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Silence.

Nothing but quiet ticking as the clock in the background diligently completed another revolution. There in this spacious office room, lined with objects of interest and artifacts of power, two individuals sat across from each other – one, a grizzled white haired elder, and the other his opposite, a teenager less than half the other’s age.

The elder kept his gaze on the other, his face never shifting from its stony countenance. He hadn’t yet spoken a word in the fifteen minutes both had been present in the room together, still searching for the sentences that would not only convey his disapproval to the youngster, but also befit his official role as Headmaster.

The younger male didn’t say a word, simply choosing to let the senior take his time. First impressions mattered, right? (Yes, he was well aware that they’d met before; but if the idea was that he was supposed to have lost all his prior memories, that would basically be the same, no?)

Therefore, it stood to reason that it wouldn’t reflect well on himself if he decided to choose this moment to break the elder’s train of thought… especially after what he had done in class today. As such, the boy simply tapped his fingers on his thigh idly, as he waited for the lecture to begin.

Finally, the old man broke the silence.

“So,” the Headmaster began, stern and serious. “If I’m not mistaken, it has been five days since you’ve been discharged, hasn’t it? I must apologise for not having been there to greet you when you’ve returned to your studies. As you can guess, the deluge of paperwork never ends when you’re running an Academy. How have you been, young Ting Ren? Have you been coping well with the loss of your memories? I’ve let your teachers know to give you extra attention.”

“Oh, fine, really. Real good. Been coping well and all that. Although,” Zachary said airily. “That isn’t what we’re here to discuss – is it?”

“No. No, I suppose it isn’t.” The Headmaster replied gravely. Bending over and pulling open a drawer by the side of his desk to retrieve a small stack of pages, he placed them on his desk. With a bit of shuffling through to get them in order, he settled on one of the pages and turned it over, rotating it such that it now faced Zachary. Zachary looked over bemusedly at the Headmaster, who then gestured for him to read it with the nod of his head.

Zachary read what was written there.

Incident Report: Unauthorised Escalation of Magic Usage during Sparring Session; Altercation resulting in Severe Injury

Haha; oops.

“Now, young Ting Ren.” The Headmaster started. “Care to explain why an amnesiac like yourself managed to get into a fight with your classmate?”

~

“The rule of magic is a rule of law.

To respect the strong, and protect the weak.

Absolute obedience; without flaw.

And you shall have the power you seek.”

You have gained access to: Intermediate Magic Grimoire, Level 1

Class System unlocked.

“Fireball, Class One.”

A miniscule flame leapt into being, expanding on the palm of Zachary’s open hand. He closed his fist, the sphere of fire extinguishing immediately.

Zachary frowned, his brow furrowed under a golden Mask as he sat there on his dorm bed, legs crossed. He’d read the book that was given to him to re-acclimatize him to the school curriculum. Most of the reading was the different types of spells they would be teaching and their intricacies, but the very first page was emblazoned with a short poem along with an instruction to recite it clearly, so as to unlock the magic system they would be using in class on a daily basis.

“This isn’t right.”

Yes, it wasn’t – it was too easy.

Magic wasn’t supposed to be like this – not the magic he knew. Where were the blood sacrifices, and meditation requirements? Where was the huge mana drain in exchange for becoming fluent in the arcane arts? Where was the “oh, you have to be half-submerged in sanctified liquid mana to learn this particular version of Teleport; otherwise you melt into a small red puddle on the floor”?

Which to be fair, was a good thing; he didn’t exactly want to cram for hours learning the ropes of a conjuration system that might end up being weaker than a Mask he might face. This didn’t feel anything like a Skill Acquisition Condition – what kind of SAC gave you full access to the spell system right from the get-go?! The game balance would be seriously messed up – no such thing as a free lunch and all that.

Which speaking of… sounded like this could be a trap of some kind by the Mask thief.

Hmm. Well, I don’t feel anything different. I can check, I guess.

“Mask of Lies.”

Name:

Zachary Altair (hidden) Ting Ren (Edit)

Race:

Human (Edit)

Level:

12 (Edit)

HP:

857/857 (Edit)

MP:

490/523 (+1/5.7s) (Edit)

Attributes:

LVL

STR:

7 (Edit)

DEF:

23 (Edit)

INT:

32 (Edit)

SPD:

17 (Edit)

LUK:

15 (Edit)

Skills:

LVL

Mask Generation

- (Edit)

Profile Swap (5/5)

- (Edit)

Intermediate Magic Grimoire

1 (Edit)

Endurance Mastery

4 (Edit)

There’s nothing wrong I can see about the stat distribution; doesn’t seem to be much off with the mana regen rate… no status effects either. Maybe this world just has a really efficient system?

Zachary gave up worrying.

“Well, that’s fine. Not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. It’s going to take me a while to root out the Mask thief; any time savings that I can scrounge up are well appreciated. Plus – no associated mana cost, no complicated additional steps; with such an easy SAC, probably could pop it on a few of my other future Masks for a little boost.”

