The soft hum of chatter filled the classroom as more and more students began pouring in. The seats slowly filled, each with faces that carried either excitement, nervousness, or the sleepy calm of those who hadn't quite adjusted to academy mornings yet. The air smelled faintly of new wood and clean parchment — a scent that mixed strangely well with the faint hum of mana running through the walls.
Ethan leaned back slightly in his seat, resting his chin on one hand while his eyes scanned the room. Beside him, Elara chatted softly with Amanda, while Cole was busy sketching something in his notebook.
The empty seat next to Ethan didn't remain empty for long. A boy with silver hair and narrow blue eyes walked in. He seemed quiet, his movements smooth and calm, his uniform perfectly in place.
Without saying a word, he gave a small nod to Ethan before sitting down. Ethan replied with a light nod of acknowledgment — nothing more.
The atmosphere was light, filled with the quiet buzz of dozens of young voices. Then suddenly, the classroom door slid open, and silence spread like a wave. Every head turned toward the front.
She entered gracefully — Mrs. Darcy, the biology instructor and their class teacher.
She looked to be in her early thirties, yet her presence carried both elegance and quiet confidence.
Her hair was chestnut brown, tied neatly into a low ponytail that brushed against her shoulders. Her eyes were a deep hazel, calm but sharp, reflecting both kindness and intellect.
She wore the standard instructor's uniform — a black coat with silver lining, a white undershirt, and a pendant bearing the academy's emblem.
But more than her attire, it was her natural charm that caught everyone's attention.
As she stepped in, her soft heels clicked against the floor. The boys in the class — especially those in the back rows — couldn't help but stare. A few straightened their posture instantly.
A whisper or two traveled through the rows, quickly hushed by the sudden awareness that their teacher had noticed.
Ethan watched silently, remembering all too well. She hasn't changed… even in this life.
In his previous life, Mrs. Darcy had been one of the most admired teachers in the academy. Her lectures were known for being both fascinating and demanding. Half of the boys had crushed on her, and the other half respected her intellect. Some — like Ethan — had done both, though now, his gaze held no such emotion, only calm curiosity.
Mrs. Darcy reached the teacher's desk, placing a small digital notebook on it. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft — like velvet, yet carried a quiet authority that filled the room.
"Good morning, students."
Her tone was gentle, almost melodic, but it carried easily through the classroom.
"Welcome to your first class of the semester. My name is Mrs. Darcy Varnen, and I'll be teaching you Biology. You may call me Mrs. Darcy. I'll also be your class teacher for this semester."
A small murmur spread through the students — some surprised, some excited.
She smiled faintly, the corners of her lips curving with ease. "I can already see some curious faces. That's good — curiosity is the first sign of a bright mind."
As she turned toward the smart board, it shimmered with a faint blue glow. She raised her hand, tracing a slow motion in the air. The board responded instantly — lines of light spread out like veins, and in seconds, a 3D holographic image appeared in front of the class.
It was the figure of a human body, transparent and glowing in soft blue light, rotating slowly. The heart area pulsed faintly — a green orb of light visible in the center.
Gasps of awe filled the room. Even Amanda and Elara leaned slightly forward, their eyes wide with fascination.
"This," Mrs. Darcy began softly, "is the most important discovery in the last thousand years — the Fragment Core."
She pointed to the glowing green sphere near the heart area.
"In ancient times, humans were fragile. We relied purely on physical strength, intelligence, and tools. But through evolution — or perhaps adaptation to the fragment energy that enveloped the world — the human body developed a new organ, right here."
The orb on the hologram pulsed brighter.
"This organ, known as the Fragment Core, became the bridge between our body and the fragments that surround the world. It allows us to absorb, synchronize, and channel fragment energy safely."
She waved her hand again, and the hologram split into smaller projections — one showing blood flow, one showing nerve lines, and another showing faint streams of energy moving through them.
"You see, fragment energy travels through our body much like blood does. It flows through vein-like channels, reaching every limb. But to control it, synchronization must occur.
Synchronization happens when your core and fragment energy pulse in the same rhythm."
Her voice was calm and patient, carrying the tone of someone who truly loved to teach.
"However," she continued, "the synchronization rate differs from person to person. Some can handle high fragment input easily — these are usually our elite fragment wielders. Others need training and focus. Pushing your core beyond its limit can lead to rupture — and in rare cases, complete disintegration of the fragment itself."
