Three days had passed.
During those three days, Adrian did nothing but pour himself into mastering the second Thread.
Over two hundred attempts—and more than half had ended in failure.
It was frustrating. It was mentally exhausting. It demanded his focus like nothing else.
But he was having fun.
So, stopping wasn't even an option.
Most Runesmiths would be motivated by the end goal—creating better Armaments, enhancing power, and gaining recognition.
But Adrian?
He loved the process.
The way his fingers traced each rune with precision… the subtle evaluation of a target's energy flow… the quiet satisfaction of writing the perfect line in perfect sync with the wielder's nature—haah. It was all so beautifully addicting.
It felt just like solving a math problem after hours of effort—not by guessing, not by luck, but by finally adjusting your equation just right and watching the answer click into place.
That kind of thrill.
Outside his rune work, Adrian had started getting used to the training schedule Ariana had laid out for him.
Nothing too extreme—just regular runs, weight training, and functional workouts to get him back in shape.
The body's previous owner wasn't a stranger to exercise, having worked out three times a week. And thanks to Lex's gym-going habits, Adrian had a decent foundation to build upon.
Now, he had both the perfect mind and body to grow stronger—to become a version of himself he could be proud of.
Today, though, was a little different.
For the first time since he woke up in this world, Adrian was going to step into a classroom.
A week away from school had given him time to recharge—to remember what it meant to teach, and how to act in front of students.
There were four classes for each grade, spanning three academic years—Class A to D.
Class divisions were based on assessment rankings, updated every six months.
Adrian was the homeroom teacher for the third-year Class A.
Which, frankly, raised a few eyebrows.
After all, how did an underqualified teacher get assigned to the best class of the highest year?
Forced plot? Probably.
Because Adrian wasn't just teaching one top class—he was teaching all of them. And if he wasn't placed in that position… he wouldn't have become Sylvie's favorite teacher.
Nor would he have eventually been accused by her.
Everything was connected.
And it was only just beginning.
'Huu... it's just like every time.'
Standing before the classroom door, Adrian took a deep breath and adjusted his glasses, pressing them up the bridge of his nose.
He wasn't new to teaching—Lex had taught for over four years.
But the problem? His students were always elementary or middle schoolers.
This? This was different.
Slide.
He pushed the door open—and with it, brushed aside his doubts.
There was no tradition of standing or bowing for teachers here.
So the students remained seated, silently watching as Adrian walked toward the podium with calm, steady steps.
Forty pairs of eyes.
Each one focused on him.
On the man who had previously been accused of being a fraud, who'd only recently proven his abilities.
But Adrian didn't flinch under their stares.
He stepped onto the stage, surveying the classroom without a hint of hesitation.
The benches were arranged in an ascending incline—ensuring every student had a clear view of the front. Three blackboards covered the wall behind him, and a wooden bookshelf stood to the podium's right, stocked with spare books and materials.
Then his eyes landed on a familiar silver head sitting in the front row.
Just for a moment.
He didn't linger. He moved on.
"Good morning, class," Adrian began, voice calm and composed. "I took a short break, but from today onward, we'll be continuing without pause."
He placed a hand on the desk and scanned the room again—deliberately slow, deliberately firm.
"If any of you got lazy during these past few days and let your studies slip... prepare to overwork. I'll be accelerating our pace to make up for the lost time."
There was a quiet shift in the air—students straightening up, mentally bracing themselves.
"And one more thing," he continued, voice now sharper, "this week, I will be selecting two students from this class for the Arcane Anvil Cup."
A few gasps.
"So be ready. Any day, any time, an impromptu test could begin. No warnings."
He let those words hang in the air, like a blade suspended above their heads.
After giving the class a moment to digest his announcement, Adrian spoke again, his voice even, "Raise your hand if you have any questions."
The first to respond was a girl in the second row—Kelly, if he recalled correctly.
She raised her hand with cautious curiosity.
"Professor, will only the students from Class A be selected?"
Adrian didn't see how it concerned her, but he answered regardless, "No. Two students will be shortlisted from each section. However, the final selection will be decided by the Headmistress and a few other faculty members."
He glanced across the room. "Next."
Another hand shot up.
"What kind of test should we expect, sir?"
Adrian let out a subtle breath through his nose. A shake of his head followed.
"If you've reviewed the reports from last year's quiz, you'll know what to expect. That question was unnecessary. Next."
A boy near the back raised his hand.
"What would be the rewards for winning the contest?"
Adrian folded his arms, his voice low but clear, "If they follow the usual pattern: recognition from the King, a prize of one thousand gold coins, an armament personally tuned by a Tower Member, and merit points—enough to secure a job or even a recommendation to become a Tower Member yourself."
The room fell silent.
Some students widened their eyes.
Others exchanged hushed whispers.
A few just stared forward, jaws slightly agape.
It was a lot more than they'd expected.
And Adrian? He didn't say another word.
He let the weight of that reward linger like a promise—and a challenge.
Just when Adrian thought it was time to finally begin the lecture, a voice cut through the silence.
"Professor, was Sylvie punished?"
He paused, caught slightly off guard. The question wasn't sharp—but it carried weight.
Many students began murmuring at those words since the person she desired to be punished was the Princess of the nation.
Adrian looked toward the source and found the speaker: Elana Ironhart. Daughter of Duke Ironhart. The top-ranking student of the third year.
Her posture was elegant as always, but her eyes—those piercing blue eyes—were locked on him with unwavering focus. There was something simmering beneath them. Displeasure? Offense?
Adrian furrowed his brows slightly. Was she genuinely upset because he was accused? It wouldn't be surprising—he knew he was respected, maybe even admired, by several of his students.
He offered a composed answer.
"No, Student Elana. I refused to have her punished."
He left it at that, carefully omitting what Albec had warned him about—the potential self-harming consequences if he pursued punishment against Sylvie.
Elana didn't respond. She didn't nod. She didn't blink.
But the slight downturn of her lips and the faint furrow in her brow made her dissatisfaction crystal clear.
She looked down for a brief moment.
And in her mind, a whisper echoed darkly:
"I won't forgive her for what she's done. She needs to be punished. Not after what she did to you. I can't forgive."
°°°°°°°°°
A/N:- Thanks for reading.