The entrance ceremony soon passed, and just like the original novel, nothing spectacular happened there.

There was no cliche villain invasion or anything, and as a new teacher, all he had to do was stand and look

In the stands, he saw many faces as described in the novel, and many he did not know.

However, one thing that was for sure was that he Damien was about to encounter a major turning point in his life.

That is, the plot had finally begun!

…......................…

[Location: The Imperial Academy – The Outer Rim]

If the Star-Reach Spire was the crown jewel of the Academy, then Building 9 was the mud on its boots.

Located on the far edge of the campus, nestled between the sewage treatment plant and the monster disposal incinerator, sat a dilapidated stone structure covered in ivy that looked suspiciously poisonous.

This was the home of Class F.

Inside, the classroom smelled of ozone, sweat, and teenage desperation.

There were only twenty desks, most of them scarred by spell-fire or claw marks. Currently, only fifteen were occupied.

In the back row, a boy sat with his head down.

Alaric Ironheart.

He looked nothing like the Hero of Legend he was destined to

He was skinny, his Academy uniform two sizes too big. His arms were wrapped in cheap bandages, hiding bruises from the "welcoming committee" he had encountered earlier that morning.

In his hand, he gripped a rusty iron sword, the only weapon he could afford, so tightly his knuckles were white.

'I will show them,' Alaric thought, the mantra playing on a loop in his mind.

'I don't need a high mana capacity. I don't need a noble house. I just need to work harder than them.'

BOOM.

A fireball exploded three desks away.

"Damn it!"

Lukas, a boy with hair the color of a forest fire, slapped at his smoking eyebrows.

He had been trying to light a simple candle, but the flame had erupted into a miniature supernova.

"Lukas, you idiot!" a girl in the front row shrieked, shielding her hair.

"You're going to kill us before the teacher even gets here!"

"It's not my fault!" Lukas yelled back, his hands still smoking.

"The mana here is too thick! It reacts too fast!"

"Silence!"

The word was spoken softly, but it cut through the noise like a silver blade.

In the corner by the window, a girl was sitting perfectly still.

Elena.

She was stunning, with the ethereal beauty that only High Elves possessed.

Her hair was liquid gold, her ears pointed and elegant. But her eyes were deep, ancient emerald, and cold to the very look.

She didn't have a wand. She had a small sapling growing in a pot on her desk, staring at it intently, ignoring the chaos around her.

"The fire boy lacks discipline," Elena murmured to the plant.

"And the human with the sword lacks talent. Why did I leave the forest for this?"

"Could Godfather really be here?" Remembering the words of her mother, a hint of confusion flashed through her eyes.

Suddenly, the door to the classroom creaked open.

The room went quiet.

Usually, the teachers assigned to Class F walked in with a look of resignation or disgust.

But the man who walked in didn't look disgusted. He looked rather curious instead.

He wore a tailored black suit that made the other teachers' robes look like bathrobes. A silver half-mask covered the right side of his face.

He carried nothing. No books. No wand. No lesson plan.

Instead, he walked to the podium the a never-before-seen calm, dusted it off with a handkerchief, and then turned to face them.

A calm smile on his face.

And Lukas, feeling the awkward silence, decided to break it.

"Hey!" Lukas barked, leaning back in his chair.

"Who are you? The new substitute? Where's Professor Garret I heard he was the former class F teacher?"

"Professor Garret had a nervous breakdown," the masked man said. His voice was smooth, baritone, and terrifyingly calm.

"He is currently sobbing in the infirmary."

The class exchanged glances.

"And you?" Lukas challenged, sparks popping from his fingertips.

"You look like a piano player, not a mage. Did you get lost on the way to the Opera House?"

The class snickered. Even Alaric looked up, a flicker of curiosity in his dull eyes.

The man smiled.

"I am Professor Mozart," he said. "And yes, I am a piano player."

He stepped away from the podium.

"I have heard about this class," Damien said, walking down the aisle. He moved silently, his presence filling the room like a gas leak.

"The Trash Can. The Rejects. The Failures."

He stopped at Alaric's desk.

