Ruvian let his eyes drifted over the parchment, absorbing the list of each choice.

———Magical Studies———

1)Intermediate Magic Theory

2)Intermediate Runes Studies

3)Illusion Magic

4)Enchantment

5)Runic Inscriptions

6)Elemental Magic

———Crafting & Arts———

7)Artifacts Crafting

8)Smithing

9)Calligraphy & Sigil Design

10)Cooking & Alchemical Cuisine

11)Noble Etiquette

12)Leatherworking & Tailoring

———Academical———

13)Mathematics

14)Science

15)Cultural & Racial Studies

16)Linguistics Studies

17)Engineering

18)Trade & Economies

19)Wilderness Survival

20)Beast Taming

21)Navigation & Cartography

22)Astronomy Studies

23)Archeology

24)Herbalogy

25)Agricultural

26)Alchemy

———Combat Training———

27)Magic Combat

28)Swordsmanship

29)Spearsmanship

30)Archery

31)Stealth

32)Martial Arts

For a fleeting moment, Ruvian entertained the reckless thought of signing up for all 32 electives, a full-course buffet of academic masochism.

‘Who in their right mind would even attempt such a thing? What kind of lunatic looked at that number and thought, they're manageable.’

Thankfully, sanity returned before he could seriously entertain the idea. Even for him, such a feat was absolutely madness.

By the time the sun began its slow crawl down the windows of the academy’s western wing, the lecture hall had transformed into a hive of noisy indecision.

Groups formed and re-formed and friends bartered for matching schedules. Some students spoke with bright, overconfident grins as they declared they could handle advanced alchemy and magical beast taming at the same time. Others kept their voices low, discussing which professors were likely to actually show up and which classes were notorious for quietly wrecking Academic Points.

Ruvian remained where he was, seated near the edge of the hall where the noise washed over him without asking anything in return. He had to be meticulous as there was no room for impulse.

Ruvian remembered every choice of all the named characters in this story. He had read it enough times to recall each choice without effort.

In the original storyline, Zian Herga had chosen {Swordsmanship} to refine the way he wielded his blade, {Elemental Magic} to expand his options in battle, and {Wilderness Survival} to sharpen his instincts against the unknown.

Julian Rozenberg had made his selections with the arrogance of someone born into a bloodline that had never seen the bottom of a ladder. He had opted for {Noble Etiquette} to secure easy points, but aware of his weaknesses, he had also taken {Elemental Magic}, {Swordsmanship}, and {Stealth} to cover his shortcomings.

Loden had picked {Spearmanship}, {Martial Arts}, and {Magic Combat}, forging himself into a fighter through and through.

Calyra had chosen the path of scholars, buried herself into complexity, delving into {Intermediate Runes Studies}, {Enchantment}, {Runic Inscriptions}, and {Astronomy Studies}.

Rosalin had built her electives around balance. {Swordsmanship}, {Noble Etiquette}, {Cooking & Alchemical Cuisine}, and {Wilderness Survival}, seeking refinement in both combat and craft. She wanted to be capable in every sense.

And then there was Silvena, ever pragmatic, her choices forming a foundation of knowledge: {Mathematics}, {Archery}, {Trade & Economics}, {Cultural & Racial Studies}, and {Agriculture}.

As the daughter of a merchant guild that handled more wealth than some nations, she wasn’t here to play at being a hero or chase fleeting glory in the academy halls.

She was studying for the real world.

“Each of them had their reasons…” he muttered slowly.

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Ruvian exhaled as his fingers brushed the parchment before him. The list of electives waited in silent demand, while his mind moved elsewhere.

One thing was certain—he needed to avoid Julian until the Vazrun Island Arc. The fewer ties between them, the better. But at the same time, he had to track the progress of the other named characters, to understand where their paths were leading. If he didn’t, he’d be left behind. Or worse… caught by surprise.

As he lingered in thought, a shadow stretched over his desk, obscuring the parchment list before him. Someone had approached him. Ruvian looked up without speaking.

Corwin Dunley stood there, shoulders slightly hunched, the paper in his hand bent where his fingers gripped too tightly.

His voice came quiet, almost apologetic.

“T-thank you for the other day.”

‘Huh? Hmmm. Now, what did I do this time…’ Ruvian nodded once, as if to acknowledge it, though his gaze drifted back to his own form.

Corwin lingered in front of Ruvian.

“I was thinking of choosing Intermediate Magic Theory,” he said slowly, the words awkward in his mouth, as if he were unsure of them even as he spoke.

“And… Runic Inscriptions.”

‘...Huh? Ah, yes… No, wait. Why would you come here just to tell me that?’

Ruvian tilted his head slightly.

‘Is this about striving to become a mage? So, he still hasn’t let go?’

He breathed out through his nose, already reaching for a few noncommittal words. Something vague and polite to send Corwin on his way. A generic wish of good luck. It was his decision, after all.

But before he could speak, Corwin spoke first. There was a visible tremble in the paper he held. Not from fear, but from a feeling more conflicted. The boy’s voice cracked slightly as he continued.

“…That was my first thought,” he said, a dry, self-mocking laugh slipping from him before he caught it.

“But now… I don’t know. Maybe I’m. Maybe I’m just being stubborn.”

Corwin hesitated, then looked at Ruvian.

“What do you think I should do?”

Ruvian’s face became pensive, momentarily taken aback. He hadn’t expected Corwin to waver, much less ask him for guidance. Then, he leaned back in his chair. His gaze landed thoughtfully back on Corwin.

“Why not Alchemy?” he said, voice calm with certainty. (+30PP)

Corwin blinked, surprised. “A-alchemy?”

Ruvian nodded, his expression calm.

“Maybe it’s time you try creating something different.”

