Arnos stumbled a bit, his thoughts racing in the background. If she really is the princess, like everyone says, why isn’t she attending Arens Institute instead of Celera? Before he could dwell further on the question, a girl with shoulder-length blue hair and matching eyes approached him.

Arnos instinctively glanced at her attire, noting the absence of any noble insignia. A commoner, like me.

“Are you okay? That was quite the scene back there,” the girl said in a neutral, casual tone.

Arnos grinned. “You bet it was. Avoiding problems is harder than it looks.”

The girl gave a slight smirk. “Yeah, but for what it’s worth, that whole entrance was pretty entertaining from where I was standing.”

Arnos chuckled. “You know, if I had been watching instead of starring in it, I probably would’ve laughed, too.”

After a brief pause, he tilted his head curiously. “So, if you don’t mind me asking... are you, you know, a commoner as well?”

“Yeah,” she replied with a playful whisper, shielding her mouth with her hand. “It’s kind of awkward being here, isn’t it? Some of the students are really... weird.”

Arnos nodded. “You can say that again.” Especially the so-called princess, he thought, recalling his earlier encounter.

The girl offered a friendly smile. “I’m Mabel Webbles, by the way.”

Arnos returned her smile. “Just Arnos. No family name or anything—just Arnos.”

Mabel’s playful demeanor dimmed slightly as her gaze softened. “Are you...?”

Arnos gave a short nod. “Yeah, I’m an orphan. Lost my folks in the fire at city of Excruria. I don’t remember much—never really knew them. I was nameless until the head of the orphanage gave me the name Arnos.”

“That must’ve been hard,” Mabel said quietly.

Arnos shrugged, a distant look in his eyes. “It was. But honestly, it might’ve been harder for the other kids—those who actually remembered their families. I didn’t have those memories, so there wasn’t much to miss.”

He glanced around suddenly, noticing the flow of students heading toward the auditorium. “Wait... has the inauguration ceremony already started?”

Mabel’s eyes widened as she practically jumped in place. “What? And you didn’t tell me earlier, you dummy!”

Arnos sighed dramatically. “In my experience, telling girls things isn’t easy. They either say, ‘I already knew,’ or ‘Don’t interrupt.’ So I thought I’d wait until you figured it out on your own.”

Mabel shot him a sharp look, grabbed his arm, and began pulling him toward the auditorium. “No time for your funny stories—come on, we’re late!”

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Before Arnos could protest, Mabel dragged him through the halls like he was a sack of potatoes. They reached the doors to the auditorium in less than ten seconds, only to discover the headmaster’s speech was already underway.

Arnos leaned slightly away from Mabel, his voice calm. “As I was saying, Miss Webbles, I believe in being a gentleman. You go on ahead.”

Mabel gave him a deadpan look. “What are you talking about? This isn’t the era for gentlemen anymore. Girls are just as capable—you’re coming in with me.”

Before Arnos could argue, a hand landed firmly on both their shoulders, making them stumble forward.

With a loud bang, they burst through the auditorium doors, earning the attention of every student and faculty member in the room. A hush fell over the crowd as all eyes turned toward them, some stifling laughter, others whispering to one another.

At the podium, the headmaster—a man with sharp eyes, gray hair, and a long white coat draped over a black uniform—paused his speech. His piercing gaze fixed on Arnos and Mabel, and it was clear from his expression that a scolding was imminent.

Just as the headmaster opened his mouth to speak, a calm voice cut through the tension.

“Apologies, Headmaster. I borrowed these two to help with some last-minute preparations,” said a female teacher, stepping forward with an air of calm professionalism. “They were a bit hesitant to enter and got startled when I patted them on the shoulder. Please allow me to take responsibility for the delay.”

The headmaster gave her a long, scrutinizing look before nodding. “Very well, Miss Margrave. You may take your seat with the staff. As for you two—find your seats quietly.”

