"A pity, I slurped you dry too early," a voice moaned with a sultry sting—it echoed off the stone walls that smelled faintly of old parchment and arcane herbs.
A man sat in a simple chair before a small desk, as if posing for a lecture he'd never give.
"This is what you and Mother have agreed upon; I just collected it with my slippy tongue…" the feminine, moist, dangerous voice whispered again.
Yet the man's face stayed pale and still—whether by choice or by force.
Suddenly, his head slumped forward with a loud thunk onto a desk carved from silverwood.
A quill-like pen rolled off the edge and fell with a soft clack-clack to the tiled floor.
Swoosh—mist slithered from the ceiling rafters—dark, glimmering like liquid shadow—and spiraled into the shape of a woman. Or at least, something wearing the skin of one.
"Hmm…" she moaned, unsure if the sound came from pain or play.
Suddenly, her body, impossibly curvy and wrapped in veils of smoke that barely hid anything, began to materialize.
Her skin gleamed like polished obsidian in the candlelight, eyes glowing amethyst, lips blood-red and curved as if they'd kissed a thousand regrets.
"Tch… Really a pity," she said, stroking a finger along the rim of an untouched inkwell.
"You could've risen as a Mana Specialist, so I could drain your energy and become stronger in this rebirth. The spark was there. But no, you just had to make another pact to curse them, making your life short and making them follow you endlessly, leaving no time for training."
She sighed with melodramatic flair, flipping her long, shadowy hair over her shoulder.
"And now look at you. In an academy. So close. But it was too late. I already sucked your life away."
She winked, then giggled. The kind of giggle that promised both pleasure and pain in unequal measure.
However, the man didn't respond. His head is still planted against the desk like a marionette with cut strings.
The woman blinked at him, then straightened, and her smile changed into less emotion.
She floated upward. Her bare feet hovered inches off the ground, leaving faint scorched symbols wherever they passed.
She looked toward the ceiling—no, beyond it—past the tower spires and star-lit sky.
"My sisters... We'll feast on this realm. And rise. And then... offer this lower realm to Mother."
With that, she vanished. Fwoosh. Her body turned to smoke, then to dust, and then passed through the stone wall like a sigh in the wind.
The classroom fell silent.
Rows of desks carved with glyphs sat empty.
Crystal lanterns floated mid-air, glowing dimly.
A chalkboard etched with runes of learning still had a lesson written on it: Arcane Pulse Stabilization—Beginner's Mistakes & How Not to Explode.
It was a classroom made for magic, discipline, and dreams.
But now, it reeked of silence.
Somehow, the man's body remained still.
His skin was ghostly pale now.
And then suddenly—twitch.
His index finger moved.
Twitch. Twitch.
Then—gasp!
His head jerked up so fast he nearly flopped backward off the chair.
Clatter!
The chair rocked but held firm. He grabbed the desk like a drowning man reaching for shore and took a huge breath.
"Haaaah!"
He coughed. Then coughed again.
"Guh—haah—haaah!"
Eyes wide, pupils adjusting to the flickering crystal light above, the man stared at the familiar empty classroom.
"Same dream again, huh?" the man muttered, voice rough like gravel after a rockslide. He blinked, licked his lips, and wiped sweat from his forehead. "Why do I feel like choking whenever I dream of that?" he muttered.
His name was Nolan. Once, he'd been from Earth.
Once upon a time—two months ago, to be exact—he'd been just a fresh-faced literature teacher at Ridgeview High.
On his very first day, a kid had come crying to him, saying he was getting bullied. Nolan, full of righteous rage and caffeine, told him: "You know what? Punch him back."
The result?
Both kids ended up in the hospital. Intensive care.
Two cracked skulls, one shattered nose, and a viral video that had the school trending for all the wrong reasons.
He was fired before lunchtime.
That same afternoon, while walking home and cursing life, a truck missed him.
Barely.
"Whew," he'd said.
Then another truck bumped his leg.
Just a tiny bump.
"Agh!" he cried, hopping like an idiot.
Then a third truck—carrying tree trunks, because of course it was—came careening around the corner and bam! sent him flying into a billboard for "Safe Crossings Weekly." He blacked out before he even hit the ground.
"Three trucks," he muttered, staring blankly at the silverwood ceiling. "That felt personal."
When he'd awoken, he wasn't in a hospital bed. He was in a strange world with two moons, floating islands, swordmages, beastkin, and something called mana.
The body he now inhabited?
Also named Nolan. Because life had a sense of humor, cruel as it was.
This other Nolan had been an Novice Mana Knight with a tragic and comedy romantic life.
He loved a girl—sweet, gentle, fond of harp music and they'd promised each other forever.
But he left. For training of course.
When he returned, she was engaged to become part of his older brother's harem. The golden boy of the family. The pride of House Flamire. A rising Mana Knight with a magical horse and teeth that probably sparkled in moonlight.
Of course, the other Nolan had been... upset.
So upset, he challenged his brother, even though his brother was a full-fledged Initial Mana Knight and he was barely ranked five Novice Mana Knight, he fearlessly challenged him.
However, knowing he won't beat his brother in a fair fight, he secretly made a pact with a Demon God.
But, he still lost.
Thankfully, the golden brother spared him. But he also laughed at him. Publicly. Repeatedly. Humiliating him thoroughly.
Nolan didn't take it well.
So he cursed his brother in exchange for half of his lifespan to the same Demon God.
