics, especially some dead elven language that went out of practical use centuries ago!"
The casual use of his first name sent a surge of irritation through Elias. This job, while offering manageable compensation and relative stability for someone his age, certainly didn't provide adequate compensation for dealing with students like Jason on a daily basis.
"That's Mr. Elias to you—" he began, but Jason smoothly interrupted him with practiced ease.
"Come on, bro," Jason said with that same infuriating laugh, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he watched Elias's composure crack slightly. "You're literally only one year older than most of us, and some students are actually the exact same age as you. You can't seriously expect us to use formal titles like we're addressing some ancient professor!"
Jason wasn't inherently malicious or genuinely delinquent in nature. He simply found immense entertainment in pushing Elias's buttons, viewing their interactions as a source of daily amusement rather than respecting the legitimate teacher-student dynamic. To Jason, Elias represented an easy target—someone close enough in age to feel like a peer, yet forced into an authority role that seemed almost comical given the circumstances.
However, Elias had reached his breaking point. Jason's casual observation stung precisely because it contained an uncomfortable grain of truth. It had been merely one year since Elias himself had graduated from high school, and only this month marked his official beginning as a faculty member at Meridian Academy. Earning genuine respect from students who viewed him as barely older than themselves had proven more challenging than any magical theory he'd ever studied.
"Age is irrelevant to this discussion," Elias said, his voice taking on a harder edge as he fought to maintain professional composure. "What matters is that within this institution's established system, there exists a clear hierarchy and specific protocols that must be followed. The simple fact that I hold the position of instructor while you remain a student is sufficient reason for you to demonstrate the basic respect that any teacher deserves. Make one more inappropriate comment, and you'll find yourself failing my subject."
He turned back toward the blackboard with forced calmness, hoping his ultimatum would finally end this daily routine. Jason recognized this particular threat as one Elias actually meant—it was the only disciplinary measure that had ever successfully kept him in check, at least temporarily.
But today felt different somehow. Perhaps emboldened by the approaching weekend, or maybe just unable to resist one final jab, Jason decided to push just a little further.
"If you really think about it objectively," he said with casual cruelty, "those formal protocols become pretty meaningless when you consider actual strength and capability. In this world, only true strength and wealth mattered after all. I mean, the only thing you really bring to the table is language diversity. Beyond that linguistic party trick, you're basically—"
"That's enough, Jason!"
The sharp interruption came from the corner of the classroom, causing every head to turn toward the source. The voice belonged to Jessica, Jason's twin sister, whose hazel eyes flashed with genuine anger at her brother's behavior. Unlike Jason's casual cruelty, Jessica had always treated Elias with appropriate respect, even admiration.
In fact, Jason stood alone in his disrespectful treatment of their young instructor. The rest of Class 3 Special genuinely respected Elias, impressed by his achievement of securing a teaching position at such a prestigious institution at barely eighteen years old. Many students found his youth and relatability refreshing compared to the stern, decades-older professors who dominated most of their other classes.
Jason shrugged dismissively at his sister's intervention, but when he turned back to observe Elias's reaction, something unexpected stopped him cold. The teacher's expression held emotions Jason had never witnessed before—this wasn't the usual frustration or professional annoyance that typically followed their exchanges.
For the first time, the classroom saw Elias not as their composed young instructor, but as exactly what he was: a teenager barely older than themselves, struggling to maintain authority while nursing deeper wounds than anyone had realized. His face reflected something far more profound than anger or irritation—perhaps sadness, regret, or the weight of dreams that had never materialized.
In their world where power and wealth determined social standing, Elias possessed neither in meaningful quantities. He had convinced himself that he'd made peace with his destiny as an educator, but Jason's carelessly cruel words had torn open old wounds that had never properly healed. Memories surfaced of his late mother's stories about her adventures as a dungeon raider, fighting monsters and exploring dangerous territories. Those tales had shaped his childhood dreams of becoming strong, of following in her heroic footsteps.
The feeling that washed over him defied simple description—a complex mixture of lost hope, resigned acceptance, and the sharp ache of dreams abandoned. Only when he felt moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes did he snap back to the present moment, realizing that his professional facade had completely crumbled in front of his students.
"Study the material I've written on the board," he said quietly, his voice lacking its usual authoritative tone. "We'll continue from this point tomorrow."
Without meeting anyone's gaze, Elias walked out of the classroom, leaving behind a silence that felt heavy with unspoken regret and collective guilt.
Jason sat frozen, feeling the accusatory stares of his classmates boring into him from every direction. This wasn't how their usual routine was supposed to play out. His teasing had always been harmless before—why had today been different? For the first time since he'd begun his campaign of casual disrespect, Jason felt genuine guilt settling in his stomach like a cold stone.
He looked up to find Jessica standing directly in front of his desk, her hazel eyes colder than he'd ever seen them.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded, her voice shaking with suppressed fury. "Stop acting like a complete fool when it comes to Mr. Elias! You might not value his classes, but the rest of us actually need what he's teaching. Setting aside basic student-teacher respect, what you said was absolutely disgusting. You'd better apologize the next time you see him!"
Without waiting for his response, Jessica stormed out of the classroom, undoubtedly intending to find Elias and apologize on behalf of her brother's inexcusable behavior.
The truth was that Jason didn't hate Elias at all. In fact, Elias had become his favorite instructor precisely because of his youth and relatability. Jason had simply developed a completely wrong-headed way of expressing that favoritism. He had genuinely intended to lighten the atmosphere, noticing how desperately Elias worked to secure his position and maintain authority despite being barely older than his students.
But now, sitting in the oppressive silence of the classroom while his classmates continued to stare at him with disappointment and disgust, Jason finally understood that his misguided attempts at casual friendship had been perceived as nothing more than cruelty.