Chapter 81: The List (1)
The counseling room was quiet, deceptively so.
A single ticking clock on the far wall counted down the seconds with bureaucratic indifference, while a modest stack of parchment lay between Lucien and the middle-aged man sitting across from him.
The counselor’s robes were impeccably pressed, his hair was graying but neatly combed, and his spectacles perched precariously at the bridge of his nose as he read over a sheaf of Lucien’s entrance records.
Lucien, meanwhile, sat slouched in the chair, head propped on one hand, eyes half-lidded as his thoughts wandered into a familiar storm of plotting.
‘Leonardo. Heroine. Vaelira. I need to figure out if that staff Leonardo had in the prologue was a plot item or something he actually earned. If it's a plot item, it’s gotta be connected to a relic system. Maybe the temple dungeons. So I’ll need a dungeon traversal course…’
“-Mr. Lucien,” the counselor's voice cut in, sharp and clinical.
“Are you listening?”
Lucien blinked, looking up.
“Oh. Yeah. Absolutely. Crystal clear,” he said with a tone that convinced exactly no one.
The man raised a brow and slowly set the parchment down.
“I see. Let’s try this again. You performed adequately, if somewhat erratically, on the written exam, particularly in the arcane analysis segment. You also exhibited decent potential for magic, though your theoretical knowledge of magical law is... let’s call it ‘in progress.’”
Lucien gave a lazy shrug.
“I’ve always been more of a learn-as-you-go kind of person.”
“Noted,” the man said flatly, scribbling something on the parchment, likely a note that translated to potential liability.
The counselor folded his hands and gave Lucien a long, assessing look.
“Have you given any thought to what you want to do here? Do you have a specialization in mind?”
Lucien blinked.
“Specialization?”
“Yes,” the man said, voice clipped.
“Do you wish to become a scholar? A court mage? An adventurer? An alchemist? Perhaps a priest, healer, artificer, diplomat, magical archaeologist, or, dare I suggest, someone productive?”
Lucien opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
“...I haven’t really decided.”
The counselor sighed.
A long, dramatic sigh that could only come from years of dealing with teenagers who thought the world would conveniently sort itself around them.
He massaged the bridge of his nose.
“Mr. Lucien, most students arrive here with at least some idea of what they want to become. Even the ones who fail miserably have ambitions. You’re telling me you cleared the most competitive entrance exam in the continent without a single thought to your future?”
Lucien leaned forward slightly, offering an apologetic shrug.
“I didn’t really expect to get in.”
The counselor stared at him.
Lucien stared back.
And for a second, something passed between them.
The silent, begrudging understanding between a teacher who's lost sleep over his students’ futures and a student who's seemingly here entirely by accident.
“Well,” the counselor muttered, grabbing another stack of parchment.
“At least you’re honest.”
He flipped through a few pages and extracted a crisp sheet, scribbling a quick header before sliding it across the desk to Lucien.
“If you don’t have any career ambitions, let’s at least build on your strengths. You scored particularly well in the magic sections. Specifically, mana threading, spell structure deconstruction, and latent affinity manipulation.”
Lucien looked at him blankly.
“You’re good at magic.”
“Oh. Right.”
The counselor continued, tapping the page.
“This is a list of magic-oriented courses. You’re to attend all of these within the next three days. These aren’t official enrollments yet, but think of them as field trials. Observe the classes, take notes, speak with instructors. Then, write a brief reflection on each. What it teaches, how it functions, whether it interests you, and whether you’re even remotely competent at it. Standard first-semester exploration requirement.”
Lucien leaned forward and stared at the list.
Then stared harder.
There were twelve entries.
Twelve.
Advanced Arcane Theory.
Foundations of Spellcraft.
Elemental Manipulation I.
Runic Formations and Ward Design.
Aetheric Channeling.
Magical Law and Ethics.
Theory of Magical Symbology.
Intermediate Incantation Structures.
Intro to Magical History.
Mana Efficiency Practicum.
Mysticism and Culture.
Automatons Theory and Languages.
And something called “Magical Safety Procedures and You.”
“Are you joking?”
Lucien asked, looking up in horror.
The counselor didn’t blink.
“I better not hear that you skipped even one.”
Lucien slumped in the chair.
“What about breaks?”
The counselor gestured to the list.
“They’re all one-hour classes. You’ll have breaks between them.”
“That’s not the point…”
“Good. Then we’re done here.”
The counselor leaned back, clearly dismissing him.
Lucien picked up the parchment like it was a death sentence and dragged himself toward the door.
As he opened it, a line of waiting students stretched down the hallway.
Some looked nervous, others tired, and a few downright smug.
They all glanced at Lucien.
At his drooping shoulders.
At the dead-eyed look of despair on his face.
And as he trudged past them with the slow, resigned gait of a man sent to war without a sword, one of the girls leaned over and whispered to her friend.
“Did he just get rejected?”
“No,” another murmured, watching Lucien walk like a cursed soul.
