CHAPTER 56: HERE COMES THE ELECTIVES!

The next day came by quickly.

I was still scared to go anywhere near Freya.

She was one of my favorite characters in the whole novel, and now she hated me.

That wasn’t just a minor inconvenience — it was a tragedy. The kind of thing that kept you up at night, wondering where it all went wrong.

Even though in my case, I knew exactly where it went wrong.

For a true reader like me, this was heartbreak in its purest form. And unlike in the book, there wasn’t going to be some convenient redemption arc in three Chapters.

No, this would take... actual effort. And I wasn’t sure I was ready for that kind of emotional investment.

Still, I had more immediate problems to deal with. Today I had two jobs to get done.

First, I had to choose my four electives. Sounds simple, right?

Wrong. Electives could make or break your early academy years. Pick something easy, and you’d cruise through... until you realized you’d missed out on skills you desperately needed later.

Pick something too hard, and congratulations—you’d just volunteered for a slow academic death.

In the novel, the smart characters always picked courses that lined up with their future growth. The dumb ones? They took whatever sounded "fun." I, naturally, planned to be in the first category.

Second, I had to register for clubs. This wasn’t just about hobbies or making friends—it was about alliances, resources, and keeping an eye on potential threats.

Clubs had influence.

They controlled certain areas of the campus, had access to training equipment, and sometimes even received funding from noble patrons.

In other words, choosing the right club could be just as important as picking the right electives.

Two tasks. Both were equally important. And both required careful thought.

Which meant I was probably going to spend half the morning pretending to think deeply while actually people-watching.

***

The administrative office sat at the very end of the North Wing, past a hallway lined with tall arched windows that made the place look like a cathedral someone had decided to fill with paperwork instead of prayers.

Inside, it was exactly as dull as I imagined — rows of wooden desks stacked with scrolls, shelves groaning under ledgers older than some kingdoms, and clerks moving at the speed of people who’d long ago given up the concept of joy.

The air was thick with the scent of dust, parchment, and ink. Somewhere in the back, a quill scratched rhythmically over paper like it was counting down the years until its owner retired.

A line of students snaked toward the main counter, each clutching a pale yellow form like it was their lifeline.

Technically, it was. Without it, you didn’t have electives. Without electives, you didn’t have classes. Without classes, you failed. And failing here usually meant two things—getting quietly erased from the narrative or reappearing later as cannon fodder for the villains.

Neither sounded appealing to me.

I joined the line and let my gaze drift up to the huge notice board above the counter. The available electives were neatly inked in bold script:

— Combat Fundamentals II (the red "II" practically shouted turn back while you still can)— Advanced Spirit Theory— Practical Alchemy— Wilderness Survival and Tracking— Cultural Etiquette for Nobles (the smell of boredom radiated from the parchment)— Rune Inscription— Spirit History and Lore— Arcane Ethics and Law— Dungeon Mapping and Exploration

Two boys ahead of me were whispering, not even trying to be subtle.

"I’m taking Practical Alchemy," one said. "Explosions and credit hours."

"Yeah, and last year someone lost their eyebrows in that class," the other muttered.

I pretended not to smile. In the novel, Alchemy was useful... if you survived it.

But my luck with volatile substances? I’d rather not test it.

I would leave alchemy to Serena.

I already had my plan. My four slots would be used for four purposes. One combat-focused. One magic-heavy. One practical skill. One easy one for free credits.

Combat Fundamentals II wasn’t just an elective—it was the elective. If you threw a rock in the North Wing, you’d probably hit three people trying to get in.

It had nothing to do with prestige. Nobody took it because it made you look impressive on a transcript. They took it because the class was an equalizer.

Noble-born prodigies liked it because they could humiliate commoners in a controlled environment. Commoners liked it because they could punch those same prodigies in the face without getting arrested.

Everybody else liked it because the instructor had a habit of giving real, usable techniques instead of the "philosophy of combat" drivel that filled half the other courses.

As for me? I needed it for... slightly different reasons.

Most of the people here had been swinging swords since they were tall enough to trip over one. I, on the other hand, had exactly zero formal training.

My combat résumé consisted of street fights, broken bottles, and the occasional well-timed kick to the groin.

If I wanted to survive, this class wasn’t optional. It was insurance.

For the magic-heavy slot, Advanced Spirit Theory was the obvious choice. If you wanted to master your grimoire and understand complex energy flows, that was the place to be.

It also had a legendary failure rate among first-years, but I wasn’t planning to be among the corpses.

