Michael walked back to the end of the line, trying not to limp from the jarring sensation in his right leg. He patted Rudy on the shoulder as he passed and wished him luck—though he felt like the guy didn't need it.

Not after Rudy had shown how strong he was during the gravity punishment dished out by the professor earlier.

As Rudy walked up to the training dummy, the clamor died down as everyone turned their attention toward him. Even Professor Quinn watched quietly from the side, her eyes gleaming with interest.

Since Rudy was the only one able to properly withstand the gravity spell, many were eager to see how he would perform against the training dummy.

Would he break the current record held by the black-haired boy?

Seemingly unaware of the many eyes on him, Rudy casually walked up to the training dummy and poked it with a finger.

"Can this thing really take a hit from an Azure mage?" he muttered.

"Mr. Graves, was it?" Professor Quinn spoke up, growing impatient with his lack of initiative. "If you wouldn't mind, please strike the training dummy as hard as you can."

"Eh? As hard as I can?" Rudy asked, a look of hesitation crossing his face. "Is that really a good idea?"

"You needn't worry about breaking the dummy, Mr. Graves. I can assure you that nothing you do will be enough to damage it," Professor Quinn explained, her tone patient.

"Hah, this kid thinks he can break something that can withstand the attack of an Azure mage?" Braydon called out, bursting into laughter.

"How absurd."

A few of his lackeys joined in, taking the opportunity to poke fun.

"I bet his strike won't even cause the shield to glow yellow," another chimed in.

Rudy frowned at the jeers, his fists clenching in response. Standing alone at the front with all eyes on him, he looked rather pitiful—stirring something within Michael.

"I'll take that bet," Michael said, stepping out of his line and fixing his gaze on Randolph, who had just spouted nonsense. The boy was taken aback, his anger flaring.

"What could you possibly bet with?" Randolph spat, his curls bouncing as he spoke. "I've already done my research on you—you're not part of a noble family."

"Do I need to be part of a noble family to possess money?" Michael replied, raising an eyebrow. "Are you saying that commoners can't possibly have gold?"

His words caused a ripple through the class, leading to murmurs and whispers among the first-years.

Sensing that his words were being twisted, Randolph stammered, "Y-you know that's not what I meant… I was just worried that your paltry possessions wouldn't even warrant a worthwhile bet."

Michael grinned in response, about to take out his gold coins when he noticed movement in one of the other lines. Melody's blue hair caught his eye—she was about to intervene.

However, Michael raised his hand, stopping her in her tracks.

No, I won't let her intervene in this, he thought to himself.

If Randolph were to lose money to him—a commoner—it would be far worse than losing to the Winterborne house. By keeping Melody out of this, Michael was setting up a situation where Randolph's pride wouldn't allow him to back down.

He saw Melody's expression falter before she crossed her arms and let out a harrumph, as if to say, 'Do whatever you want.'

Michael's grin widened even further as he flipped his hand, producing a heavy bag of coins from his storage ring. The jingle rang through the group of students, causing the murmurs to grow louder in response.

"I sure hope you won't embarrass yourself by trying to bet with silver coins," Braydon sneered. "Silver is all but useless to us nobles."

"Three hundred gold pieces," Michael announced, his grin stretching across his face.

"H-how did a commoner get that much gold…?" Randolph stammered, his face draining of color.

The currency on the continent consisted of bronze, silver, and gold coins. A hundred bronze made a silver coin, and a hundred silver made a gold coin.

Which meant three hundred gold coins was equivalent to thirty thousand silver—a sum no young noble could easily ignore.

This was Michael's savings from three years of working at the Winterborne manor. During this time, he had remained frugal, spending only a few bronze coins on essentials the Lord didn't provide.

"Michael, what are you doing?" Rudy hissed, clearly shocked by the amount he was willing to bet.

However, Michael ignored him, taking a few steps toward Randolph. "Well? Are you ready to put your money where your mouth is? Or were you just all talk before?"

Randolph's expression grew grim, his face reddening with each passing second.

"I… I don't have—"

"We'll take the bet," Braydon interrupted, stepping forward and placing a firm hand on Randolph's shoulder. "But I want to change the terms," he continued.

Michael frowned but didn't reject the offer immediately, waiting to hear what Braydon had in mind. If the terms were unfavorable, he wouldn't hesitate to walk away.

"The commoner will face off directly against Jakob here," Braydon said, turning and pointing to the black-haired teen with the forgettable face. This was the guy who held the current record—his strike producing a deep yellow glow from the shield.

"If you're changing the terms, you'll have to put up more capital," Michael said, shaking his head. "Throw in a storage ring, and you've got yourself a deal."

"Heh, done."

"Is my class so boring that you need to resort to betting matches to keep yourselves entertained?" Professor Quinn's icy tone cut through the air, causing everyone to freeze on the spot.

Shit, I completely forgot about this sadist! Michael cursed inwardly.

Her eyes gleamed as she stood just a few feet away, her presence bearing down on the students.

Just when it seemed like she was about to unleash hell, her smile widened. "Hand me your wagers; I'll be the intermediary for this bet."

Eh?

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