As Ruvian entered the hall, a profound and instantaneous silence enveloped the surroundings. A myriad of gazes shifted towards him simultaneously. (+40PP)

He hesitated at the threshold before taking a decisive step inside, allowing himself a moment to fully appreciate the significance of his entrance.

The scholars sitting on the other side of the room remained silent, but their faces revealed a variety of emotions, from surprise to amusement to annoyance. A couple of them seemed to be anticipating a negative reaction, as if they were expecting him to face criticism immediately.

In that moment, he felt a sense of amusement bubbling up inside him, almost causing him to laugh. ‘This feels familiar… just like that underground investigation back in Sector Ten.’

It reminded him of a case he’d handled back in the old world, back when things were a little messier. He vividly recalled the details—four people deceased, one person missing, and a trail of blood leading him to a cave full of dead bodies and three suspects armed with a grin and a machete. This particular case didn't physically harm him as he somehow managed to get out of it unscratched, but the memory of facing death stayed with him for weeks. In comparison, the current situation seemed minor.

He proceeded forward with composure and ease, unaffected by the stares directed towards him. He had become accustomed to being scrutinized and regarded with skepticism. In his perception, these gazes held no significance. They were merely fleeting impressions devoid of influence if not acknowledged. He allowed the gazes to wash over him without reaction.

Subsequently, his attention was drawn to the individual at the forefront of the chamber. Professor Mathias was positioned next to a towering slate board, his silhouette distinct against the illumination emanating from the grand arched windows.

He was adorned in a somber academic attire fastened up to his neckline. He wore glasses perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose, with his eyes looking focused and cold behind them, seemingly lacking annoyance but somehow exuding it.

Mathias had zero tolerance for incompetence, making no room for excuses or tardiness. Rumors had it that his lectures were more daunting than the magical exams, resulting in students failing to meet his standards being removed from the class roster without any prior notice.

"Ruvian Castelor." He spoke his name calmly and clearly, causing heads to turn in the room.

Ruvian sensed the students' attention shifting towards Marthias and him. He maintained direct eye contact with the professor. There was no sign of uncertainty in Ruvian’s demeanor. If Mathias was looking for any doubts, he did not find any. Whispers began at the rear, then quickly spread to the front, soft murmurs, half-hearted jokes, exchanged looks between friends.

"Class E can't even figure out how to read a timetable."

"He's done. Toast. Totally done."

"Entering Mathias's class late… does he want to die or is he just dumb?"

"Who the hell does he think he is?"

And from the center of the second row, Silvena crossed one leg over the other, fingers resting lightly on her chin as she tilted her head.

Her eyes glinted.

Her lips curved slightly as she studied him.

She hadn’t noticed him on the roster. Hadn’t known someone from Class E was even enrolled in this elective, much less had the gall to walk in long after the lecture began without a trace of shame.

'It's him again. And the audacity to stroll in like this is… absurd.’ The corners of her mouth curled higher, a sly smirk finding its way across her face. But she liked absurd things.

Professor Mathias stood motionless at the front of the classroom, observing Ruvian for an extended period of time.

When he finally spoke, his tone was steady and authoritative. The atmosphere in the room felt more intense due to the subtle but strong presence of his voice.

“You dare stand there as if you have committed no error. As if arriving late to my class is permissible? Tell me, Ruvian Castelor… what manner of thought leads a student from Class E to carry himself with such confidence in this hall?” Without turning his body, Mathias raised one hand.

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Mana rearranged themselves into a glowing arc of script and figures, and in seconds, a full equation stretched across the manaboard behind him.

“However, I don't want to hear any excuses. If you wish to stay in this class,” Mathias said calmly.

“Then, solve this.” A shimmering web of numbers and symbols began to spin across the manaboard. The mathematical question curved inward, forming a spiral of logic that grew more complex the longer one looked at it.

Silvena recognized the structure instantly. It was a refined equation built around high-level magic theory, specifically involving mana compression ratios and efficiency thresholds. Even before the professor had finished projecting the final variable, she could already see where the trap lay.

The equation required a working knowledge of advanced spellcasting infrastructure—how mana condensed under pressure, how its flow rate changed in elemental conditions, and how internal systems stabilized volatile currents during mid-cast transitions.

It wasn’t something a first-year should be seeing, much less solving.

And definitely not someone from Class E.

For anyone who hadn’t been raised in a household that taught magical theory before they learned to read, this would be the equivalent of tossing a child into the deep end of a river.

Even with preparation, the question was brutal!