He clapped the book shut and plucked the Mask from his face, stashing both underneath his mattress. It was about time, anyways. He didn’t count the past four days as actual magic training, not really. Most of it was memorising mana costs and range limitations, or workouts at the school field to strengthen one’s body against physical assaults – all foundational stuff.

Today was different from all that. Today Zachary was actually looking forward to going to class.

Today was sparring day.

~

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Ok, everyone, settle down. I know it’s a drag, but we have to do this safety briefing before every practical session. So just settle down, and I’ll go through the safety plans.”

The teacher’s droning went ignored by most of the class, save for a few goody-two-shoes that were sat near the front of the class. Zachary, of course, had secreted himself near the back.

That was where the troublemakers sat, after all – and where the gossip and rumour mill spun the quickest. Zachary would eavesdrop on the latest news and scribble down notes. And the teachers merely read from the textbook anyways, each and every one of them effectively mindless robots spitting out pre-recorded lines. What was there to learn if you had already gained the full range of spells to be taught?

They were pointless.

At most, they were there to wrangle the unruly kids and keep them from accidentally maiming each other with newly learnt spells – something that could equally be achieved by sticking a bit of tape over everyone’s mouths, which reinforced the pointlessness of their jobs.

“Hey, Ren,” Zachary turned to the classmate by his side, who seemed excited about something.

Wasn’t his name Ho Dan? No, Po Dan – that was it.

“Yeah?”

“You lost your memories, right? That’s what the teacher said? Like, complete blank?”

“…uh huh?” Zachary nodded cautiously. This was leading up to something. Good something, bad something, that was a separate matter.

Po Dan smirked, returning momentarily to snicker at something with the two lackeys that he was engaged in conversation with.

Zachary wasn’t completely dense; when he’d first returned, his classmates had crowded around him, clamouring around to offer the obligatory “welcome back!” or “ask me if you need anything!”

But a scant three days later, they’d all dispersed, none of them even saying a single word to him. Handouts were left wordlessly on the desk. He was the odd one out when the teacher called to split into groups. In afternoon jogs, there was a conspicuous gap of two feet both in front and behind Zachary.

This was more than just awkwardly avoiding the newcomer; even if he had lost his memories, Ting Ren should have known these people personally, formed connections. It was as if they were actively excluding him. For whatever reason, Zachary couldn’t imagine. Perhaps it was due to his family background, or his former self’s actions; that didn’t matter. It was difficult to break into established cliques this late in the game, not impossible, but not beneficial, either.

On the one hand, it would facilitate the search for the Mask. Having people that would feed you a constant stream of gathered information would be helpful. On the other hand… to get into the right crowd meant that you needed to demonstrate value; value that exceeded whatever it was that they were judging you by. For that to happen, he’d have to accumulate data on everyone, their likes, dislikes, their needs and wants.

Too much time wasted. Better to just listen in on conversations. These were kids, after all. They were always talking about the most exciting drama, the most compelling trends.

And there was no way the Mask wielder could resist standing out.

After a bit of murmuring and a few muffled chuckles later, Po Dan returned to Zachary, grinning.

“Hey, y’wanna spar with me later? I’ll show you something good.”

Now Zachary was intrigued. Showing often implied teaching, either voluntarily through instruction, or involuntarily through mimicry.

“Good? Like, good how? I’ve learnt – well, re-learnt – Classes One to Four for all the basic elements so far; do you mean like, a Class Five?”

“No,” Po Dan smiled slyly.

“Street Magic.”

~

Po Dan was… a normal student at Orth Academy.

Model student, even. He had worked hard to polish what he had learnt from the school, refining the casting forms, analysing potential battle scenarios, and tirelessly training in mock combat with his friends.

It wasn’t for nothing; his parents had drilled into him endlessly that this was for his own good. Eight of the ten in the Glint Order came from Orth, they would nag. You could be one of those eight, they would cry.

Make us proud.

He sacrificed everything; his time, his hobbies, his dreams. All for another crumb of recognition, another level of advancement. It was an inhuman amount of effort, hours of work stacked up painstakingly, bricks laid one by one on top of each other, solidly stacking up into a staircase which would lead to his ideal life.

And even then, with all that effort, all that grind, he was unable to graze the top of the school. His admission slip read #578. Orth Academy had twenty classes, and fifty five students per class. He was dead center; the proverbial small fish in a big pond. The very second he had entered Orth, his talents, his hard work; those were a given, the bare minimum. He wasn’t special anymore - every single student there had a similar story, all struggling and vying with one another for those prestigious seats in the highest authority of the land.

No matter, Po Dan thought smugly to himself. It’s still a possibility. First, I will exceed my classmates. I will climb with my own two hands, stepping over the weak and gaining the respect of the strong. I’ve already come this far with my own strength; I’m not going to give in this easily!

Day one of classes, he met Ting Ren.

The insurmountable wall that would dash his dreams forever.

His peer did everything effortlessly. Class Fives would flow from his fingertips without coaxing, even as Po Dan struggled to maintain a continuous casting of three Class Fours. Ting Ren’s mana pool seemed inexhaustible even in practical combat, handily beating five people in a row – Po Dan included.

How, those unspoken words were yelled in Po Dan’s mind.

