The days at the Academy had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. Classes, meals, and sparring sessions blended together, with occasional sparks of excitement when new concepts were introduced. Yet, for all the fascinating lectures and practical training, I still felt like an outsider, observing rather than participating.
That began to change the day Reinfelt and Marcus burst into the dormitory, their faces alight with excitement.
“Wolfhart!” Reinfelt called, tossing his satchel onto his bed. “You’re coming with us tomorrow.”
I looked up from my notes, where Hexa had been helping me outline mana absorption rates. “Coming where?”
“To the arena,” Marcus said, flopping onto his bunk. “It’s the midterm ranking matches. We’re not missing this.”
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The ranking matches were something I’d only heard whispers about—a spectacle where older students showcased their class evolutions and battled simulated raids in front of the entire Academy. The results determined not just bragging rights but also placement in next year’s advanced courses.
“Why would I go?” I asked, skeptical. “I’m not ranked, and I’m not competing.”
Reinfelt rolled his eyes. “Because it’s the best show you’ll see all year. The older students are insane. You’ll see classes you didn’t even know existed.”
“And besides,” Marcus added, grinning, “it’ll give you something to look forward to. One day, we’ll be out there too.”
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The idea of classes had always intrigued me, but I hadn’t yet seen them in action. Most of the students in my year were still undeveloped, their abilities limited to basic mana manipulation and weapon training. The thought of seeing fully realized classes—actual manifestations of the class system my father had described—was enough to pique my interest.
“Fine,” I said, closing my notebook. “I’ll go.”
Reinfelt clapped me on the back. “That’s the spirit. You won’t regret it.”
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The next morning, the entire Academy buzzed with excitement as students streamed toward the arena. The building was a massive, circular structure of stone and mana-infused crystal, its outer walls glowing faintly with protective wards.
Inside, the arena was even more impressive. The stands were packed with students and faculty, the air alive with chatter and anticipation. At the center was a mock battlefield, complete with scaled-down walls, trenches, and a gate that led to the arena’s inner workings.
“Welcome to the show,” Reinfelt said, gesturing grandly as we took our seats.
Marcus nudged me. “Wait until you see the illusions. They make it look real.”
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The headmaster, Magister Arlan, appeared on a floating platform above the arena, his voice amplified by magic.
“Welcome, students, to the midterm ranking matches!” he announced, his tone commanding yet warm. “Today, you will witness the culmination of months of training and dedication. Our upper-year students will demonstrate their skills in simulated raids, showcasing the diversity and creativity of the class system.”
A cheer erupted from the crowd, and even I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement.
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The first team to enter the arena consisted of five students, their appearances strikingly different from the first-years I was used to seeing. Each of them radiated confidence, their weapons and armor glowing faintly with magical enhancements.
The announcer introduced them as a balanced team: a warrior, a ranger, a mage, a healer, and a rogue. As the gates opened, the illusionary raid began.
The arena transformed before our eyes, shimmering as magic wove an entire scenario into existence. The students faced a horde of simulated goblins, their attacks coordinated and relentless.
The warrior charged forward, his blade gleaming with a fiery enchantment, while the ranger fired arrows that exploded into bursts of light. The mage unleashed torrents of ice and fire, controlling the battlefield with precision, while the healer kept the team standing with bursts of restorative magic.
It was mesmerizing.
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“Hexa,” I thought, “this is incredible. It’s like watching a raid boss fight in Realm Online, but it’s real.”
“Indeed,” she replied. “The coordination and individual skill on display are impressive. Each class is uniquely adapted to its user’s strengths and preferences.”
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As the matches continued, the teams became more creative. A dancer twirled gracefully through the battlefield, her movements creating waves of destructive energy that sent enemies flying.
“That’s a Blade Dancer,” Marcus explained. “They specialize in agility and precision, using their movements to channel mana into attacks.”
Another student, a berserker, roared as his skin turned crimson and his muscles bulged unnaturally. His attacks were wild and devastating, cutting through waves of enemies with reckless abandon.
“A rage-fueled warrior class,” Hexa noted. “Likely a variant of the traditional melee archetype.”
Then there was the healing ranger, who fired enchanted arrows that healed allies upon impact.
“That’s insane,” I whispered. “A ranged healer?”
“It’s all about how you train,” Reinfelt said. “Classes adapt to the user’s style. That’s what makes the system so brilliant.”
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For the first time since arriving at the Academy, I felt a genuine spark of excitement. The matches were more than just entertainment—they were a glimpse into what was possible.
“Hexa,” I thought, “what do you think my class could be?”
“Impossible to determine at this stage,” she replied. “However, your analytical nature and interest in strategy may influence your development.”
I imagined myself in the arena, wielding abilities as unique and powerful as those I’d seen. The thought was both exhilarating and daunting.
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As the matches came to a close, the top-ranked team stepped into the arena, a group of students who moved with the effortless grace of those who had been training their entire lives. Their synergy was flawless, their attacks devastating. The leader—a tall boy clad in gleaming armor that seemed to pulse with its own mana—barely broke a sweat as he directed his team to victory.
It was impressive, sure. But as I watched, a pit of frustration began to grow in my chest.
The difference was obvious. These kids weren’t just talented—they were starting from a completely different playing field. Their movements were faster, their attacks stronger, their mana denser.
“Hexa,” I thought bitterly, “what’s their secret? Why are they so far ahead?”
“Analyzing,” Hexa replied. A moment later, her voice was calm but edged with something like concern. “The likely answer is mana saturation. Students from wealthier families typically grow up in regions with higher mana density, allowing for superior base stats and greater adaptability.”
“So, they were just born better?”
“Not better,” Hexa corrected, “but with significant advantages. Their environments have provided them with opportunities you have not yet had access to.”
