As Helena scanned the classroom, her gaze landed on Fanmuir, and she froze for a brief moment. Women are peculiar creatures—when a man tries his best to avoid them to stay out of trouble, they can't help but draw closer.
Sure enough, Fanmuir, pretending to read, was suddenly enveloped by a light, refreshing fragrance.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" A sweet, melodious voice interrupted his thoughts.
Reluctantly, Fanmuir looked up and shook his head at the stunning Helena. Seizing the moment, he checked her expression, relieved to find no signs of recognition in her eyes. Finally, he relaxed. Still, her pure and innocent gaze was impossible to decipher, even for the vampire prince. As long as she doesn't recognize me, that's all that matters, he thought.
The classroom buzzed with whispers—some filled with surprise, others regret or envy. Fanmuir barely had time to process the fact that a beautiful woman had chosen to sit beside him before he felt the sharp, icy stares of his male classmates drilling into him from all directions.
After 1,500 years of life, Fanmuir's self-control far surpassed that of the average student. Though Helena's presence made his pulse quicken, he maintained a calm demeanor, sitting upright and avoiding her gaze. If only his outdated, shabby outfit could help sell the image of a composed gentleman.
As the class began, students—Helena included—found themselves impressed by Fanmuir's restraint. Yet, their admiration soon gave way to skepticism, as they began questioning his sexuality or interests.
When Olivia, the strikingly beautiful teacher, walked in, Fanmuir's captivated gaze revealed him to be just as susceptible to charm as any other man in the room. This moment crushed Helena's confidence, leaving her quietly observing the unfashionable boy seated beside her for the rest of the lesson.
Fanmuir, however, had no plans to talk to Helena. Not because he didn't want to, but because his past experiences still haunted him. More importantly, as someone who had never approached an unfamiliar girl before, he simply lacked the courage. If his encounter with the girls at the foot of the Alps counted, then perhaps he wasn't entirely hopeless.
His entranced expression at Olivia, though, was another matter. Having spent his life in remote mountain valleys, Fanmuir had never seen such an alluring and enchanting woman. Olivia's beauty was utterly magnetic.
Thanks to Andrea's patient lessons, Fanmuir now understood relationships between men and women a little better. He no longer panicked when his heart raced at the sight of a beautiful woman. Instead, he appreciated the pleasant sensation. But after a night of his five shameless roommates enthusiastically sharing their "wisdom," Fanmuir couldn't help feeling deeply embarrassed about his 1,500-year streak of chastity.
Good times, however, always seem to end too quickly. Just as Fanmuir was beginning to enjoy the novelty of having a beauty beside him and another passing before him, the class bell rang. The boys in the classroom sighed collectively, reluctantly bidding farewell to Olivia and Helena before lazily getting up.
Fanmuir, on the other hand, wasted no time. As soon as the bell rang, he followed Olivia out of the room, not sparing Helena a single glance. The slight infuriated Helena, who silently cursed him for being blind to what was right before him.
Fanmuir had spent the entire afternoon buried in the library, only leaving when it closed for the night. Back at the dormitory, he immediately sensed something unusual. All his roommates were staring at him with wide, almost reverent eyes.
"What's going on? Did something strange happen to me?" Fanmuir asked, genuinely confused.
"Fanmuir, I take back everything I said yesterday!" Luka declared, his tone brimming with conviction.
"What's this about?" Fanmuir asked, even more perplexed.
"Don't play dumb! You're a master at charming women—a real genius!" Lonnie chimed in from his bunk, his voice filled with mock frustration.
Fanmuir blinked, dumbfounded. "How in the world did I earn that title?"
Seeing his confusion, Luka leaned in. "We've been analyzing it all afternoon. It's clear now—why Helena sat beside you. You're a hidden expert at this!"
"Really? And how exactly did you reach that conclusion?" Fanmuir asked, his interest piqued.
"Here's the breakdown," Luka began with theatrical flair. "When everyone else was dressed to impress, you stood out by being, well… plain. That contrast made you unique—memorable. And then, while everyone else was ogling Helena, you acted indifferent. A woman like her, who's used to being the center of attention, can't handle being ignored. She had to sit next to you to figure out why you didn't acknowledge her!"
The room erupted in agreement, with everyone marveling at Luka's analysis.
"Wait, there's more," Lonnie interrupted with a sly grin.
"Go on," the group urged, leaning in closer.
"When Helena sat down, Fanmuir didn't react at all. Admit it, you all wondered if he wasn't into women—or worse, if he just didn't care about anyone, right?"
A collective nod swept the room, though Fanmuir couldn't help but feel exasperated. Were these truly the conclusions they'd drawn from his behavior?
"But then," Lonnie continued, "he completely lost it over Professor Olivia! His reaction to her was so over-the-top, it crushed any doubts about his preferences. And you know what that did? It completely shook Helena's confidence. A woman like her thrives on admiration, but when faced with someone who doesn't give her the time of day? Oh, she'll be back, all right. She won't stop until she gets his attention. That, gentlemen, is master-level strategy!"
"Brilliant! Genius! Absolute mastery of the game!" The room filled with cheers and laughter as the roommates showered Fanmuir with praise.
