The carriage rocked gently along the stone-paved road, polished wheels crunching over the gravel with aristocratic elegance. Inside, I sat with my head leaning against the velvet cushion, eyes half-closed, listening to the gentle thump of hooves. Outside, towering trees danced in the morning wind, and golden banners of the Academy fluttered like divine prophecy.
"Master Kael," the butler across from me finally spoke, his hands nervously clasped. "We'll be arriving shortly. The headmaster and various nobles' families will be in attendance at the gates…"
I gave a vague nod. I already knew. This was the part of the novel where the "minor villain" strutted down the stairs of his jeweled carriage and mocked the protagonist for daring to attend the same institution. The nobles laughed. The commoners watched in disgust. And the seeds of hatred were planted.
I wouldn't do that. Too much effort.
I wasn't here to pick fights or play the role of a young master. I was just here to get by. To live quietly. To eat good food. To nap in the sun. And maybe—just maybe—not get killed.
The carriage finally slowed. Through the crystalline windows, I saw the Grand Academy.
And for the first time since reincarnation… I actually sat up.
It wasn't a school. It was a kingdom of its own.
Floating towers with arcane sigils orbiting them like planets. A colossal main gate guarded by statues that moved ever so slightly, their eyes glowing with divine runes. Dragons flew in the far distance—real ones. Soldiers in enchanted armor patrolled the outer walls. Everything radiated power, mystery, and ancient strength.
This wasn't a place for children.
This was where monsters were raised.
I stepped down from the carriage. Around me, other noble students arrived—flashing their house crests, escorted by knights, fanning themselves with silk. Whispers floated.
"That's Kael Vaelthorn…"
"The shadow prince…"
"They say he burned down a training ground when he was five."
I ignored them. I wasn't here to socialize.
"Attention, new initiates!" a booming voice echoed.
A tall man with long silver hair stood at the top of the stairs. His robe shimmered with layered enchantments. A pressure fell over the students—magical and intense.
"I am High Instructor Arwen Drelos. Welcome to the Grand Academy."
I blinked. Arwen? Already? The same man who would one day investigate me for dark powers and try to kill me in the novel's side arc?
He scanned the crowd, his gaze like a blade. It stopped—for the briefest second—on me.
Interesting.
"Today, you will be tested."
Groans, gasps, prideful scoffs filled the courtyard.
"The Trial of Entry," Arwen continued. "You will enter the Gate of Reflections. It will show you a vision of yourself—and based on that, you will be classified into your first-level hierarchy. There is no pass or fail. There is only truth."
I wasn't worried.
I didn't expect much. Maybe it would show me sleeping.
But then… something odd happened.
As we were escorted toward the gates in groups, a commotion started ahead.
Noble girls were laughing cruelly, surrounding someone on the stairs.
A commoner girl.
Her hair was like threads of starlight—silver, not dyed, natural—and her clothes were clean but worn. She held her books tightly, back straight, not crying.
"Did you steal that pendant, commoner?"
"Trying to seduce some prince with those eyes of yours?"
"Go back to the dirt you came from!"
My steps froze.
The original me… wouldn't have cared.
I probably shouldn't either.
But as I watched the girl try to quietly endure it—eyes wide and calm, despite the cruelty—I saw someone else.
Myself.
The orphan I once was. Cornered. Silent. Hating the world.
Before I could stop myself, I walked up.
The crowd went quiet.
Noble girls turned.
And I gently placed a hand on the commoner girl's shoulder.
"She's with me."
The bullies stared in disbelief.
"E-Excuse me? She—she's—"
"Touch her again," I said slowly, "and I'll remove your hands. One finger at a time."
No anger. No shouting. Just… calm, tired threat.
They ran. Of course they did.
The girl looked up at me, eyes wide.
"…Why?"
I shrugged. "You looked like someone I used to know."
She blinked. Then nodded.
"…Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
I turned to leave—but paused. Then glanced back.
"What's your name?"
"…Lyra," she said softly. "Lyra Everhart."
Lyra.
I didn't know it then, but that name would change everything.
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