Minor burns; bandages; the ceiling’s white paint; a soft, familiar bed—whilst taking in the lingering scent of disinfectant in the air, there were only two things in this room that were foreign compared to before: Ariene Diadora, resting unconscious on a different bed, and his left arm, still firmly attached to his shoulder.

Of the two, you’d think that a healthy young man’s attention would divert to the slumbering beauty over at the next bed but currently, Roa was busy holding his left arm in the air, inspecting it for any abnormalities.

A roll of each finger; a flick of the wrist; a twist of his elbow—eventually, he began to converse with the arm.

“Hey, I know you’re awake,” Roa bluffed, but his arm only responded in silence. He continued, “Keeping quiet won’t do you any good, I thought you wanted to talk?”

Solitaria followed him over from his past life, of that he was sure. She had done something to his arm early on and saved him from an unfavorable outcome. How she had done so, or where she was hiding, whether her presence would be good or bad—to avoid having any unwanted surprises, Roa eagerly wanted to know.

“Fine! If you don’t want to talk, then keep sleeping. See how I knock on that head of yours if you ever show up in front of me again!” Roa heaved a helpless sigh before shutting his eyes. A minute later, he had fallen sound asleep.

Grasping every dull moment to get some shut-eye in the Spirit Domain was a skill ingrained into his very being. Such that even after coming back to his younger self, he had taken advantage of this time to quickly recover from his lethargic state.

Meanwhile, whilst he had begun his recovery, over on the other bed, a slightly trembling Ariene was already awake.

Even earlier than Roa, she had already opened her eyes to the white paint of the infirmary’s ceiling, but pretended to still be asleep as she spotted him suddenly reaching his hand into the air. She listened to his grumbling—developing a crude misunderstanding that would soon be to the benefit of the unwitting Roa.

Thoroughly suppressed, and by a stupid-looking boy who looked no less young than her—unknowingly she’d developed a small fear of him. Even more so now that it seemed like he had marked her, threatening to knock her head if she showed up in front of him—whatever that implied.

Still, with the amount of pride instilled in her, she furrowed her brow, cursing softly, ‘Hmph! Roa Fariche—is he right in the head!? How dare he embrace someone and suddenly threaten them!?’

Recalling that certain incident from the corridor, blood rushed to her cheeks. And then their mock battle—the dumb smile he wore; the way he fought; and that sudden kick to her jaw. She felt infuriated! 

‘He was leading me on!’ she realized earlier, and thus, that was when she had lost control of herself and her magic.

What immediately poured water over her searing pride was the moment she’d witnessed her signature spell dispersed by a mere wave of the boy’s hand, and her remaining mana mysteriously drained.

‘How did he do that? Who is he? I’m sure he wasn’t sent by those old fogeys from the woodlands…’

Ariene snuck a peek at Roa. He was mumbling, and now he was suddenly asleep. Whether he was faking it or not, Ariene decided not to move against him for now. Not until she was certain of his identity.

In the meantime, while both Roa Fariche and Ariene Diadora lay in the infirmary, inside a large room located at the heart of Luveris Academy, an assortment of people gathered around a huge circular table.

Inlaid in the middle of the table, a mana crystal gave off a bright cerulean hue whilst arcane runes displayed vivid imagery overhead. The images playing were of the earlier sparring matches, an accurate depiction of the second assessment.

On each corner of the arena used for the sparring matches, were embedded with four particular mana crystals, capable of temporarily recording the flow of mana between themselves in the form of information and three-dimensional images.

Configuring a mana circuit onto the surface of a material called draumadite, and utilizing arcane runes, the information stored within the mana crystals could be extracted and shown through countless refractions of lights bouncing rapidly between crystals. —A way of recording a scene with the use of magic research.

Through these recordings, the results of every match were carefully scrutinized by the board of Luveris Academy. When it finally came to the match between Roa Fariche and Ariene Diadora, an enormous amount of attention was suddenly drawn.

“Huh? This is the Seed of Fire? She lost? Weren’t we supposed to keep an eye on her?” One person said apathetically, his curly mustache dipped into a cup of tea he held shortly after. 

Across the table, a fae—someone with long, pointed ears and green hair admonished him, “Noreau! Watch your mouth! Do you think a mere spar would elicit the Seed of Fire’s full strength!?”

“What? Seeing her unconscious hasn’t convinced you?” The man called Noreau replied. “I’m more interested in the other party. Which kingdom taught him to fight like that? What of his background?”

“Roa Fariche,” answered another member of the board, “-from Bellona District, Lyria City. Kingdom of Luveris. —Says here, he was assessed with a red tier spirit.” The member held a stack of papers, likely information about the assessment’s notable applicants.

About what was said, there were two types of reactions that generalized what everyone at the table thought.

Hailing from the Kingdom of Luveris, the aristocrat, Noreau Philitte raised his curiosity, “Bellona? The way he applied a simple spell onto his weapon—did that come from the slums as well?”

A guest professor from the woodlands, a fae with green hair protested, “Being a red tier makes sense, but holding his own against Forest Riviera’s Seed of Fire? That’s impossible! I don’t believe it! He must’ve used some kind of trick!”

The member holding papers took a certain sheet from the stack and displayed it for everyone else to see. On the front was an image of a boy with a dumb smile; lining half of his face and on the paper was a distinct seal stamped with red ink.

This particular seal caught everyone’s eye.

“He… applied with that? Is the seal legitimate?”

“You think anyone can fake the founder’s token?

“Then, he’s a student endorsed by the founder? A kid from the slums? Bah!”  

Noreau Philitte was astonished, while the woodlands’ professor voiced doubt; the fae’s following sentence touched a nerve amongst the other professors, “Is it possible that the seal he submitted was stolen?”

“Stolen!? The founder hands over the applicant’s invitations personally! If a seal was stolen from an applicant, the family would have reported it before the end of the admission period, which was today!”

There were few instances of this logic being rebuffed, such as: the founder’s seal being sold on auction; or stolen from the academy founder directly; both instances proving highly improbable. And a kid from the slums couldn’t have possibly obtained it from either choice.

There was a long list of other ways to go about it, but most people would never think of selling the seal, and would keep it secured until the date of admission.

“—Hmph! Such are the narrow views held by those mentoring the current generation,” a certain Roa Fariche mused. Although the person being discussed was lying on a bed in the infirmary, he had already inferred that there may be a problem with his admission to the academy.

This time, he lacked Forest Riviera’s recommendation. He hadn’t lost against Ariene, and he wasn’t debilitated. He was sure that he was now suffering from STD—social and traditional discrimination—and that his passage into the academy may be seeing some unforeseen difficulties.

A slum brat applying for the prestigious Luveris Academy was unprecedented, Roa was well aware. His decision to apply, and what had enabled him to do so… He wasn’t a bastard son of any noble; he wasn’t the son of a rich aristocrat that was able to pay into the academy; nor was he admitted because of an incredible talent in magic.

All Roa did was to try and sell an odd looking coin he had once ‘procured’ to a greedy shopkeeper.

“Ah,” Roa took out the coin from his inner pocket and held it in front of himself. Scrutinizing its tasteless design, he thought, ‘I remember I stole this thing from some rich looking old man. Who’d have thought that it was a token of admission for the academy?’

Roa smiled as continued to recall and organize more details from his distant past.