Max let out a quiet sigh as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. The warmth from the call still lingered, but now reality settled in—he needed to eat, or else he’d be hearing max mom’s voice ringing in his ears for the rest of the night.

He stepped out of the training grounds, making his way toward the cafeteria. The halls were quieter now, save for the occasional group of students chatting as they passed by. When he finally reached the cafeteria doors and stepped inside, the noise hit him all at once.

‘So this is where everyone is… ‘ Max thought, scanning the packed room.

The large space was filled with students sitting in groups, laughing, talking, and eating together. Some sat alone, absorbed in their meals or staring at their phones, while others stood near the counters, waiting for their orders. The low hum of conversation mixed with the clinking of trays and the distant whirring of kitchen appliances.

Max's gaze drifted toward the long, winding line leading up to the food counter. He barely held back a groan.

‘Do I really wanna wait in a line that long…?’

His stomach made the decision for him with a low, uncomfortable growl.

‘Yeah, I do. Max's mom was scary enough on the phone. Or well… I guess my mom…?’

His thoughts faltered for a second as the weight of his situation resurfaced. A mother who had no idea she wasn’t actually talking to her original son. The thought unsettled him, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

‘This is confusing…’

Shaking off the thought, Max exhaled and stepped into line, resigning himself to the wait.

…

Max found himself at a crossroads as he inched closer to the front of the line. It was only now, standing before the massive menu screen, that he realized something troubling—he had no idea what to order.

His eyes scanned the glowing display, filled with dishes that looked as foreign to him as the world itself.

‘Groom Root Stew… Voidberry Tart… Shadowfinn Eel…’

Max furrowed his brows. ‘What the hell are these things?’

He had read the novel. He had lived in this world for a little while now. But food? This part had never been important enough to be described.

Before he could think too much about it, he was suddenly at the front of the line.

"Next," the cafeteria worker called out, looking at him expectantly.

Max blinked, realizing he was holding up the line.

“Oh… uh…” He quickly glanced back up at the menu, searching for something—anything—that looked remotely familiar. His gaze darted over the exotic and bizarre-sounding meals until he spotted two words that felt like a beacon of hope.

"Can I get… a grilled cheese?"

It was the first item he actually recognized, and he latched onto it like a lifeline.

The cafeteria worker gave him a bored nod, tapping at the screen. "Yeah, sure. Go wait by the counter."

Relieved, Max exhaled and stepped aside, making his way over to where the finished orders were being placed. He could feel a few impatient students behind him shaking their heads, but he ignored them

…

Max paid for his meal and left the cafeteria, carefully balancing his tray as he stepped outside. The evening air was crisp, a gentle breeze carrying the distant chatter of students who had chosen to eat outdoors. Lanterns lined the walkways, casting a warm glow over the stone-paved courtyard.

He scanned the area, looking for a quiet place to sit. Most of the tables were occupied with groups of students chatting and laughing, but in the farthest corner of the outdoor seating area, he spotted it—a single-seat table, tucked away from the main crowd.

‘Perfect.’

Max made his way over and set his tray down, settling into the chair with a sigh. The solitude was welcome. He unwrapped his grilled cheese and took a bite.

His eyes widened.

‘Oh my god.’

The moment the sandwich hit his tongue, an explosion of flavor overtook his senses. It wasn’t just good—it was unreal. The cheese was a perfect blend of multiple kinds, rich and gooey, stretching with every bite. The bread was toasted to golden perfection, crisp on the outside but soft enough inside to complement the melted cheese. It was buttery, warm, and just salty enough to make his taste buds sing.

‘This is divine. The gods themselves must have crafted this.’

Of course, it also helped that he hadn’t eaten much today. Hunger made everything taste better, but still—this was easily the best grilled cheese he’d ever had.

He leaned back in his chair, savoring the last few bites before finally finishing his meal.

‘Welp, I still got some time before bed… guess I’ll just train my daggers again. I’m still a pretty long way from mastery.’

Max stretched his arms before standing up, tossing his trash into a nearby bin. The meal had refueled him just enough—he wasn’t exhausted, and his body still had energy to burn. It was better to train now than lie in bed restless.

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The walk back to the training ground was quieter than earlier. Most students had either retired to their dorms or were still hanging around the cafeteria, enjoying their free time. The campus lights illuminated the pathways, casting long shadows across the polished pavement.

As Max stepped into the training hall, the distinct whoosh of a blade cutting through the air caught his attention.

‘Collin.’

Inside, Collin was practicing his sword swings against one of the reinforced training dummies. His movements were precise, fluid, and controlled. Each strike carried power, but there was no wasted energy. The sword moved as if it were an extension of his body, slicing through the air with an effortless grace that only came from discipline and experience.

Max watched for a moment, observing the way Collin reset his stance after every swing, his breathing measured, his focus unwavering.

‘Man, I wonder how much money it costs for those dummies… or for any of these facilities. Nexus Academy is stacked.’

His eyes drifted to the walls, lined with various types of training equipment—automated dummies, weight stations, and even magical reinforcement barriers for high-level sparring.

‘At least a trillion crowns for everything, right?’

He shook his head, pulling out his daggers.

