Chapter 13 — The Dangerous Anomaly
Darkness.
Not the peaceful kind.
The heavy kind—like the universe had thrown a weighted blanket over my consciousness and then sat on it.
The world didn't fade to black. It snapped.
One moment, I was teaching a noble about
Elements in chemistry
The next
The flore rushed to me at this point we became buddy-buddy
Silence.
Then—
A low, rhythmic hum.
I opened my eyes to white.
A ceiling so bright it felt like a personal attack on my retinas. White curtains. White stone walls etched with faint mana runes that pulsed softly.
The air smelled of crushed herbs, and regret.
The Academic Hospital.
“…Of course,” I croaked.
My throat felt like sandpaper.
Pain followed.
Not sharp. Not explosive
Deep
It sat in my chest, my stomach, and my bones—like my body was quietly filing a formal complaint against my brain
I tried to move.
My left arm didn’t respond.
Panic flared—
Then died, crushed beneath exhaustion so thick
I tried to reach for mana.
Nothing.
Not resistance. Not emptiness.
Just… silence.
Yeah
I am fucked
I let my head sink back into the pillow.
The memories hit all at once—
The arena. Theo’s face. The pressure. The water cannon
My arm twitched.
ZAP.
Pain exploded from my left shoulder down to my fingertips, jagged, electric, and very angry.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE]
Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.
Status Effect: [Severe Mana Backflow]
You emptied your mana pool Your circuits are currently fried. Do not attempt magic unless you want your veins to do the Macarena.
Status Effect: [Severe Mana Backflow]
You are a human, not a fire hose. Your arm is currently on strike. It will be unusable for 24 hours. Do not touch it. Do not even look at it
Don’t move.”
The voice was calm. Female. Dead inside.
I turned my head slightly. A woman in academy medical robes stood beside the bed, a clipboard floating near her shoulder. She looked at me
He’s awake,” she said toward the door. “Good. That saves me time
I tried to lift my left arm again.
Bad idea.
Stars burst behind my eyes. I think I saw my ancestors. They looked disappointed.
Stop,” she said flatly. “Left arm is unusable for twenty-four hours. Severe mana feedback combined with muscle overload. No permanent damage—if you behave. Which, according to your file, is unlikely.”
“…Mana?” I asked weakly.
She nodded.
“Completely exhausted. Not empty. Exhausted. You pushed past your natural limits and paid the price.
Figures.
I stared at the ceiling.
“So,” I muttered. “Did I die?”
“No.
A pause
“But several professors debated you should
I snorted—and immediately regretted it. My ribs protested the movement.
The healer ignored my suffering.
“You’ll stay here until sunset. No casting. No training. Absolute rest. If I see you trying to even breathe strong
, I will sedate you.
My lips twitched.
She knew. Of course she knew how to
The door opened.
Footsteps
More than one set.
The pressure in the room changed instantly. The air got heavier, sharper. Even the dust motes seemed to stop moving out of fear.
I didn’t need to look.
Sword Instructor Selene Lunaris stopped at the foot of my bed.
Her silver eyes were as unreadable as a blank sheet of paper, but scarier.
“You’re awake,” she said.
“I try,” I replied. “It’s a struggle.
She didn’t smile.
“Your match concluded shortly after you lost consciousness,” she continued. “Theo von Brandis is alive. Injured. Contained.”
“Shame,” I muttered.
Her gaze sharpened—just a fraction.
“I intervened before the situation escalated further,” she said calmly. “You forced my hand.”
That wasn’t praise.
That was a notification that I was on thin ice.
She lifted one hand.
A glowing panel materialized above my bed, displaying the text I had been dreading.
[Official Entrance Exam — Class A Final Rankings]
Rank name
1:: Elena von Hestia
2:: Arthur
3:: Iris Aethelgard
4:: Lucen Gray
5:: Aria Asteron
6:: Louis Casper
7:: Theo von Brandis
I stared at it.
Rank 6.
Class A.
Selene studied me.
“You fought beyond your parameters,” she said. “You ignored established magical theory. You applied concepts that should not function within conventional spellcasting.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“And yet—you survived.”
She leaned closer, voice dropping.
“Do not repeat this without supervision. I will not always be present to prevent consequences.”
Then—
Something unexpected.
The faintest trace of approval touched her lips.
“But,” she added, straightening, “you are officially a Class A student.”
Selene turned and left without another word.
The healer exhaled slowly, shaking her head.
“…You academy elites are exhausting. I need tea.”
