Stark was rational about magic. He believed it was a power that could be utilized. If someone spent their entire life studying and harnessing this power to its fullest extent, they would still be a scholar worthy of respect.
However, that didn't mean he wanted to learn magic himself. Even though he had seen the convenience of magic from Strange and had experienced the power of the Magic Energy Core, Stark still believed that this was not a skill that could be systematically learned.
The only magic he had encountered was that used by Strange, full of mysterious terminology and laden with ambiguous hints. The way of learning didn't even reach the level of oral instruction and physical demonstration. The master wasn't even responsible for leading one in, the entire cultivation process was up to the individual.
Stark preferred to be as precise as possible with everything, hoping for cause and effect, quantifiable inputs and outputs, not a simple "it depends on your insight".
Therefore, when he heard the words "magic" and "Magic Wand", he knew he was in the wrong place.
A school to learn magic? Stark couldn't imagine it. In his opinion, a school was a place for systematic education. A subject without a systematic educational plan being taught in school was completely misleading.
Stark pondered for a moment while the other students took out their magic wands. The teacher glanced at Stark, who was standing there blankly. He shook his head helplessly, cleared his throat, then gently tapped with the wand in his hand.
A small spark blossomed in front of Stark, snapping him back to reality. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small stick and held it in his hand.
He had discovered this thing the night before, but he hadn't realized it was a brewing tool.
Look, just like magic. Quite absurd he thought, looking at the stick in his hand.
However, what the teacher taught next was somewhat unexpected. Instead of ambiguous words like perception, induction, communication, and destiny, he heard the teacher say:
"Firstly, I want to remind you of the wand holding technique. Some people like to grip the wand with their index finger and thumb. Most mages prefer this method. But there are also some special people, they like to grip the wand with their index and middle finger, or the middle finger and ring finger, which is also acceptable, up to you."
"But undoubtedly, you need to find a comfortable position to hold it. Next, when you swing the Magic Wand, don't swing your arm too much, use your wrist strength."
"This is also exactly the key point of the Floating Spell that will be discussed in this class, and its basic casting action is 'Swing and Tremble'..."
"First, we practice swinging the wand, then we can add the spell. Now, do it with me. Swing, Tremble, Swing…Tremble…"
Stark looked around and found that everyone else had already started, so he hurriedly picked up his wand and began to follow.
For a normal 10-year-old child, this action isn't too difficult, let alone Stark, who has adult wisdom. Soon, he was doing it very well, even earning praise from the teacher.
When he heard the teacher say "Anthony is doing well, let him demonstrate to everyone," Stark nodded modestly and said: "Thank you, you can call me Tony."
With that, he lifted his wrist and the magic wand swung lightly, drawing a graceful arc in the air. The teacher clapped, and the others cast envious glances.
After all this, Tony was once again dazed. What was he doing? Why was he competing with these kids? What was the point of it all?
But he had to admit that this was a brand new field for him. An absolute self-confidence welled up in Stark's heart. He believed that as long as it could be systematically learned, there was nothing he couldn't master.
"Next, we're going to talk about the spell. Follow me, Wingardium Leviosa——!"
After the class, Stark was still swinging his Magic Wand. He had successfully made a feather float, but he felt that he could do better. As the teacher announced the end of the class, a classmate pulled him, bringing him back to reality.
Stark suppressed the excitement in his heart. When a whole new field was presented to him, he would study it day and night, but obviously, there was another class to attend and more magical things waiting for him to witness.
The teacher of the second class was familiar. It was the man who had received them on the sorting day. He pushed his glasses up and said: "I am the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts. This is a course that teaches you how to defend against dangerous Black Magic. Let's start the class."
"Defense Against the Dark Arts has a long history. Many nefarious Black Magicians have used powerful Black Magic to threaten the safety of the wizarding world. Today, I'm going to tell you about a dangerous character I've personally dealt with, who is known as the strongest demon in history..."
The students were all interested, listening attentively. Stark listened to a lot of stories, but regretted not learning any new spells.
After a hurried lunch in the hall, the first class in the afternoon was called flying class. Stark was excited when he heard the name. Of course, learning magic should include learning how to fly.
Then, when he saw a row of brooms lying on the ground, he was stunned.
"Now, stretch out your hand and yell 'up' at it!"
