By the time Monday morning arrived, Soren was finally cleared to leave the infirmary, the priest on duty giving him the same look people reserved for reckless children and ticking boxes with brisk efficiency, as if doing it quickly would make him less tempted to do something stupid again.
He didn't argue.
He didn't smile, either.
He thanked them, took the folded notes about aftercare, and walked out with the slow, careful gait.
Outside, the academy smelled the same as it always had, polished stone and ink and warm bread drifting from somewhere in the dorm complex, and that steadiness helped more than he wanted to admit.
It was strange, returning to routine after something like Rena Forest, but the world didn't pause just because he had almost died, and in a way that was comforting, because it meant he could pretend, for a few hours, that his life still had tracks.
His body, unfortunately, did not share that optimism.
'Ugh… my back feels so stiff.'
After more than a full day on that thin mattress, and another day half-drowsing in the same place, everything in him felt tight and heavy, his ribs still catching if he moved too quickly, his shoulder still aching in a dull, persistent way that made him conscious of every swing of his arm.
Still, stiffness was… manageable.
Compared to what could have happened, soreness was a blessing, and he forced himself to treat it like one, because he had learnt what it felt like to have his breath ripped away completely.
Classes, at least, were familiar.
Nearly a month in this body now, lectures that had initially felt like a wall of foreign context had started to become routine, and in some ways they were easier than they had any right to be.
At first, he had worried about the knowledge gap between Earth and Ivansia, different history, different rules, different political borders, even the alphabet looking like a cursed version of cursive, but fear had proved pointless in the face of one simple truth.
[Library of Memories] was obscenely helpful in this.
He didn't have to "learn" the way a normal student did, he had to be exposed once, and then it was filed away perfectly, recalled with cruel ease whenever he wanted it, the same gift that made written exams trivial and trauma impossible to blur.
There was also the awkward fact that the original Soren had only attended Stellaris Academy for just under two weeks before Isaac took his place, so even without that skill, it wasn't as if he had missed months of foundational work.
And besides, he was in Class F.
'Still, I wish it were… a bit more difficult,' he thought, staring at the neat rows of notes he had already copied without needing to glance at the board.
It was an unpleasant thought to have given his mentality on the first day he had arrived in this world, but after his experience in the forest, he felt that he needed more substance, something that would actually help him be less helpless if he ended up in a similar situation once more.
At the front of the room, the professor droned on, voice flat with the kind of fatigue that came from repeating the same lesson to the same dead-eyed first-years every year.
"Memorisation is a key step in constructing a magic circle. An incomplete structure may cause violent mana feedback…"
Soren leaned forward, chin propped on his palm, looking attentive enough that no one could accuse him of slacking while his thoughts drifted.
'At least I'll be able to keep the original Soren's scores steady.'
That was one upside of these snoozeworthy classes.
He didn't know what circumstances had allowed Soren Arden to be accepted into Stellaris Academy, but he knew it wasn't physical talent, and it wasn't mana reserves, because those were laughable even for Class F.
In the end, it had to be theory.
So if he couldn't keep his written results near the top, if he became "dead weight" in the only place he could realistically excel, then expulsion stopped being a distant risk and became a very real outcome, and he hadn't crawled through a forest and stabbed goblins in the throat just to be kicked out of the place of his dreams.
He blinked slowly, then exhaled through his nose.
'But seriously… can't they teach something more useful?'
He caught himself before the complaint turned into bitterness.
He understood why the basics mattered, and he understood why memorisation and structure were vital, but the longer he sat through the curriculum of Class F, the more obvious it became that the class existed as an academic dumping ground, a safety net for students who either weren't ready or weren't expected to succeed.
At first, he had been grateful for that, no story characters, no attention, no expectation, but now…
His fingers tapped lightly against his cheek, a small, restless motion.
'I… actually want to study?'
The thought made him flinch internally, and not because studying was bad, but because the desire itself felt like a shift, something that hadn't been there on Earth, when he had been too exhausted by life to care about anything beyond surviving the day.
'Ugh. What's happening to me?'
Ever since Rena Forest, his thoughts had started to reorganise themselves around uncomfortable truths.
Things such as:
'I can't wait to train.'
'Practicing magic sounds fun.'
He would catch those lines drifting through his mind at odd moments, and the worst part was that they didn't feel like delusions, they felt like the natural consequence of realising that power wasn't optional in this world.
If he wanted a peaceful life, he needed the ability to defend it.
He stared blankly at his desk for a few seconds, then forced himself to focus, because drifting too long invited memories, and his skill didn't let memories stay quiet if they were given space.
