The morning sun bled through the tall stained-glass windows of Valeon Magic Academy, casting slanted golden rays across the marble floor. Ansel sat quietly in a shaded corner of Class F's dormitory hallway, his hands folded over his knees, his violet eyes hollow with exhaustion. His body still ached from the rough treatment of the day before, and his mind remained clouded. He hadn't slept well for two days—not with stones crashing through his window or whispers trailing him wherever he walked.
His solace was Reena—at least until today.
"Ansel, are you okay?" Reena had asked gently earlier that morning, kneeling beside him. Her black hair glistened faintly in the sunlight, and her green eyes held a rare warmth. She offered him half of her bread, still warm from the kitchen ovens. For a moment, Ansel felt seen—not as a bastard, not as the manaless disgrace of the Greenal family—but simply as Ansel.
But then, a voice pierced the silence.
"Reena! Reena!" a sharp, commanding tone echoed through the hallway.
Reena turned, her face going pale.
Striding toward them was none other than the third princess of the Valoria Empire. Her beauty was breathtaking—blonde hair cascading like sunlight, emerald green eyes cold and proud, and her gold-embroidered uniform shining with imperial elegance. She radiated nobility and power.
"What are you doing here, Reena?" she snapped, her gaze fixed on the two of them with disdain. "Are you making a scene?"
"I—I apologize, Princess," Reena stammered and stood quickly, lowering her head.
The princess narrowed her eyes and then looked at Ansel. Her lips curled in disgust.
"Purple eyes… so you're that pathetic manaless boy everyone's been whispering about. What are you doing near him, Reena? Do you want to get cursed by this… anomaly?"
Ansel flinched. Her words were like daggers.
"Don't go near him again. Do you understand?"
Reena hesitated. "But—"
"Are you saying something?" the princess's voice turned icy.
Reena lowered her gaze. "No, Princess. I understand."
"Good. Let's go."
Ansel didn't say anything. He just watched as Reena walked away, her face full of guilt, her steps reluctant.
That moment tore something inside him.
The torment only worsened from there. By nightfall, more stones pelted his window. His clothes were dirtied with ink and spitballs. Some seniors passed him and laughed. Others pretended he didn't exist. Rumors about his lack of mana spread like wildfire—not just through his class, but even to the upper grades. Everyone whispered: The bastard boy of Greenal… with no mana… worthless.
By the next morning, dark circles lined Ansel's eyes. He dragged himself into class, shoulders slumped, his body heavy with exhaustion. He glanced around the room. Reena was there, sitting alone near the center bench, but her eyes avoided his. Ansel's chest tightened.
So he sat alone, in the back corner, his bench distant from everyone else's. As he laid his book on the desk, a few low-class nobles and servants snickered nearby.
One of them, a short noble boy from a minor house, sneered. "Hey, trash. You should be sitting on the floor, not a bench made for mages."
He stomped his muddy boot on Ansel's desk, smearing it.
Another kicked his chair, laughing. "Maybe if we bully the magic out of him, he'll finally awaken!"
Ansel said nothing. His fists trembled on his lap.
Then, silence fell over the room.
Click. Click.
Heels echoed against the stone floor as Professor Camila Giovani entered. Her presence commanded attention—golden hair cascading down her back, sharp green eyes, and a graceful figure clad in an elegant deep-blue robe embroidered with magical runes. She was an accomplished mage, known across Celestria not only for her talent but her exacting standards.
"I see the spirit of Class F is as energetic as ever," she said coolly. Her eyes swept the room, pausing briefly on the muddy bench near Ansel before continuing as if nothing had happened.
"My name is Camila Giovani. I will be your instructor for several subjects this year, including foundational magic control. This is my first day with Class F—the lowest of the low. Congratulations."
A few students flinched at her tone.
"However," she continued, "today's lesson will be a bit different. We will have a combined session with Class C—students who are one year ahead of you. They will demonstrate beginner spells for observational learning."
Whispers broke out among the students.
"We're training with Class C?"
"I heard they've already learned two spell cycles!"
"What if they laugh at us?"
Camila snapped her fingers and silence returned.
"This will help you visualize mana flow and spell structure. Remember: mana is the root of all things. Without it, you're just a sack of bones with a heartbeat."
Her words, though general, pierced through Ansel's chest like a blade.
Minutes later, Class C arrived. The students were taller, more confident. They glanced at Class F with disdain, whispering and chuckling—especially when they noticed Ansel sitting in the corner.
Camila gestured. "Now, Class C students, demonstrate the Flame Whisp spell."
One by one, the older students cast shimmering orange wisps in the air. The class watched in awe as the flickering lights danced above their heads. Camila began explaining the elemental principles behind it.
But Ansel's eyes were on Reena. She was sitting across the room, not once glancing his way.
The lesson continued, but inside Ansel's mind, a storm raged. His hopes of friendship, of acceptance—they were fading faster than he could grasp them.
He clenched his fists under the table. I came here to get stronger… to protect Mother… to make friends. But all I've gained is more loneliness.
The glowing embers above him reflected in his purple eyes, but no warmth touched his heart.