All the students stretched out their hands, shouting at the broom, while Stark hesitated on the spot. He had a bad feeling, but the eyes of the flying teacher had already swept over him. Stark had to reluctantly stretch out his hand and shout to the broom: "Up."
With a "bang", the broom, like seeing a long-lost relative, bumped directly into Stark's face, causing him to stagger back and fall to the ground.
The surrounding students all widened their eyes, and the flight instructor exclaimed, "It appears that we're going to have another Quidditch prodigy here. You have a great harmony with the broomstick."
Stark covered his eyes and arose, clutching the broom. Holding the broom as if he was strangling its neck, he examined it from head to toe before glancing at the flight instructor.
Sure enough, under his watchful eyes, the flight course instructor mounted the broomstick, stating, "Now, like me, ride the broom, push off the ground using both legs…"
Stark covered his eyes once again. This was all too outrageous, far beyond his understanding.
If someone in reality told him to believe that a broom can fly and then seriously asked him to ride it and push off the ground, Stark would definitely deck him.
Yet, to keep the dream going, Stark obliged. As he straddled the broom, even before he could push off the ground, the broom "swooshed" and shot up, taking him dozens of meters into the air.
Stark held tightly to the front of the broomstick, he had to admit, he was somewhat scared now. Normally, encased in his mechanical armor, he was unafraid, even at thousands of meters high. But now, even at just a few dozen meters, he felt sickened. If he fell, he'd undoubtedly splatter on the ground.
Stark wrangled with the broomstick midair. However, the broomstick seemed to have a mind of its own, insisting on doing the opposite of what Stark wanted, climbing instead of descending. After a struggle, the flight instructor finally came to his rescue.
Stark clenched his teeth, staring angrily at the rebellious broomstick. Before the end of the flying lesson, he addressed the broomstick, promising, "Wait for me in the next flying lesson!"
The last class of the day was Potions class. As Stark walked into the classroom, he saw a very familiar figure in black robes, Doctor Schiller.
Seeing Stark walk in, Schiller's eyes widened. He assessed Stark from head to toe, letting out a particularly intrigued smile. Stark stood still, staring at him, but then Schiller walked to the lectern, announcing, "Everyone, please take your seats. The lesson is about to start."
"As you can see, this lesson is about Potions, a subject that is slightly different from your other classes. I quite like the former professor's saying..."
"You are here to study the precise science and strict process of potion brewing."
"This is different from waving magic wands and casting magic spells, and it differs from the kind of magic that's in your impressions, but it's equally fascinating."
Stark noticed that Schiller on the platform was different from the Doctor Schiller he usually saw. Apart from being younger in appearance and voice, he also seemed more lively. Stark guessed that this was probably Schiller in his youth.
When Schiller started teaching the method for preparing potions, Stark's eyes gradually lit up. This was right up his alley!
There were formulas, recipes, and measurements, all combined with magical yet convenient magic. Was this perhaps his perfect class?
The first potions class didn't cover any complex recipes, but Stark listened attentively and couldn't wait to try it out.
However, in the actual potion brewing process, Stark realized that it required more of a background in biology and chemistry, rather than mechanical engineering and physics, leading him to stroke his chin thoughtfully.
With the day's lessons over, and on the way back to his dorm room, Stark was alone, thus he had to address the door ring issue by himself.
He walked up to the entrance of the Ravenclaw Restroom, and then heard the eagle beak door ring asking, "Do you think 40-some wedges are enough?"
Hearing this question, Stark squinted at the door ring, but the door ring seemed to suddenly lose its vitality and became motionless.
With a "click" sound, the door opened. After entering, Stark looked back at the door ring without saying a word.
It was a quiet evening again, and he had a good night's sleep.
In the first level corridor of the Thought Palace, the first figure to appear was Charles, who shook his head and sighed, clearly having encountered a room unsuited to him.
The next figure to appear was Stark. Seeing him, Charles said in surprise, "I thought Steve would be the second one to return."
Stark took a deep sigh, stating, "You will not believe why I had to come back here."
Hearing the anger in his tone, Charles curiously asked, "Why?"
"Because of a damn broom!"
"I fell off a bloody broken broom!!!"
Just as he was about to tell Charles about his extremely disastrous flying lesson the day before, Steve appeared, looking utterly exhausted, his voice hoarse as he said, "You won't believe what I just went through…"
"You have no idea how terrifying that place I just came from was!!"