Without another thought, he moved to his own corner of the training ground, ready to get to work.

…

Isabell let out a quiet sigh as she rubbed her temples. Today had been exhausting—back-to-back meetings, paperwork, and administrative nonsense that kept her from actually doing what she enjoyed: teaching.

She had been on her way to retire for the night when she happened to pass by the training hall. Out of habit, she glanced through the window, expecting an empty room. Instead, she saw Collin, diligently practicing his swordsmanship.

Her steps slowed.

The way he moved, his form precise and controlled, was almost hypnotic. The blade glided through the air in perfect arcs, his stance resetting with each swing. It was clear he had put in the time—his technique was clean, his movements efficient.

‘At least someone is putting in the effort,’ she thought with a small, approving nod.

Curious, she pulled out her tablet and stepped inside. The soft hum of the training hall greeted her, the air thick with the faint scent of metal and sweat.

Then, she noticed another figure.

Her eyes flicked to the far side of the room, where another student was training—or at least, appeared to be training.

It was him.

That same student from earlier. The one she had kept an eye on during dagger training.

Maximus Augustus.

At first glance, it looked like he was working on his weapon technique—but then she realized something.

He was doing the exact same thing he had been doing during class.

Pulling out his daggers.

Putting them back.

Pulling them out.

Putting them back.

Over and over again.

A puzzled frown crossed her face.

‘Why is he still doing that?’

Isabell shook her head, watching him for a few moments longer.

Isabell watched as Collin turned toward her, wiping sweat from his brow. His breathing was steady, but the slight rise and fall of his chest told her he had been at this for a while.

"Miss Isabell, what are you doing here?" Collin asked, his tone laced with mild surprise.

She smirked, tilting her head slightly. "Well, I am a teacher, so I can be here whenever I want," she teased.

Collin looked confused.

"I’d like for you to stop practicing on dummies for now," she said, her tone more serious.

"Huh? Sorry?" Collin blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Why?"

Isabell tapped a few times on her tablet before turning it around for him to see. The screen was filled with data—graphs, percentages, and intricate numbers tracking his movements in real-time.

"Your hand-eye coordination needs work," she explained, zooming in on a particular stat. "Right now, your body isn’t keeping up with what your brain is telling it to do. You’re only landing 70% of your intended strikes."

Collin’s lips parted slightly. "Only 70%?"

Isabell nodded. "If your opponent was moving—if they were fast, unpredictable—you’d be missing a lot more than that." She crossed her arms. "You’ve got the fundamentals down, but your reactions need sharpening."

She turned and pointed toward a door on the far side of the training hall. "You should use the gravity room instead. It'll force your reflexes to improve and help your brain sync up with your body."

Collin followed her gaze, nodding slowly as he processed her words. Then, a small smile formed on his lips.

"Alright, thanks for the advice," he said, rolling his shoulders before making his way toward the gravity room.

Isabell watched him go, satisfied. At least one of her students was taking her words to heart.

But as she turned back around, her eyes landed once again on Max, still standing in the corner, still drawing and sheathing his daggers.

Isabell’s sharp voice cut through the training ground like a blade.

“Hey! Stop!”

Max froze, his grip tightening around his daggers. His body went rigid, and for a brief second, his mind raced in panic. He turned his head hesitantly, his green eyes locking onto the approaching figure. The moment he recognized her—a teacher—his dread intensified.

‘Rule 2… Rule 2… ‘ Max’s thoughts scrambled.

Isabell’s gaze swept over him as she closed the distance, taking in the details for the first time. He had chocolate-brown hair, bright green eyes that seemed both sharp and cautious, and a face that—if she was being honest—was a little too nice-looking for someone so... hopeless.

She crossed her arms. “Maximus… What are you doing?”

Max hesitated. “M-Max is fine…”

“Alright, Max,” she repeated, tilting her head. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Training…” he answered, though even he knew how weak that sounded.

Isabell sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That is not training. I could walk into a first-grade classroom at Valthesis and find kids doing the same thing.” She gestured to him. “Aimlessly pulling out your daggers isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

Max frowned slightly. “Well… I struggle to pull out my blades in time, so I’m trying to fix that.”

For a moment, Isabell just stared.

What?

Did she hear that right?

‘How do you even make a mistake like that?’ she thought, utterly baffled. ‘A stupid mistake like that… and this guy is enrolled at Nexus?’

An awkward silence stretched between them.

Isabell exhaled through her nose, then spoke in a flatter tone. “Just get a bigger scabbard so you don’t have to reach so far to grab them.”

Max blinked. “Alright…”

That was it? He just accepted that advice and moved on?

Isabell felt a migraine coming on. This kid was seriously testing her patience.

Deciding it wasn’t worth the energy, she turned away, waving a lazy hand over her shoulder.

Before leaving, she glanced back one last time—just in time to see him go right back to pulling out his daggers the same way.

Her eye twitched.

‘He’s hopeless.’

Shaking her head, she muttered under her breath, “If that’s what you wanna do, I won’t force you. My job is to guide students, not drag them forward when they ignore me.”

With that, Isabell added Max to her Hopeless List and walked off, already regretting spending even this much time on him.