The classroom was much smaller than the one used for mandatory lessons. It was a square room, twelve meters (39 feet) on each side. In front of the chalkboard stood three rows of desks, separated by narrow aisles.
Though the room could comfortably accommodate fifty students, only twenty-six were present, Stella included. She sat in the front row, near the chalkboard and other students. When they shot her nasty glares.
The man who entered the room was remarkable in his own way. He was quite short—barely over 1.55 meters (5'1")—and looked to be at least sixty years old. His head was completely bald on top, with snow-white hair on the sides and a waxed handlebar mustache to match. His belly protruded so much that it was hard to tell if he was wider than he was tall. Combined with his spotless white robe, he resembled a real-life Humpty Dumpty.
"Hello, dear students. I'm Professor Vastor, and I'll guide you through your first steps in the Light Magic Master Healer course."
Not everyone was as ignorant as Stella. Most already knew what Professor Marth looked like. So before Vastor could finish his introduction, the room filled with disappointed groans. His scowl said everything—he was furious at the blatant disrespect.
"I'm very sorry to disappoint you," he said bitterly, "but as you should have predicted, Professor Marth can't waste his precious time with the likes of you. The entire Light Magic Research Department rests on his shoulders, so you'll have to settle for me.
"Words cannot express how sad it is to see that even country bumpkins have more manners than high-and-mighty nobles."
He wasn't just referring to Stella but to all the students who, due to their humble backgrounds, had failed to recognize him—and who, despite his odd appearance, looked at him with admiration.
"I have good news and bad news for all of you. The good news is we won't spend two hours in this class. I only need to explain the differences between tier three and four healing magic. After that, we'll head to the academy's hospital. There, you'll do trial rounds with actual patients. If we're lucky, you'll get to meet Professors Marth and Manohar."
The class erupted in cheers and applause.
What the heck? Stella thought. Do they think this is a stadium? Back on Earth, my college professors would've skinned them alive for that kind of behavior.
Vastor's face mirrored Stella's thoughts. His hands trembled with rage; his nostrils flared with every breath.
"The bad news…" he said, cutting them off, "is that I will begin evaluating you immediately. Even today's rounds will help separate the gold from the shiny trash."
The room fell silent. Many students in the first row lost all enthusiasm. Some clutched their stomachs, nauseated by nerves.
It was nothing like they had imagined for their first day of specialization.
Professor Vastor, meanwhile, curled his mustache with a sadistic grin.
"Let's not waste any more time. I'm sure you can't wait to stop listening to my gibberish and become real healers like your hero, Professor Marth."
Man, Solus muttered, I don't need tier-four magic to diagnose Professor Vastor with a bad case of envy. Being this petty at his age is just sad.
Yeah, Stella replied. That's what happens when you lose your throne to someone younger and more talented. I feel the same way.
"First of all, who can tell me the greatest limitations of tiers one to three of Light Magic?"
Stella raised her hand—so did everyone else. Vastor picked at random.
"You, with the snob face. Feel free to share with the class." He pointed to a girl in the first row with shoulder-length black hair.
"Professor, my name is actually—"
"I don't care," Vastor interrupted. "I expect at least half of you to drop out within the first six months. I won't bother remembering your names."
Faces turned red with indignation—except Stella, who smiled inwardly. Compared to most nobles she'd encountered, Vastor was almost polite. At least he treated everyone like crap equally.
The black-haired girl was outraged. She came from one of the oldest noble families in the Griffon Kingdom. Treated like royalty her whole life, no one had ever dared speak to her like that. But she knew better than to fight back. Insulting a professor was like spitting at the sky—it always came back down on you.
Vastor could end her career with a single evaluation. She had five siblings and stood at the bottom of the succession line. Magic was her only path.
Swallowing her pride, she answered, "The lower tiers of Light Magic have two main limitations. First, Light Magic only enhances recovery. If the patient has suffered excessive blood loss or is near death, healing magic is useless.
"The second—"
"Okay, enough. Your turn, edgy face," Vastor said, pointing at Stella.
"The second limit," Stella said, "is that Light Magic can't regrow lost body parts—organs or limbs. Clean-cut extremities can be reattached, but only if preserved and within an hour of amputation."
"Correct and correct," Vastor said, sounding almost disappointed.
"Now, who can tell me how, hypothetically, we might overcome the first issue?"
Everyone raised their hand. He pointed to a petite girl with long brown hair sitting a few desks from Stella.
"You, with the pauper face."
