Morning arrived with a quiet kind of tension.
Not the loud, clashing tension of battle—but the precise, coiled kind that lived in small actions repeated too many times.
Lucas stood in the carriage hall, holding Dwayne's school bag.
He had already checked it.
Twice.
Now—
A third time.
"…Father," Dwayne said, watching him. "You have verified the contents at intervals of approximately ninety seconds. This suggests anxiety."
Lucas did not look up.
"I am ensuring efficiency."
He opened the bag again.
Inside: books, neatly aligned. A high-quality quill, balanced for grip. Ink, sealed properly.
And—
A small mana-stone.
Emergency use only.
Lucas adjusted it slightly.
Closed the bag.
"…It is sufficient," he said.
Dwayne took it.
"…Understood."
They arrived at Abrela Academy soon after.
And it—
Was not a school.
It was a statement.
Ivory gates rose like the ribs of some ancient, sleeping creature. Beyond them, towers spiraled into the sky, connected by arching bridges that shimmered faintly with mana threads. The entire structure seemed to hum—quietly alive, built atop a deep mana well that fed its existence.
Students moved through its grounds like streams of color.
And in front of it—
Dwayne looked very small.
Lucas stood beside him.
Still.
Composed.
Internally—
Disaster.
He looks like a small, scholarly bean.
The thought struck with unreasonable force.
If anyone makes him cry, I will raze this city.
"…Father," Dwayne said.
"Yes."
"The architectural symmetry of this gate is off by approximately 1.2 centimeters."
Lucas blinked.
"…It is aesthetically offensive."
Lucas looked at the gate.
Then back at Dwayne.
"…Noted."
A pause.
"…You will proceed."
Dwayne nodded.
Then walked forward.
Step by step.
Small figure.
Straight back.
Vanishing into a world that was far larger—and far less logical—than anything he had previously calculated.
Lucas remained where he was.
Watching.
Until the gates closed.
---
Classroom 1-A was… lively.
Children spoke over each other, laughter bouncing off the walls like erratic echoes. Chairs scraped. Papers rustled. A few students had already begun arguing about whose family crest was more impressive.
At the front stood their teacher.
A young noblewoman.
Trying very hard not to look overwhelmed.
"Alright, everyone," she said, clapping her hands lightly. "Let's begin introductions! Please tell us your name… and your dream."
Hands shot up immediately.
"I want to be a Dragon Slayer!"
"A Great Sage!"
"A Knight of the Royal Guard!"
Each declaration was met with enthusiastic nods, scattered applause, and wide-eyed admiration.
Then—
"Dwayne Grant."
Silence fell—not fully, but enough.
Dwayne stood.
Hands behind his back.
Posture straight.
"My objective," he began calmly, "is the optimization of the Orbia Kingdom's resource management system."
The teacher blinked.
"To decrease poverty-induced inefficiency by approximately fourteen percent within the next two decades."
Silence.
Complete.
Absolute.
A bird could have coughed and caused a crisis.
Dwayne sat down.
Waited.
Nothing happened.
No applause.
No nods.
Only—
Stares.
"…Did I miscalculate?" he murmured.
The teacher cleared her throat.
"Th-thank you, Dwayne. That was… very detailed."
"…It was concise."
"Yes. Of course."
Around him, children whispered.
"He's weird…"
"What's poverty?"
"Is that a sword technique?"
Dwayne looked forward.
Processing.
Conclusion—
Social feedback systems are inconsistent.
---
The "Nature Appreciation" break was, according to Dwayne, poorly named.
There was very little appreciation.
Mostly noise.
Children ran across the grass, chasing each other, climbing trees, or simply rolling for reasons that lacked any clear objective.
Dwayne sat beneath a tree.
Notebook open.
"…Photosynthesis rate varies based on leaf orientation…" he muttered, observing the angle of sunlight.
Peace.
At last—
"Waaahhh—!"
Noise.
Dwayne's pencil paused mid-calculation.
He turned his head.
A girl sat near a stone pathway, tears streaming down her face.
Bright hair. Small hands. Trembling shoulders.
"…Cause of distress?" Dwayne asked, approaching.
"My marble," she sniffled. "It fell in there—!"
She pointed.
A narrow crevice between stones.
Deep enough to trap.