“Worse. He got homework.”
***
The cafeteria of Twilight Crown Academy wasn’t anything extravagant, certainly not the marbled halls or chandelier-lit banquet rooms some of the nobles had whispered about during breakfast.
No, it was practical, clean, and busy.
Wooden beams crossed the ceiling overhead, with plain lamps hanging from long cords, casting a warm golden glow over the rows of simple rectangular tables.
The smell of fresh bread and sizzling meat lingered in the air, mixing with the chatter of students and the occasional clang of cutlery on plates.
Lucien entered with a tray in hand, his stomach growling at the sight of the food laid out.
The cafeteria line resembled a countryside inn more than a royal dining hall, big metal pots bubbling with thick stew, baskets of freshly baked rolls stacked beside them, and trays of roasted vegetables and grilled meats that steamed gently in the open air.
The offerings were humble but hearty: creamy lentil soup, buttered root vegetables, slices of peppered beef, grain porridge, boiled eggs, and even a few crispy fried items that reminded Lucien of cheap comfort food back home.
He grabbed a portion of roasted chicken thighs, a scoop of mashed turnips with butter, a hunk of dark rye bread, and a mug of light broth.
After hesitating briefly, he also added a flaky berry tart to his tray.
Just a small one.
Scanning the room, he found Corin and Balt already seated near the back, tucked into a corner table that looked like it had seen decades of scuffed boots and spilled tea.
Corin was hunched over his tray, chewing thoughtfully, while Balt was gesturing animatedly with a spoon mid-conversation.
Lucien made his way over and dropped into the seat across from them.
“Hey,” he said, setting his tray down with a clatter.
Balt looked up and smiled.
“Lucien! Live to tell the tale?”
“Barely,” Lucien muttered, taking a sip of the broth.
“I’ve been given a list longer than my arm and told I have three days to try all of them. I think they want to kill me before the semester starts.”
“That sounds... excessive,” Balt said, blinking.
“What’d you say to your counselor?”
“That I hadn’t planned ahead.”
Lucien stabbed a chunk of chicken.
“Apparently honesty is not always rewarded.”
Corin chuckled, wiping his mouth with a sleeve.
“You should’ve said you were undecided. It’s what I did.”
Lucien narrowed his eyes.
“That worked?”
Corin shrugged.
“Mostly. But I already had idea what I want. So I told them.”
Balt leaned in.
“He’s got a whole list already. It’s actually impressive.”
Corin nodded, the pride subtle but visible.
“History stuff. Wars, maps, how countries move. Stories of old kings. Things like that. I like hearing them. Want to study more. So I take... Continental History, Ancient Warfare, Geopolitics.”
Lucien raised a brow, half-impressed, half-stunned.
“You’re serious?”
“Mm. Also, for practical... Archaeology and Zoology.”
Lucien blinked.
“Zoology?”
“Creatures. Real and magical. How they live, act, survive. I like them. More honest than people.”
Balt laughed.
“He says that like he’s not people.”
Corin grinned but didn’t argue.
Lucien turned to Balt.
“What about you? Got your life figured out too?”
Balt pushed his glasses up with his knuckle and poked at his porridge.
“Not exactly. But I’m leaning toward barrier magic specialization. The counselor said I showed strong affinity with defensive formations and sustained channeling during the aptitude test.”
“You did do pretty well back there,” Lucien said, recalling how Balt had protected them during the statue trials.
“Thanks,” Balt muttered, clearly pleased.
“They also recommended I try Construct Magic. Apparently my rune placement was ‘suspiciously precise.’ I’m not even sure what that means.”
Lucien chuckled.
“Sounds like a compliment. Or an accusation.”
“Either way,” Balt said, “I’ll be sitting in on a few of those classes this week. We’ll see how it goes.”
Lucien nodded slowly, chewing thoughtfully.
Compared to them, he felt like a paper boat drifting toward a waterfall.
They both had direction, even if it wasn’t fully mapped, it was there.
Meanwhile, he was juggling survival tactics, sabotage strategies, and long-shot bets on character routes.
He pulled out the folded checklist the counselor had given him earlier and stared at it again.
Twelve different courses, ranging from Illusory Constructs to Arcane Ethics, from Elemental Dynamics to Practical Spellwork.
A few had names so vague they sounded more like philosophy lectures than magic lessons.
He sighed.
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“Pick the one that sounds cool and show up,” Balt offered helpfully.
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“Or follow the smell of explosions,” Corin added, grinning.
Lucien smirked despite himself and tucked the list back into his coat.
“Maybe. For now, I’ll eat and pretend I’m an exemplary student.”
Balt raised his cup.
“To pretending.”
Corin tapped his spoon against it.
“To first lunch.”
Lucien tapped his fork in turn.
“And surviving the next three days.”
They clinked their mismatched utensils together with quiet solidarity, and for the moment, the looming burden of class selections and story rewrites faded behind the smell of stew and the low hum of a modest cafeteria filled with equally lost students.
