A dizziness struck me like a sledgehammer.
The air was saturated with a subtle fragrance, a blend of white flowers and rare spices, enveloping me almost like a caress. A faint rustle of silky fabric reached my ears, accompanied by the sharp click of a heel on polished floor.
I blinked.
In front of me, a black marble desk inlaid with gleaming gold filigree shone under the diffuse light of an immense crystal chandelier. Each glimmer projected delicate lace-like patterns onto the ceiling. The walls, covered in deep blue drapes, muffled outside noise, creating an almost religious silence.
Then my gaze fixed.
Her.
The woman facing me embodied everything dangerous in this décor: beauty and authority.
A tailored suit hugged her full hips and narrow waist, the tight skirt molding to her crossed thighs. Her legs, sheathed in subtly gleaming black stockings, ended in polished stilettos whose fine heels seemed ready to pierce a heart. Her blouse, slightly open, offered a glimpse of an enormous chest — a calculated provocation.
Her steel-grey eyes studied me as though assessing a blade of uncertain sharpness.
"Finally awake, Mr. Ashren?" she said, her deep, controlled voice vibrating in the air between us.
I wanted to respond, but a searing pain pinned me in place.
Images burst forth, brutal: a manor with immaculate gardens, lines of servants, a father with a severe gaze, a name spoken in luxurious corridors. Then the shadow of a blazing magical seal… and the Academy of Goddesses.
The most prestigious magical institution in the world.
And finally… a slap of humiliation: Class F. The section where they piled those who had failed to live up to expectations — even here.
I breathed deeply, the metallic taste of doubt on my tongue.
I didn't yet know why I was here, nor how… but one thing was clear: in this body, I was weak. And surrounded by sharks.
She placed her perfectly manicured hands on the desk, leaned slightly toward us, and said in a clear voice:
"Welcome to Class F. You are the elite… of this academy's failures."
The word cracked like a whip.
A heavy silence fell over the room.The uniforms — impeccable in their refined cut, with fitted jackets, stiff-collared white shirts, and gold-embroidered insignias — could not mask the common expression appearing on faces: shame, anger, and for some… resignation.
To my right, a young woman of icy beauty lowered her eyes. Her black hair, perfectly tied in a strict bun, contrasted with the almost pearly whiteness of her skin. Her fine, trembling hands clutched the skirt of her uniform. Her lips barely moved, but I heard her.
"How… did I end up here…"
Her eyes glistened, but no tears fell.
A little farther away, a boy with angular features, lounging nonchalantly in his chair, wore a mocking smile. He ran a hand lazily over his jacket cuff before replying in a low but venomous tone:
"At least you're still inside the walls."
The professor let these exchanges pass as if she fed on the tension. Then, slowly, she crossed her arms, which made the fabric of her blouse pull slightly, revealing just enough to remind everyone she mastered her image perfectly.
"Here," she continued, "no one expects you to shine. But each of you will be watched… and judged."
I caught myself breathing more deeply. This school wasn't merely a place of learning. It was an arena.
A sharp snap of her fingers, and the air in front of the desk rippled like the surface of water. A luminous slab appeared, floating in the middle of the room, filling the space with a cold halo. Golden letters began to scroll, aligned with military precision: the official ranking of the year.
The first names sparkled with impressive statistics — saturated mana, physical strength above norms, and that mysterious "Potential" score that sometimes brushed perfection. The highest-ranked students bore a mix of pride and condescension.
Then eyes traveled downward.
All the way down.
My name. Written like a black stain at the foot of a column of light.
The numbers beside it bordered on insult: weak mana, pitiful physical strength, potential… almost zero.
An amused murmur swept through the class. The professor took her time. She left the comfort of her desk to come stand right in front of me. Her heels clicked softly on the marble, a precise rhythm, like a blade being sharpened.
She leaned slightly, resting one hand on the corner of my desk. From where I sat, I could smell her warm perfume — a mix of night-blooming flower and polished leather. The movement caused the neckline of her suit to shift just enough to offer a plunging view of the firm fullness of her breasts, outlined by a delicate black bra. An unintentional… or calculated… provocation.
Her eyes locked onto mine, an amused glint in their deep red.
"At this level… even an apprentice stablehand could beat you."
The tone was gentle. The contempt, razor-sharp.
A short, sharp laugh burst somewhere behind me, quickly followed by others. Some tried to hold back, but the sound soon filled the room.
I let them enjoy themselves. One second. Two. Then I too burst out laughing — a frank, deep, almost joyful laugh.
Me… the God of the Sword. The one who had cleaved reality and broken the laws themselves… mocked by mere mortals. How amusing, I thought.
The silence fell instantly.
Even the professor straightened slightly, as though for a moment she no longer knew who she was dealing with.
She let the silence linger a few seconds, just enough for every heartbeat to be heard in the room. Then, with a slow gesture, she dismissed the magical panel with a flick of her hand. The golden light dissolved into the air, swallowed by the shadows of the walls.
"Class F…" she began, her low voice gliding like a steel wire.
She stepped back slightly, her heels striking marble again, and positioned herself before the central desk.
"… is the antechamber of expulsion."
A shiver ran through the room. Some students lowered their heads, others stared into space.
"You have one month. Just one. To reach the minimum required threshold. If you fail… you're expelled. Permanently."
Her hand slid across her polished black wooden desk, tracing an invisible line with her fingertips. Then she set her corrective glasses down on the wood with a small, sharp sound. Without them, her red gaze seemed even more piercing, almost bare, like a blade without a guard.
I watched her lean slightly forward to emphasize her words. The fabric of her suit, pulled tight over her chest, clearly outlined the roundness of her breasts, each movement making the light play over their curves. Part of the class — male and female alike — let their gaze drift there for a moment, despite the threat hanging over us.
"Make the most of this month…" she said, her tone icy.
She paused briefly, letting her eyes sweep from face to face, as if choosing whose dreams to shatter first.
"… it will probably be the last you spend here."
The magical bell vibrated in the air, a clear sound that made the more nervous ones flinch. Benches scraped across the polished floor. Students rose in silence, some with closed expressions, others with slumped shoulders. A faint scent of perfume, leather, and paper dust mingled in the air.
A blonde girl with curls, sitting two rows ahead, half-hid her tears behind a silk handkerchief. To her right, a boy with his chin held high stared at the professor with a mixture of hatred and defiance. Conversations stayed muffled, as if a single word might shatter a fragile balance.
I didn't move.
I remained seated, hands crossed on the black marble desk, my gaze lost in an invisible point ahead of me. The images came unbidden, violent, as if someone were branding them into my mind with hot iron.
Flashes.
A broken mirror.
A name that wasn't mine.
A comfortable yet dull life.
Years of private lessons, meals served in richly decorated salons… and despite it all, nothing. No strength. No talent. No place in the high spheres of magic. Just enough privilege to pay for entry into the most prestigious Academy in the world… but not enough to rise above Class F.
A smile, almost imperceptible, tugged at my lips.
"Class F, huh?" I thought, letting the memory of my former life — of my true power — overlay the weakness of this body.
I lifted my eyes. The professor was putting away her things, ignoring my presence, but I felt my gaze light up.
Then… I will play this role to perfection. Just enough to stay here… and have as much fun as I can.