Chapter 45 – Special Student
The Dean's office smelled like old paper, ink, and mana.
Shelves climbed the walls, full of books that looked heavy enough to crush a first-year. A huge window let in pale afternoon light, dust motes drifting in slow, lazy spirals.
In the middle of all that, an old man sat behind a desk that had seen more crises than most kingdoms.
Keith, Dean of the Academy.
His hair was snow-white, pulled back and tied at the nape. His beard was long and thick, braided near the end with a simple ring. The robe on his shoulders was deep blue, lined with gold thread, wards stitched into every seam.
His presence was quiet.
His mana wasn't.
Tier 6. It hummed in the room like pressure before a storm.
Professor Elvard sat to his left, legs crossed, fingers still faintly stained with chalk. To the right stood Garen, the Sword campus head, back straight, expression set in that permanent frown reserved for swordsmen forced to talk instead of swing.
"So," Keith said at last, voice low and roughened by age, "thirteen dead. One unstable horror. A boy with a claymore. A noble duel that should not have happened. And somehow, the Academy still stands."
Garen grunted.
"Elaborate version," he said, "but yes."
Elvard's mouth twitched.
"The boy is… unusual," he said. "But not reckless. He stepped in because no one else could reach the scene in time."
Keith's faded eyes slid his way.
"You sound very certain," he said.
"I teach Divination," Elvard replied mildly. "I've seen enough paths where we were too slow. This was not one of them."
Keith tapped a knuckle against the desk.
"And Lord Verdan?" he asked. "I have three priests and a very upset administrator telling me we allowed a noble Swordmaster to nearly kill a twelve-year-old on school grounds."
Garen's jaw tightened.
"Lord Verdan was… provoked," he said. "By his own pride more than anything. Student Milton accepted the duel knowing the terms. He was not forced."
"And he won," Elvard added. "Fast."
Keith considered that.
The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened.
"Viester's son," he murmured. "With a System the Church is pretending not to see, and more sense than most of our staff."
He leaned back in his chair, joints creaking audibly.
"Elvard," he said, "you told me, quietly, that sending this boy away would be a mistake."
Elvard inclined his head.
"I stand by that," he said. "He disturbs the surface, yes. But the undercurrents were already bad. Now, at least, we see where they're breaking."
Garen folded his arms.
"The students respect strength," he said. "They've seen his. More importantly, they've seen what he uses it for."
Keith's gaze dropped to the parchment on his desk—a neat report summarising the monster, the hunt, the duel, and the fallout in tidy lines.
"So," he said. "He saves students from a thing that shouldn't exist in our forest. He survives a lord's derivation. He forces a stubborn father to see his child clearly for the first time. And the Academy's reputation…" He exhaled. "Has taken a blow, but not a killing one."
He looked up.
"Bring him to me," he said. "If a boy insists on acting like a cornerstone of this place, I would like to see the stone myself."
***
They called me between classes.
Not to Elvard's office, or the Sword training grounds, or any of the usual places.
To the Dean.
The corridor leading to his office was quieter than the rest of the Academy. The wards were thicker here, etched into stone, humming under my fingers when I brushed the walls.
A secretary with tight hair and tighter lips opened the door and gestured me in.
Keith looked older up close.
Not weaker.
Everything about him seemed… condensed. No wasted movement, no wasted mana. His beard could probably strangle a man on its own if he decided to animate it.
Professor Elvard sat you-are-only-a-guest straight on one of the side chairs. Garen leaned near a bookcase, arms crossed.
"Student Milton," Keith said. "Thank you for coming."
I bowed, the shallow, neat one Viester had drilled into me.
"Dean," I said. "Professors."
"Sit," Keith said, nodding at the chair opposite his desk.
I sat.
His eyes studied me for a moment. Not in the way nobles did, tallying status and potential use. More like a craftsman inspecting a new tool he hadn't ordered.
"I believe," Keith said slowly, "I owe you my gratitude."
"That's… strong," I said. "You owe me nothing, sir. I was there. It needed doing."
His beard shifted with a faint huff of breath.
