The day after my duel with Professor Lucas.
Classes were over, and I now sat alone on a quiet stone bench nestled along a path rarely walked by other cadets. It was one of those rare hidden spots in Reynald Academy—shaded, secluded, forgotten.
Perfect for reflection.
I leaned back and closed my eyes, letting the soft wind brush past.
'He was strong.'
As I expected.
Professor Lucas wasn't like the half-baked cadets I'd fought since returning. He had precision, experience, and a terrifyingly vast mana reserve.
'But not invincible.'
Even during the duel, a part of me had scoffed, Is that all?—a ridiculous thought, given that I had lost.
But it couldn't be helped.
My defeat wasn't due to lack of technique or instincts. No. It was purely a matter of resources. A gulf in our mana reserves I couldn't bridge.
'Given that, I did pretty well.'
Well enough that Lucas had to use his "blessing." That alone gave me some satisfaction.
It was proof.
Proof that the skills I'd trained, honed, and bloodied in a world that had already ended—those long, lonely years fighting as the last hero—weren't meaningless.
Still...
'Most of what I know, I can't use yet.'
Swordsmanship, martial arts, hero magic—they were all built upon mana. Without it, even the most advanced technique was just an empty shell. Like a plastic food model in a restaurant display—shiny, but hollow.
'I can fake the form, but not the substance.'
Right now, the only advanced technique I could somewhat utilize was Sky Flip—a move designed to redirect an opponent's force rather than generate my own. Even then, it was a shadow of its full potential.
"In the end," I muttered, "it all comes down to mana."
Click.
I sighed in frustration, rubbing my temple.
"Did I... do something wrong?"
A shaky voice broke my thoughts.
"Oh."
Right. He was still here.
I turned to look over my shoulder at the trembling figure behind me—my "friend," Juliet, dutifully massaging my shoulders this entire time.
"Feels like you got a bit weaker since earlier?" I asked, dryly amused.
"I-I didn't go softer...!"
"Oh? So I'm just imagining it?"
"N-no! That's not it!"
"Then what is it?"
"S-sorry! I'm at fault!"
Juliet bowed so fast I thought his forehead might drill into the stone path. I couldn't help it—I burst into laughter and patted his shoulder.
"Haha, I'm just messing with you, man. Relax. It's a joke between friends."
"O-okay…"
"Speaking of friendship... it's been almost a week now. Any progress on that money?"
Juliet's shoulders visibly trembled. His voice came out small, desperate.
"I-I think I can get it by tomorrow!"
"You think?"
"No! I will! I will get it! Definitely!"
"Good, good. Thanks, man. One million gold isn't easy."
"W-well… since it's a friend's request…"
I nodded with exaggerated solemnity.
"Friendship, huh. It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Juliet sniffled, eyes reddening.
"Isn't friendship just the best?"
He nodded tearfully.
"Now, shall we grab lunch?"
"Y-yeah. Should I go get the usual bread?"
"Sure. Today's a special day. Let's go with sausage bread."
"I'll go right away!"
Juliet sprinted off with a speed that screamed devotion—or perhaps desperation.
I sat back, chuckling to myself.
Then—
Ding!
A hologram message popped up before my eyes.
[If you're free, would you like to have lunch together?]
From Iris.
My hands moved before I could think.
[Sure. Where are you?]
[Main building cafeteria.]
Huh.
That was the cafeteria used by nobles and elite cadets. I'd never once stepped foot inside during my past life. The prices alone were terrifying.
I hesitated.
Tomorrow I needed to fork over one million gold to Professor Jade for the Stigma Amplifier. Not my money, sure, but it still felt personal.
Another message arrived.
[Since you cooked during training, let me treat you today.]
I grinned.
'Saintess, you're the best.'
I leapt to my feet, already hurrying toward the main building.
"...Wait."
Wasn't I forgetting something?
Whatever. Couldn't be that important.
When I stepped inside, the scent hit me first—rich, savory, refined. Like stepping into the dining hall of a palace. Candles flickered on every table. The chairs were velvet. The silverware gleamed.
"Ah, over here, Dale!"
Iris waved me over. Camilla was seated beside her, stiff as always.
"So this is the main cafeteria, huh?" I muttered, taking it all in.
"Your first time?" Iris asked, tilting her head.
"Yeah."
The ambiance reminded me how far I still had to climb.
Camilla raised an eyebrow. "You usually eat in the annex?"
"No. I just grab food from the convenience store."
"The convenience store?"
Iris frowned like I'd admitted to drinking poison.
"That stuff isn't good for your health."
"It's cheap and easy."
"Hmph."
Crossing her arms, Iris huffed.
"Then how about you eat with us from now on?"
I blinked.
"W-what?" Camilla stammered. "Saintess, that's—"
"What? One more portion won't kill anyone."
"That's not the problem...!"
"It isn't?"
Camilla looked like she wanted to scream. After all, it wasn't about food—it was about optics. The Saintess of the Holy Kingdom, eating daily with some unknown commoner?
