"That concludes today's lesson."
Bahil ended the class without ceremony.
The lecture hall emptied in waves, the noise fading as students filed out one by one. Once the room was finally quiet, Bahil leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, as if slipping into meditation.
"P-Professor?"
A timid female student had approached the podium.
"I have a question about today's less—"
"Just a moment."
Bahil raised one hand, palm outward, his eyes still shut.
"Come to my office after all classes are over. I'll answer whatever you wish then."
"R-Really? Th-Thank you so much!"
Delight crept into her voice. She bowed hastily and hurried out of the room, barely containing her excitement.
Bahil opened his eyes. Half-lidded. Cold.
His gaze followed her retreating figure.
I need to restrain myself.
He nearly cursed aloud.
This lingering sensation.
This aftertaste.
He refused to waste it on something so shallow. So cheap.
Bahil closed his eyes once more, letting his thoughts return to the class.
First… Simon Polentia.
A complete amateur.
No prior experience with curses—something that had been painfully obvious the moment the boy tried to cast even a basic exhaustion curse. He struggled. Hesitated. Nearly failed.
And yet…
With nothing more than a brief remark from Knox Aznable, Simon's eyes had changed.
As if a fog had lifted. As if understanding had struck him all at once.
And then—success.
A slow smile tugged at Bahil's lips.
A genius.
No, not merely talented. That kind of comprehension didn't come from practice alone.
A mind that grasps the essence. He must major in Curse Arts—no matter what it takes.
Whether they called it Curse Studies, Curselogy, or the academically correct Katarology was irrelevant. What mattered was that Simon belonged there.
Bahil took a slow breath in, then out, steadying himself before his thoughts shifted again.
And then… him.
Knox Aznable. The White Devil.
His endurance. His casting speed. His foundation. His raw physical ability.
Everything exceeded expectation.
No—everything crushed it. Absolutely remarkable.
Bahil's fingers curled slightly against the armrest.
I have to make him major in Curse Arts. There was no debate. No alternative.
But then—
The problem is…
He had heard the reports. Knox rarely relied on curses during his years as a bounty hunter.
Damn it.
Bahil ground his teeth. Such potential, yet unclaimed.
Deep within him, something stirred. A desire far too sharp to be called academic interest.
After Curse Studies, the classes that followed were a string of pleasant diversions for Knox—and pure hardship for Simon.
Second period was Holy Defense Studies. Third was Hematology. In both classes, the professors wasted no time calling Knox and Simon—the joint special entry number one—to the front of the room for evaluation.
It was an annual tradition. At Kizen, competition didn't stop with students. Professors competed just as fiercely.
Those with poor results could be dismissed mid-semester. Salaries rose and fell based on performance, and influence within the academy was never guaranteed. Authority had to be earned—and constantly defended.
That was why professors were obsessed with securing talent. The more exceptional students they could claim under their discipline, the stronger their standing became. Personal disciples weren't just pupils; they were proof.
As part of that unspoken battle, professors always tested top-ranked students during the very first class.
Naturally, Knox and Simon were summoned.
In both subjects, their opponent was the same person.
Meilyn Villenne.
One of the top students in Class A—and even among the entire first-year cohort, her entrance score ranked near the very top. If written exams alone were considered, she might as well have been the academy's number one.
Simon never stood a chance.
He had only just begun learning dark magic, let alone the advanced applications required to keep up with someone like Meilyn.
Knox, however, was a different matter.
Leaving Simon's results aside, Knox defeated her in every evaluation.
Practical applications. Combat simulations. Even theoretical exchanges.
Especially theory.
When Knox explained certain principles—or calmly answered questions the professors threw at him—Meilyn froze more than once. Her breath caught. Her eyes widened. At one point, she simply stared at him, mouth slightly open.
She had always taken pride in her intellect.
She believed that, at the very least, no one could overwhelm her in knowledge.
Reality disagreed. Reality was neither kind nor fair.
By the end of the evaluations, the contrast was impossible to ignore.
From the same special entry number one designation came two entirely different results.
Knox delivered performances that met expectations—or surpassed them with ease.
Simon delivered results that were… unexpected, but not in the way people had initially assumed.
And so, among the professors—and quietly, among the students of Class A as well—a realization began to take shape.
Simon Polentia was a beginner.
And standing beside him was someone who was his complete opposite.
Knox Aznable. A monster. A genius.
"Huuuuh…" Simon let out a long, exhausted sigh.
Just like that, he and Knox had pushed through all the way to the third class without a single break. Thankfully, the next lecture ended a little early, finally giving him some breathing room.
Simon was slumped over a table in the otherwise empty snack bar.
Across from him sat Knox—relaxed. No, more than that. He looked like he was enjoying himself. He was casually munching on a cream-filled bread, one Simon didn't even remember buying. Or seeing.
"Munch, munch." Knox tilted his head. "What's wrong, Simon? You look like an old man who just came back from working at a black company."
Simon lifted his face just enough to glare at him.
"No, no. I'm not that bad, okay?!" he muttered. "And why do you sound like you know way too much about black companies?"
Knox laughed softly. "Hehe. Anyway—yeah, the classes were rough for you." He took another bite. "But you can't deny they were fun too, right?"
"…That's true," Simon admitted after a pause. "They're fun. Just insanely tough."