Alaric flinched, expecting a mockery.

Damien looked at the rusty sword. He looked at the bruises.

'F-Tier Strength. F-Tier Mana. SSS-Tier Willpower,' Damien noted internally. 'God, you're a mess, kid. I have so much work to do.'

He moved on.

He stopped at Elena's desk.

Elena looked up.

For the first time since arriving at the Academy, the High Elf Princess showed emotion. Her eyes widened. Her nostrils flared slightly.

She stared at him. Not with defiance, but with... confusion. And longing.

'That mana...' Elena thought, her heart skipping a beat. 'It feels warm. It feels like... the sun hitting the World Tree. It feels like... home.'

Feeling his celestial life physique, she was more sure this was indeed the person her mother thought about

Damien paused.

'Why is she staring at me?' Damien thought, his internal alarms ringing.

'Does she know I'm zero? No, impossible. I was wearing a different mask back then or my disguise slipping?'

He leaned in close to her.

"Is there something on my face, Miss Elena?" Damien asked coldly.

Elena didn't blink. "You feel familiar."

Damien stiffened. "I have a common face."

He turned away abruptly, walking back to the front of the room.

"Listen up," Damien announced, clapping his hands once.

"I don't care about your backstories. I don't care about your trauma. I am here to teach you one thing."

He snapped his fingers.

Flash.

A grand piano appeared in the center of the room. It was an illusion, woven from light and shadow, but it looked solid enough to crush a man.

"Music?" Lukas scoffed, standing up. "This is a Magic Academy! We're here to learn how to fight, not play lullabies! I challenge you!"

Lukas raised his hand. Fire mana surged. "I bet I can burn that piano to ash before you play a single note!"

Damien sighed. "Sit down, Lukas."

"Make me!"

Lukas threw the fireball.

It was a clumsy, volatile spell, but it was hot. It roared toward the piano.

Damien, looking at it, just sighed.

He simply reached out with one hand and pressed a single key on the illusion piano.

Middle C.

But he infused it with [Siren's Chord].

PING.

The sound wasn't loud, but it was absolute.

The vibration hit the fireball in mid-air.

Instantly, the spell unravelled, the mana structure holding the spell together disintegrated instantly, scattering the flames into harmless sparks.

But the sound didn't stop there.

It hit the students.

THUD.

Every student in the room, except Alaric slammed their forehead onto their desk.

It wasn't regular physical force. It was the sheer weight of Submission Intent woven into the note. Their bodies instinctively bowed to a superior predator.

Lukas fell to his knees, gasping for air, his face pressed against the floorboards.

"What..." Lukas wheezed. "What... gravity magic...?"

"Not gravity," Damien corrected, sitting on the piano bench. "Authority."

He looked at the only student still sitting upright.

Alaric was shaking. Veins bulged in his neck. He was gripping his desk so hard the wood was cracking. He was fighting the pressure with everything he had.

'Good,' Damien thought, impressed. 'The Protagonist is indeed the protagonist.'

Damien lifted his finger from the key, erasing the pressure.

And being handed their life lines, the students gasped, inhaling greedily as if they had been drowning.

"You think you are weak," Damien said, his voice cutting through their panting.

He stood up and walked to the blackboard. He picked up a piece of chalk.

"You have been told that your mana capacity is too low. Your elements are too volatile. That your methods are outdated."

He wrote a single word on the board in jagged letters.

CONTROL.

"You are not weak because of your talent," Damien said, turning to face them, his silver mask glinting.

"You are weak because you are stupid."

He pointed at Lukas.

"You're trying to muscle it. Fire isn't something you throw around; it's something you guide."

He pointed at Elena.

"You refuse to use human magic because you think it's beneath you. Arrogance, an innate fault of you elves."

He pointed at Alaric.

"And you. You try to carry the world on shoulders that can't even lift a sword properly."

Damien leaned against the desk, crossing his arms.

"However! Do not fear, for I am here!"

"Welcome to Class F. My name is Professor Mozart. I don't teach magic. I teach Survival."

He smiled.

"Now... take out your notebooks. Lesson One: How to kill a man with a musical note."

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