Inside Class 1-B, the room buzzed with quiet chatter and the occasional scraping of chairs.
Sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows, casting a warm glow over the polished wooden desks.
Suddenly—
"Huff! Huff!"
Heavy breathing shattered the relative calm. Heads turned, curious, as a boy at the back of the room clutched at his chest, his eyes wide with terror.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his body trembled as if he had just escaped death itself.
Mikel gasped for air, feeling like he had surfaced from drowning.
His heart hammered against his ribs, wild and desperate. Moments ago—no, seconds ago—he had been dying.
He remembered it vividly: the freezing cold, the crushing wave of mana, the taste of blood in his mouth.
And yet here he was.
Alive.
In a classroom.
What the hell is going on?
His instincts screamed at him to move, to scan for threats. Still breathing hard, Mikel jerked his head around, his gaze sweeping the room with feverish caution.
Rows of students sat at desks, most of them young—barely teenagers—dressed in crisp academy uniforms. There were no enemies. No battlefields. No bloodied corpses.
No sign of him.
The nightmare he had lived through—the clash at Blackspine Peaks—felt impossibly distant now, like a cruel illusion.
Mikel looked down at himself, his breathing slowly steadying. His eyes widened in disbelief.
His body—
It was different. Smaller. His hands were slim, unscarred by sword calluses and the burns of past battles.
No deep gouges from mana explosions, no mangled fingers from shattered weapons.
His academy-issued robe hung a little loose on his frame, the fabric pristine and new.
He was… young.
Too young.
Mikel's mind raced. Was this an illusion? A trap? Had he died and been reborn into some twisted facsimile of his past?
Before he could reach any conclusion, a warm hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
Mikel's body stiffened, ready to throw a spell—or a punch—on instinct.
But then he saw her.
Standing beside him, smiling casually, was a girl with short, soft chestnut hair and sparkling green eyes.
He recognized her instantly.
"Shion..." he breathed, voice cracking.
It was unmistakably her. His best friend. His anchor during those turbulent academy days
. Except—she looked different. Younger, brighter, untouched by the bitterness and trials that had hardened her over the years.
It was Shion as she had been then—a student, full of dreams and boundless energy.
"Hey!" she said, giving his shoulder a playful shake. "You're daydreaming again, dummy. Come on, it's time for our next class! Don't make me drag you."
Her laughter was the same. Light, musical. It hit him harder than any blow could have.
Mikel's heart clenched painfully as realization struck him like a thunderbolt.
This wasn't a dream.
This wasn't an illusion.
He had… traveled back in time.
He glanced down at his clothes again, confirming it—the standard red and white -accented uniform of a first-year student at the Royal Academy of Eryndor.
His mind reeled. How? Why? Was it some miracle—or some unseen power's intervention?
For a brief moment, panic threatened to rise in him. What if he messed things up again? What if he lost everything a second time?
No.
He inhaled deeply, forcing the turmoil down.
This was a gift.
Another chance.
Another path.
The past was in his hands again—and this time, he would not let it slip away.
He met Shion's expectant gaze and managed a small, genuine smile—one he hadn't worn in years.
"Shion," he said, his voice steadying. "You go on ahead. I'll catch up in a minute."
She pouted exaggeratedly. "Don't be late! Professor Velric is handing out seat assignments today, and if you end up next to some boring guy, don't come crying to me!"
Mikel chuckled, the sound awkward and rusty from disuse.
"I'll be fine," he promised.
With a playful wave, Shion spun around and trotted off toward the door, her laughter trailing behind her.
As she disappeared into the hallway, Mikel slumped back into his chair, rubbing his face with both hands.
This was real.
The weight of it settled into his bones. He wasn't the broken, bloodied soldier from the battlefield anymore.
He was a student again—young, full of potential, standing at the start of a path he thought he'd already walked to its bitter end.
And this time… he would walk it differently.
He tightened his fists in his lap, feeling the strength returning to them.
No regrets.
No second-guessing.
He had been given a miracle, a rare mercy.
And he would make sure it wasn't wasted.
The classroom noise blurred around him as he stared out the window, the sky a brilliant, endless blue above the academy grounds.
A second chance.
A new life.
Yet Somewhere, across the endless weave of fate, there lived a boy—
a boy with hair as white as fresh-fallen snow, whose path crossed the Blackspine Peaks.
Mikel could not recall his name, nor his voice.
Only the weight of his power—the memory of a force so vast it shook the heavens themselves.
He closed his eyes briefly, gathering his thoughts.
Blind hatred would serve him nothing. Reckless rage would only bring ruin.
No, if he was to have his justice, he would need patience... and power.
The boy with white hair was a mountain unlike any Mikel had ever seen.
And if he wanted to stand atop that mountain, he would need to climb higher than ever before.
Opportunities would come—Mikel was sure of it.
He knew of things now, future events, hidden chances.
He would seize them all, sharpen himself like a blade at the edge of destiny.
He would grow stronger.
Stronger than he had ever been.
Stronger than the world had ever seen.
Only then—
Only then would he confront that monster atop the Blackspine Peaks, not as a lamb to slaughter...
but as an equal.
As a hunter.
Mikel exhaled slowly, his eyes gleaming with quiet determination.
"This time," he murmured, "I will not fall short."