Chapter One – This Pitiful Young Man
In my city, Atlas, known for hosting the Celibro Academy—one of the most elite academies for teaching arts, spirituality, and incantations—in the center of the academy's great hall, a large number of attending students were present.
The air was thick with the scent of old parchment, polished wood, and the faint, metallic tang of latent magic.
All of them were sitting on chairs.
The chairs, ornate and high-backed, creaked under the slightest shift in weight.
Every single one of them was looking at one person.
A collective, heavy silence pressed down, broken only by the distant rustle of academic robes from the corridors beyond.
This person was a young man with white hair and red eyes.
His hair was like spun moonlight, stark against the deep burgundy of the hall's tapestries, and his eyes glowed with the unsettling hue of fresh blood or smoldering coals.
He was known to be one of the sons of the Felix family, a family famous for its spiritual arts.
The Felix name hung in the air, a weight of expectation and legacy.
He was notorious for being the family's disgrace.
The word "disgrace" seemed to whisper from the very walls, echoed in the sidelong glances of his peers.
But, to the exploitation of everyone, he was now standing on the podium.
The podium was carved from dark obsidian, veined with threads of gold that caught the light from the crystal chandeliers above with a soft gleam.
He had, in a way no one understood, achieved first place.
A collective, incredulous inhale swept through the room, a sound like a gust of wind through dry leaves.
With his red eyes, he looked at them all.
His gaze swept across the sea of faces, not with pride, but with a cold, detached assessment that felt more invasive than any glare.
The situation was strange for them.
There was a pressure around him that rendered them unable to speak.
It was a palpable force, a stifling aura that made throats constrict and tongues feel heavy.
Then the young man said, "Pitiful."
The word dropped into the silence like a stone into a still pond, its ripples visible in the widening of eyes and the sharp intake of breaths.
And before he could say anything else, he had already turned away.
The swish of his academy robe, a finer fabric than most deserved, was audibly crisp.
And this word was all he wanted to say.
In the end, when he descended from the hall after a few seconds, everyone regained their consciousness.
It was as if a spell had broken; a unified blink, a shudder that ran through the crowd.
Then they all became enraged.
They shouted with all their anger towards the young man, their voices erupting in a chaotic, dissonant chorus that bounced off the vaulted ceiling.
"Who do you think you are? Just a disgrace!"
A boy with spiky blue hair slammed his fist on his armrest with a solid thump.
"Do you think you'll remain in first place, you fool? We'll make you regret those words!"
A girl with fiery red curls hissed, her nails scraping against the wood of her chair with a faint scritch.
"What an arrogant bastard! I'll make him pay the price!"
A tall, muscular youth cracked his knuckles, the sound a series of sharp pops in the tumult.
All these voices were heard in the hall.
The cacophony was deafening, a wall of sound built on resentment and wounded pride.
And after the entrance ceremony concluded, the students began to leave the hall one by one.
Chairs scraped backward in unison, a harsh symphony of screeches and groans.
Gradually, they went to their private rooms.
In one of the rooms, written on it was "First Place Holder."
The plaque on the door was polished brass, gleaming with a cold, impersonal shine.
It was a spacious room suitable for several people at the same time.
The door opened with a satisfying click and a soft whoosh of air.
But it was made for only one person.
The emptiness of it felt deliberate, a luxurious isolation.
It was crafted professionally with gold and red colors simultaneously.
The gold was gaudy in its brightness, the red deep and velvety, like congealed wine. They clashed in a display of opulence that lacked taste.
There was a wide bed, a study desk, and a bookshelf containing many books written on them: "Advanced Incantations."
The books sat perfectly aligned, their spines un-cracked, looking more for show than use.
At the same time, on one of the luxurious seats, the white-haired young man was holding his hair and thinking about one thing.
He slumped into the plush armchair, which emitted a soft, sighing whump.
His fingers tightened in his pale strands, pulling slightly.
"How did all this happen?"
His voice was a low mutter, lost in the vastness of the room.
"How could I end up in this place, and how could all this occur?"
He let go of his hair, his hand falling to the armrest with a dull tap.
"Am I truly crazy, or is the world crazy?"
He stared at the intricate pattern on the ceiling, his red eyes unfocused.
