Kael stared at the plate before him.
Roasted meat glistened, mashed potatoes looked soft and creamy, and the thick brown gravy smelled divine.
It looked like food from heaven.
But his stomach felt empty—not from hunger.
It was... nerves.
Sitting across from him were two strangers—strangers who claimed to be his parents.
"So... you don't even remember your own name when you woke up?" asked the man at the end of the table, his voice flat, one eyebrow raised.
He looked like someone who had never smiled.
Slicked-back black hair, sharp eyes, pristine noble attire.
He carried the aura of a father who could turn a dinner table into an interrogation room.
Kael nodded slowly.
That man—Marquis Alvan, his father—let out a small snort.
"Were your injuries that severe?"
On the other side of the table, a long-haired silver-haired woman in an elegant dress gently dabbed her mouth with a silk handkerchief.
Her eyes were soft, her smile warm.
Unlike her husband, she looked like someone you could talk to... or ask for extra cake.
"Don't look at him like that, Alvan," the woman said gently. "You're scaring him."
"I'm just making sure. He's a tough boy. He wouldn't get scared by a mere look," Alvan replied. "But memory loss is troublesome. You don't remember your grandmother? Grandfather? Uncles, aunts, cousins, family maids, pet dog—"
"Uh... no," Kael cut in quickly. "I didn't even remember my own name when I woke up. How could I remember the rest?"
Alvan sighed.
"Haaah... troublesome."
Then suddenly, as if recalling something more important than memories themselves, the marquis asked seriously,
"What about Irelith? Do you remember her?"
Kael frowned.
"Ire... what?"
The woman straightened her back. Her expression turned curious—hopeful.
"Irelith," Alvan repeated, firmer this time. "She's... your fiancée."
Kael choked on his mashed potatoes.
"FI–FIANCÉE?!"
"Careful! Don't waste the food!" his mother cried out in a panic, handing him a napkin. "That meat was delivered directly from the royal kitchen!"
"I have a fiancée!?" Kael was still in shock. "I don't even know who I am! How can someone with amnesia have a more serious relationship than... than... rice and a spoon!?"
"Her name is Irelith," Alvan continued calmly. "Daughter of Duke Arvendale. Her father is the king's younger brother."
Kael froze.
A duke's daughter?
The king's niece?
A fiancée!?
"So I've been a high-class baby from the start..." he muttered, staring blankly at his mashed potatoes.
His mother stifled a laugh, trying to stay graceful.
"Don't stress too much, dear."
"I don't know who she is... but please tell her I'm a new guy. Amnesiac. Flawed. And maybe... a little dumb."
Alvan looked at Kael flatly.
"She'll know. She always knows."
Kael shivered.
For some reason, that sounded... threatening.
After lunch was over and the table was cleared, Kael was still trying to process the mysterious fiancée named Irelith.
But before his thoughts could wander too far, his personal maid, Lilia, who had been standing quietly in the corner, finally spoke.
"My lord," she said with a respectful bow. "I believe you should know something."
Marquis Alvan turned to her.
"What is it?"
"A few days after you awoke from your coma... the young master read a mid-level magic book in his room and—" Lilia paused, holding back a smile. "He successfully cast a spell from it."
Alvan stared sharply at Kael.
"He... what?" he muttered.
Lilia stepped forward, proudly now.
"The young master is a magical prodigy."
Alvan looked at Kael.
"Kael. Is this true? You cast a spell?"
Kael nodded, unsure.
"Yes... Father."
"Hm. Then follow me. We'll test it in the training field."
Outside the castle, the spring breeze was cool and gentle.
The Marquis family's training ground was vast, surrounded by trees and well-kept soil.
"Cast the spell you read back then," Alvan commanded.
Kael took a deep breath.
He slowly raised his hand and began reciting the chant—a chant that somehow appeared in his mind on its own.
From his palm, a large water orb formed.
It was nearly as big as a grown man's body.
"Release it," his father ordered.
Kael aimed at a tree at the far end of the field and—BOOM!—the water orb slammed into it with tremendous force.
The tree shattered into pieces, and the ground beneath exploded, forming a crater ten meters deep.
His mother looked amazed, eyes sparkling.
"Husband... Kael is a magical genius!"
Lilia smiled proudly.
"Yes, My Lady."
But Marquis Alvan's expression darkened.
He muttered quietly, almost inaudibly:
"Why... back then he couldn't even sense mana. But now, after the coma... he can do this?"
Was this a blessing?
Or... a disaster?
Then he turned to Kael again.
"Kael."
"Yes, Father?"
"You used to be unable to sense mana at all. But now... incredible. What about swordsmanship? Weren't you a sword prodigy before?"
Kael fell silent.
He didn't know what to say.
He wasn't the old Kael—he was someone who had suddenly taken over this body.
"I... forgot how to swing a sword. But... I believe, if I learn again... I can do it."
Alvan stared at him for a long moment.
Then finally, he said quietly:
"Hm. We'll see."
---
The next day, before dawn fully broke, loud knocks echoed through Kael's room.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"My lord, please prepare yourself," Lilia's voice came from outside.
"Your magic tutor has arrived."
Kael was still curled under his blanket, staring at the grand ceiling.
The covers hid half his face, only one eye peeking out.
"So fast... I just got sleepy," he mumbled.
But like it or not, he had to get up.
Because after that water orb performance yesterday, he knew one thing:
His peaceful life was over.
---
The back garden of Marquis Alvan's estate had turned into a training arena that morning.
The air was fresh, the sky clear, and a slender man stood tall, leaning on a black crystal staff.
A dark blue robe adorned with golden magic sigils wrapped around his figure.
His eyes were sharp, hair silver-gray though his face looked youthful.
"I am Elmond der Vaelis. Royal court mage and personal tutor selected by Marquis Alvan," he said coldly, eyeing Kael from head to toe.
"And you... are the boy who dragged me here at this ungodly hour."
Kael raised his hand in greeting, still half-asleep.
"Morning, Sir."
Alvan stood nearby, arms crossed, observing.
"He's never learned basic mana theory," said the marquis.
"But he cast a mid-level spell just by reading a book once. I want you to confirm, Elmond—whether it's talent or anomaly."
Elmond scoffed.
"An anomaly... or a miracle. Let's see."
He stepped forward.
His hand hovered in front of Kael, and his fingers drew a thin magic circle in the air.
"Don't move."
Kael froze, chilled by the air around him.
The circle spun slowly, glowing faintly above his chest.
"Hah..." Elmond exhaled.
"His mana core... is highly active. The flow is smoother than a fourth-tier mage. But oddly, his mana channels aren't fully developed... like a baby learning to walk who suddenly starts sprinting."
Kael raised an eyebrow.
"So... I'm weird?"
"Not weird," Elmond replied.
"Dangerous."
Alvan frowned.
"Dangerous how?"
"If he doesn't learn to control this properly, he could explode—literally."
Kael flinched.
"Wait, I can explode!?"
"Elmond," Alvan interrupted.
"Start training him now. I want results in one month."
Elmond stared intently at Kael.
"Listen carefully, boy. This isn't a magic academy where you can skip class. You'll train under the royal family's method."
Kael gulped.
"From now on, we'll begin with—"
"Sir," Kael cut in. "Can I have breakfast first?"
Elmond paused for a moment... then nodded.
"You have fifteen minutes. Any longer, and you'll train on an empty stomach."
---
And thus began Kael's magic training—not with a wand, not with elegant spells, but with sweat, pressure, and small explosions that often nearly burned off his eyebrows.
But no one knew...
That this seemingly lazy and clumsy boy—
Held something far greater than mere talent in magic.