"This sucks…"

"I can't feel my arms anymore."

The group of first-years made their way back into the castle after the torturous exercises Professor Quinn put them through for almost two hours. The running was one thing, but the techniques she imparted was just as bad—if not worse.

Everyone was made to line up in neat rows and perform the same movement countless times. Today they worked on a simple punch, not dissimilar to the one both Rudy and Jakob had performed during the wager.

While keeping their opposite fist pressed up against their waste, the students punched out, alternating between left and right punches. At first it was easy—some even relishing in the small break from running, but they quickly realized their error.

The demon woman made them repeat the action over and over again, until their arms felt like lead. Students began to drop like flies, with only a few remaining towards the end of the class.

Jakob, Rudy, Michael and Braydon persisted, each one seemingly competing against each other.

The former two were absorbed in their own battle—as if to showcase who was stronger and more dominant. Whereas the competition between the latter, Michael and Braydon was far more intense.

Though their technique was lacking, the strength they put into each punch was almost inspiring, as they squared off. It was to the point where even Professor Quinn eyed them with interest, her lips set in a mysterious grin.

In the end, the lesson was cut off by the woman in question before the competition could end. Yet even after this, Michael and Braydon's stared at each other obstinately, their intentions clear.

'I will not lose.'

Of course their rivalry quickly fizzled out once each of them realized just how tired they were. Instead of continuing the clash, both Michael and Braydon appeared to call a tactical stalemate, no longer posturing in front of the other.

However, Michael noticed a cold malice in the man's eyes, something that was not present before now. He didn't need to think hard to know the answer—it was because of the humiliation he'd suffered the day before.

It's within my expectations, Michael thought, casting a sidealong glance at the noble teen before making his way back to the castle. As long as he doesn't outright continue to provoke me, it will be fine…

He walked past Melody who looked like she'd been left out in the sun for too long. Her skin was bright red, sweat and exhaustion visible on her features—not to mention her hair that she'd worked on meticulously this morning now seemed more like a birds nest.

By now, he was used to it. Usually he would say a clever remark, but today's exercises had left him too drained.

"That was a good workout," Rudy exclaimed, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. "Though that Jakob guy kept looking over at me… Do you think he hates me cos I beat him?"

"His pride probably suffered a blow back then," Michael replied, stretching out his sore muscles, "it looks like I'm not the only one with a stalker now."

Rudy scoffed, but his expression shifted afterwards, "Hey, did you notice that Jakob isn't hanging out with Braydon as much anymore? I used to think he was one of his cronies, but it doesn't seem that's the case."

"Hmm?" Michael looked over and indeed it was as his friend said. Jakob was alone, removed from the group of Braydon, Randolph and Craig. A small frown formed on his face as he thought about it for a few moments.

"Maybe he got the boot after losing that bet?" he said, shrugging it off. It didn't concern him who was included in Braydon's posse. If anything, having less people following the guy around was a good thing for Michael.

"Yeah, you're probably right. Anyway, we should probably go get cleaned up before the next class." Rudy said.

Since combat class was such a long one, the class had some time before the spellcrafting class started. While their uniforms were enchanted to be resistant to dirt and stains—it wouldn't entirely block out the smell of sweat—especially for teenagers.

Michael agreed, the next class was the much awaited spellcrafting lesson that had been postponed since the professor was not present. Since spells were the main attraction to a mage, it wasn't a surprise to see some eager expressions on the first-years faces.

Half an hour later, the first-years reconvened at their new class—quickly finding a seat in the wide class room. Much like the mana theory class, there were raised desks and a significant open space in the middle of the room—likely for demonstrations of spells.

Michael, Rudy and Melody found their seat in the middle level like usual, now with the addition of Lilly who had become almost like the latter's shadow in all classes but combat.

"I heard the professor was helping the Arcane Church with the cleanup and purifying of Newhall," Lilly whispered to Melody next to her. "That's why he wasn't here last week for classes."

Michael's ears perked up, his interest piqued. He hadn't heard of the Arcane Church before, so he committed the name to memory, intending on browsing the books of the library for information later.

By now, all of the students had found their seats, eagerly waiting for the professor to appear in the classroom.

Time passed. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes… Twenty.

Just when it seemed that the professor wouldn't be showing up today, the doors opened abruptly. A figure garbed in a standard suit beneath a black Arcadia robe strolled in calmly, his movements fluid and carefree.

The figure was a lithe man in his thirties with slicked back jet black hair and a scar just above his eyebrow. His features while not exactly handsome, showed certain qualities that might be considered attractive.

But it was his confident movements that projected outward that drew everyone's attention as he sauntered into the class without a care in the world.

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