CHAPTER 51: SPAR [1]

After the class ended, I stepped outside.

Since today was the first day, we only had a single class. The rest of the afternoon was ours to do... well, whatever we wanted.

The courtyard felt like it had been waiting for us all morning. Sunlight spilled over the pale stone tiles, throwing warm reflections off the glass windows of the North Wing.

And the people — Gods, there were so many people.

Groups of first-years swarmed across the space, each one trying to outdo the others in volume. Some stood in tight circles, swapping names, shaking hands, laughing at jokes that probably weren’t funny but felt that way in the moment.

Others were already making plans, hitting on girls and going on dates.

The sound was a jumble, like someone had thrown a hundred different conversations into a blender.

"...and then he actually tried to summon"

"So the dorms are split by..."

"I swear, if the cafeteria’s bread is stale"

To my left, a boy with short, spiky hair was dramatically retelling how he’d awakened his grimoire, complete with wide hand gestures and a voice loud enough to carry across half the courtyard.

His audience, three beautiful girls, looked more entertained by his flailing than his story.

In another corner, a pair of friends had somehow decided that the best way to celebrate the first day was an impromptu duel.

They weren’t using weapons, just animated arm movements and imaginary swords, but the sound effects they were making were terrible.

Everywhere I looked, it was the same: excitement, nervous energy, and that wide-eyed feeling that the world was finally opening its gates.

I kept walking, hands in my pockets, letting the crowd flow around me.

If you moved slowly enough, people just... adjusted, like water parting around a rock. It was one of those tricks I’d learned a long time ago — stay calm in chaos, and people subconsciously give you space.

Of course, there’s always one exception.

"Hey, you there!"

The voice came from directly in front of me.

A tall boy stepped into my path, blocking the sunlight.

He had the look of someone who worked out more for appearances than practicality. Broad shoulders, clean uniform, hair styled with more care than I’d seen in the mirror all week.

His smile was friendly, but a little too fixed.

"You’re the North Star, right?" he asked.

I nodded slowly. "Last time I checked."

His grin widened, ignoring the jab. "Perfect! I’m recruiting for the Martial Arts Club. We’re one of the top combat-focused clubs in the academy — lots of sparring, physical training, and we even compete in tournaments. You look like you’ve got potential."

I tilted my head, pretending to consider it. "That’s quite a sales pitch. Let me guess, new members get a free pair of gloves and a lifetime supply of bruises?"

He chuckled. "Well, we can’t promise lifetime supplies, but-"

Before he could finish, I leaned in slightly. "Do your tournaments usually involve hitting people who didn’t sign up?"

That caught him off guard. "Uh... no?"

"Shame," I said, straightening again. "Would’ve made it more fun."

I started to walk past him, but he moved to the side, still keeping pace. "Come on, I’m serious. You’d fit right in. You’ve got that confident look—"

"That’s just my face," I interrupted. "People mistake it for confidence all the time."

For a second, he didn’t seem sure if I was joking. Then he laughed again, though this time it sounded more polite than genuine. "Alright, alright. If you change your mind, we’re over by the east fountain. Can’t miss us."

"I’ll make sure to... definitely maybe not drop by," I said, waving him off.

Once he was gone, I slipped back into the current of the crowd, letting the noise and movement pull me forward.

A breeze carried the scent of roasted meat from somewhere ahead, and I followed it until the courtyard opened up into a plaza lined with stalls.

And that’s when I realized the seniors weren’t just hanging around — they were hunting.

Each stall had its own decorations: flags, painted signs, glowing symbols that pulsed with faint mana.

Behind them, upper-year students leaned forward like predators in brightly colored uniforms, scanning for their next victim.

"Join the Alchemy Club! Free potion samples!"

"Archery Club! Test your aim!"

Some even had props. One stall had a stuffed griffin perched on its roof. Another had a table piled high with gleaming practice weapons. A third had a cauldron so large you could probably hide in it.