Corwin didn’t respond at first. He lowered his gaze, repeating the word under his breath, testing its shape as if unsure it belonged to him.

“…Alchemy, eh?” His voice was softer this time, less uncertain, though still unsure.

“I-I will think about it!”

He looked back at Ruvian after a pause with curiosity.

“What about you, Ruvian? Have you decided?”

Ruvian glanced down at his list, then back up without much change in expression. There was a slight shrug of his shoulders, almost imperceptible.

“If you take Alchemy, then I will too.”(+20PP)

Corwin stiffened, his posture snapping upright. Ruvian’s words had landed unexpectedly. His eyes widened, then narrowed.

“T-That’s not fair!” he blurted out, voice climbing higher than intended.

Ruvian leaned back, one arm resting loosely against the side of his chair, his face wearing the faintest echo of amusement.

“I’m joking,” he said simply, offering a shrug that dismissed the tension casually.

“But I was already planning to take it, either way.”

Corwin was unsure if he was supposed to be relieved or suspicious. He tried to piece together the sequence of logic, only to find it refusing to line up.

“Wait. So you suggested Alchemy to me… and now you’re telling me you’re taking it too?”

He looked directly at Ruvian now.

“Do you actually have an interest in Alchemy?” Corwin asked.

Ruvian tilted his head slightly, pretending to consider a question that had already been dismissed long ago.

“Interest in Alchemy?” he repeated.

“Nope, not even a bit. But there's always something good to learn regarding Alchemy.”

“Ohh…”

Corwin’s mouth opened, then closed again. He glanced down at his elective sheet as if expecting it to provide some kind of answer, then looked back at Ruvian, baffled.

Ruvian, of course, offered no further explanation. He stood up and went to submit his elective class form.

***

[Edvoss’s POV]

The soft knock at the door broke the silence of the room.

Instructor Edvoss didn’t lift his gaze right away. The steady scratch of his quill against parchment carried on as usual. Whoever stood outside the door didn’t knock again.

They knew better that they had the permission to enter. A second later, the door opened just wide enough to admit a single figure.

He came with a soft shuffle of footsteps and a clean stack of papers being placed squarely at the center of the desk.

“Class E Elective selections, Professor,” the voice said.

Edvoss passively looked up. His eyes found the face of his assistant and gave him a nod, almost imperceptible, and the young man turned without waiting for a response. The door shut behind him, leaving him all alone again.

Edvoss leaned back slightly as he brought the stack closer. His hands moved, fingers flipping through each sheet. One by one, the selections passed before him. Some were predictable, almost rehearsed.

“Cooking. Tailoring. Agriculture. Cultural and Racial Studies.”

The words left his lips in a flat murmur, more thought than speech. He wasn’t disappointed. Just… unsurprised.

These were the average electives chosen by those already bowing to the weight of reality—Class E scholars. He didn't care much, at least they knew to always opt for survival over risk.

Then he stopped.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and his hand held still over the next sheet.

Violet.

The name sat there, inked in calm strokes, but something about it refused to sit quietly.

‘Oh, it's the girl who stood up to Julian?’

The commoner who dared raise her voice where others looked away. Bravery, they called it. Foolishness, others said. He had seen it himself, and had stood nearby when it happened. If he hadn’t been there… well, things might have taken a turn for the worse.

That part didn’t surprise him. Not really. He had expected things like this to bubble up in his class sooner or later. But what he couldn’t shake—what pulled at the edge of his mind like a splinter beneath skin—was Veliana.

Her sudden fixation on Violet had no strategic sense. It wasn’t about Class A’s performance or prestige. That was just the mask. He had known Veliana long enough to see through her first layer.

“So why Violet? Did Veliana know something I didn't?”

His eyes dropped back to the parchment. He read through Violet’s selected electives.

“{Intermediate Magic Theory}. {Noble Etiquette}. {Magic Combat}. {Herbalogy}.”

A murmur slipped past his lips.

“She chose more than three?”

“Noble Etiquette? A commoner choosing that class is unusual but not impossible or entirely foolish… just strange.”

He let out a breath through his nose and kept reading.

“Oh, she took Magic Combat as well. With the unique affinitas she carried, she would’ve been steered toward it eventually.”

But it was not his concern. He moved on, flipping through the stack, eyes skimming over more names until his fingers stilled once more.

His hand stopped.

The next sheet didn’t pass as easily.

There was a brief pause, just a second or two longer than the others, before he brought it closer and read the name.

“Ruvian Castelor.” His brows furrowed, then, his gaze dropped to the elective choices scrawled across the paper.

{Navigation & Cartography}

{Wilderness Survival}

{Mathematics}

{Herbalogy}

{Alchemy}

{Magic Combat}

A sharp, incredulous breath escaped him.

“…Six electives?” (+100PP)

The words barely escaped him, caught between disbelief and dangerously close to exasperation. His hand lifted to the bridge of his nose, fingers pressing as the silence pressed in again.

This wasn’t what he had expected. Not from someone in Class E. He had seen scholars try to prove something before. Most of them burned out quietly.

“Is this reckless pursuit born of ignorance or defiance?”

Ambition had its place. But this? This was not ambition.

This was recklessness.

“Does he think the world will halt its turning for his ambition? Hah. That mastery may be easily seized and not earned? Haa~ I should stop bothering about it.” Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on novęlfire.net

He had expected desperation from Class E, had expected caution, resignation, and quiet acceptance of reality.

But this—

This was a boy standing at the bottom of a mountain, staring at the peak as if sheer will alone could carry him to the top. Edvoss let the sheet slip from his fingers, drumming against the desk’s surface in contemplation.

“Hmm… Either he is a fool or someone who refuses to accept his place.”

PP = 1510

ME = 192