"Spoken like every idiot hero I've ever met," he said. "Nevertheless, this old man prefers accurate bookkeeping. You killed a creature that should not exist. Saved a number of my students. And your duel, while ill-advised, prevented Lord Verdan from breaking his own child beyond repair."
He tapped the parchment on his desk.
"If you had not acted," he said, "the deaths would have been higher. The scandal worse. I would, in all likelihood, be stepping down."
That made my spine straighten before I could stop it.
In the game, in past loops, the "incident in the forest" had been a fixed point. Students died. The Headmaster—Keith—stepped down in shame. A new one, less competent and more political, took his place.
More cracks for the portals to leak through.
"You're not stepping down now," I said.
His brows lifted.
"No," he said. "Not at this time."
I exhaled.
"Good," I said. "Last time, the replacement was worse."
The room went very still.
Elvard's head tilted, faint interest sharpening his gaze.
Garen frowned.
Keith's eyes narrowed a fraction.
"Last time," he repeated. "You speak like a Divination student, and not like one of mine."
I shrugged.
"Occupational hazard," I said. "Divination teaches you to think in ifs and thens and 'what would have happened if I didn't move.'"
He watched me for another long heartbeat, then let it go.
"Regardless," he said, "the fact remains: I owe you. The Academy owes you. That is not a small thing."
He clasped his hands together on the desk.
"I am prepared," he went on, "to grant you a favour. Within reason. Resources. Recommendations. Adjustments to your curriculum. You may ask."
There it was.
The invisible [Quest Reward] prompt, in very old-man wording.
THOMAS stayed pointedly quiet.
Good. I didn't need a menu popping up right now.
I had to think.
There were a dozen things I could have asked for.
Private access to restricted sections.
Advanced classes.
Permission to skip straight to upper-year combat or enchantment labs.
A direct line to the Emperor.
The problem was: most of those I could earn or steal later.
And asking for them now would just put a bigger spotlight exactly where I didn't need it.
People remembered the boy who requested power for himself.
They remembered less the one who spent his favor somewhere "small."
"Dean," I said.
"Yes?" he said.
"Is there something you're already allowed to offer," I asked, "that doesn't require… bending rules? Something the Academy would not regret later?"
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"Cautious," he said. "Good. I can, for instance, grant full scholarships, or have certain students' fees reimbursed. I can also extend Academy protection, within limits, to a family or household—especially in cases where the Academy's negligence has placed them at risk."
He steepled his fingers.
"I could, if you demanded it," he added, "order Lord Verdan to send additional funds to the families of the dead. Or force the nobility to accept responsibility publicly. Or—"
"Lyra," I said.
He stopped.
"Feld," I clarified. "Sword campus. Red hair. Blue eyes. Commoner."
"I am aware of Miss Feld," Keith said.
"Give her full reimbursement," I said. "Whatever she's paying now as a scholarship student—wipe it. Backdate it if you can. And extend whatever level of protection is reasonable to her family. They're not nobles. If someone decides to target them because she stood near me, they won't have shields."
Garen shifted.
Elvard's brows rose very slightly.
Keith considered me.
"You do not ask for House Milton," he observed. "Or for your own advancement. You ask for a common girl's fees and safety."
"She's here on your scholarship," I said. "But she's paying for it with fear. The bullies came first. The monsters came after. I was the one who dragged her into this mess you call 'heroic potential.' The least I can do is make sure she doesn't have to choose between staying alive and staying enrolled."
His beard moved as he pressed his lips together.
"Elvard," he said, without looking away from me. "Can the budget sustain a full scholarship transfer and reimbursement for Miss Feld?"
"Yes," Elvard said promptly. "Especially considering the alternative—losing her to circumstances when she's already proven herself capable."
"Garen?" Keith asked.
Garen grunted.
"She works harder than most nobles," he said. "If this keeps her in my yard, I have no complaints."
Keith nodded once.
"Very well," he said. "Consider it done. I will sign the orders personally. Miss Feld's tuition will be fully covered. Any outstanding debts related to her Academy costs will be cancelled. Formal notice will be sent to her family that the Academy acknowledges her as a student under its protection."
A knot loosened somewhere under my ribs.
"Thank you," I said.
He waved a hand.