I passed by a stall where a girl with silver hair was demonstrating how to turn a strip of paper into a miniature firework. The crowd around her ooh’d and ahh’d every time the paper burst into harmless sparks.

A few steps later, I nearly bumped into a boy frantically shoving a plate of cookies into passing students’ hands. "Baking Club!" he shouted, voice cracking. "We’re... uh... the tastiest club in the academy!"

I took a cookie just to see his relieved expression. It wasn’t bad — sweet, chewy, maybe a little too much cinnamon.

I was halfway through it when a voice called from my right. "You’ve got good reflexes."

I turned to see another stall—this one quieter, with only one senior leaning casually against the table. His uniform jacket was draped over his shoulders like a cape, and a wooden practice spear rested against the stall beside him.

"That cookie catch back there," he said, nodding toward the Baking Club. "Most people drop it when they’re surprised. You didn’t."

"I’ve had worse things thrown at me," I said.

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to figure out whether I meant that literally. "Ever thought of joining the Spear Mastery Club? We’re not flashy, but we’re the best at what we do."

"Stabbing people?" I asked.

He smirked. "Winning."

I gave him a slow nod. "Tempting. But I’m more of a... ’stay in the background and let other people get stabbed’ kind of person."

He chuckled as I walked off. "Fair enough."

By the time I’d made a full circle, I’d been offered recruitment into at least seven different clubs, handed three pamphlets, and pressured into a free trial for something called Extreme Elemental Dance. Still not convinced it was a real thing.

***

I got bored and cut through a side path toward the training grounds.

And when I reached, Ray was there. Blindfold on, daggers in hand, moving like he was in the middle of some dramatic montage.

"Practicing for when you go blind?" I called out to him.

He didn’t stop. "Training my other senses."

"Uh-huh. You know, most people just... keep their eyes open."

"It’s not about comfort," he said, shifting into another set of strikes.

I leaned on the fence. "So... this is how the butler of the royal princess spends his first day? Ignoring the club stalls and playing ’stab the air’?"

He smirked barely, but I caught it. "I’m not here to impress anyone."

"Good," I said. "Because stabbing imaginary enemies isn’t much of a crowd-pleaser."

He twirled a dagger, still facing forward. "You came all the way here just to watch me train?"

"More like I was bored and you were conveniently in the way."

He paused, tilting his head like he was listening to something. "You’re standing... what, seven paces to my left?"

"Eight," I corrected.

"Close enough." He tossed one dagger into the air, caught it without looking, and went right back to work.

I shook my head. "You’re either the most dedicated student here... or the least fun."

Ray gave a small shrug. "Someone has to take things seriously."

"And someone has to keep you from turning into a training-obsessed hermit," I said. "Lucky for you, I’m generous with my time."

This time, he actually laughed. "Generous? Or just nosy?"

"A little of both," I admitted. "But hey, at least I’m honest."

Ray kept moving through his drills, daggers slicing clean arcs through the air.

I watched for a few more seconds before saying, "You know, all that training’s great, but it doesn’t mean much if you never test it against a real opponent."

"Plenty of time for that later," he said.

"Translation: you’re avoiding it."

He didn’t take the bait. "Translation: I don’t waste time proving myself to random people."

"Random?" I grinned. "Come on, I’m the most interesting person you’ve met all day. And definitely more challenging than stabbing a dummy."

Ray tilted his head slightly. "Confident, aren’t you?"

"That’s just my face. The skill is extra."

Finally, he stopped moving. He reached up, traced his fingers over his blindfold, and questioned. "You really want to spar?"

"Why? Afraid you’ll lose on your big debut?"

His lips curved into the faintest smirk. "Fine. First one to land a clean hit wins."

I stepped into the training ground, hands still in my pockets. "And what do I get when I win?"

"You won’t," he said.

"Oh, I like you already," I said, finally drawing my grimoire. "The winner will do one thing the loser asks. Deal?"