Ron sat in the classroom, a silver coin spinning between the fingers of his left hand while his right scribbled across the page.
He was in the middle of one of the four semester exams—the written theory test.
While everyone else was sweating bullets, Ron's hand moved like a machine.
The test, meant to last an hour, was already finished in thirty minutes.
That was the result of two sleepless nights in a row. As a mana user, his mind and learning speed could far exceed a normal person's. Of course, that also meant the exams were packed with near-impossible questions.
Even so, Ron still lived up to the name of a study prodigy—or rather, the body's reputation before he took over. He wasn't admitted late to the Blue Light Academy without reason, even if there had been some "hidden support" from the shadows.
In front of him sat Emma, a noble from the Red Oval, daughter of the Marquis of the Crystal family. Years of strict tutoring had made her writing speed as fast as Ron's.
While waiting for the others to finish, Ron's mind wandered back to the history materials he'd read.
'The four Evil Gods who once ruled the world are only mentioned in fragments of ancient script—records that cannot be copied or photographed?'
'The most recent record of the Immortal Invader was three hundred years ago during a solar eclipse—described as a white-haired girl lying in a sea of blood.'
'Three famous underground factions existed around the year 18XX, lasting until roughly a thousand years ago. Before they vanished, they burned the Laphel Imperial Palace to the ground. Rumor says the final Emperor spoke of the secrets of the Giant, Phelion, from the old myths.'
Those were the only fragments he'd managed to piece together from twenty pages of filtered research.
Aside from what he himself had written into his novel, his historical knowledge barely exceeded that of an educated citizen.
Most records were controlled by the three Churches and the royal family.
Ron even suspected that the Crystal family possessed much more information, but his own organization was still too young—information gathering had become an unsolvable puzzle.
He took out a scrap of paper and tried to map out what he remembered, connecting dots, drawing lines—only to end up with a messy web that led nowhere.
And then—
Ding!
"The time is up. Everyone, submit your papers."
"You have thirty minutes before the physical evaluation begins."
Ron exhaled softly.
Ever since arriving in this world, he'd been obsessed—haunted, even—by the urge to understand its hidden history.
It was the one thing he hadn't written himself.He wondered what could possibly fill in the blank space he'd left.
And the more he searched, the more he found nothing. Between public textbooks and noble archives, there was always a void—like someone had erased those parts of history entirely.
Still, this wasn't the time to lose himself in the past. He needed to focus on the present—and the future.
Ron walked down the academy's corridor. The minimalist architecture shone under morning light: quartz tiles beneath his feet, white pillars bathed in gold.
A few leaves drifted in the gentle breeze. One landed softly on his head.
Ron reached up, caught it, and stared at it for a moment.
The weight pressing on his heart—his endless pursuit of that thing—faded slightly.
Peace. Just a fleeting peace in this strange world.
As he walked, he pulled out a small vial from the spatial ring issued by the academy. Inside were several white pills.
Without hesitation, he swallowed them all.
Then he sat on a marble bench along the hallway, watching students rush past under the sunlight.
He took out a sandwich from his ring and quietly enjoyed a brief moment of calm.
— Scene Break —
"Ron Irus! You're five minutes late again. Go take your seat—I'll announce your penalty later."
"Yes, Professor Will."
Will was around thirty, shoulder-length purple hair, and a face that screamed Yakuza boss.
He was one of three instructors overseeing the physical evaluation.
As Ron sat down, the white-haired boy beside him grinned and waved.
"Hey, did you oversleep again? I swear, every time I see you, you're either sleeping or daydreaming. Don't tell me you're still depressed about Emma dumping you?"
"Marcus," Ron said without looking at him, "I told you—it's just a habit. And I don't have anything to do with her anymore."
"Oh, come on. Everyone knows you two always sneak off somewhere quiet. You come back looking like death, and she walks out smiling. Who are you trying to fool?"
"Are you stalking us or something? Gross."
"Ron, I'm serious—you should check the academy's news board. You're trending again. You were famous here from the first day, remember?"
"Good for me. My turn's coming up anyway."
"Hey, don't just walk off—!"
Ron ignored him and walked toward Will.
'Why do I have to deal with that guy every time…'
The truth was, he usually met with Emma to discuss matters with Lunas—his assistant. But ever since the court banned them from communicating directly, both of their wristbands had been fitted with trackers.
And since Ron was a former criminal, even his organization leader status didn't spare him from surveillance.
As for why he still got followed despite being a boss in the underworld?
'Hmm… must be a skill issue.'
"Ron Irus! Step forward. It's your turn."
Ron calmly walked to the front and received his file.
"Go down the right corridor," Will instructed. "Turn right again—you'll find your testing room there."
Ron followed the direction. The corridor ahead was wooden, unlike the stone halls of the academy.
He didn't think too deeply about it. Normally, he'd try to analyze the test setup to plan a way through—but today, for some reason, he felt unusually calm.
As he entered the wooden hallway, his eyes softened unconsciously.
At the end of the hall stood a sky-blue door. He opened it—
—and froze.
His body tensed instantly, adrenaline flooding his veins, but his mind stayed unnaturally calm.
Heat spread through his chest. Instinct screamed at him to run, but his legs carried him deeper inside.
His gaze sharpened, breath heavy—but he quickly stabilized it.
Years of leading an underground organization had taught him to control fear and emotion under pressure.
'A mental resilience test? Fine by me.'
The corridor stretched endlessly like a wooden hotel hallway.
Each side was lined with identical doors, from which gray mist seeped through the cracks, cloaking everything in eerie haze.
Ron turned back and tried the door he came from—locked. Every other door was sealed too.
A Mystic Zone? Did the academy really use something like this for a simple student test?
He sighed and moved forward.
…
He didn't know how long he'd been walking.
A day? Two?
He just kept moving, though his shirt clung to his sweat-soaked skin, nearly transparent now.
His face had turned pale, breath ragged, steps heavy.
From the fog, gray tendrils formed, wrapping around his arms like cold chains.
Faded faces—warped, corpse-like—emerged from the mist, whispering in silence.
Creeping insects, flies, and worms crawled out from beneath the doors, writhing across the wooden floor.
Ron clenched his fists. His pulse thundered.
For the first time in a long while, despair clawed at him.