Classes passed faster than I had expected.
Too fast.
The academy days were structured, relentless, and mercilessly efficient. Bells rang, instructors rotated, lessons blurred together—mana theory, combat fundamentals, history of the empire, tactical formations. Each class revealed the same uncomfortable truth from a different angle.
I was a nobody.
Not in the poetic sense. Not in the "hidden genius" way students whispered about in cheap fantasies.
I was simply… inadequate.
In mana theory, my reserves were laughably small. In combat fundamentals, my body lagged behind even average students. In practical demonstrations, I remained quiet at the back, careful not to draw attention. When called upon, I answered correctly—but without flair.
Correct but unimpressive.
The kind of student instructors forgot the moment class ended.
And yet—
Instructor Seraphina Valencrest had not forgotten me.
That fact alone unsettled me more than the academy's brutal pace ever could.
When evening arrived, the academy took on a different atmosphere. The sharp discipline of the day softened into something quieter, almost contemplative. Mana lamps lit the paths with muted glows, and the chatter of students faded into distant echoes.
I walked toward the training ground alone.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
The training ground at night was vast and open, the sky stretching endlessly above. Stars shimmered faintly, half-veiled by thin clouds. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of grass and worn wood.
She was already there.
Instructor Seraphina stood near the center of the field, arms crossed, staff planted lightly against the ground beside her. She wasn't training—just waiting.
Her presence was unmistakable.
The moment I stepped onto the field, her sharp eyes locked onto me.
I stiffened instinctively.
"…Good evening, Instructor," I said, bowing my head slightly.
"Rias von Leonhart," she replied. "You're punctual."
"I didn't want to be late."
"Good." She gestured to the empty space before her. "Stand there."
I complied.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched, thick and deliberate, like a test in itself.
Finally, I broke it.
"May I ask you something?" I said carefully.
Her gaze sharpened. "Ask."
I swallowed.
"Why," I asked, meeting her eyes, "are you willing to teach me personally… when there are so many students more talented than me?"
The question lingered between us.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then—
She laughed.
It wasn't loud. Or warm. Just a brief, sharp sound, as if I had said something amusing in an otherwise dull day.
"Talented?" she repeated. "You think that's what I'm looking for?"
I hesitated. "Isn't that… what most instructors value?"
She took a step closer.
"Most instructors," she said calmly, "produce mediocrity wearing the mask of excellence."
I frowned slightly.
Seraphina circled me slowly, boots crunching faintly against the ground.
"Talent burns bright," she continued. "But it also burns fast. Those children you see flaunting their mana and techniques?"
She stopped behind me.
"They will plateau. Some already have."
I felt her presence like a blade at my back.
"And you?" she said. "You have nothing."
"…Yes," I admitted quietly.
"That is precisely why you interest me."
I turned to face her, startled.
She met my gaze without flinching.
"You are aware of your weakness," she said. "You do not pretend otherwise. You do not blame fate, bloodline, or circumstance. You adapt."
She tapped her staff against the ground once.
"Most students resist reality. You accept it."
I clenched my fists. "Acceptance alone won't make me strong."
"No," she agreed. "But it will keep you alive long enough to become strong."
She walked away a few steps, then stopped.
"Show me," she said. "Your stance."
I obeyed, assuming the most basic sword stance I knew. Feet shoulder-width apart. Grip steady. Shoulders relaxed.
She circled again.
"…Flawed," she said. "But not careless."
She stepped forward suddenly and struck my shoulder lightly with her staff.
I staggered but didn't fall.
"Your balance is improving," she noted. "Your breathing is stable. Your mana flow is restrained, but consistent."
She paused.
"You've been training beyond your limits."
I didn't deny it. "I don't have the luxury not to."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"
The honest answer rose to my lips.
Because I know how this story ends.
But I couldn't say that.
"Because," I said instead, "if I don't change, I'll be crushed. Quietly. Without meaning."
She studied me for a long time.
"…You sound like someone who's already died once," she said.
A chill ran through me.
"I've… come close," I replied carefully.
She nodded, as if that was answer enough.
"Very well," Seraphina said. "Then listen."
She planted her staff firmly into the ground.
"I will not make you powerful quickly," she said. "I will not give you shortcuts. What I will do—"
Her eyes hardened.
"—is ensure that every drop of strength you gain belongs to you."
I inhaled deeply.
"That's all I ask," I said.
She raised an eyebrow. "Good. Then we begin."
She tossed a wooden sword at my feet.
"Tonight," she said, "you learn how to stand without breaking."
I picked up the sword, heart pounding.
The stars above seemed brighter.
And for the first time since arriving at the academy—
I felt like I wasn't completely invisible anymore.