"The truth is, I wasn't from this world. I used to live on planet Earth."
A bitter, humorless smile touched his lips.
"But when I died in an accident, I transferred to this world."
He leaned his head back, the leather of the chair creaking softly.
"In the beginning, I transferred to a young man named (Leon de Felix), son of the Felix family."
He said the name as if tasting something foreign.
"He is the third son, also known as the disgrace—a person devoid of talent in spiritual arts or their specialized techniques."
He gestured vaguely, his hand cutting through the air with a soft swish.
"He was merely a disgrace to the family."
His fist clenched slowly, the fabric of his pants rustling.
"But for (Leon)—or (Jung-won) in his previous life—living in a luxurious palace, even with a lot of contempt, was simply a very enjoyable thing."
His expression softened momentarily, remembering a life of simple, passive comforts.
"He wanted to spend his entire life using this life, even though his family always despised and constantly insulted him."
A shadow crossed his face.
"Yet, they provided a lot of money."
He traced the gilded edge of the side table with a fingertip.
"He could buy anything he wanted and obtain anything he desired as well."
"Therefore, at the beginning of the transfer process, he was very happy."
He let out a short, sharp laugh that echoed hollowly.
"In this wonderful beginning..."
His smile vanished.
"But the thing that surprised him afterward... the family head summoned him and said,"
He imitated a deep, authoritative voice, dripping with condescension.
"'I will send you to Celibro Academy. You must obtain a good rank, or you will be expelled from the family.'"
He repeated the words exactly as he heard them, each one a heavy stone dropped into the pit of his stomach.
"At the same moment (Leon) heard these words, he was struck with astonishment."
He mimed a stunned expression, mouth slightly agape.
"And in the end, he was dismissed from the room."
He waved a hand in a gesture of dismissal.
"(Leon) stood there, staring at the wall for a full hour."
The only sound was the steady tick-tock of an ornate clock on the mantelpiece, marking the passage of his paralysis.
"Finally, one idea occurred to him, and he began to smile."
The smile that spread on his face now was wide, cunning, and full of self-congratulation.
"'Right, why didn't I think of that before?'"
He clapped his hands together once, a single, sharp clap.
"'Why don't I just run away from this family? Since they all look at me with contempt...'"
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the plan taking vivid shape in his mind.
"'I can simply take some money that I will receive from the family after going to the academy.'"
He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, the universal sign for cash.
"'And in the entrance exam...'"
His eyes glittered with malicious glee.
"'All I have to do is fail. And my very, very weak talent will make failing the tests very easy, won't it?'"
He nodded to himself, the motion firm and decisive.
"After thinking of such a genius plan, he couldn't help but praise himself."
He let out a low chuckle, a sound of pure smug satisfaction that filled the empty room.
"And therefore, in the following days, he requested from the family to give him a lot of money."
He mimed writing a request, his hand moving with quick, greedy strokes.
"Which, after obtaining, he placed in an external account."
He made a motion of tucking something safely away.
"'So that when I am expelled, I can go and benefit from that money, leave the family, and not care about it anymore.'"
He stretched his arms out wide, as if embracing a future of freedom.
"'And I will be able to live the luxurious life I've always desired.'"
A dreamy sigh escaped him.
"In the following days, all he did was sit, lie down, and read fantasy novels."
He gestured to a small, disorganized pile of well-worn paperbacks by the bed, the only personal touch in the room.
"Until the day came to go to the academy."
He stood up abruptly, the chair rolling back with a squeaking rrrrrip.
"A transport vehicle driver, which was an advanced car capable of flying by itself, took him there."
He recalled the smooth, silent ascent, the city shrinking below through the window.
"That driver dropped him off directly at the academy's main gate."
"(Leon) looked at it and was dazzled."
His eyes went wide momentarily, remembering the imposing spires, the shimmering magical barriers, the sheer scale of it.
"But he quickly shook his head."
He shook his head now, a quick, dismissive motion.
"Because he didn't care."
"'Soon, I will be out of this academy anyway... Damn it, I don't even want to enter it.'"
He muttered the words with a sneer.
"Finally, he smiled with one smile and entered the exam gate with the rest of the students."
The smile was a mask of false confidence, a performance for an audience he despised.
"There, he saw many people who possessed great talent."
