I wake up from my sleep after dinner. My muscle aching yes but definitely supplemented by the proper meal I had yesterday.
[ Stamina: 100% ]
A surge of something unfamiliar—energy, actual energy—courses through me as I blink awake. My fingers twitch against the sheets. No leaden exhaustion. No screaming joints.
The clock in my room glows in the corner of my vision. I confirmed the time: 07:30 AM. A full thirty minutes before my lessons. It's ironic, for once, a body that isn't mine has accomplished something I couldn't back on Earth. Waking up on time.
Today might not be that bad.
I swing my legs over the bed's edge, toes curling against the cooling wooden floor. Morning light bleeds through the stained-glass window, fracturing into sapphire and gold across my desk where two tomes sit waiting. Their spines gleam with fresh gilding:
"The First to Third Year Biology and;"
"The History of the Kingdoms and Mages"
My thumbs trace the embossed titles. These weren't in EAA. Not like this. The EAA lore databases had snippets—sterile codex entries about "anatomy modules" and "faction backstories." But these... These books breathe. The Biology volume thrums faintly when I flip it open, revealing illustrations of chlorophyll-infused circulatory systems. The History tome's pages smell of incense and iron, its margins littered with handwritten annotations that weren't in the original game files.
How deep does the rabbit hole go?
A grin splits my face. This isn't just studying—it's archaeology. Every page turned is another shovelful of dirt brushed off this world's deviated timeline. The EAA I "remembered" had Elenos Mages as NPC quest-givers with recycled dialogue trees. But here, judging by the chapter headings, they toppled empires.
My reverie shatters as the dormitory stirs. Exiting my room, I spot other first-years shuffling into the hallways—Sylvan students' eyes still puffy with sleep. The predawn scholars. The ones who choose to wake early.
A memory ambushes me: undergrad library at 5 AM, nursing cold coffee while my classmates partied. The isolation. The quiet judgment from "normal" students who thought we were grinding for some superiority complex.
No, you idiots. We were just trying not to drown.
I press my forehead to the cold door frame. These kids don't know it yet, but they're drafting the blueprint of their survival. Same as I did. Same as anyone who's ever clawed their way up from nothing.
Mad respect to them. To their retreating backs before shouldering my satchel.
The stairwell swallows me whole, its spiral steps worn smooth by centuries of desperate climbers. Each descent sends echoes bouncing off the enchanted masonry—whispers of the ones who came before, the ones who'll come after.
And me?
Just another ghost in the machine.
The Academy's main building looms before me, its arched doorway swallowing students whole as they trickle in from the morning chill. The grand staircase spirals upward like the spine of some ancient beast, each marble step worn smooth by generations of mages, scholars, and would-be heroes. A pulse thrums in my throat.
Second floor. Class 2-A.
The door stands slightly ajar, as if in invitation—or warning. I push it open, and the scent of aged parchment and ink washes over me. The classroom sprawls out in familiar yet foreign detail: its tiered seating descending in three solemn plateaus toward the focal point below. Polished ebony desks lined each level in perfect formation, their gold-trimmed edges catching the morning light that streamed through towering stained glass windows. The central aisle cut through the space like a river of dark marble, flowing down to where a massive podium awaited the day's instruction.
My footsteps echoed unnaturally loud as I entered the chamber, the acoustics designed to amplify every sound toward the lectern. The air hummed with latent magic - the faint ozone tang of wards woven into the very stonework.
But my gaze snags on the unmistakable figures seated in the middle row.
The heroines.
They're already here, of course.
On the middle tier, they sat in perfect triangular formation, each occupying their own strategic position:
Leona occupied the left-central position with the same meticulous precision as her counterpart, though where Lysandra's discipline was sharp as winter frost, Leona's carried the quiet intensity of a summer wind.
Seraphyne commanded two seats next to Leona, one boot propped on her desk in open defiance of decorum.
I mean. Who here can even stop her?
Her crimson eyes tracked my ascent with the lazy focus of an apex predator observing prey. Her dragon scale choker tightening.
Lysandra dominated the highest vantage point at the row behind the other two, her navy-blue hair a banner of cold precision against the dark wood. Her gloved hands moved with mechanical efficiency, arranging writing implements at perfect right angles before her open time.
The seating arrangement wasn't accidental. Every position spoke volumes of efficiency. Littered in the other seats sit Lord Marcus, Lady Vena Ferrea and Lord Theron Maris side by side. Alone in all her intellect sits Lady Celeste Von Ventus playing a game of chess with herself. Hell, even Alyssa is sitting in the first row with her group of friends.
I hesitated at the threshold, suddenly aware of how my shadow stretched long down the central aisle. Every eye in the room turned toward the interruption. The weight of their collective gaze pressed like a physical constant.
"Isn't he the guy with that insane, never-before-seen mana color?"
"Yeah, that's him—total freakout at the dinner, remember?"
Great, my rep's still in the gutter.
I take a simple seat nearing the back of the classroom. A point where I can observe everything fully and a point where I can doze off.
Give or take 20 more minutes.
The sound that froze us all—the measured click of authoritative heels on marble. Professor Ilsa Vexley emerged from the shadows behind the podium, her pristine white robes whispering against the stone. Her gaze swept across the tiers before settling on me.
"Ah," she said, the single syllable resonating through the chamber's perfect acoustics. "Seems like most of you all are punctual."
The heroines' reactions came in swift succession:
Lysandra's pen froze mid-stroke.
Leona's breath hitched audibly.
Seraphyne's fingers twitched towards a fist.
"Good Morning Student, I hope you had a wonderful rest last night. As you all know, my name is Professor Ilsa Vexley, Head of Biothaumic Studies. Lucky you."
Then the moment shatters as the professor's voice rings out.
"Ah. And our final student arrives."
Kael. With an awkward expression enters the class.
"Take your seat in the only vacant seat left." she says, pointing to the unfortunate seat where he squeezes between Leona and Seraphyne while being overseer by Lysandra. Precisely accurate to the main story. No corruption here.
"Quickly, these seats will be your final ones until we disperse in the Third Year."
Kael manages to snuggle into that perfect narrative seat. I don't blame him for being shy, after all he's surrounded by the 3 most powerful women not just in magical prowess but in political standing as well.
"Come. We have much to discuss."
This is it for me. The first day of the rest of my life in this world.
And I'm already playing catch-up. Gotta write down those notes.