Outside the arena, Snake Academy’s professor was grinding his teeth bloody. “Siria—Siria again! Damn them!”

“Reap what you sow.” Professor Moses rose, lifted her chin, and strode for the door.

Round One was over. She was going to welcome Siria Magic Academy’s little heroes.

By chance, Professor Pence of the Middle Division and Professor Stanbeck of the Senior Division emerged from their viewing areas at the same time. The three Siria instructors met at the church entrance.

“Professor Moses, how did your Lower Division do?” Professor Pence asked expectantly.

Professor Moses’s lips curved. “Barely scraped first. And you?”

Professor Pence said proudly, “We hit a few bumps, but our squad still took first.”

Professor Stanbeck looked a bit regretful. “We didn’t get first—took second.”

The Senior Division squad had been targeted the moment they entered yesterday; every step had been hard-fought.

Given that, second place was impressive.

Rankings exchanged, all three showed satisfied expressions.

A strong start to the first round boded well for what followed.

They walked together until they split at the foot of the Bard Mountains, each heading to a different exit.

A few minutes later, Professor Moses received Luo Wei and the others at the Lower Division exit.

“Well done, my children! Your points rank first among all academies—fantastic!” She pulled them into a big hug.

It was the first time the students had seen Professor Moses so openly emotional; her mood infected them and they grinned.

“You’re the academy’s great contributors—my pride,” she said, dabbing the redness at the corner of her eyes. “On behalf of the academy, thank you for all your effort bringing us honor.”

“No need to thank us, Professor,” Luo Wei replied modestly. “Earning honor for the academy is our duty as students—and besides, our success relies on you and all the teachers’ hard work.”

At that last line, Professor Moses’s face froze.

Thinking of the stunts they’d pulled inside, she felt suffocated.

Now the other academies’ professors all thought those stunt tactics were her teaching—a monumental injustice. She, Eudora Moses, was not that kind of person!

A lifetime reputation, wrecked by these little devils.

Not just hers—Professor Phil’s and Lady Tobias’s good names had taken collateral damage.

Since yesterday afternoon, a swarm of alchemists had hounded Professor Phil about how he trained potion brewing; a flock of astrologers chased Lady Tobias asking how to divine with a tortoise shell. The two had fled into the lounge, afraid to show their faces.

Looking at the white‑faced, black‑hearted bunch before her, Moses hesitated.

After carefully choosing her words, she spoke gently: “If you plan something… distinctive in future, don’t say you’re my students—and best cover your faces.”

Lower Division squad (five people): ???

What just happened to Professor Moses?

She’d called them heroes and her pride, and now—this?

Luo Wei probed, “Professor… did we do something wrong?”

“No, you did nothing wrong,” Moses said sternly. “The wrong lies with this world—too intolerant!”

Luo Wei: …

Can’t relate. Has Professor Moses become a raging idealist?

“Alright, you’ve been exhausted all day. Come rest in the church,” Moses shifted the topic. “Once the afternoon tally finishes, you’ll start Round Two overnight.”

Axina asked, “Professor, is the second round here too?”

“Still in the Bard Mountains, but you’ll swap arenas with the Senior Division,” Moses explained.

To stop students from memorizing one map and slacking the second time, the Lower, Middle, and Senior Divisions rotate arenas.

Lower to Senior’s, Senior to Middle’s, Middle to Lower’s.

“The Senior Division’s Round One area is large—good for your Round Two. Situations like today’s cramped encounters won’t happen. So don’t worry about the swap.”

The five nodded obediently. “Yes, Professor.”

There was a rest hall for apprentices, but Moses was afraid someone would throw a sack over them (“get bagged”) there, so she took them to Siria’s professor lounge instead.

They had barely sat when the Middle and Senior Division squads entered.

The Middle Division had only four present; one teammate was badly hurt and Professor Pence had taken him to the infirmary, where Professor Rossetti was treating him.

With the door closed, the three squads—fourteen people—sat in a circle, trading silent looks.

Eye contact confirmed it: every one of them was a magnet that had pulled the most aggro on the field.

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