Some of the better scholars in the room might solve it if they were given time and space to think, maybe access to a formula sheet or a reference book. But even then, it would take focus and experience.

Silvena folded her arms lightly over her chest and leaned back in her seat.

“If you cannot solve this,” Mathias said, voice level and unbothered, “you will be barred from attending this elective for the remainder of the semester. You will receive a zero, and the matter will not be revisited.”

The words carried no heat, but they struck with finality. Then, like a slow knife, the professor read out the full problem.

“Given a spell with a mana compression ratio (Cm) of 3:2 and an efficiency threshold (Ef) of 75%, determine the optimal stabilization coefficient (Sc) if the internal conversion coefficient (Ic) is influenced by wind resistance (Rw), where Rw = 0.8Ic. Assume standard mana density (D = 1.2) and no external amplification.”

The silence that came after was unlike the previous one. Earlier, the room was anticipating to see if Ruvian would be reprimanded. Now, it was anticipating a different thing.

It could be a breakdown, or perhaps an uncomfortable silence. It could even be a look of disbelief.

Silvena let out a breath, and resisted the urge to sigh outright. Earlier, she had been curious. Genuinely. But this? It was difficult, a gate locked with a key no one gave him.

‘Yeah. There’s no way,’ she thought, eyes focused toward the front with a sly smile.

‘This is impossible for a commoner like him. Even a talented person requires a solid base, which can take years to build. Unfortunately, commoners lacked this foundation, as did all the students in Class E.’

Ruvian looked at the manaboard with intense concentration, his expression calm and calculating.

He hesitated for a moment.

Some people thought he would struggle at this point, possibly messing up his words and guessing clumsily before being rejected.

It would have been understandable. Even predictable. After all, the equation was designed to be a wall. Tall, cold, and impassable to anyone without years of training.

But instead of retreating, Ruvian spoke: “Professor,” he said, voice calm, “is the internal conversion coefficient always linear in relation to wind resistance?” (+20PP)

A few heads turned at him.

Marthias narrowed his eyes. His voice came quieter now, more guarded. “No.”

Ruvian nodded slightly, then asked again. “Wouldn’t the stabilization ratio change depending on the spell’s rune sequence?” (+20PP)

There was a longer pause this time. Then the professor gave a reluctant reply. “Yes… but only if the mana density remains constant.”

Ruvian didn’t stop there. “And does this assume standard density,” he asked, tilting his head slightly, “or does it fluctuate based on the caster’s affinitas?” (+30PP)

That was when Silvena straightened in her seat. Her back came away from the chair as her eyes sharpened, tracking the conversation now with a different kind of interest. What had started as a quiet line of questioning was beginning to feel like another matter entirely.

‘He wasn’t just clarifying the question. Was he trying to lead… the professor?’ Each inquiry chipped away at the ambiguity, reshaping the problem in real time. Silvena had seen it before—merchants who never named a price, but somehow always walked away with the better end of the deal. A negotiation disguised as ignorance.

And this… this was exactly that.

It took Professor Marthias a few more seconds to realize it too. But by the time the thought settled, it was already too late.

Ruvian’s hand lifted as he began answering the question.

First, he broke the values down.

Cm = 3/2

Ef = 0.75

D = 1.2

Rw = 0.8Ic

Then, as if adjusting for something unseen, he made a note.

“Since mana density fluctuates based on affinitas…” he murmured under his breath, almost as if reminding himself.

Ic = (Ef / Cm) × D

Silvena's lips opened slightly.

‘Is he—is he modifying the standard assumption during the process?’

Her colleagues stayed still in silence while he replaced the values, his fingers moving quickly and decisively across the manaboard.

Ic = (0.75 / 1.5) × 1.2

Ic = 0.6 ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novel⁂fire.net

Rw = 0.8 × 0.6

Rw = 0.48

Then, without even a moment’s hesitation, he set up the final ratio. The instructor never gave him the formula for this equation. But Ruvian managed to easily create one by just asking a few questions at the professor.

Of course, having said that, this was not an easy feat everyone can do. Especially for first year scholars, with no backing background.

And yet to him, all of this was just a child’s pretend.

Sc = (1.5 × 0.48) / (0.75 × 1.2)

Ruvian let out a wistful smile as the numbers aligned. The equation shrank into something simpler, and before anyone could react…

Sc = 0.72 / 0.9

Silvena watched as he wrote down the correct answer cleanly.

Answer Sc = 0.8

Professor Marthias studied the answer. And in the end…

“…Correct,” he admitted.

[You have received +300 Plot Points]

PP = 1970

ME = 195