'Great. I forgot this was a school and I can't drink here.'
Ren tried to steady his breathing as the cool air hit his face. In his previous life, a few drinks were a standard way to numb the pain of his failing body, but in this world, he was a sixteen-year-old student at a prestigious academy. If the faculty caught a whiff of the expensive liquor on his breath, his survival plan would end before the first week was over.
Professor Vane stood in the center of the grassy training field, her eyes scanning the students with predatory precision. She didn't waste time with pleasantries.
"The foundation of all combat magic is the projection of internal mana into an elemental form," she announced. "Today, you will practice the Fireball. It is a basic spell, yet most of you will fail because you lack focus. You will work in pairs. Seniors have been brought in to oversee the newcomers and prevent you from blowing your own hands off."
She began rattling off names. Pairs of students moved to their designated stone pedestals. Ren stayed at the back, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible while the world did a slow tilt every time he blinked.
"Finally," Professor Vane said, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "Cyprian Gaunt. You will be paired with Lyra Thorne."
A young woman stepped forward from the line of upperclassmen. She was eighteen, a third-year student with long, obsidian-black hair that reached her waist and eyes that seemed to hold a permanent, amused spark. She moved with a grace that suggested she was used to being the center of attention.
Ren felt heat rise to his face as she approached. She was undeniably beautiful, but there was a sharpness to her that made him feel like a rabbit under the gaze of a hawk.
"So, you're the famous Gaunt heir," Lyra said, stopping just inches from him. She tilted her head, her nose wrinkling slightly as she leaned in. "Wait. You're drunk, aren't you? At this hour? On the first day?"
Ren didn't look away, leaning back slightly against the pedestal. "The air was a bit too clear today. I thought I'd add some flavor to the morning."
Lyra let out a short, soft laugh. "You've got nerve, I'll give you that. Most freshmen are shaking in their boots, and you're walking around like you own the cellar. Let's see if you can actually cast anything in that state."
She stepped behind him, her presence suddenly overwhelming. Before Ren could move, she reached around, her hands sliding over his to guide his arms into the correct position. Her chest pressed lightly against his back, and the scent of jasmine and burnt ozone filled his senses.
"Focus," she whispered near his ear. "Stop thinking about the bottle and start thinking about the friction of the mana in your palms. If you mess up the circulation now, the backlash will hurt more than any hangover."
Ren felt the warmth of her hands on his. Her grip was firm and surprisingly steady. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the proximity and the way his heart was suddenly thumping for reasons that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He pushed his mana outward, feeling the raw energy struggle against his low stats.
Under Lyra's guidance, a small, flickering orb of orange flame sparked into existence between his palms. It wasn't powerful, but it was stable.
"Not bad for a drunkard," she teased, her voice low. She didn't pull her hands away immediately, letting the warmth of the spell linger between them for a moment longer than necessary before finally stepping back. "Keep that focus, Gaunt. You might actually survive the month."
Class ended shortly after. Ren walked back toward the main building, his head finally starting to clear as the adrenaline of the magic practice wore off. He was crossing the central hallway when he spotted a familiar head of messy black hair.
Leo, the protagonist, was walking alone, staring down at his bruised hands. The fight from earlier had clearly weighed on him.
Ren slowed his pace as they passed each other. He didn't stop, but he spoke loud enough for the boy to hear.
"The form was sloppy, but the intent was there. Practice. Keep practicing until the sword feels lighter than your pride."
Leo stopped in his tracks, looking back at Ren with a bewildered expression. "What? Who... thanks?"
Ren didn't look back. He just kept walking, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
'He's got a long way to go. If he doesn't get stronger, I'm as good as dead.'