I clenched my fists, barely noticing as my nails bit into my palms. The words echoed in my head: opportunities you have not yet had access to.
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I wasn’t angry for the reasons a noble hero in a story might be. I didn’t care about fairness or justice. No, my anger was self directed.
I’d spent a decade on Earth chasing the next thrill in Realm Online, working my way up from a middling player to one of the top raiders in my guild. Sure, I wasn’t the best, but I’d always known that with enough time and effort, I could climb the ranks. The system there had rules. It rewarded skill and persistence.
This was different.
Here, the rules were stacked from the start. These noble brats weren’t better than me because they worked harder. They were better because they had been born in places where mana flowed like water, where tutors and magical artifacts were handed to them the way fishing rods were handed to kids in Valda-Ashdock.
The gap wasn’t just frustrating—it was infuriating.
On Earth, I’d coasted through a cushioned life. The United States wasn’t perfect, but it had offered enough opportunities for someone like me to skate by. A merit-based system, even a flawed one, had let me get away with being average. Here, that wasn’t an option.
In this world, average meant powerless.
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The crowd erupted into cheers as the top-ranked team finished their match, standing victorious amid the simulated wreckage. I didn’t clap. My hands stayed clenched in my lap, shaking slightly as I glared at the arena floor.
“I want that,” I thought. “I want their power.”
“You can achieve it,” Hexa said, her voice steady. “But it will require a level of focus and discipline you have not yet demonstrated.”
Her words stung, but she wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t taken this world seriously—not really. I’d been too busy marveling at its magic and systems, treating it like some new game to explore.
But it wasn’t a game. It was real.
And if I didn’t start fighting for every scrap of power I could get, I’d be left behind.
The days following the midterm ranking matches felt like stepping back into a shallow pond after glimpsing the ocean. The spectacle had ignited something in me, a hunger for power and mastery, but the return to basic lessons in mana channeling and arithmetic left me restless.
For most of my classmates, the material was challenging enough. Many struggled to sense even the faintest spark of mana, their frustrated groans filling the practice halls. I, however, had Hexa.
“This is too simple,” I muttered one afternoon, watching the tiny flicker of mana I’d conjured dance across my palm. “We’re barely scratching the surface.”
Hexa’s voice was calm and pragmatic. “The first-year curriculum is designed to establish a foundation. For someone with your background and my assistance, it will inevitably feel rudimentary.”
“That’s putting it lightly,” I grumbled, dispersing the mana with a flick of my fingers.
When the monotony of classes became unbearable, I turned to the library. It had quickly become my sanctuary, a sprawling labyrinth of knowledge where I could lose myself for hours.
The shelves stretched higher than the eye could see, their contents organized by glowing runes that responded to a user’s mana signature. Hexa had mastered the system within minutes, guiding me to sections that would otherwise have been impossible to navigate.
“Focus on advanced mana theory and Nexus studies,” she suggested. “These areas align most closely with your long-term goals.”
I didn’t need much convincing.
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Most of my classmates treated history as a dry recounting of dates and battles, but to me, it was a treasure trove of context. I devoured books on the Amarri Empire, tracing the evolution of its alliances and rivalries with the other sixteen major powers of Minor Eden. The intricacies of trade agreements, military campaigns, and mana resource management were endlessly fascinating.
“It’s all connected,” I said one evening, poring over a particularly dense tome on interplanetary trade.
“Correct,” Hexa replied. “The Nexus functions as a vast, interdependent system. Understanding its mechanics will provide you with a strategic advantage.”
It was during one of my late-night library sessions that I stumbled upon a slim, unassuming book tucked away in a neglected corner of the mana theory section. Its title, etched faintly into the worn leather spine, read Internal Augmentation Through Mana Saturation.
Curious, I pulled it from the shelf and began flipping through the pages. The text was dense and archaic, but Hexa translated the key points with ease.
“This method,” she summarized, “involves using focused meditation to draw ambient mana into one’s body, gradually increasing base attributes. However, the effectiveness is directly proportional to the surrounding mana density.”
I scanned the chapter on practical application, my heart racing. The process was painstakingly slow and required intense concentration, but the idea of directly influencing my stats was tantalizing.
“Does it work?” I asked.
Hexa paused, running calculations. “The principles are sound, though the results are incremental. Over time, however, this method could provide a significant advantage, especially in high-mana environments like the capital.”
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That night, I decided to test the technique. The library’s ambient mana was higher than most places on campus, its density pulsing faintly around me like an invisible tide.
I found a quiet corner, sat cross-legged, and closed my eyes. Following the book’s instructions, I focused on my breathing, visualizing the mana around me as a shimmering mist.
At first, nothing happened. The air felt no different, the flow of mana frustratingly elusive. But then, slowly, I began to sense it—a faint, rhythmic pulse, like the beating of a distant drum.
“Good,” Hexa said. “Focus on that sensation. Draw it inward.”
I imagined the mana seeping into my skin, flowing through my veins like a cool stream. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
When I finally opened my eyes, an hour had passed. I didn’t feel different, but Hexa assured me that the process had begun.
“Results will be cumulative,” she said. “Consistency is key.”
“God fucking Damn it” I thought even “this is pay to win?”
Despite my progress, the disparity between myself and the noble-born students remained a constant thorn in my side. Their stats, their resources, their access to tutors and artifacts—it all felt insurmountable.
But every time I felt the frustration bubble to the surface, I reminded myself of the meditation technique, of the slow but steady path to growth.
“Hexa,” I thought one evening as I prepared for another session, “this is going to take forever.”
“True advancement often does,” she replied. “However, your determination and willingness to adapt are significant advantages. Do not underestimate them.”
I nodded, closing my eyes as I focused on the flow of mana around me. This was my path—not the fastest, not the easiest, but mine.
And I would see it through.