She followed the Instructor out.
But I wasn't alone.
Rasp. Rasp. Rasp.
The sound of metal on stone.
I turned my head.
Lucen Gray sat by the window, sharpening a dagger with methodical calm.
“They finalized rankings while you were unconscious,” he said without looking up. “Too many witnesses. No one could bury what happened.”
I looked back at the board.
Rank 6.
“You’re still above me,” I muttered
He rose from the chair by the window and took a step closer, stopping just outside my arm’s reach. Close enough that I could feel the weight of him—not mana, not killing intent. Just presence.
“In Class A,” he continued, “rank isn’t about power. It’s about stability.”
I exhaled slowly. “So what now?”
Lucen turned toward the door.
“Now you rest,” he said. “Heal. Recover your mana.”
He stopped at the threshold and glanced back once.
They placed you at 6 because they don’t know what to do with someone who is unpredictable
The word settled heavier than the pain in my arm.
Unpredictable
Not strong.
Not weak.
Not genius.
An unknown variable.
I exhaled slowly and stared at the ceiling again.
Left arm useless.
Mana gone.
Class A.
And now
A position where everyone would be watching.
Waiting.
For a mistake
Selene Lunaris did not look back at the infirmary door as it closed behind her.
She walked down the marble corridor in silence, boots striking stone with measured precision. Behind her, a student lay broken—unconscious minutes ago, now awake and already becoming a problem.
Rank 6.
It was an intentional placement. Not a reward, but a containment measure. The academy did not know what to do with Louis Casper, so they did what institutions always did when faced with an anomaly they could not classify—they watched it.
“He violated three casting conventions,” one of the evaluators had complained during the deliberation.
“He ignored mana flow theory entirely,” another had added, his voice thin with indignation.
Selene had said nothing then. Theory only mattered when it survived contact with reality, and Louis Casper had done something far more troubling than win.
He had adapted mid-combat.
It wasn't instinct. It wasn't raw talent. It was calculation. She had seen the moment his eyes changed—when panic vanished and something colder took its place. Something that did not belong in a first-year’s body.
Selene’s fingers tightened slightly at her side. Unpredictable fighters were dangerous. Unpredictable thinkers were catastrophic.
“Class A will break him,” the Head of Theory had argued.
Selene disagreed. Class A would sharpen him. And if he survived—
She stopped at the corridor’s end, silver eyes cold and distant. Then Erynthia Academy would have a far bigger problem than Theo von Brandis’ pride. It would have a student who did not obey the rules of the world.
She resumed walking. This time—with
interest.
Selene Lunaris descended one level deeper into the academy, past lecture halls and training courts, into corridors few students ever saw.
Here, the walls weren’t decorative marble. They were warded stone—layered with suppression arrays, privacy seals, and spells old enough to predate the academy’s name.
A door opened at her approach.
Inside waited three figures.
No uniforms. No student insignia. Just presence.
One leaned against the far table, fingers steepled. Another sat calmly, eyes glowing faintly with residual divination magic. The third watched Selene without blinking.
“He woke quickly,” the diviner said. “Faster than projected.”
Selene removed her gloves slowly. “He has a habit of doing things faster than projected.”
“Rank six,”
the seated man noted. “You placed him above Brandis.”
“I placed him where friction would be maximized,” Selene replied. “Any higher, and we legitimize him. Any lower, and we provoke retaliation.”
The man hummed. “A containment rank.”
“Observation,” Selene corrected. “Containment implies control. We don’t have that.”
The third figure finally spoke. “What concerns me is not how he fought.”
Selene met their gaze.
“It’s how he thought,” the figure continued. “Mid-combat adaptation. Resource repurposing. No spell framework. No doctrinal hesitation.”
“He doesn’t cast,” Selene said quietly. “He solves.”
Silence followed that.
The diviner exhaled. “If Class A breaks him—”
“—then he was never the problem,” Selene interrupted. “And if it doesn’t?”
No one answered immediately.
Finally, the man at the table spoke. “Then we may have admitted something we don’t fully understand.”
Selene turned toward the door.
“Good,” she said. “The academy was becoming boring.”
As she left, one final question followed her.
“And Theo von Brandis?”
Selene paused only briefly.
“He learned a lesson,” she said. “ and Louis Casper learned several.”
The door sealed shut behind her.
Far above, in a white infirmary room,
a boy with one working arm stared at the ceiling
unaware that he had already become a subject of debate rather than a student.