How is he doing that?! Why can’t I do what he does?!

The teachers would gush over Ting Ren’s command of the Class System. Excellent mana control, one would go. Perfect spell-cost management, another would shout. He was like a brilliant, blinding light, drawing all the attention from the moths flitting about.

Day one at Orth Academy, Po Dan had already been forgotten.

He couldn’t take this lying down. His envy turned to jealousy. There had to be some trick, some cheat code Ting Ren was using. So during the day’s physical training, Po Dan had snuck off, lying about having to use the restroom. He returned to the classroom instead, heading straight for Ting Ren’s desk.

It has to be here, he repeated to himself, hands desperately digging through his classmate’s belongings. He was doing all those fantastic things in class; it has to be here.

All of a sudden, his hands stopped.

He had found something – not what he was looking for, but something that was very familiar to Po Dan; a slip of paper that he himself cherished very dearly.

The admissions slip that was handed to you on entry to Orth. It was the numerical value that you were given, quantifying your worth, your strength, who you were as a person. His hand slowly withdrew it from its forgotten place in Ting Ren’s backpack, squashed underneath study materials and pencil cases, bringing it into the light almost reverently to view the number written on its face.

Then, Po Dan dropped it. He’d unconsciously let go of the parchment, scarcely believing what had been written there. His legs went soft, and he fell backwards in disbelief, the desk he’d crashed against screeching noisily as it scraped against the ground. In contrast, the paper slip fluttered gently, lightly swaying from side to side as it was carried back down by gravity.

There, on the paper slip - the number #1 was written.

~

“Ok, let’s have a good fight, guys,” The teacher clapped his hands as he shouted to the groaning students shuffling to their positions. “Remember; keep things simple, light. This isn’t a test or a competition, there’s no prize for burning off your friend’s nose. I’ll be by the side watching, just holler if you need me.”

“Ready, Ting Ren? Do you need to warm up before we begin?”

Po Dan had brought Zachary to the far end of the field, right at the edge of the teacher’s vision. He’d explained to Zachary that Street Magic wasn’t strictly allowed in the class, that it was unsanctioned by the Academy, so they’d have to be discreet. Of course, he’d conveniently left out that his true motive wasn’t secrecy.

It was to teach the stuck-up genius a lesson he’d never forget.

“Sure, I’m ready,” Zachary casually replied as he yawned, intentionally giving off an air of disinterest as he stretched his arms. “Just start whenever you want to; I’ll respond.”

It was just a run-of-the-mill sparring session for Po Dan, Zachary had reasoned. Treating it with the great seriousness that befitted whatever was about to be displayed here could be detrimental to whatever friendship might be re-budding here. Why else would Po Dan have gone out of his way to spar with him specifically; if not to rekindle a dying relationship?

Unbeknownst to him, this was just about the worst thing he could have done for whatever imaginary relationship he had conjured up in his mind.

Po Dan’s face hardened.

“Your funeral, Ting Ren.” he muttered.

As Zachary watched on, the boy grasped his left arm with his right palm, raising it into the air with exaggerated flourish. Runes that had not been present before began to glow and raise themselves up from once unblemished skin, etching lines of purple as they appeared. The air seemed to stagnate as mana accumulated, gathering within the body of Po Dan.

“Existence: Extended.”

The runes burned fiercely as he spoke those words, beginning to shift and snake around his arm and down it, rushing down his body and up his face. They started to pool around the boy’s eyes, crowding around the two pupils as they gradually entered, one by one, shifting the colour from a mundane brown to a striking purple.

Then-

-shit!

Zachary leapt back frantically, narrowly dodging a heavy swipe from Po Dan, then three more after that. His opponent had closed the gap of five feet within a second, with a lunge that aimed to incapacitate him with a single strike.

The runes, it appeared, had provided the supposedly magic oriented Po Dan with an immense boost to his physical abilities.

What the hell is this?! This was supposed to be a magic world! What in the goddamn is Physical Boost doing here?! Actually… I guess it’s not really like Physical Boost; the preparation time for this version sucks- wait, focus on the damned fight first!

Zachary hurried to cast a spell, his body twisting from the awkward position the first flurry of blows had put him in, raising his hands to target the floor. That was how you dealt with brawlers; destroy their footing.

“Muddy Ground: Class- gah!”

You have received 152 damage.

A blow finally connected, knocking the wind from Zachary’s lungs and sending him flying two feet away.

He clutched his chest, falling to his knees as a slurry of half-digested food leaked from his mouth. Through blurry vision, Zachary looked up, an unsightly mess, coughing as he asked Dan.

“…why?”

Po Dan didn’t advance, instead choosing to remain where Zachary had been struck. He glanced over at the teacher. Good; he hadn’t noticed yet.

Po Dan glared back at the object of his hate.

“Because you deserve it, Ting Ren.” He growled, months worth of resentment manifesting within this moment of catharsis. “You, with your smugness, and your talent. I could do nothing but watch you soar past me; gain the glory I deserved."

"I will be merciful, though. This will be the last time you get to stay in the limelight, after all. So you get to choose; leg or arm? You only get to keep one.”