He hadn't expected school life at Kizen to be this demanding.
"Hey."
As Simon was still catching his breath—and Knox had somehow finished his bread and also managed to conjure a glass of iced tea from nowhere—a voice interrupted them.
They looked up. A short blond-haired boy stood there, sunglasses pushed up onto his forehead, grinning down at them like he'd found something interesting.
"Hello, joint special entry number one." He flashed a confident smile. "Same class as you. Name's Rick Hayward."
"…Simon Polentia," Simon replied, his tone flat from exhaustion.
Knox stood and offered his hand, his voice gentle, calm, and oddly bright.
"Hello~. I'm Knox Aznable. Just call me Knox."
Rick shook both their hands enthusiastically.
"Hehe. Of course I know about you, Knox!" Rick said. "If someone hasn't heard of you, they're probably a spy."
Rick laughed. Simon didn't. That single sentence pricked something in him.
Because truthfully—
Simon had never heard of Knox Aznable before coming here.
What he remembered instead were his parents' words. Praising some other kid his age.
"By the way," Rick added casually, "you two are already famous, you know. Even students from other classes are talking about you."
Simon shrugged. "They're probably saying one of the special entry number ones was just hype. Fragile like a bubble."
"Hahaha!" Rick burst out laughing and dropped into the seat across from him.
Knox glanced at Simon, amused. "Hey, calm down. Today was literally your first day dealing with this level of classes and theory. With how you held up, I'd say that was more than good enough."
"I agree," Rick nodded. "And speaking of rumors—Knox, aren't you curious what people are saying about you?"
"Hm." Knox smiled lightly. "I can guess, but go ahead. Tell me~"
"Well," Rick said, grinning, "if I had to sum it up—genius, monster, and… 'Prince of Spring,' I guess?"
Simon laughed outright. Knox, meanwhile, twitched at the corner of his mouth.
"To be honest," Rick continued, sounding half amused and half exasperated, "it's only the first day and people are already making such a big deal out of it."
Then his expression shifted. He laced his fingers together.
"By the way—did you know? Hector's already forming his own faction."
"…A faction?" Simon tilted his head.
Knox let out a quiet sneer.
"He's the eldest son of a powerful noble family," Rick explained. "Naturally popular among the other nobles. Well—excluding what happened in Curse Studies, where Knox practically toyed with him."
Simon rested his chin on his palm, unimpressed.
"Not interested."
"Heh." Knox smirked. "Lost badly, yet still acting like he's on top. Anyone watching would think he was the winner."
He waved it off. "Besides, I'm not interested in politics either. From where I'm standing, he's just a kid playing house."
"Hey, hey—don't underestimate it," Rick said quickly. "Politics matter at Kizen. If Class A falls completely under Hector's influence and he marks someone as an enemy, that person's done for. Even finding group project partners becomes a problem."
That got Simon's attention.
He straightened, then glanced at Knox and pointed at him.
"…Do you really think that's possible while this guy is around?"
Knox chuckled. "I won't deny politics have weight," he said calmly. "But at Kizen, strength ranks above politics."
His smile sharpened just a little. "If someone's 'politics' get in my way, I'll just destroy them."
Rick swallowed.
Then Knox looked at him.
"You seem pretty sharp about all this. So why aren't you siding with Hector?"
Rick scratched the side of his head and laughed awkwardly.
"Actually… I'm a commoner. Merchant family."
He stood and bowed properly.
"If a mere commoner has been rude, I humbly apologize, milord."
"…Don't do that," Simon said immediately. "I heard that at Kizen, we're all just first-years."
"Well," Knox added, tilting his head, "I'm a commoner too, though?"
Rick's eye twitched.
"Do you even realize," he said slowly, staring at Knox, "that with your strength and reputation, even nobles wouldn't dare touch you? Honestly, people would assume you're a noble just from your demeanor—your face, strength, fame, and wealth."
Then he shook his head and changed the subject.
"Anyway, Simon. I actually have a proposal for you."
Rick extended his hand.
"Join my faction."
"…?" Simon blinked.
"What about me?" Knox tilted his head slightly.
Rick sighed. "Knox, no one would dare recruit you without thinking twice. You're different. Commoner or not, everything about you already exceeds both commoners and nobles."
Before Rick could continue, Simon and Knox exchanged a brief glance.
Then Simon spoke first. He smiled gently.
"Forget factions."
"…?"
Simon took Rick's outstretched hand—not to accept it, but to shake it.
"How about we just be equal friends?"
Rick let out a hollow laugh. "…Wow. That sounds incredibly cheesy."
At Kizen, people talked about alliances, influence, and leverage—not friendship.
And yet—
"I agree," Knox said lightly. "Friends can still be connections. Just more trustworthy than some shallow faction or clique."
It was outdated. Corny. And strangely refreshing.
Rick tightened his grip and shook Simon's hand properly.
"…Sometimes, a bit of sentimentality isn't so bad."
Not long after, the three of them stood up. Time for the next class.
"What's our next subject again?" Simon asked.
"Hang on." Rick pulled out a notebook and flipped through it.
"Ah—Summonology."
Something lit up in Simon's eyes.
Knox noticed immediately.
"…Simon," he said with a teasing grin, "your eyes just lit up like a pervert. You might want to rein that in."
Simon's face flushed.
"W-What are you talking about?!"