Silence hung in Class A, but minds weren't quiet.
Cecilia leaned back, arms crossed, wind tugging softly at her silver hair. Her sharp eyes traced Aiden's every movement, a smirk tugging at her lips. Interesting. That wasn't just instinct. That was discipline. Precision. Control.
Nolan sat stiffly in his seat, expression unreadable. I've trained under my father, the strongest fire user alive. I've sparred with Level 5s, survived hellish routines. But I've never moved like that. He frowned. Was I...complacent?
Arthur leaned forward with curious eyes. His affinity with both water and earth gave him a calm, rooted personality, but even he couldn't hide the awe in his gaze. That wasn't brute strength. That was experience. Real battle experience. He mentally noted Aiden's foot placement, the flow of motion—like water through stone. I need to spar with him. Learn.
Roland sat in silence, hand still gripping his desk. His jaw clenched. Shame simmered beneath his skin, twisting into confusion. He had power, strength—he should have won. But that single sidestep, that emotionless dodge, and the humiliating fall… it wasn't luck. He's been through something. And I underestimated him.
Momoshi twirled a pen between her fingers, amusement flickering in her eyes. Her affinity for poison made her calculating and a little eccentric. But she didn't see Aiden as a rival. That body... the veins along his arms... so curious. How far can it bend before it breaks? I wonder... would he survive one of my tests? She smiled faintly, ignoring the strange looks from those around her.
And Emilia…
She stared at Aiden as he casually brushed dust off his blazer and took his seat beside her like nothing happened. Since when? she thought. When did he get this strong? Has he been training secretly all this time? She bit her lip, eyes narrowing. Even I didn't know... But I'm proud. Really proud.
Aiden, oblivious to the storm of thoughts around him, adjusted his collar and leaned back, letting out a small breath. His limbs ached, every movement a reminder of the fracturing session last night. But it was working. He could feel it.
Just then, the door opened.
A tall man entered, draped in a black coat with golden trim. His presence sucked the noise out of the room, and even the proudest students straightened up.
"Good. You're not entirely hopeless," the man said, tossing a thick folder onto the desk.
"I'm Julious. Level 7. I'll be your homeroom teacher and professor for mana theory and control."
A few students exchanged surprised glances. A Level 7... as a teacher?
"There are only about 20,000 Level 7s in the world," Julious continued, as if reading their minds. "To reach this level requires years of effort, talent, and a bit of insanity. I had no intention of teaching brats like you."
He smiled faintly. "But this is Class A. The future of humanity. So the Academy pays enough to make even Level 7s like me say yes."
Aiden raised a brow. So even the elites bend for money.
Julious clapped his hands. "Now, let's begin. You'll get theory from me, then physical training with Instructor Varric—one of the top Level 5s in this academy."
The lecture began. Julious was demanding and precise, drawing complex mana arrays with a flick of his finger and breaking them down into theory that most first-years would struggle to follow. But Class A wasn't normal.
Even Aiden, with memories of his past life, found some of the nuances new. This version of Julious is younger than the one I knew… makes sense. He survived the Gate Wars.
After theory, it was time for physical training.
They assembled at the central field, where Classes A, B, and C were grouped together. Students from Class B and C glanced nervously at the six elite figures from Class A—especially Emilia and Cecilia, whose presence alone drew stares.
Instructor Varric arrived, a mountain of muscle with arms thicker than most people's legs.
"Line up!" he barked. "I don't care if you're 4-star or 1-star. On this field, you're all level 1 grunts. PT starts now!"
What followed was brutal. Sprint laps, push-ups, plank holds, weighted drills—everything to test baseline physical stats.
By the end of it, Aiden's shirt was soaked, chest heaving. His muscles screamed from fatigue—not from weakness, but from the aftereffects of last night's fracturing.
And as the results were displayed on the board, the whispers began.
"What the hell?"
"His physique… it's just average?"
"Below Arthur and Nolan for sure. Even Roland's stats were better…"
"How did he beat Roland then?"
Instructor Varric raised an eyebrow. "Pandragon. Decent control. But your physical metrics are lacking. What gives?"
Aiden wiped sweat from his brow and gave a half-smile. "Guess I'm just built different, sir."
The instructor narrowed his eyes, but didn't push further. The results didn't lie—but neither did the way Aiden moved in combat.
As they broke off into cooldown stretches, Aiden caught Emilia staring at him with narrowed eyes. She walked over, wiping her forehead with a towel.
"Your body's average," she said bluntly. "But you moved like a trained killer yesterday. What gives?"
Aiden shrugged. "Here and there."
Emilia huffed, lightly punching his arm. "You're annoying when you're mysterious."
He laughed, the sound light in the afternoon breeze. "You're cute when you're suspicious."
She flushed and turned away, muttering something under her breath.
Behind them, Arthur was still watching. Nolan folded his arms in deep thought. Roland stared at the ground, jaw tight. And Momoshi… just smiled.
The mystery of Aiden Pandragon had only just begun.