You ever try pretending to be a perfectly normal magical noble student when you've just recovered from a coma, are secretly a reincarnated truck victim from another universe, and your magic core is cracked like a dropped egg?
Yeah.
That was my Tuesday.
I woke up the morning after orientation in a bed that was too soft, in a room that was too noble. The sunlight filtered through enchanted glass windows that shimmered with protective glyphs, warming the floor made of imported white marble. Everything smelled faintly of lavender, parchment, and generational wealth.
This was Dorm 1 — the noble dorm. Reserved for heirs, royals, and people with names long enough to take up a page.
The school uniform — black jacket with silver trim, white undershirt, fitted charcoal pants, and a sapphire flame pin — hung on the wardrobe door like it had better places to be.
It took me twenty minutes to dress. Not because of vanity. Because of buttons. Tiny cursed things. Every movement burned, like someone was braiding my nerves into knots. But I managed.
Barely.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror framed with celestial runes, hands in my pockets, trying not to look like I was about to throw up.
I looked like I was about to throw up.
The noble halls of Dorm 1 were already humming with activity. Students in finely pressed uniforms passed by, their conversations sharp and laced with practiced politeness. Some cast glances in my direction — not out of cruelty, but the kind of detached curiosity one reserves for something mildly out of place.
Because Noah Drakopoulos, third son of House Drakopoulos, was back. And the whispers had already begun.
"Wasn't he in a coma?"
"I heard his mana core cracked—permanently."
"His older brother called him a walking embarrassment at the last estate gathering."
I ignored them. Nobles didn't mock you to your face — they left that to smiles and silence. And in Dorm 1, where bloodlines were currency, my stock was barely above bankruptcy.
My first class was Magical Theory & Elemental Foundations, held in the starlit lecture hall beneath the central tower.
I took the long way there. Not out of fear. Just strategy. Strategic stalling.
Inside the hall, I found a back seat — noble etiquette allowed it, as long as you looked too bored to care. The room was layered in polished obsidian stone, with constellation patterns that pulsed gently in time with the school's ambient mana.
The professor, a grumpy elf with a beard that looked older than the moon, wandered in late and tossed a book on the podium.
"Welcome to Magical Theory," he said in a voice that could sand wood. "Rule one: magic is not your friend. It's a tool. Tools don't love you."
Honestly? I liked him.
He started talking about mana flow, core resonance, and elemental harmonics. I understood about 10%, which was 9% more than I expected.
Everyone had a mana core. Some pulsed strong and stable. Others flickered. Nobles usually had bigger, more refined cores, like fine wine. Mine?
Mine was a cracked lantern in a windstorm. Flickering. Unreliable. Dangerous if pushed.
Still, I wrote notes. I nodded when appropriate. And most importantly — I didn't pass out.
Winning.
Break time came fast. The nobles filtered into the eastern courtyard, filled with white-stone benches, hanging starcrystal lanterns, and a marble statue of some dead archmage pointing dramatically at the sky.
I sat under a tree, nursing a lukewarm "revitalizing chai" brewed by the dorm kitchens. It tasted like moss and regret.
Nearby, a few students from other noble houses — House Velmour, House Virell — kept their voices just loud enough.
"Didn't he collapse at the Summer Evaluation?"
"His House practically wrote him off."
"He's only here because of his name. Should've stayed in bed."
I ignored them.
Because they weren't wrong. The old Noah probably would have.
But I wasn't him anymore.
Then she appeared.
"Mind if I sit here?"
I blinked. A girl with Pink-braided hair, violet eyes, and the self-confidence of a bored goddess stood beside me, holding a tray of fruit and bread.
She didn't wait for an answer — just sat. Like the bench belonged to her.
"Liora," she said simply.
"I'm Noah," I said.
"I know."
She chewed on a piece of bread and didn't blink. "You're different."
"Excuse me?"
"You used to stammer. Twitch when someone raised their voice. Avoid eye contact. Now you look like you want to stab someone."
"Character development," I said dryly.
She smirked. "Don't get too bold. The last guy who got cocky ended up cursed and buried."
She reached into her pocket and tossed me a old A dull gray ring.
"For your mana output," she said. "Stabilizer crystal. It'll help with the core fractures. At least… a little."
I stared at it. "Why?"
"Because I hate watching nobles blow themselves up. It's messy."
She stood to leave. "Try not to die before the midterms.
And just like that, she was gone.
Afternoon classes were brutal.
Elemental Application was a joke for me — I was excused from actual spellcasting until my core stabilized. I sat on the sidelines while others summoned fireballs and wind blades.
Silas Dregan, naturally, made eye contact just long enough to smirk.
History of the Grand War was 90 minutes of "nobles good, commoners dangerous," and I barely stayed awake.
Magical Conduct was a lecture on why stabbing classmates was frowned upon, even with consent forms.
By the end of the day, I was wheezing my way back to the dorm like an old man who'd just outrun death in a three-legged race.
But I survived.
I made it through Day One.
That night, back in my noble dorm room — carved desk, floating bookshelf, enchanted bed with self-adjusting softness — I sat on the edge, turning Liora's mana ring in my fingers.
It wasn't flashy. It wasn't even rare.
But it hummed.
Warm. Steady.
Something real.
I wasn't strong. I wasn't brave. I wasn't even supposed to be here.
But I had something now. Something nobody could take from me.
A second chance.
And I'd make it count.