Hearing this, the class was silent

Lukas was wiping blood from his nose.

Elena was staring at Mozart with unblinking intensity.

The other students were furiously taking notes, terrified that if they stopped writing, the "piano pressure" would return.

Mozart stood at the chalkboard. He drew a circle.

"Mana," Mozart said, tapping the chalk against the board.

"The Empire teaches you that Mana is fuel. You burn it to create fire, wind, or light. The more fuel you have, the bigger the fire."

He looked at Lukas.

"That is why you explode, Mr. Lukas. You treat your body like a keg of gunpowder and light a match."

Lukas scowled, but he didn't argue.

He was still feeling the phantom weight of the Siren's Chord in his chest.

"I was taught differently," Mozart lied smoothly. He wasn't about to admit he was just copying words from the original novel.

"Mana is not fuel. It is water."

He raised his hand.

A small sphere of water materialised above his palm.

However, it didn't drip; instead, it spun perfectly, a flawless marble of liquid.

Yes, although he had affinity with shadow magic due to his bloodline, he could still use other forms of magic, although on a weaker side.

In terms of those with water affinity, he would loose ten times out of ten if they fought on the same level.

However, for teaching a group of brats, this was more than enough.

"Most mages use a bucket to water a flower," Mozart said, letting the water dissolve into mist.

"They drown the target, unfortunately, this is inefficient and messy."

Said Mozart as he walked toward the back of the room.

"But worry not, I will teach you how to kill with a single drop."

He stopped at the last desk.

"Stand up, Mr. Ironheart."

Alaric froze. The eyes of the entire class turned to him. The "Cripple." The boy with zero talent.

Slowly, Alaric stood up. He was shorter than Mozart by a head. His uniform was frayed, and he smelled of cheap antiseptic.

"Give me your hand," Mozart commanded.

Alaric hesitated, then held out his hand.

Mozart took it. He placed two fingers on Alaric's wrist.

He then sent a pulse of mana into the boy's system.

'Pathetic,' Mozart thought instantly.

In the original novel, Alaric's veins should have been surging with the Golden Dragon Aura by now.

He should have had at least one or two adventures, making him stand out, as currently, all he had going for him was his grit.

Sad to say, but he, Mozart, had taken all of those adventures.

Alaric's were now mana veins were now thin, brittle, and clogged with impurities. He was barely a Stage 1 Novice. A goblin could kill him.

Had it not been for his hero leniage, he wouldn't have even gotten into such a school.

Thinking of this Mozart, or rather Damien, underneath the mask, couldn't help but sigh,

"You have the mana capacity of a turnip," Mozart stated flatly, dropping the hand.

The class erupted in laughter. Even Lukas smirked.

Alaric looked down, his face burning red. He clenched his fists. "I know."

"Then why are you here?" Mozart asked, his voice devoid of mockery, cold and clinical.

"You cannot cast a fireball. You cannot shield yourself. You are nothing but a liability."

Alaric looked up. His grey eyes met Mozart's visible left eye.

"I made a promise," Alaric said, his voice trembling but firm.

"I promised to protect the weak. Even if I have to use my teeth."

It was the classic Protagonist line. In the book, this was the moment the mentor would smile and give him a cheat item.

However, Mozart didn't smile.

"That is a very pretty sentiment," Mozart said.

"It will look great carved on your tombstone."

He leaned in close.

"Willpower is useless without the means to enforce it. You want to save the world? Fine. But you can't do it with magic."

Mozart turned his back on Alaric and walked to the front of the room.

"Since your mana veins are trash," Mozart announced to the room,

"we will ignore them."

He looked at Alaric.

"You are going to learn Physical Arts."

"Physical Arts?" a noble student scoffed. "Like... swinging a sword? That's for common soldiers. Mages don't sweat."

Mozart picked up the piece of chalk.

THWIP.

He flicked his wrist. The chalk vanished.

CRACK.

The noble student yelled, clutching his forehead. A red mark appeared right between his eyes. The chalk had hit him with the force of a bullet.