I shook my head gently.
"I appreciate it, but I'll pass. I've got too much going on."
It was true. As tempting as the offer was, I didn't have time for daily luxuries. Not yet.
"Hmm… Then how about every Monday, after combat class?"
I paused.
"That... might be fine."
One meal a week couldn't hurt.
Iris beamed. "It's settled!"
Camilla groaned. "I'll inform the chef…"
"Now then!" Iris clapped her hands. "Let's eat!"
The buffet was stacked with dishes from all three major nations.
I picked up a plate, but Iris quickly took over, dragging me along like a mother hen.
"Start with the Holy Kingdom dishes—"
"I'd rather not."
"W-why not?"
"Better than instant ramen?"
"Th-that's…"
Her voice trailed off.
Even she couldn't deny the truth.
"Well then! Since you usually eat junk, at least have something nutritious today!"
I sighed, letting her fill my plate.
Then I noticed something.
A small group of female cadets clustered at the far end of the buffet, whispering excitedly.
At the center of it all was—
"…Yuren?"
Golden hair. Golden eyes. Porcelain skin. His beauty was almost inhuman.
Yuren Helios.
My past-life mentor.
My closest friend.
The one who taught me the Sun Sword.
Girls fawned over him. Nobles from distinguished houses vied for his attention. Yet he didn't even glance at them, quietly selecting food with grace.
"Hm? That's the Helios heir, right?" Iris asked. "Do you know him?"
I hesitated.
"…I've only heard the name."
I couldn't meet him yet.
Not like this.
Not while I was still so... incomplete.
"I see," Iris said, watching me closely.
"He's popular," I added lightly.
Iris nodded, then said with a huff, "He's not really my type."
"Oh?"
"I'm not fond of people who look like they were carved by gods."
Coming from Iris, that was rich.
"Then what's your type?"
"Someone more... natural. Like a weed growing in the street."
She peeked at me through her pink hair.
"Someone like you, Dale."
"...."
So basically—
"You think I look like a weed."
"No! That's not what I meant!"
"Controversial take, Saintess."
"You jerk! That's not it!"
I burst into laughter as she pouted in flustered rage.
"Just go eat already!"
Still chuckling, I followed her back to our table, but I glanced once more toward Yuren.
Yuren. Iris.
And soon—Berald. Sophia.
This strange warmth settled in my chest.
I had really come back.
After all that time...
Spring had arrived.
Elsewhere.
"Huff… huff…"
Juliet sprinted down the path, arms full of sausage bread.
"D-Dale! I got it! I—"
He skidded to a stop.
The bench was empty.
"…Maybe he went to the restroom?"
He waited.
Thirty minutes. One hour. Two hours.
Stomach growling, he slowly picked up the now-cold sausage bread.
And bit into it.
Tears welled in his eyes.
"Hng... Hnggg..."
The sausage bread tasted of betrayal.
Of sorrow.
And the bitter bite of life itself.
"You secured the research funds?"
Professor Jade's voice cracked like dry parchment as his wide eyes swept over me in disbelief. We stood in his decrepit lab, walls lined with faded scrolls, glass vials clinking from the slightest movement, and scorch marks staining the stone as though the room itself had protested his work.
"Yes," I said, reaching into my coat. "Just as you requested—one million gold. I've secured it."
"…Huh."
The old man blinked twice. Then again. He stared at the black card bearing the Republic's gold seal, his trembling fingers almost too afraid to touch it.
"What kind of madman brings one million gold just to participate in a research project?" he muttered, more to himself than to me.
Especially for this kind of research—banned by the Holy Nation, deemed "forbidden" by scholars, and punishable by death under Temple Law. Stigma experimentation wasn't just frowned upon. It was heretical.
"Are you… out of your mind?"
I smirked. I never thought I'd hear those words from Professor Jade of all people. The man who once infused a stigma into a mouse and turned it into a fire-breathing corpse rat.
"Wasn't it you who said at least a million gold was needed to start research?"
"...I did. But that was more of a brush-off than an actual budget."
His bushy eyebrows drew together. "The Republic pays your tuition. Where did you get this money?"
I tilted my head. "Did you look into my background?"
"Just answer the question."
I shrugged. "I borrowed it from a friend."
"A friend lent you one million gold?"
"Have you heard of Juliet Kang?"
"Never heard of him."
"He's the heir to one of the Republic's top five conglomerates. And yes, he's my friend."
"Hmph."
Even Jade, madman among madmen, seemed at a loss for words. And then:
"Why go through all this? Why are you so desperate to study stigmas?"
I met his gaze, unwavering.
"There's something I need you to create."
"...What is it?"
"A stigma amplifier."
The room fell utterly silent.
"A what?"
"In simple terms," I said, "a potion that forcibly overdrives a stigma to dramatically increase mana output. Temporarily, of course."
