"There's still more than an hour until noon. I'll take a quick nap first." Jones pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it, then turned his gaze toward the black coffin laid flat in the room.

Not only did the inside lack handles, but the outside was handle-less as well... The coffin lid wasn't even the hinged type commonly used by the Blood Clan. This made Jones feel rather uncomfortable, but he had no other choice.

...

"Cough cough cough... Cough cough cough... Cough cough cough." Amos coughed violently, trying to disguise his awkwardness while also sneaking glances at Angel: "Cough cough cough... Child, your passion is mathematics, isn't it? I've come across what you're best at."

"No, my passion is magic. What you're about to test me on will be where I excel." Angel retorted defiantly.

"Really? That's truly surprising. But I don't believe it."

"You can try me."

"Alright, let's begin then." Amos pressed his lips together, flashing a faint, ambiguous smile: "Please draw twenty-four standard magic runes."

"Done! Here!" Angel picked up the pen and finished drawing in one go, handing it over decisively.

"That's not enough, child." Gritting his teeth, Amos continued: "That was just a test. Now, please draw one hundred and eight variations of magic runes."

...

"Done! Here!" Angel handed over the finished task once again.

Amos's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets: "Alright! Next up! Draw seven hundred and twenty mutated magic runes!"

...

"Done! Here!" Seven hundred and twenty was a daunting number, but Angel completed it in one breath, as if he didn't need to think at all.

Amos stared in astonishment at the thirty-five-year-old new applicant before him. Could it be that he was truly going to admit the oldest freshman in the history of the Magic Academy?

"Alright, child." Amos stood up, then raised his hoarse voice: "That was just a warm-up earlier. Now it's time to get serious! The path of magic is full of thorns. Let me see just how prepared you really are!"

...

The clock on the wall ticked rhythmically, "tick-tock, tick-tock."

Barnes sat at her desk, silently staring at the lit oil lamp on its surface. The firelight illuminated her face.

"What's the matter, Barnes?" A male elf faculty member walked past behind her and casually asked.

Barnes seemed to snap out of her thoughts suddenly, awkwardly replying: "It's nothing. I was just thinking about the applicant who registered earlier."

"There are applicants every day. What's special about the one earlier?" The colleague sat down at his desk directly opposite Barnes.

"I can't shake the feeling that he... looks familiar? Has he applied before and been rejected?"

"Hmm... I don't think so. If someone didn't pass the first time, age would only make it harder the next year. To be honest, our standards for ordinary applicants aren't high, but for 'older' ones, the bar is much higher."

"He's thirty-five years old."

"Thirty-five? Then why even apply?" The colleague froze for a moment, then laughed: "Didn't you tell him outright he couldn't possibly be admitted?"

"I wouldn't say anything like that—it's too easy to create problems." Barnes took a deep breath and glanced at the clock on the wall: "He's been in Amos Mage's office for over an hour now."

"Amos Mage? Ha, then there's even less chance he'll be admitted. Forget thirty-five, even twenty-five wouldn't make the cut."

"I think so too. He should've already left."

In the silent office, time continued to flow, second by second.

...

Meanwhile, Amos, as the main examiner, was beginning to feel a little anxious. His eyes were wide, his beard bristling, and his breaths came deep and strained.

"Child, you're truly remarkable, astonishing even. Without any formal magical education, you've already mastered the magical knowledge expected—at the very least—of a thirty-five-year-old magic apprentice. In fact, you've surpassed it. I suspect you might even meet the standards of a seventy-year-old apprentice. I don't know where you learned all this. If you were only twenty-five now, I would admit you without hesitation. Even at thirty, I'd consider it. But your age is simply too much—thirty-five? My God."

Angel stared back at him, eyes wide and equally breathless, looking just as anxious: "Can't you just give me a chance? I just want an opportunity, that's all."

Scattered around them were piles of Angel's test papers.

"Aren't I giving you a chance right now?" Amos said through gritted teeth: "To become a proper mage, knowledge alone isn't enough. You also need magic power! And many other qualifications! For an elf who's never undergone professional training, that's flat-out impossible! You're determined, but I can't ruin your life out of momentary pity!"

"So what's the next test then?" Angel roared in frustration!

"Spells! I'm going to test your spellcasting!" Amos roared back!

...

"Still thinking about that applicant?" the colleague asked.

Barnes rested her forehead on her hand and answered softly: "Yes, I really feel like I've seen him somewhere before. And it wasn't just once. Something must've happened before, or I wouldn't feel this way."

Speaking, Barnes cupped her face with her hand, breathing deeply.

"Maybe it was in a dream?" The colleague shrugged and said: "Mandy Mage is researching that sort of thing, isn't he? The idea that while we sleep, the soul enters a special state. In this state, it could resonate with another soul somewhere in the world that's also in the same state, and we could gain fragments of their faint, blurry memories. We think it's a dream, but it's not—it's a sliver of someone else's memory. After waking, the memory fades quickly until you arrive at a scene just like the one in the dream, triggering a sense of intense familiarity. The same goes for people. That's the gist of it, I think. Though I heard his funding was cut, and he can't continue the research. The higher-ups deemed the study pointless."

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