"I didn't use mana," Mozart said calmly. "I used physics. Muscle tension. Torque. Velocity."

He looked back at Alaric.

"Although strange, but rest assured, my training does have its effects."

Mozart's eye glinted behind the silver mask.

"And looking at you, Mr Ironheart... I think you're very good at taking pain."

Alaric stared at Mozart. For years, teachers had told him to quit. They told him he was broken.

This was the first time someone had offered him a chance to help him get stronger.

"I'll do it," Alaric whispered. "Whatever it takes."

Suddenly, voices drifted in from the open window. Laughter. High-pitched, arrogant laughter.

Mozart walked to the window and looked out.

Walking down the pristine stone path outside was a group of twenty students. They wore uniforms trimmed with gold thread.

They carried staffs made of rare wood and jewels.

Class S. The Golden Class.

Leading them was Professor Arthur, who was gesturing grandly to a tall, handsome student with platinum blonde hair.

"That is Prince Nero," Elena whispered from her desk, her voice laced with distaste.

" The First Prince's son. They say he was born with a High-Grade Fire Affinity."

Prince Nero stopped outside Class F's window. He looked inside, seeing the dilapidated desks and the bruised students.

He locked eyes with Alaric.

"Look," Nero laughed, nudging a sycophant next to him.

"The Cripple is actually trying to learn. Isn't that adorable? It's like watching a dog try to read."

Class S erupted in laughter.

Alaric shrank into his seat, shame colouring his neck.

Lukas jumped up, sparks flying.

"You want to say that to my face, you royal inbred?!"

"Sit down, Firecracker," Nero sneered.

"Or I'll have my father buy your family's farm and burn it down."

Lukas froze. He knew the Prince wasn't joking.

Nero looked at Mozart.

"And you must be the piano man," Nero grinned.

"My father loves the opera. Maybe if you beg nicely, I can get you a job playing for my birthday party. It pays better than babysitting garbage."

Class S howled with laughter.

Mozart watched them.

For these little runts in front of him, he couldn't care less what they said.

He simply raised his hand, snapping his fingers.

SNAP.

A gust of wind, sharp, precise, and violent, slammed the window shut.

It hit the frame with such force that the glass rattled in the pane, cutting off the laughter instantly.

Mozart then pulled the blinds down.

The room was plunged into semi-darkness.

"Pay attention," Mozart said, his voice cutting through the gloom.

He turned to the blackboard and wrote a list.

[THE SYLLABUS] 1. Mana Condensation (Breathing until you pass out)

Physical Conditioning (Running until you vomit) Combat Reflexes (Dodging until you bleed)

He turned back to the terrified class.

"Don't look out the window," Mozart commanded.

"There is nothing out there for you. The Golden Class creates Mages who are good at parades."

He walked to his desk and sat down, crossing his legs.

"In here, we are not building Mages. We are building monsters."

He checked his pocket watch.

"You have five minutes to run a lap around the Academy perimeter. Anyone who is late gets to be the target for Mr. Lukas's next fireball practice."

The class froze. The perimeter was ten miles.

"Four minutes, fifty seconds," Mozart counted down.

SCRAMBLE.

The students panicked. Chairs flew backwards. They stampeded for the door, terrified of the man in the silver mask.

Even Elena, the High Elf Princess, grabbed her skirts and ran.

Only Alaric paused at the door. He looked back at Mozart.

"Thank you, Professor," Alaric breathed.

"Run, Ironheart," Mozart said without looking up. "Or you die."

Alaric ran.

Mozart sat alone in the empty classroom. He listened to the thundering footsteps of his students fading into the distance.

"Phase One complete," he whispered.

He opened his System.

[Quest: The Syllabus of Despair]

[Progress: 15/15 Students Terrorized.]

[Reward: 5,000 DP Received.]

[Hidden Objective Unlocked: The Rivalry.]

[Prince Nero has marked Class F as an enemy.]

Mozart smiled behind his mask.

"Let the games begin."

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