The next day.

The Principality of Lenkos, where Siria Magic Academy stood, activated three Teleportation Arrays inside its borders. Teams from all over the Western Continent arrived one after another, then transferred to carriages for the final leg to Siria.

Nations were cautious with Teleportation Arrays. They never placed them inside royal capitals—only in small towns a ways from major cities.

Years ago the Ten Great Magic Academies proposed installing an array right on Siria's central square. Headmaster Morrison rejected it, citing "loose soil."

No one understood what soil quality had to do with an array, but his opposition was iron, and the proposal died.

From ten o'clock that morning, Siria's gates stood open to welcome distant guests. Every inn in the city had been scrubbed gleaming, ready for faculty and students from noble academies.

The Charlie family wanted to leave at dawn. Bella persuaded them to stay for lunch. After they ate she took them to Academy Street—just in time for dismissal. Seeing nobles streaming past, the three shrank to the wall the whole way.

Students and merchants crowded every avenue in Siria, all seemingly taller, better fed, and better dressed. The Charlies could hardly lift their heads.

The big carriages terrified them too, wheels spinning fast, rumbling like they might thunder straight over and crush them.

Clutching their son, Mr. and Mrs. Charlie scuttled like startled birds, eyes jerking everywhere. Any loud sound behind them sent them bolting; Bella and Yves couldn't hold them.

With the tournament imminent the influx was dense and messy. Carriages rattled by in constant waves. Once separated, you could vanish.

In a blink the Charlies darted into a side street and were swallowed by the crowd. Bella and Yves went white.

They'd meant to wait for their mistress and Miss Charlie and return to Star Luo Residence together—now they'd lost Miss Charlie's entire family.

They shoved into the side street, searching as they shouted the couple's names. The din smothered their voices; their throats went raw for nothing.

Anxious to the point of stamping, Bella sent Yves to wait at the Academy gate. "If the mistress and Winnie come out, tell them the Charlies are missing!"

She herself sprinted back to Star Luo Residence to mobilize every servant for a search.

Inside the Academy, because the Magic Tournament began tomorrow, both main and substitute members had been summoned to the cathedral's main hall for a pre‑tournament briefing.

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Headmaster Morrison was absent. On stage were professors overseeing tournament affairs: the escorting instructors and logistics staff.

Escort instructors: Professor Moses – Junior Division. Professor Pence – Intermediate Division. Professor Steinbeck – Senior Division (Advanced Spellchant Class).

Logistics instructors: Professor Phil, Professor Rossetti—Princess Lilith Rossetti, Professor Fink of the Senior Division.

Professor Pence, primary coordinator, opened with attire:

"All participating magic apprentices must wear Academy Magic Robes bearing the academy badge brooch. The robe must be the outermost layer—no cloaks covering it!"

Siria's Magic Robes were notoriously ugly. Across the continent people joked: see a student dressed like a gray mouse, that's a Siria apprentice.

The professors had their reasons. Magic education ate materials: magic flora, ores, astrological implements, magic wands, iron swords—expensive items no commoner could afford.

A noble academy charged one hundred gold per term. Siria charged two, with reductions for outstanding commoners.

Finances ran red. So on items with little direct teaching value—robes—they cut every corner. Function over beauty.

Finished with robes, Professor Pence moved to point two: "No fighting with students from other academies outside the tournament grounds."

Siria's students were heavily discriminated against—especially the commoners on competition squads. Every year noble students targeted and humiliated them, sparking post‑tournament clashes.

The rule did not mean commoners must swallow everything; it meant that given their status, any escalation hurt them more.

He recounted a case:

In a past year, nobles from several academies colluded to suppress Siria's squad. One student, covering a teammate's retreat, was caught and had her head shaved bald.

She was a commoner girl with once beautiful golden hair; after the tournament she wept bitterly.

A single male teammate challenged the noble who led the shaving to a private one‑on‑one duel outside the city. The opponent arrived with a pack; they ambushed him and crippled him.

When professors found him every tooth had been maliciously yanked, one eye blinded, and one arm and one leg broken.

The Academy poured effort into an investigation. There were too many assailants that night; each claimed he'd only kicked once. A little gold changed hands and it ended—for Morrison's sake—because the victim's background as a poor tenant laborer made him "half a slave."

In this world nobles kill a slave without breaking the law; kill a commoner and you pay. They hadn't killed him—already "merciful."

Case told, Professor Pence repeated: "Understood? No fighting outside the tournament grounds!"

A drawn‑out chorus: "We under‑stood—"

"No, you haven't understood," his tone deepened. "I don't care what happens inside the arena—that's competition. After the matches, if you still dare leave campus to make trouble, the serious cases are expelled."

"Do you understand?!"

Everyone snapped upright. "Understood!"

Meaning: settle grudges hard inside the arena; after that, hole up on campus.

He closed with perfunctory lines: "Friendship first, competition second," and "Results aren't important; effort is," then yielded the stage.

Escort instructors had little to add; they'd said it all during training—just: don't panic, perform your true level.

Logistics instructors spoke longer, teaching how to signal for rescue if life is in danger. Calling for outside assistance means forfeiting the match.

They hoped it wouldn't happen. Injuries were inevitable. When it truly comes to that, don't grit your teeth to death—staying alive matters.

Meeting over, Luo Wei and Winnie walked out together.

At the Academy gate they saw Yves, panic written across his face.

"Mistress, Miss Charlie—bad news! Mr. Charlie and his family are missing!"

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