In this story, I came up with a simple rule: the bigger the Sacred Beast you summon, the greater your magical potential.
So the tall man with the fedora had a point. After all, magic is just humanity's way of communicating with the Spirit Realm.
Normally, magic works by sending commands to spirits with no will of their own. Those commands—the ones we call spells or charms—are straightforward enough.
Summoning is different. In the Summoning ritual, the spirit you call already has awareness—a will of its own. That will may still be wild and instinctive, but if someone can command such a spirit, bind it, and make it their familiar…
…that person is exceptional.
So it's no wonder my classmates gasped when someone managed to summon a snarling German Shepherd onto the Summoning Hall.
"Doney Bright, you've brought forth something quite interesting. Estimated power level: five hundred. Would you like to name it and begin the Binding?"
The curly redhead flashed a wide grin and nodded eagerly. "Of course."
The professor guiding the ritual lifted her staff, conjuring a magic circle in the air. "Whenever you're ready, Mr. Bright."
Doney crouched to pet his Sacred Beast, which snorted happily. "Good boy. Good boy."
The magic circle glimmered as the professor chanted something that carried a hint of reverence.
"I'll give you a name: Ado."
The golden light from the circle washed over the dog, and when it faded, a red collar appeared, silver letters etched across it, spelling the name Doney had spoken.
"Ado," the professor said with a smile. "A fine name. I think he approves."
Grinning from ear to ear, Doney left the stage.
"Next—roll call number twenty-eight, Nathan Attoney Damsgard."
I frowned. Thirty-nine cycles in, and sure—if a tiny butterfly effect could birth a cosmic monster like Nightmare—then the sudden appearance of an entirely new royal family was small potatoes.
But then someone stepped forward.
Broad-shouldered. Chestnut-brown hair. Eyes the color of a calm sea. Distinctive features, just like a protagonist should have. And under his left eye, a burn scar.
I had added that scar myself, a detail meant to highlight Leon's virtue—his ability to love someone as they are.
Except Leon loved Cella. And Cella was a girl.
Nathan had the same scar, but on him it read as rugged, even intimidating.
What the hell!
He strode to the stage, jaw tight. My gaze followed him, and as if sensing it, his eyes locked on mine.
Surprise flickered—then gave way to deep, seething anger.
Hatred I couldn't quite place.
"Put your hand under mine so we can begin," the professor instructed.
Nathan tore his gaze away, though not before making sure I knew he hadn't stopped glaring at me. Then he obeyed.
This time, the circle glowed a deep, blood-red. Light surged—
—and exploded.
Something that hadn't happened for Doney or any of the twenty-seven students before him.
When the blast subsided, there stood Nathan, the professor, and… a gray-skinned predator, eyes fixed on the students as though choosing which one to eat first.
The professor froze. "A direwolf…? And it's power level estimate…" She checked the tablet-like device on the side table.
Her jaw dropped. "Two,…
"… no, twenty-two thousand."
The hall erupted—shouts of disbelief, applause, gasps of admiration.
Recovering, the professor cleared her throat, offering to proceed with the naming ritual.
But—
"No need," Nathan said flatly.
"You… what?"
"Professor Mistway said it himself. It's my deepest desire."
"So—"
"But I don't want to control it. I… want it to remain free. I want its will, my will to keep burning."
The professor was at a loss. "Mr. Damsgard—Your Highness—a Scared Beast of this caloner could be a valuable tool for your studies—"
"I'm not here to take these tedious lessons seriously. And what you teach here? Nothing but the basics—things you'd never use in a real fight. I came here for something else."
And then he looked straight at me again.
The professor and the others clearly had no idea who he meant. She cleared her throat. "Very well. Then please step back. Your Sacred Beast will vanish once your mana signature disappears from the hall."
Nathan complied.
He walked past me—and deliberately slammed his shoulder into mine.
I thought that was it—until he glanced my way, his voice low and venomous. "Prepare yourself."
I swallowed hard.
"Next. Roll call number twenty-nine… Yvonne D'Arville."
And then I saw her.
That girl who looked exactly like Leon—but wasn't. The girl who'd been with me last night… and maybe even the nights before.
And though I kept trying to shake off the thought, there was only one explanation that fit:
Somehow, all the main characters—Leon, Cella, maybe even the other Heroines—had swapped genders.
***
I rubbed my temple.
Alright. Nightmare's appearance and Havel's pre-regression memories were side effects of Leon's power. But a gender swap?
I'd brushed it off as a ridiculous theory. Now, though… I had reason to believe it.
First, Havel was supposed to be in the same class as Leon and Cella.
But with nearly every name called, neither Leon nor Cella's had come up. Instead, two people with their exact physical traits—people I'd never written—had appeared.
Sure, maybe it was coincidence. Maybe this was a cycle where they weren't classmates. Maybe they both had surprise twin siblings who just happened to share the same grudges against me.
But… really?
That explanation had too many holes.
Whereas my 'ridiculous' theory tied everything together—especially Nathan's rage toward me.
I mean, who wouldn't be furious if their husband—or, okay, wife—had been seduced and slept with by someone else?
But that raised another question: Havel should remember everything from before the regression. He should know Leon humiliated him in public, got him expelled from the Academy, and led to his tragic death.
He should know Yvonne was Leon, just with a swapped gender.
So what the hell was he doing?
Some warped show of masculinity?
And what about Leon's—no, Yvonne's—plan to sacrifice Havel to Nightmare this cycle?