At least next semester he would be able to choose which classes he attended, but for now, he had to continue breezing through these mundane lectures for another few months.
A faint hum stirred under his palm.
Woooonggg—
An orange magic circle flared to life above his hand, small enough to hide from anyone who wasn't watching him directly, and in its centre a tiny flame flickered, steady and controlled.
He had been doing this since morning.
Cast [Ignition].
Let it burn for a few minutes.
Dismiss it.
Wait, feel his mana refill, slower than he wanted but faster than it used to, thanks to his title.
Repeat.
A full-day cycle of secret practice in the safest place possible, where the worst consequence was a professor telling him off for being distracted.
Technically, anyone with decent mana sensitivity should have been able to notice it, the faint pulse of a spell being formed and sustained.
Then again…
'Right. Class F.'
That explained everything.
He watched the flame dance, then adjusted his breathing and steadied the circle further, the lines sharpening until it felt less like he was forcing it into existence and more like he was simply holding a shape he understood.
The circle's stability made him quietly proud.
This was [Concentration].
He had spent a ticket worth an absurd amount of value on it, and he had been determined to wring every possible advantage from that decision, even if his satisfaction still came through exhaustion rather than joy.
The results had been better than he had expected.
Not only could he maintain spells while moving, which had been his original goal, but the skill had side effects he hadn't anticipated.
Better multitasking, smoother mana control, and a sharper focus that carried over into mundane things, like listening while writing, or holding a conversation without his attention slipping.
Paired with [Library of Memories], it made him feel, for the first time, like he might actually belong here as a student, not as a liability.
Memorisation and concentration.
An ideal combination for someone who refused to stay useless.
He let the flame die and dismissed the circle, then rolled his wrist subtly, testing the tension in his joints, and winced when a dull ache tugged along his ribs.
'At least it was worth it.'
He was about to return to the lecture when his gaze flicked, habitually, to the corner of his vision where his status window would appear if he called it.
There was, however, something else he had done during his infirmary stay, something far less rational, far less strategic.
When browsing the store, he had stumbled across a certain item.
Random Stat-Boost Elixir.
The moment he had seen it, he had tried to scroll past.
Genuinely, he had.
Because he knew better, he knew the logic, he knew that early boosts could give diminishing returns later, and he knew he was meant to be careful with points, especially now.
The problem was that logic didn't erase habit.
Years of gambling addiction brought about through TKS's skin gacha had left scars that couldn't be held back with the willpower of a mere exhausted teenager.
And at only twenty-five points, it had been impossible to ignore.
So, naturally, he bought it.
Immediately after, the price doubled to fifty points, as if the system itself wanted to laugh at him for being predictable.
At first, he had told himself not to drink it.
He had made a neat argument in his head about optimal timing and long-term growth, and it was a good argument, one that would have impressed the part of him that liked being right.
Then he had placed the bottle on the bedside table, and spent an entire day staring at it, as if it might explode if he didn't.
In the end…
'I couldn't help myself.'
He drank it.
Agility had jumped by three decimal points, which was fortunate, because for one horrifying second he had pictured the elixir boosting Charm instead and pushing him deeper into the absurdity that stat represented.
'I wonder if increasing Charm would even do anything at this point.'
In the game the stat had been simple; it increased affection gain, date event rewards, and gift effectiveness.
Here, it was less clear, because real people didn't have affection bars, and if Charm was meant to make people like him more, it had failed spectacularly, considering that no one had greeted him once that morning, and most students still avoided looking at him for longer than a second.
'Whatever,' he thought, and tried to mean it. 'I'll figure it out someday… probably.'
The bell snapped him out of his spiral.
"—That's all for today. Be careful on your way out."
Books closed, and the low murmur of students rising filled the lecture hall, the sound normal enough that it helped settle him further.
He gathered his things, methodical, then paused when the professor glanced at a note and cleared his throat.
"Oh, and Soren Arden, Professor Roseblood asked me to tell you to wait here for her."
Soren stopped mid-motion, thumb brushing his lower lip in a thoughtless habit.
'Wait… what?'
He had already been scolded after waking up in the infirmary, when she had made it painfully clear what she thought about him going alone, what could she want now?
'Did I mess something up?'
The thought came with a flash of anxiety, thin but sharp, the same instinct that always assumed an adult calling your name meant trouble, but he forced his shoulders to relax.
He waited.
The room emptied, footsteps fading down the corridor, and the lecture hall's stillness returned, leaving only the lingering smell of ink and chalk.
————「❤︎」————