"You've already earned it," he said. "But you have not used all of your goodwill."
I frowned.
"I don't need anything else," I said. "Not now."
"You may not think so," Keith said. "I disagree. However, I dislike wasting favors. So let us make it conditional."
He pulled a drawer open, took out a slim, dark-blue card edged with silver, and set it on the desk.
It hummed faintly with wards.
"This," he said, "is a Special Student pass. At present, it has no name burned into it."
I looked at it.
"And 'Special Student' means…?" I asked.
His beard shifted around a thin smile.
"That you are no longer bound by some of the smaller chains we place on ordinary pupils," he said. "With this, you may, by right of merit:
– Skip classes as long as you pass the associated tests.
– Apply to take advancement exams early and move ahead of your year.
– Enter most restricted areas of the Academy without asking permission each time.
– Request direct audience with senior faculty when necessary.
It is not carte blanche," he added. "You would still answer to me. You would still be expected not to burn my Academy down. But it is… freedom. Recognised and formal."
I watched the card.
Special Student.
In the game, that title had belonged to a handful of chosen NPCs and the player avatar. Walking flags with too much access, too much plot gravity.
Here, it would be a beacon.
Useful.
Dangerous.
Keith's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"However," he said, "I will not hand it out overdue to a single event, no matter how impressive. That would be unfair to your peers." His gaze sharpened. "So I will attach a condition."
Of course.
[ Optional Condition Locked In ]
"Midterms approach," he said. "If, when they are graded, you rank in the top ten overall, I will formally mark you as a Special Student and give you this pass."
"Top ten," I repeated. "Out of the entire year?"
"Out of the Academy," he said. "Sword, Staff, and Divination, first-year cohort."
I thought of history.
Of Lyra's neat notes.
Of Noel's diagrams.
Of Tamara's stubborn scowl.
I exhaled.
"That's… not impossible," I said.
"No," Keith said. "If it were, it would not be a fair test."
He slid the card back into the drawer and closed it.
"You have already shown you can do what most cannot," he said. "Now show you can also do what this place actually exists for: learning. The Academy is not just a battlefield with better architecture."
I bowed my head a fraction.
"Understood," I said.
He nodded once.
"Good," he said. "Then we are done. Professor Garen, Professor Elvard, you may go. Student Milton—try not to cause any more structural damage before midterms."
"No promises," I said.
Garen snorted.
Elvard's lips twitched.
When I stepped back into the corridor, THOMAS finally pinged.
[ System ]
[ New Condition Registered: "Special Student Pass (Locked)" ]
[ Requirement: Achieve Top 10 Overall in Midterm Examinations. ]
[ Reward: Access, Freedom, Additional Trouble. ]
[ Note: History score currently projected as "problem." Suggest remedial study. ]
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. "I'll ask Lyra."
***
Far from the Academy, in a palace of stone and gilded restraint, an old soldier-Emperor sat in his private study, listening.
The report in front of him was neat.
His informant's voice was careful.
"…so in summary, Your Majesty," the man finished, "the incident in the forest was contained. Casualties occurred, but they would have been far higher without Student Milton's intervention. The duel with Lord Verdan was… loud, but has ended with public reconciliation and a binding oath. The Dean remains in place. The Academy's reputation, while bruised, is recoverable."
Vastrian.
Emperor of Lumia.
He tapped one finger slowly against the desk.
"Viester's boy," he said.
"Yes, Your Majesty," the informant said.
"The same one who beat a duke's daughter in a duel," Vastrian went on, half to himself. "Who walked into Divinity and asked the kind of questions that make priests lose sleep. Who now slaps sense into lords in my Academy without dying."
He leaned back, eyes unfocused on the far wall.
For a moment, in his mind's eye, he saw purple hair, red eyes, and the stubborn line of his daughter's jaw.
He wondered if Olivia had heard yet.
He almost hoped she hadn't.
"…your orders, Your Majesty?" the informant asked carefully.
Vastrian smiled, very slightly.
"Watch him," he said. "Quietly. Do not meddle yet."
He picked up a pen, dipped it in ink.
"This boy," he murmured, more to himself than the man in front of him, "is getting more interesting."