Fanmuir, meanwhile, sat in stunned silence. He had spent centuries mastering the secrets of life, power, and immortality, but nothing in his long existence had ever left him so utterly baffled.
A month flew by, and Fanmuir found himself completely captivated by the marvels of modern human civilization. He couldn't help but feel fortunate for his decision to enroll in university as a means of entering the mortal world and honing his abilities. Without this choice, he might never have experienced the brilliance and complexity of this contemporary era.
In just a few weeks, Fanmuir managed to combine the wisdom of ancient Roman civilization with the millennia-old knowledge of the Apollo Bloodline, achieving a breakthrough in his understanding of the world. It was no exaggeration to say that his insights into cultivation now surpassed anyone else's. His powers had grown immensely as a result.
Traditionally, practitioners rarely turned to modern science as a way to enhance their abilities. They stuck to ancient methods, chasing power and immortality through mystical paths. Yet Fanmuir realized that modern science revealed fundamental truths about the universe, often overlooked by practitioners obsessed with cryptic explanations for magic and divine power.
Science, grounded in logic and rigorous reasoning, sought to unravel the universe's mysteries systematically. Though it had only uncovered the tip of the iceberg, it still far surpassed the vague, dogmatic approaches of many practitioners. Of course, science had its limits—it couldn't yet explain the extraordinary feats achieved through divine cultivation, magic, and raw power. Such insights required exceptional intuition and centuries of enlightenment.
Science and divine cultivation represented two distinct realms. Science was logical and methodical—anyone could learn it with time and effort. Divine cultivation, on the other hand, was esoteric, accessible only to those with extraordinary talent and comprehension. A scientist attempting divine cultivation would likely fail, but a practitioner as powerful as Fanmuir, with his superior mental and physical strength, could master scientific knowledge at an incredible pace. Indeed, Fanmuir had absorbed in one month what would take most people years to grasp.
When science and divine cultivation converge in a single individual, the results could redefine what was thought possible. This fusion would create unprecedented breakthroughs in the pursuit of divine power, producing a being capable of achievements beyond imagination. It was like combining mundane ingredients to create a powerful explosive—unassuming elements yielding incredible force.
"Gravity keeps me grounded because I haven't reached escape velocity. Plants thrive because chlorophyll absorbs sunlight…"
These were just some of the thoughts Fanmuir found himself exploring as he delved into human knowledge. To most people, such ideas might seem like flights of fancy. But for Fanmuir, these concepts held genuine potential, ready to be explored and tested. Of course, he still had much to learn, and his understanding of science was far from complete.
For now, Fanmuir avoided advancing his cultivation level further. His spiritual awareness and growing powers needed time to harmonize. Yet his immersion in science sparked countless new ideas and possibilities, leaving him both inspired and eager.
The joy of learning science only deepened Fanmuir's commitment to university life. He was more determined than ever to stay and absorb everything modern human knowledge had to offer.
For most people, a month might pass without much significance. But for Fanmuir, the vampire prince carrying the Apollo Bloodline's ancient legacy, a focused month of study could achieve what would take others years. Now, Fanmuir spoke flawless Parisian French. If it weren't for the fact that everyone knew he had come straight from the Alps, they might easily mistake him for a local student born and raised in Paris.
Paris—the city of lights and romance, where beauty enchants everyone, whether they're long-time residents or just passing through.
On this sunny autumn day, Fanmuir wandered along the banks of the Seine, dressed casually. Though the sun shone brightly, the cool autumn breeze carried a subtle chill.
Gone were the days of his awkward, outdated outfits. After constant pestering from his five dormmates, Fanmuir had finally relented and donated his shabby clothes to a roadside beggar.
Twice a week, Fanmuir attended English classes, where two of the university's most celebrated beauties were regulars. Thanks to his excellent English skills, he had earned the admiration of their charming teacher, Olivia, while Helena clung to him with unwavering persistence. Under such circumstances, Fanmuir couldn't afford to neglect his appearance. The male students, already envious of his luck, seemed ready to incinerate him with their glares. Unable to endure the pressure, Fanmuir reluctantly upgraded his wardrobe to what his peers considered high-end designer fashion.
In autumn, the Seine's riverbanks were breathtaking. Gentle breezes rippled the water and filled the air with a crisp freshness. Towering French sycamores lined the paths, their dense leaves providing shade and adding to the serene charm of the setting.
But Fanmuir wasn't here for the scenery. He was on a mission to find a part-time job. While his expenses—train tickets, new clothes, tuition fees, and social activities like treating his friends—hadn't drained his funds, he felt an unshakable boredom creeping in after months of student life.
Eager to experience more of this vibrant world, Fanmuir decided to seek employment. The Seine's banks seemed the perfect place for his search. The area was known for its numerous cafés and bars, many of which operated late into the night. Being far from campus, it also offered him some anonymity.
Most importantly, bars were microcosms of society, bustling with people from all walks of life. Fanmuir believed that working here would not only immerse him in new experiences but also provide invaluable insights into the complexities of human life, advancing his journey of worldly training.