The duo climbed four flights of stairs, ascending toward the fifth floor where the meeting was to be held. Thanks to their violet emblems, a real-time guide shimmered in front of them—a floating map that ensured they wouldn't lose their way.

Along the way, they attracted a few curious glances from upper-year students. One snooty-looking third-year even stepped into their path, arms crossed with a condescending tilt of the head.

"First-years aren't allowed on the upper floors," he said in a nasally voice, clearly preparing to block their passage—perhaps even by force, judging by the way he planted his feet.

Melody didn't bother responding. Her sapphire eyes flicked toward Michael, silently passing the responsibility to him.

With a trace of irritation, Michael held up his violet emblem. The moment the student saw it, his expression froze.

"We're the first-year representatives," Michael said coolly, "on our way to attend the student council meeting."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, before adding, "If you have an issue with that, feel free to take it up with the headmaster."

Without waiting for a response, he resumed his ascent, brushing past the now-silent boy. Melody followed, tossing an imperious glance over her shoulder, then acting as if the guy didn't even exist.

The nasally student remained rooted in place, watching in stunned silence as the two first-years climbed higher—toward a place he would likely never reach, even by the time he graduated.

"Why don't people just mind their own business?" Melody muttered, loud enough for him to hear.

"Leave him be," Michael replied with a shrug, his tone dry. "He probably gets a kick out of acting superior to first-years."

Thankfully, the other students they passed merely cast curious glances and moved aside without issue. None tried to play gatekeeper.

Eventually, they reached the fifth floor—the highest level of the tower. This was where the professors' dormitories and the headmaster's office were located. Access to this floor was strictly controlled. Only a handful of students were permitted up here, and even fewer could do so without a chaperone.

Class representatives, however, were among those few. After all, the student council room was also located here.

The floor itself didn't look drastically different from those below it. Ornate sconces lined the walls, casting warm light onto burgundy carpets and polished wood paneling. But what set this hallway apart were the portraits that hung along the walls—dozens of them.

Some depicted ancient figures dressed in archaic robes. Others were far more recent, their subjects so vividly painted it was as if they might step out of the frame at any moment.

One portrait, in particular, caught Michael's eye.

It depicted a regal woman with cascading crimson hair that flowed like liquid fire down her shoulders. Her features were sharp, her eyes keen with intelligence, and though she appeared to be in her forties, there was a timeless dignity to her presence.

Michael stepped closer, reading the plaque beneath the frame aloud. "Fifty-third Headmaster of Arcadia Academy… Rivelda Arcadius."

"It's pronounced Rivalda," the portrait snapped, sounding both indignant and offended.

Michael recoiled, nearly squeaking in shock as he stumbled back, pointing a finger at the painting. "I-It talked!?"

Melody flinched at his reaction, her eyes wide—but unlike him, her surprise was quickly replaced by fascination.

"How fascinating…" she murmured, stepping forward. Her sapphire eyes briefly glowed as she examined the painting, now subtly animated with the woman's presence shifting within the frame.

"I can sense a will imbued into the canvas… and an unusual mana signature. Is this a magical artifact?"

"Oho, quite an impressive deduction, young lady," Rivelda replied, her painted eyes seeming to shimmer with delight beyond the canvas. "I can sense great potential within you," she added, a mysterious smile curling her lips.

"Become my disciple. I will ensure you grow into that potential—and surpass it," she urged, her tone suddenly intense.

"Aunt Velda's at it again…"

"Damn it, Grandma! How many times do we have to tell you—you're dead! You can't just take on a disciple as a will fragment!"

"Yeah! What's she supposed to do? Carry you around in a picture frame?"

A cacophony of voices rang out from the hall, loud and exasperated. Michael instinctively turned, but there was no one there.

Then it clicked.

It wasn't just Rivelda. All the portraits were talking.

"Silence, you fools! You think I don't know my real body is dead?" Rivelda snapped, glaring sideways at the other frames. "This girl is special… I can smell the scent of Ancient magic on her!"

"Velda, dear… you can't smell anything," a tired voice replied from the portrait beside hers.

It belonged to an older man with a thick, curled crimson mustache. He bore a strong resemblance to Rivelda—less severe in appearance, but no less commanding.

Michael's gaze dropped to the nameplate on the frame:

Gerald Arcadius – Fifty-First Headmaster of Arcadia Academy.

"Father… you know what I meant," Rivelda said, her voice softening as she tried to reason with him. "And look at her hair—it can't be a—"

"Enough," Gerald said.

He hadn't raised his voice, but the effect was immediate. Rivelda fell silent, and even the other portraits hushed.

Then Gerald turned to examine Michael and Melody, his sharp gaze flicking between them with piercing scrutiny. When his eyes settled on Michael, a flash of recognition crossed his face—followed by a pleased smile.

"You, boy… I can sense the Arcana on you," he said confidently. "Take me as your master, and I'll guide you to heights you never thought poss—"

"Father!"

"Damn it, Gerald!"

Another round of protests erupted from the surrounding portraits.

Michael nearly groaned aloud.

This place is insane.

But beneath the absurdity, one thing stood out—Gerald had recognized something no one else had. He knew Michael had entered the Arcana… without external help. Even if the man was just a fragment of his former self, it meant he was powerful—and deeply knowledgeable.

That fact alone made Michael hesitate.

"Michael. Melody."

A familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Standing at the end of the hall was Rose, her long red hair flowing behind her, a vibrant streak of blue catching the light as always. She regarded them with a knowing smile and a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

"Come along now," she called. "Otherwise, the old headmasters will talk your ears off."

Michael didn't need to be told twice.

Without hesitation, he grabbed Melody's wrist and quickly ushered her forward, away from the portraits and their echoing voices.

"How forward!" one of the portraits gasped dramatically.

"Grabbing a lady like that—are they perhaps… in a relationship?"

Their retreat only encouraged more gossip. The corridor of painted ancestors buzzed with commentary, acting as though the two students were still within earshot.

Next time, Michael vowed, I'm going to completely ignore them…

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