A month had passed since Leon first stepped into the grand halls of the academy.
But what he thought would be a place of magic and wonder had turned into something far worse.
To Leon, the academy had become nothing short of hell.
His first class today was Magical Smithing and Gear Creation, a subject he had enrolled in since the beginning.
It was supposed to help him understand magical tools, enchantments, and the delicate process of crafting them.
Instead, it had become a daily nightmare.
"Hey! What are you doing?! That's not how it's done! Are you an idiot?!" barked the instructor.
The voice boomed through the workshop like a thunderclap.
Leon flinched, eyes wide, as the old man stormed toward him.
His name was Instructor Bargon—a notoriously short-tempered, sharp-tongued master of magical smithing.
His wrinkled face was twisted in fury as he snatched up the materials from Leon's station.
"Can't you even tell the difference between a Clearstone and a Null Gem?! Did you even attend my previous lectures?!" the instructor shouted, veins bulging from his neck. "Useless!"
"I-I'm sorry, sir," Leon stammered, his voice barely audible as he bowed his head. "I didn't mean to. I'll fix it…"
"Fix it?" Bargon snarled. "Do you even know what you've done? Those materials are priceless! Even your family couldn't afford a single piece in their entire lifetime!"
Leon trembled.
Every time someone shouted at him like that, he froze.
His heart would race, his throat would tighten, and a cold sweat would follow.
He didn't know when this fear had started, but now, it ruled him—especially because of his shy, withdrawn nature.
"S-Sorry… I'll do better next time," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
But Instructor Bargon wasn't finished.
"Out. Get out of my class. You're not worthy to be here," he spat.
"My classes aren't meant for every half-baked brat who walks through that door."
With that, Leon was kicked out.
Again.
He stood outside the classroom door, staring down at his trembling hands.
"…Why am I so clumsy?" he whispered, his voice heavy with frustration and shame.
Being shouted at had become a regular occurrence. But no matter how often it happened, it still hurt. Deeply.
This wasn't the first time he had been thrown out of class, but each time shattered a little more of his already fragile confidence.
Every word from the instructors, every scolding, every failure—it all built up like cracks on a glass shell. And Leon didn't know how much longer he could endure.
Leon tried his best. He truly did.
But more often than not, his best wasn't enough—and he'd find himself standing outside a classroom, kicked out for one reason or another. It had become a routine.
This time was no different.
Leon slumped down against the cold stone wall just beside the classroom door, settling into one of the corners like a discarded shadow. His hands rested limply in his lap, eyes blank.
At some point, he had started to go numb to it all. The humiliation. The anger. The disappointment.
But the pain… that still lingered.
"Can't they be a bit more lenient…?" he muttered in his head. "Why are they always so strict?"
His thoughts wandered back to yesterday's Monster Biology class—another disaster.
The instructor for that subject, Professor Elira Varn, was a lean woman with a composed voice and sharp, intelligent eyes.
She often maintained a calm, professional demeanor. But when she spoke, her words carried weight—especially when they were aimed at Leon.
"Leon," she had said, her tone neutral, "please tell us the primary weakness of the Horned Wolf."
Leon froze.
"Umm…"
He racked his brain, but there was nothing. Just a hazy fog where knowledge should've been. His silence was all the answer the class needed.
Professor Elira sighed softly.
"You don't know?" she asked, her gaze narrowing slightly. "Why?"
That single word—why—stabbed deeper than any insult.
Leon's gaze dropped to the floor. He couldn't answer. He had studied.
He remembered flipping through the pages, highlighting sections.
But under pressure… his mind blanked.
Elira turned away from him, her tone turning casual yet cutting.
"See, this is exactly the issue with most of the commoner students," she said.
"They don't put in the effort. Leon, I suggest you consider choosing a different elective next semester."
The words hit harder than a slap.
Leon's eyes stung, but he held back the tears. 'Why can't I remember the things I want to…?' he thought bitterly.
Just then, Elira turned toward another student near the front.
"Reinard," she said, "can you answer the question?"
A boy with elegantly parted blond hair and a crest pinned to his robe stood up leisurely.
Reinard Astelle—one of the more vocal nobles in the class.
He smirked before answering.
"Of course, Professor Elira," he said, his voice smooth and a little too proud.
"The Horned Wolf is particularly vulnerable to sonic-based attacks due to its heightened auditory senses.
Even a low-tier Sound Burst can disorient it if timed properly."
He crossed his arms confidently after delivering his answer, clearly enjoying the spotlight.
"Well done," Elira replied with a nod. "As expected of a student who prepares properly."
Reinard cast a sideways glance at Leon, not saying a word—but the smirk on his lips spoke volumes.
Leon remained silent. He could only sit there, shrinking deeper into himself, as the weight of yet another failure settled over him.
The memory faded as he sat in the corridor, his eyes moist once more.
He didn't move for the entire hour, simply staring at the ground in silence until the class ended.
When the doors finally opened and students filed out, laughing and chatting as if nothing had happened, Leon pushed himself to his feet.
It was time for his next class.
Beginner Swordsmanship.
Out of all his subjects, this was the one Leon attended the most—five days a week, without fail.
Unlike other classes where he was mostly scolded by the instructors, Senior Garrick was not particularly strict, so he had an easier time in his class. And most importantly, Caelir was in this class too,
which helped lift his mood—seeing a familiar face made things feel a little less lonely, especially since most students in other classes didn't even try to talk to him.