It's called Gae Curse.
The spell made his brother... ahem... functionally confused.
For a year, the golden boy's thing wouldn't work on his harem of women unless he was looking at other men: Shirtless men. Muscular men.
Bathhouse visits became dangerous.
The family was horrified.
A specialist was hired. They traced the curse. Guess who?
Yup. Nolan.
No other choice, he ran.
If they get him, he would be punished and the curse wouldn't work its charm anymore.
And so he ran so far.
All the way to Silver Blade Academy, a low-rank knight school filled with rejected nobles and desperate commoners.
There, he tried to hide.
Tried to study.
He tried to become a Mana Specialist himself, hoping that with enough power, they wouldn't be able to track him down.
And guess what?
He awakened. The power was real. The potential was there.
Until he mysteriously dropped dead in his classroom.
And now here he was: Nolan from Earth. Several weeks had passed, but he was still haunted by that dream every night. No, not just every night; even when napping, that same nightmare would come.
"Damn it," Nolan muttered, stretching his neck. "Don't tell me I will have this nightmare forever?"
Cursed with someone else's drama, a demon pact he didn't even remember signing, and a repeated nightmare of that damned, voluptuous thot.
Suddenly—BANG!
The classroom door slammed open.
Light flooded in from the corridor.
A loud voice barked, "Oi! Bastard! Are you still snoring here? The class will start. Get your rotting butt up unless you wanna duel with Professor Granfire again!"
Nolan turned his head lazily toward the classroom door.
The one who barged in, half out of breath and frowning with exasperated concern, was Roderick—his fellow Novice Mana Specialist. Same rank. Same struggle. One of the few people who still talks to Nolan without sneering first.
Roderick wasn't remarkable. Brown hair, worn boots, and a voice that always sounded like it was halfway through apologizing. He wasn't ambitious, but he was helpful. Sometimes.
"Why the rush?" Nolan asked, not bothering to rise. "My class isn't over yet, is it?"
Roderick blinked. "No, but Granfire—he's already in the hall! You're supposed to clear the classroom before his class starts."
Nolan leaned back into the chair, stretching with an exaggerated groan. "I've got a minute. Not moving."
Roderick stared. "You… You're just gonna sit there?"
"Yup."
"Why?"
"I don't want to."
A long silence.
Roderick looked around, as if the empty classroom might offer him some backup. "You know Granfire's going to lose it, right? He always does."
Nolan shrugged, then crossed his arms. "And? Let him."
Another beat passed.
"Why are you like this?" Roderick asked. "Granfire's on track to become a real teacher after the one-month assessment. The students love him. The staff loves him. He helped practically every Novice Mana Knight pass the barrier stabilization course. And you—" he bit his tongue.
"And me?" Nolan said, quirking a brow.
"You don't even have a single student who remembers your name."
There it was. That bitter truth. Served cold and casually.
However, Nolan didn't even flinch.
"You two clashed before," Roderick added, quieter now. "Every time… you came out humiliated. And now you're just sitting here, waiting to provoke him again?"
Nolan smiled—crooked, tired, a little mad. "Shooo," he said with a wave of his hand. "Off you go"
Roderick sighed, deeply. "You really… well, I warned you already." He turned, steps slow, then muttered as he walked away, "Guess you want to get humiliated again, huh?"
Nolan didn't reply.
He let the door creak shut behind Roderick, then leaned back and closed his eyes.
Humiliation. Yeah.
Granfire had a special talent for that.
In the last two weeks, he'd called Nolan out during lectures, challenged his qualifications in front of students, even once made him demonstrate a stabilization circuit using chalk dust that exploded in his face.
And the worst part? Everyone clapped.
Because Granfire always wrapped his abuse in a silk ribbon of "constructive teaching."
Nolan gritted his teeth. He wasn't stupid. He knew Granfire saw him as weak. An easy target. A failed apprentice who'd never earn a license.
But that didn't mean he'd take it lying down.
Every time, Nolan stood up.
Every time, he fought back.
Even when he lost. Even when he looked like a fool.
Because if he gave up once—just once—it would haunt him forever.
He cracked one eye open at the sound of shuffling.
Students were arriving.
Dozens of them, filing in with chatter, laughter, and curious glances. Most of them had probably never seen Nolan before. And yet… they were approaching him. Not just looking—approaching.
Nolan sat straighter.
A girl with short silver hair stepped up to his desk. Without a word, she placed a transparent crystal on the surface. A boy with a wand strapped to his back did the same. Then another. And another.
Crystals. Each one glowing faintly with that unmistakable inner light of raw mana—twinkling, unstable, pure.
Mana Crystals.
One by one, they stacked up on his desk.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
At first, Nolan didn't react. Maybe it was a prank. Maybe it was some twisted setup.
But then the stack kept growing.
Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.
He had never seen this many in one place before. Meals in the apprentice cafeteria cost two, maybe three crystals a day. He'd spent weeks scraping together just enough to survive. And now?
He reached out and touched one cautiously.
Pop. It vanished.
Like a soap bubble.
He touched another. Pop. Gone.
"Uh," he murmured, blinking. "What the fu—"
Pop-pop-pop. Crystals vanished one after another, blinking out of existence beneath his fingertips. He didn't even try to touch them now. They were just… going.
All thirty—or more—gone in seconds.
And then—
DING!
A blue screen blinked into view in front of his eyes.
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