For someone like me, whose mana levels were barely above a civilian's, such a potion would be a godsend. An oasis in the desert. In my previous duel against Professor Lucas, the battle had tilted the moment I ran dry. If I'd had the amplifier then…
He would've been the one slamming into the arena wall, not me.
But power always came with a price.
Professor Jade let out a long, raspy laugh. Then he burst into a full cackle, shoulders shaking, eyes gleaming like a man on the edge.
"You… you idiot!" he roared. "Do you even know what happens when a stigma goes berserk?!"
"I do."
"And you're still asking for this?"
His tone turned sharp, almost bitter. "The stigma isn't just a magic gland. It's a living circuit, a second heart. Force it to overload, and it'll tear your meridians apart. Your organs will rupture. You'll die in agony."
"I understand."
"Understand? This isn't some children's alchemy trick. You're asking for poison. Even if we succeed, one use would fry your body from the inside out. Use it twice, and there won't be a body left to regenerate!"
I stared at him evenly.
"That's fine. I don't plan to survive a second use."
His mouth dropped open. Then, slowly, he turned away, waving a hand in dismissal.
"Get out of my lab."
There was steel in his voice. Finality.
'Well, that's to be expected,' I thought.
A sane man would've thrown me out ages ago.
But I wasn't here to ask. I was here to prove.
Srrng—
I drew my sword from its sheath with a slow hiss of metal.
Professor Jade didn't even flinch. Just scoffed.
"Threatening me with a sword? You clearly don't know who I am."
"If threats worked on you, you wouldn't be here. Still researching stigmas in a lab that looks like it's been hit by ten fireballs."
"Then what are you trying to prove?"
I stepped forward.
"Words won't convince you. But actions might."
And without hesitation—
Shffft!
—I slashed my own throat.
Blood burst forth in a crimson arc. My head fell to the ground with a dull thud, rolling across the stone floor.
Professor Jade leapt from his seat, mouth agape, frozen in horror.
"What the hell…!"
Blood soaked his robe. Then, just as suddenly, that blood evaporated—transmuting into soft, gray ash that drifted down like snow.
And behind him—
"I told you it didn't matter."
My voice.
He turned.
There I stood—whole. Alive. Head very much attached.
Professor Jade stumbled backward. "You… you used an illusion!"
"No illusion spell can fake that. Besides, I'm a warrior, remember?"
"...Then how?"
I held out my palm. "It's a blessing. 'The Blessing of Revival.' When I die from a fatal injury, I come back. Regenerated completely."
He stared. "That kind of blessing is supposed to be legendary."
"It's real."
His eyes darted from the ash on the floor to the sword in my hand. I could see his mind racing, trying to fit this insanity into a rational frame.
"Shall I show you again?" I raised the blade toward my neck.
"NO!" He flailed wildly. "That's… that's quite enough."
He backed away, breathing heavily, then rubbed his temples and muttered, "So the side effects don't matter to you. You can regenerate from any backlash."
I nodded.
"It's not perfect. But it's enough."
He studied me in silence. Slowly, the gears began turning behind those tired, bloodshot eyes.
"…This could change everything."
"Exactly."
For a moment, he stood there—lost in thought. Then his gaze darkened.
'Oscar,' he thought.
That name surfaced like a wound torn open. A young man with bright red hair and an innocent smile. His brightest student. His biggest failure.
The dream they'd shared—creating a new field of stigma alchemy, free from religious dogma—died with that boy.
Until now.
"Professor?" I asked quietly.
He blinked, then shook his head as though waking from a nightmare.
"Right. Sorry."
"So. Will you do it?"
He didn't answer right away. He just stared at me—scrutinizing every inch.
Then, at last, he murmured:
"…It shouldn't be too difficult."
"Oh?"
"There's already research on stigma overload. The hard part is making it temporary. Controlling the backlash. Ensuring the increase in mana actually manifests before the stigma collapses."
"I'll help with the research."
That earned a barking laugh. "You? You're from the warrior department. You don't even know how to read a mana matrix diagram."
"I've studied theory," I said evenly. "Quite a bit, actually."
"Ridiculous. Here—" He slammed a sheet of parchment in front of me. "Solve this."
It was an advanced derivation of stigma flow dynamics, one of three unsolved problems left behind by the 'Great Sage'—his own ancestor. Professors in the magic department couldn't make sense of it. He expected me to crumble under the weight.
Instead, I read the page, picked up a quill, and solved it.
In thirty seconds.
Professor Jade stared at the result in stunned silence.
Then he reread it.
Then a third time.
His hands shook.
"Y-you… you actually solved it…"
He looked up at me, as if seeing me for the first time.
Then—suddenly, wildly—he grabbed my shoulders.
"Transfer to the magic department."
"What?"
"Join my lab after graduation. I'll fund you with the full support of the Bastian Institute! I'll give you your own wing of the academy! Name a tower after you!"
I pried his hands off gently.
"…No."
"That's a bit much."