The classroom was already quiet, save for the soft whispers of a few students trading gossip. The air hung heavy with a mix of boredom and anticipation as the door creaked open.
In stepped her.
Christine Shard.
She strode into the room with the kind of energy that made time itself seem to pause. Tall, poised, and radiant, Christine's presence was like a hurricane in human form. Her fiery red hair, tied loosely in a braid, shimmered with streaks of gold, and her piercing emerald eyes scanned the room as though daring anyone to challenge her authority. She was, as Ned begrudgingly admitted to himself, stunningly beautiful.
"Silence!" she barked, slamming a stack of books onto the desk with enough force to make the classroom's flimsy walls shudder.
Ned blinked. "The class was already silent," he thought, stifling a yawn. "What was she even silencing? The ghosts?"
Christine Shard wasn't just their teacher; she was a prodigy of the prestigious Shard family, known throughout the kingdom for producing some of the most powerful mages. Her name was whispered with awe and respect, especially in combat circles. She'd once singlehandedly halted a siege on Nexus using nothing but her mastery of fire magic, earning her the title Inferno Empress.
Unfortunately, teaching wasn't one of her talents.
Christine's idea of instruction was… dubious at best. "Just feel it," she'd say while demonstrating a spell no one else could replicate. Or, "You're overthinking. Magic is simple," which was easy for someone with the kingdom's top-tier talent to claim.
Ned, a reluctant spectator in life, leaned back in his chair and sighed. His talent allowed him to observe people's actions down to the subtlest detail, and Christine's teaching style screamed one thing to him: improvised nonsense.
Christine turned to the chalkboard, her motions sharp and decisive. She picked up a piece of chalk, tapped it against the board a few times, then spun dramatically to face the class.
"Today," she began, her voice dripping with authority, "we will discuss the intricacies of mana channeling and spell shaping. Pay attention. This is vital."
Ned raised an eyebrow. He'd heard this lecture before, and he was almost certain it would end the same way.
Christine drew a complicated diagram on the board. Or at least, she attempted to. The result was a lopsided spiral intersected by random squiggles.
"This," she declared, pointing at the chaotic mess, "is the essence of all elemental magic. Understand it, and you will master the fundamentals."
The class exchanged confused glances. One brave soul raised their hand.
"Uh… Madam Shard, is that supposed to be a fire rune?"
Christine frowned. "Of course not. It's the conceptual framework for elemental convergence. It's abstract—meant to be felt, not seen. You'll understand when you're ready."
Ned stifled a laugh. "Translation: She has no clue what she's talking about."
As Christine launched into an increasingly convoluted explanation involving mana density thresholds and soul resonance feedback loops, Ned's mind began to drift. He rested his head on his desk, wishing he were back home, reading his novel.
Halfway through the lecture, Christine clapped her hands sharply, jolting everyone awake.
"Listen up! Graduation is just around the corner," she announced. "Your ranks will determine your futures. The colleges you're eligible for, the opportunities you'll receive—it all depends on your performance in the upcoming evaluation."
This got the class's attention. Whispers broke out, the tension palpable. For most students, this was the culmination of years of training. For Ned, it was another reminder of how far he'd fallen.
"You have two months," Christine continued, her gaze sweeping over the room. "Work hard. Improve your ranks. And remember…" She paused dramatically. "Mediocrity is not an option."
Ned rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because everyone here totally has a kingdom-famous family name and god-tier talent to back them up."
As the class ended and students began packing up, a group of nobles sauntered over to Ned's desk. They had the air of people who thought the world revolved around them—which, in their little bubbles, it probably did.
The leader of the pack, a lanky boy with an unfortunate haircut, smirked at Ned.
"Well, well, if it isn't the fallen prince," he sneered. "Enjoying life in the dirt?"
Ned didn't bother looking up. "Is there a reason you're here, or are you just bored?"
"Watch your tone, commoner," another chimed in. "You're lucky we even acknowledge your existence."
Ned sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. These third-rate NPCs weren't worth his energy.
"Are we done?" he asked flatly.
Apparently not, because another noble—this one slightly less obnoxious—decided to escalate the situation.
"Actually," he said, turning to Reena, who was still gathering her things, "Lady Dennis, why don't you ditch this loser and join us for lunch? A woman of your status shouldn't associate with trash."
Reena's crimson eyes narrowed dangerously. "What did you just say?"
"I'm offering you a better option," the noble said, puffing out his chest. "Why waste your time with him?"
Before Reena could respond, the noble turned back to Ned. "In fact, let's settle this like men. A duel. The winner gets Lady Dennis's favor."
Ned blinked. "Wait, what? How does that even make sense?"
The noble ignored him, already posing dramatically as if someone were painting his portrait.
Reena, exasperated, stepped between them. "Enough. Nobody's dueling anyone, and I'm not some prize to be fought over." She grabbed Ned's arm and dragged him toward the door.
Ned stepped out onto the balcony, letting the cool breeze wash over him. From this vantage point, Nexus was breathtaking. The towering skyscrapers glinted in the sunlight, their mirrored surfaces reflecting the azure sky. Hovercars zipped through the air, leaving trails of light in their wake. The bustling streets below were a kaleidoscope of activity, filled with vendors, performers, and people of all walks of life.
He took a deep breath, savoring the moment of peace.
Absentmindedly, his fingers drifted to the watch strapped to his wrist. It was an old, battered thing, its face scratched and its mechanisms worn. His father, in one of his rare sober moments, had claimed it was a family heirloom—a relic passed down through generations.
"Your great-great-great-grandfather, Gold Investor, found this in a treasure chest," his father had slurred. "A true artifact, son. One day, it'll change your life."
For the last two years, Ned had clung to that hope. He'd tried everything to activate the watch: shouting commands, spilling blood, even… less dignified methods. Nothing worked.
Now, he'd resigned himself to the truth. It wasn't a legendary artifact. It was just a broken watch.
"Figures," he muttered, rubbing the edges of the device. "Even my heirlooms are defective."
As he stood there, staring out at the city, a faint buzzing sound emanated from the watch. It was barely noticeable, but enough to make him pause.
"Just a glitch," he told himself. "Like always."
But deep down, a tiny spark of hope refused to die.