The academy courtyard looked far less majestic up close.
From his dorm window, it had seemed grand and heroic. Up close, it smelled faintly of sweat, burned mana, and ambition.
Mostly ambition.
Cadet 317 stood in the middle of the training grounds holding a standard issue wooden staff and questioning several life decisions he did not remember making.
All around him, first year students were attempting to channel mana into basic constructs. Small light spheres. Reinforced barriers. A few overachievers were trying to form mana blades and failing dramatically.
One boy near the fountain accidentally detonated something that sounded expensive.
A supervising instructor pinched the bridge of his nose with the patience of a man who had seen this exact explosion every year for the past twenty years.
"All first years," the instructor called out, voice carrying easily across the field, "focus on control. Not volume. If I see another uncontrolled surge, I will personally reassign you to cleaning duty in the beast stables."
The boy near the fountain immediately stopped glowing.
Cadet 317 glanced down at his own hand.
Mana.
In this world, it was everywhere. In the air. In the stone. In people. It was supposed to respond to will. To intent. To discipline.
In theory.
He extended his hand slightly.
Right. Mana control. Step one. Do not explode.
He closed his eyes.
According to the academy manual, a student should first sense the ambient mana in the atmosphere. Then guide a thin thread of it toward their core. Then compress. Then shape.
Simple.
He reached outward mentally.
There was… something.
Like static at the edge of perception.
Faint.
Slippery.
He tried to grab it.
It slipped away like it had better things to do.
He frowned.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "I'm not asking for a legendary spell. Just a polite glow. We can start small."
Nothing.
To his left, a girl formed a stable blue sphere the size of an apple. She beamed.
To his right, someone produced a flickering shield that collapsed after three seconds but still earned an approving nod from the instructor.
Cadet 317 extended his hand again.
This time, he felt the static more clearly. He tried guiding it inward.
For half a second, it worked.
A faint shimmer gathered at his palm.
He blinked.
"Oh," he whispered.
The shimmer trembled.
Then it vanished.
He stared at his empty hand.
"…I felt that."
Progress.
Technically.
A faint screen flickered into view.
Mana Sensitivity DetectedCurrent Control Level: Extremely LowRecommendation: Practice Without Embarrassing Yourself
He narrowed his eyes.
"Was that necessary?"
The system did not respond.
He exhaled slowly.
Think. In the novel, Cadet 317 had no notable talent. That meant his body likely had average mana affinity. Nothing broken. Nothing hidden.
Which meant this was a skill issue.
Unfortunate.
He tried again.
This time he did not force it. He let the sensation linger. Let the ambient mana brush against his awareness.
Slowly, carefully, he guided a thin strand toward his palm.
It gathered.
A small blue spark flickered into existence.
Unstable. Weak. Barely visible.
But real.
He felt an unreasonable amount of pride.
Then the spark popped out of existence with a faint hiss.
He stared at the empty air.
"Okay," he muttered. "That was rude."
A quiet voice spoke from behind him.
"For a first attempt, that was not terrible."
He turned.
Silver hair.
Of course.
Up close, she looked even sharper than from the window. Pale silver strands tied loosely behind her head. Steel gray eyes. Academy uniform worn with irritating precision.
She held a wooden sword casually over her shoulder.
The aura around her was subtle but present. Not visible like mana, but felt. Dense. Controlled. Like a coiled wire.
He blinked once.
Do not say something stupid.
He failed immediately.
"You were watching?"
Smooth. Very smooth.
Her expression did not change.
"You were standing in the middle of the field looking offended at your own hand," she replied. "It was difficult not to notice."
That was fair.
He coughed lightly.
"I prefer to call it intense focus."
"Your intense focus just evaporated."
He glanced at his palm again.
"Yes. It does that."
A faint pause.
Her gaze lingered on him, assessing.
"You are in Section Three," she said.
He nodded.
"Cadet 317."
"I know."
He resisted the urge to ask how.
In the novel, she had a reputation for memorizing the performance and rankings of every student in her year. Competitive to a fault. Precision oriented.
He was fairly certain she was not supposed to talk to him at this stage.
Small divergence.
Keep calm.
"You have poor control," she continued.
"Thank you. I was aiming for subtle humiliation."
She blinked once.
It took her half a second to process that.
Then, very faintly, the corner of her mouth moved.
Almost a smile.
"Your mana flow is inconsistent," she said. "You are forcing it."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You are offering free advice?"
"You are obstructing my line of sight," she replied evenly. "If you are going to fail repeatedly, at least improve."
That sounded much more like her.
He shifted slightly.
"Alright. Enlighten me."
She stepped closer.
Not too close. Just enough to observe.
"Do not reach outward first," she said. "Stabilize your breathing. Align your pulse with your core."
He stared at her.
"My what now?"
She looked unimpressed.
"Close your eyes."
He obeyed.
"Breathe slowly," she said. "Do not chase the mana. Let it settle around you."
He inhaled.
Exhaled.
The noise of the training ground faded slightly.
"Forcing mana is inefficient," she continued. "It responds better to calm intent."
Calm.
That was not his strongest trait at the moment.
But he tried.
He let the static sensation return. This time, he did not grab at it. He let it brush against him.
Then gently, very gently, he guided a strand inward.
It flowed more smoothly this time.
A faint glow gathered at his palm.
Stronger than before.
More stable.
He opened his eyes.
The blue light hovered there, small but steady.
Not impressive.
But not collapsing.
He looked at her.
She gave a small nod.
"Better."
He allowed himself a small grin.
"See? Intense focus."
"You were scowling."
"That was strategic scowling."
She looked at him for another long moment.
Something thoughtful flickered in her eyes.
Then a notification appeared in his vision.
Plot Divergence IncreasedInteraction Established Earlier Than RecordedDivergence +0.15%
He almost choked.
She frowned slightly.
"Is something wrong?"
"Just… internal screaming," he replied.
She did not ask further.
Probably wise.
Across the field, the instructor called out.
"Scholarship duel evaluations will be announced tomorrow morning. Participants, report to the eastern arena at dawn."
Her gaze shifted briefly toward the arena.
Then back to him.
"You should continue practicing," she said. "At your current level, you will not survive long in this academy."
Blunt.
Accurate.
"I will take that as motivation," he said.
She adjusted her grip on the wooden sword.
"For your sake, do."
She turned and walked away.
Silver hair catching the light again.
He watched her for a second.
Then looked down at the faint glow still hovering above his palm.
Survival probability twelve percent.
Divergence rising.
Heroine interaction ahead of schedule.
He exhaled slowly.
"Well," he murmured to himself, "this is already more complicated than dying quietly."
The blue glow flickered.
But this time, it did not disappear.