For the practical slot, I narrowed it to two contenders — Wilderness Survival and Tracking or Dungeon Mapping and Exploration.

Survival meant living through unpredictable spirit rift expeditions. Dungeon Mapping was more... niche, but in the novel, the people who understood spatial layouts were the ones who came back from raids alive.

After a moment, I decided survival skills were a safer bet. No point mapping a dungeon if you died before finishing the sketch.

Finally, the harmless slot: Spirit History and Lore.

By the time I reached the counter, I had my list ready.

The clerk glanced up as I stepped forward. She was in her thirties, hair pinned into an unshakably neat bun, and she wore the expression of someone who’d spent too many years watching overconfident students sign their own academic death warrants.

"Name?" she asked without looking at me.

"Loki."

Her quill scratched across her ledger. "Year?"

"First."

"Electives?"

I passed over my slip:

-Combat Fundamentals II

-Advanced Spirit Theory

-Wilderness Survival and Tracking

-Spirit History and Lore

She scanned it, and her quill froze.

Slowly, she looked up at me, eyes narrowing just slightly. "You’re the one who placed first in the written theory portion of the entrance exams, aren’t you?"

"...Yes," I said warily.

Her lips curved into a polite smile that somehow felt like a setup.

"Then you’ll be automatically enrolled in Arcane Theory: Master Level Principles instead of Advanced Spirit Theory."

I blinked. "I’m sorry—the what now?"

"It’s a specialized elective for the top three scorers in theoretical knowledge," she said, flipping through her ledger with infuriating calm. "You’ll cover high-level arcane structures, dimensional energy principles, advanced spirit applications, and—" she glanced up at me "—weekly research papers. Five thousand words minimum."

"That sounds... absolutely thrilling," I said flatly.

"Think of it as an honor."

"I’m thinking of it as a slow execution," I muttered.

Her brow rose. "What was that?"

"Honor," I said smoothly. "Total honor."

She stamped my form with unnecessary enthusiasm. "That’s your finalized list."

I glanced down:

-Combat Fundamentals II

-Arcane Theory: Master Level Principles

-Wilderness Survival and Tracking

-Spirit History and Lore

"...Master Level Principles," I murmured. "Because clearly, I have too much free time."

The clerk ignored me, already calling for the next student. Behind me, a pair of girls whispered.

"Did you hear? He’s in Master Principles."

"That’s supposed to be impossible for first-years."

"Or suicidal."

I pretended not to hear them as I stepped away from the counter, though my ears were burning from the attention.

In the novel, Master Principles was infamous—students either graduated as near-mythic scholars or vanished into the library archives, never to be seen again.

I wasn’t planning on becoming a library ghost. But... the knowledge could be worth it.

This wasn’t just theory for theory’s sake. If I played it right, I could use the course to learn how to dismantle magical defenses, bypass wards, maybe even pick apart the deeper mechanics of grimoires.

Still, it was hard to ignore the feeling that someone in administration had just wrapped a gold-plated chain around my neck. The perfect way to keep a "promising" student too busy to cause trouble.

If only they knew I was planning to do both.

***

From across the hall, Serena leaned casually against the stone pillar, her arms folded, eyes tracking Loki as he left the administrative counter.

Her expression was calm, almost indifferent, but inside, her thoughts moved like sharpened glass.

’So... he’s in Master Level Principles.’

She’d expected him to take the more ambitious electives. After all, anyone who placed first in the theory exams couldn’t exactly hide in the shallow end. What she hadn’t expected was that they’d throw him into her territory.

Serena had been second place—by a hair’s breadth that still gnawed at her pride. She’d been training her mind since childhood, drilled on advanced arcane structures while other children were learning their letters. Her family had ensured she would be untouchable in theory.

Then Loki appeared. A transfer from nowhere, no noble crest, no whisper of pedigree. And yet... he had taken first.

Everyone else seemed to think it was some kind of fluke, or luck, or that the written exam had been unusually easy this year. Serena knew better. You didn’t get a perfect dimensional flow solution by luck.

Which meant he was dangerous.

A slow, measured smile tugged at her lips.

Good.

In Master Level Principles, there was no hiding behind test scores. Every discussion, every problem-solving exercise, every debate before the instructors was a battlefield. And she would make sure that on that battlefield, she won.

"Enjoy your lead while you have it, Loki," she murmured under her breath, watching him disappear around the corner. "Because in that class, I’ll prove exactly who’s smarter."

Then she straightened, collected her finalized elective slip, and walked away with the same composed grace she always wore—already planning the opening moves of a rivalry Loki didn’t even know had begun.