She looked barely eight years old, though she was likely twelve. Clearly malnourished for years, the academy uniform was probably the first nice thing she had ever worn. The stress of her first day, plus Vastor's harshness, had pushed her to the edge. When she tried to speak, she hiccupped through held-back tears.
What a jerk, Stella thought. She instinctively fiddled with the Ballot, but didn't activate it. The girl hadn't helped her that morning when she was bullied—why should she help her now?
But Vastor noticed.
Oh, for f*'s sake,* the professor thought. I forgot about the bum with the Ballot. If she reports me to the Headmaster, I'm done for. Linjos already wants me gone.
Vastor's tone shifted abruptly. "I'm so sorry, young miss. I didn't mean to offend you. Take your time." He offered her a handkerchief.
She quickly composed herself. "The only way to do it would be to infuse the patient with an external life force. But that's impossible. I've tried countless spells—Light Magic can't create or transfer energy. It can only nourish what's already there."
The class nodded in agreement.
Heck if I know, Stella thought. The only ones she had ever failed were already too far gone. Not even her true magic could transfuse life force.
"Correct, young miss!" Vastor now sounded genuinely pleased. Some students wondered if he had mood swings.
"And don't worry—we'll fix your growth problem in no time. You have my word." Then, smirking again, he resumed his usual tone.
"She's right. Light Magic alone can't do it. But tier-four Light Magic can. Anyone care to guess how?"
Silence.
Vastor puffed out his chest, clearly relishing the moment.
"Oh, oh, oh! Looks like you have much to learn. But you've come to the right place. The answer is: it's only possible by mixing it with Darkness Magic."
"What?"
"How?"
"The hell?"
He ignored their reactions and conjured a black-and-white Yin-Yang symbol in the air.
"Magus Silverwing taught us that Light and Darkness are one. They dance together in all things. When Light pushes, Darkness pulls—and vice versa. In harmony, life thrives. Out of balance, only death remains. The key to tier-four healing is weaving them together.
"Darkness Magic draws energy from the donor. Light Magic channels it into the patient without backlash. Balance is everything."
F* me sideways,* Stella thought. How did I miss that? I've read that book hundreds of times. I should've figured this out on my own.
Hey, rude! Solus chimed in. I'm smarter than you, and I missed it too. The problem is our approach—we're too naive. Ugh, I hate feeling so useless. If only I had my memories…
"Excuse me, Professor, I have a question." The black-haired girl snapped them out of their thoughts.
"If we use both Light and Darkness for healing, what makes us different from the Black Griffon? Don't they do the same?"
"The difference, dear Snob Face," Vastor replied, "is purpose. Here at the White Griffon, we heal. At the Black Griffon, they destroy."
For the rest of the hour, Professor Vastor drilled them on the basics of tier-four healing spells. The fastest students to master it were the young miss, an arrogant-looking boy, Snob Face, and then Stella.
Stella did her best. She had to mimic spells with fake magic before translating them into true magic. Still, she placed fourth.
Afterward, Vastor opened a Warp Steps portal that led straight to the academy hospital.
Stella, Solus said, by keeping the portal open, the Professor gave me time to analyze it. The staff's ability to create portals comes from their rings—connected to the academy itself. The whole castle is a giant artifact. Compared to that, your uniform's features are child's play.
Stella didn't reply. She was thinking about Solus. If the academy was this powerful, how strong would Solus be if she recovered her true form? Magic towers in fairy tales were said to make their masters nearly omnipotent—but fairy tales also spoke of elves, fairy godmothers, and happy endings.
None of which Stella believed in anymore.
As they entered the hospital, the students were amazed. The facility put modern Earth's hospitals to shame. Self-cleaning floors, beds that massaged and monitored patients, and a fresh, sterile air that didn't reek of disinfectant—it all looked more like a luxury spa than a hospital.
"What a marvel of magic," said the red-haired boy from earlier. "But I suppose that's expected, since you designed it, Professor."
"Yurial, my boy!" Vastor finally recognized him. "Long time no see. How's your father, Deirus? Being an Archmage is no small task."
"He's doing well, thank you. I'll send him your regards. With your help, I hope to follow in his footsteps."
"Of course! Mage bloodlines are highly valued in the Light Department. I hope you show those snotty nobles and poor commoners what a true magician is."
I stand corrected, Stella thought. He does discriminate—just not the way I'm used to. He's a snob for magical families, not noble ones. Not every professor can be like Trasque or Nalear…
Just thinking Nalear's name made Stella flush with warmth. She suppressed it quickly. There was no time for teenage delusions. The trial round was about to begin, and Stella was determined to shine.