Without missing a beat, Arnos and Mabel scrambled toward the back row, doing their best to ignore the snickers following their entry.

Once seated, Mabel shot Arnos a sideways glare. “If you’d just gone in earlier, we wouldn’t have been in this mess.”

Arnos returned her look with a smirk. “I could say the same to you. But hey, at least Miss Margrave saved us.”

Mabel huffed. “Yeah, though she did kind of land us in that situation, too.”

“Fair trade, I guess,” Arnos replied with a grin.

They turned their attention back to the stage just as the headmaster wrapped up his speech.

“Here at Celera, we value potential above all else,” the headmaster said. “Your lineage, your background—none of it matters. Whether you are royalty...” He gave a brief glance toward Princess Emily, seated among the other nobles. “...or a commoner, what counts is your ability and your drive to grow.”

He gave a final nod. “Make the most of your time here. Dismissed.”

As the students began to rise from their seats, a male teacher with short blonde hair, square glasses, and a black shirt beneath a tailored coat stepped onto the stage.

“Students, please proceed to Training Field 3,” he announced. “We’ll begin with a mana output assessment.”

Arnos leaned toward Mabel as they made their way to the exit. “Have you ever had your mana level checked?”

Mabel tilted her head thoughtfully. “Once, but that was a few years ago. Mana grows with training, so it’s probably different now.”

Arnos nodded. “Yeah, I remember reading that exhausting your mana multiple times pushes your body to adapt and expand its capacity.” He paused, rubbing his temple. “It makes sense, but the whole process still feels kind of complicated.”

Mabel gave him a teasing smile. “It’s not that complicated. Train hard, drain your mana, recover, and boom—your capacity grows.”

Arnos made a disappointed face. “Yeah, yeah… I already knew that much. You know what? Forget it. Let’s head to the training ground before the teachers label us as rebels.”

Mabel averted her eyes, guilt flickering on her face. “Honestly, I think they might’ve already done that.”

Arnos sighed. “Well, let’s hope for the best.” He started walking toward the group of students heading to the training ground, with Mabel matching his pace beside him.

After a brief silence, Arnos glanced at her. “By the way, what’s the point of checking our mana capacity? Is there a real reason behind it?”

Mabel gave him a tired look. “What kind of school do you think we’re in?”

“A school for mages?” Arnos answered, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly.”

“I mean, I get it—mana levels are important. But are they seriously going to divide us or give special treatment just because of our mana results? Like, Class 1, Class 2, or whatever?”

Mabel seemed taken aback by the question and started to ponder. Before she could respond, a tall boy with brown hair and a green insignia on his uniform stepped into their conversation.

“They do it to separate talents: prodigies, the average, and the... well, the below-average,” the boy explained with a friendly tone. “Each group gets treated differently. The top students—Class 1 and 2—get better teachers, equipment, and rooms.”

Mabel processed his words and gave a curious smile. “I guess that makes sense. But who are you, by the way?” she asked in a friendly tone.

Arnos studied the boy’s insignia and thought to himself, Definitely a noble. But why is he acting so polite? Maybe not all nobles are stuck-up like the princess…

The boy smiled and said, “I’m Marcus Leville, from House Leville. But just 'Leville' is fine.”

Arnos returned the smile. “Leville, huh? Well, I’m Arnos. No family name, so just Arnos for you.”

Mabel’s eyes widened slightly, and she leaned toward Arnos, whispering, “He’s from a Duke’s family.”

Arnos blinked, and his stomach dropped. “Wait... what?” His voice came out a bit louder than intended. “Oh no! I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to call you by your name so casually.” He quickly lowered his head in apology. “Please forgive me, Lord Leville.”

Marcus chuckled, clearly amused. “There’s no need for all that. We don’t have the kind of power to punish someone for saying our name, you know.”

Arnos exhaled in relief, standing back up. “Phew, I thought I was about to lose my head or something.”

Marcus smirked. “Nah, it's not like we nobles go around executing people for something like that.”