Small enough to frustrate.
Dwayne crouched.
Analyzed.
"…Depth approximately seven centimeters. Retrieval possible."
The girl sniffled harder.
"I can't reach it—!"
"Crying is a sub-optimal use of oxygen," Dwayne said.
She blinked.
Mid-sob.
"…What?"
Dwayne picked up a nearby stick.
Inserted it into the crevice.
Applied pressure at a precise angle.
Lever principle.
Pop.
The marble rolled free.
He picked it up.
Held it out.
"Here is your sphere. Please cease the ocular leakage."
The girl stared at him.
Then at the marble.
Then—
Her face lit up.
"You got it!"
She grabbed it.
Beaming.
"You're like a grumpy little wizard!"
"…Incorrect."
"I like you!"
Dwayne froze.
Processing.
"I'm Lili!" she continued cheerfully. "Lili Hughes!"
"…Dwayne Grant."
She nodded enthusiastically.
"Okay, Dwayne! I'll be your friend!"
"…Why?"
"Because you helped me!"
"That was logical."
"That was nice," Lili corrected.
Dwayne paused.
"…Define difference."
Lili grabbed his sleeve.
"You think too much! Come on!"
"I do not—"
Too late.
He was being pulled.
Across the grass.
Into chaos.
---
Lili sat beside him.
Too close.
Energy radiating like a small sun.
"Here!" she said, holding out half a sandwich. "You can have this!"
Dwayne looked at it.
Analyzed.
"…Contents?"
"Ham. Cheese. Love."
"…'Love' is not a measurable ingredient."
Lili giggled.
"Just eat it!"
Dwayne hesitated.
Then—
"…Caloric intake appears sufficient."
He took a bite.
Paused.
"…Acceptable."
Lili beamed.
"See? You just need to try things!"
Dwayne chewed slowly.
"…This does not invalidate my previous calculations."
"Still counts!"
She leaned closer.
"I'll protect your feelings, okay?"
"…My feelings do not require protection."
"They do now!" she declared proudly.
Dwayne stared forward.
Conclusion—
I have acquired a persistent variable.
---
The training grounds smelled of dust and determination.
Children lined up, each holding a wooden practice sword.
Dwayne held his.
Light.
Unnecessary.
Across from him—
Elton Ren.
Steady stance. Focused eyes. No wasted movement.
A different kind of child.
"Begin!"
Elton moved first.
Fast.
Precise.
Dwayne did not move.
He watched.
Angles.
Velocity.
Trajectory.
In his mind, the world shifted—
Vectors.
Lines.
Predictions.
Too much forward momentum.
Center of gravity unstable.
Timing window: 0.3 seconds.
Elton lunged.
At the last possible moment—
Dwayne stepped two inches to the left.
That was all.
Elton's strike missed.
His balance faltered.
He tripped.
Fell.
Dust rising.
Silence.
Dwayne looked down at him.
"Your center of gravity was shifted fifteen degrees too far forward," he said calmly.
Elton blinked.
Then—
Slowly—
He smiled.
"…Do it again."
Dwayne tilted his head.
"…Why?"
"I want to learn that."
A pause.
"…Acceptable."
A second variable.
Less loud.
More dangerous.
---
The carriage waited.
Lucas sat inside, holding a map.
Upside down.
"…You have returned," he said as Dwayne climbed in.
"Yes."
A pause.
Lucas lowered the map slightly.
"…Did you acquire any assets today?"
Dwayne sat across from him.
"…I have been marked."
Lucas's eyes sharpened.
"By whom?"
"A 'Lili,'" Dwayne said, "who emits high-frequency noises and insists on protecting non-existent emotional vulnerabilities."
Lucas remained silent.
"And an 'Elton,' who lacks gravitational stability but demonstrates adaptive learning patterns."
A beat.
"…They are inefficient."
Lucas lifted his map again.
Hid his face.
For a moment—
A small, dangerous curve touched his lips.
"Inefficiency," he said calmly, "is the hallmark of friendship, Dwayne."
Dwayne frowned.
"…That is illogical."
"Yes."
Lucas glanced at him.
"…Get used to it."
The carriage moved.
And inside it—
A boy with too much logic.
And a Duke with too many thoughts—
Began adjusting to a world neither of them could fully control.