His eyes scanned an imaginary crowd, narrowing at each display.
"Some of them could summon fire and ice, and some could even manipulate gravity."
He waved a hand, mimicking a grand, useless gesture.
"Therefore, he was certain he would fail the first test for sure..."
A firm nod, sealing his own fate.
"So, he entered feeling at ease, even smiling."
The smile felt plastered on his face, a grimace of anticipated relief.
"Of course, he didn't care that some were looking at him."
He could feel the phantom stares prickling on his skin.
"Some of them knew the rumors surrounding him."
Whispers seemed to ghost past his ears.
"But after looking at him smiling, they began to doubt the matter."
He saw their confused expressions, their suspicious glances.
"But in the end, he didn't talk to anyone."
He kept his head high, his gaze distant, a perfect portrait of aloofness.
"And at the beginning of the first test, which was headed by a man in his forties..."
He described the man with detached precision.
"Who had long hair, a short beard, wore glasses, and his name was (Mile)."
"'Your test is to enter this maze. Those who fail will be eliminated from the test.'"
(Mile)'s voice was calm, authoritative, echoing in the large antechamber.
"For (Leon), who heard this, he imagined the matter and how this test worked."
(Leon)'s mind raced, constructing a flawless plan for failure.
"He simply believed this test required a person to use spiritual sensing—an ability possessed by those with talent in using spiritual arts to find the way."
He nodded sagely to himself, a scholar of his own doom.
"With these thoughts in his head, (Leon) smiled and said with disdain in his mind,"
"'Could I possibly pass such a test that only the talented can pass?'"
The internal voice was thick with sarcasm.
"He continued his thoughts, saying, 'That's absolutely impossible!'"
A final, mental pronouncement.
"Therefore, after Professor (Mile) asked who wished to enter, (Leon) raised his hand coolly."
His hand shot up, straight and confident, fingers perfectly aligned.
"'I will go, Professor.'"
The words were clear, ringing with a false bravado.
(Mile) was surprised by these words, in addition to the rest of the students.
(Mile)'s glasses glinted as his eyebrows rose. A murmur, like disturbed bees, rose from the crowd.
"But in the end, (Mile) smiled. What he told (Leon): 'Please, enter through this door.'"
(Mile) gestured to a simple, dark wooden door that hadn't been there a moment before. It swung inward silently.
"With bravery that appeared to the eyes..."
(Leon) squared his shoulders, took a deep, dramatic breath.
"But the truth was, this was (Leon)'s nature—to enjoy his loss and exit from this place, and obtain the money he wanted to get to live a life of luxury in the future."
He rubbed his hands together in greedy anticipation, the sound a soft, dry shush-shush.
"'Is this the shape of the maze?'"
He stepped through the door, and the world changed. The antechamber vanished, replaced by endless, high walls of shimmering, opaque energy. His voice was a quiet question, laced with mock awe.
"With a light question, he looked at the paths that seemed endless."
The paths stretched before him, branching, twisting, a kaleidoscope of dead ends and illusions. A smile appeared on his face.
A wide, genuine, relieved smile.
"'This is how it should be. A failure like me could never possibly get through this place.'"
He let out a happy sigh, the tension draining from his body.
"'So, what do I have to do to fail, for hell's sake?'"
He tapped his chin, playing the part of a deep thinker.
"'Since I can't risk going forward or going back...'"
He took one tentative step forward, then quickly shuffled back, his boots scuffing on the ethereal, non-existent ground with a faint shuff.
"'As in fantasy stories that say the best way to get out of a maze is to go back the same way...'"
He snorted derisively.
"'Then what I have to do is stay still here.'"
He decided. It was a brilliant, flawless decision.
He lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged right at the entrance. The "ground" felt strangely firm yet insubstantial.
"'Therefore, with the persistence of reality, I will definitely fail this way.'"
He nodded, supremely satisfied with his impeccable logic. He closed his eyes, a picture of serene acceptance of his impending, desired failure. The only sound was his own steady breathing and the faint, almost imperceptible hum of the magical maze around him, waiting.
He sat.
And he waited for his glorious,profitable defeat.
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Thank you for reading, dear readers! Your time in this maze of words is appreciated.
❤️ (From the Author with a smile)
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