The students listened in silence. Some wrote notes quickly, while others simply stared at the glowing human form as if hypnotized.
Mrs. Darcy smiled faintly again. "Don't worry, we'll study each process step by step. For now, I want you all to remember — your fragment isn't just a power. It's part of you. Treat it carelessly, and you harm yourself. Treat it with understanding, and it will grow with you."
Her words hung softly in the air, like a calm melody that lingered long after she finished speaking.
As she turned the projection off, the room was silent. The hologram flickered, fading back into the board.
Finally the lecture ended and Mrs. Darcy's calm voice trailed off, a collective sigh spread through the classroom. The students leaned back in their seats, exhausted yet fascinated. The 45-minute lecture had been intense — dense with new terms and theories about the fragment core — and even the most enthusiastic learners looked drained.
Elara stretched her arms with a soft groan, "That was… a lot."
Amanda nodded beside her. "I thought biology would be easy. Guess not."
Ethan simply gave a small smile, tapping his pen on the desk. "That was the simplest lecture you'll ever hear from her."
Cole let out a soft laugh. "Well, that's comforting."
A faint chime echoed through the speakers — the signal for a 15-minute break. Students immediately started talking again, some pulling out snacks, others whispering about Mrs. Darcy's beauty or the strange concept of fragment veins. The once-still classroom became alive again, filled with soft murmurs and laughter.
But the moment didn't last long. As the clock on the wall ticked closer to 11:00 AM, the chatter slowly faded on its own. A presence — quiet yet commanding — entered the room.
The door slid open and in stepped Mr. Kaashi Kinto, the professor for Advanced Mathematics.
He was an elderly man, probably in his sixties, with short gray hair, a thin mustache, and sharp brown eyes that gleamed behind his glasses. His uniform was crisp, his coat neatly buttoned, and though his posture showed age, there was an undeniable authority in his stride.
Without saying a word, he walked straight to the podium, adjusted his glasses, and gave a single nod. "Good morning, students," he said, his voice firm yet calm. "I am Professor Kaashi Kinto, and I'll be teaching you Advanced Mathematics."
There was something about his tone — a mix of precision and quiet discipline — that instantly drew attention.
He placed a digital notebook on the podium and turned toward the class. "Tell me," he began, "how many of you have heard about the Indo-Crane War of 3127?"
Dozens of hands shot up. A few students murmured quietly, some visibly excited at the mention of the legendary event.
"Good," the old man said with a slight smile. "Then you must know that only one hundred humans fought against a thousand sapiens, all elite rank."
He paused, his gaze scanning the class. "And yet they won, can anyone tell me how was it possible"
A student sitting in the front raised his hand. "Wasn't it because of Grandmaster Rin, sir? The one who had the Dragon Sword and a mysterious fragment?"
Professor Kaashi nodded slowly. "That's right. Grandmaster Rin played an important role." He adjusted his glasses again and leaned forward slightly. "But let me ask you something — how could one man, no matter how powerful, lead a hundred to victory against a thousand?"
The same student hesitated, then shrugged. "I… I guess no one really knows, sir."
Mr. Kaashi smiled faintly. "That's because the answer isn't found in heroism… it's found in calculation."
The class went silent.
He lifted a digital pen and drew on the smart board — complex symbols, numbers, and energy graphs appeared instantly. "It wasn't raw power that won that war. It was mathematics. The ability to predict enemy movement, measure fragment energy output, and calculate attack timing. Every strike, every defense, every coordinated formation — all were calculated precisely."
He turned back to the class, his eyes sharp. "That, students, is the true essence of math here. Not numbers on paper — but real combat calculation."
He tapped the board lightly, and it displayed energy diagrams of fragment output. "When you attack, there's an energy value. When you defend, there's resistance. The difference between those two decides victory. Understanding the equation behind power — that's what separates heroes from amateurs."
A quiet murmur spread through the room. Even those who usually disliked math leaned forward, intrigued.
Mr. Kaashi gave a small, knowing smile. "So," he said finally, "for this semester, we'll study the calculations of battle formations, energy distribution, and Dominion amplification. If biology teaches you how your core works, mathematics will teach you how to use it effectively."
The room fell completely silent. His words lingered — crisp, powerful, and strangely thrilling.
Ethan watched him with interest, his eyes thoughtful. So it begins again, he thought. The same lessons… but maybe this time, I can truly master them.