After Mela left, the ward returned to silence once again.
But Moen just stared blankly at the spot where she disappeared, his eyes wide with astonishment, much like a frog seeing a swan flying past the mouth of its well for the first time.
“Holy...crap—”
It was only after a long moment that he dazedly managed to utter these two words.
What did the master just say her name was again?
MelaDormir?
Which "Mela"? Which "Dormir"? Which...whichever?
Could it be...the same person as the Origin-level Grand Mage from a thousand years ago? The one whose name graced the introductory textbook of *"Fundamentals of Magic Theory"*? The one who had chapters upon chapters dedicated to her? The one whose theories comprise a third of the entire book?
A coincidence?
Impossible.
How could a top-tier legend have their name duplicated by anyone?
Which means...
"This is serious. Like... seriously serious. She's not just any big-shot."
Moen’s throat suddenly felt dry.
Even though the clues indeed suggest that Professor Mela was the one who repelled the Dark God, Moen hadn’t actually witnessed it firsthand. That left him unable to fully grasp just how extraordinary she really was.
He had assumed she was simply a powerful *Crowned*, relying on the academy’s great mysteries to—
But now, it seemed like he’d been terribly naive. Forget "relying on the academy's mysteries"; those mysteries themselves were likely her creation!
An Origin-level mage from a thousand years ago!
What does that even mean?
You see, people in this world don’t live like those characters in cultivation novels, casually surviving for thousands—or tens of thousands—of years.
Before breaking through to the *Crowned* level and experiencing lifeform transcendence, this world's inhabitants rarely surpass the theoretical maximum lifespan of 120 years.
Even a *Crowned* individual only lives for about two or three centuries. From everything Moen knew—based on the original book—the longest-lived figure was the pope of the Life Church.
And even he, augmented by the Goddess of Life's divine blessing, was a mere four-hundred-plus years old.
Not even close to a thousand—let alone half of it!
Furthermore, this wasn’t just about her *having lived* for a thousand years. She was already Origin-level a thousand years ago!
Her actual age? Completely unknown.
Because even the textbook’s introductory notes on her provided no details about her pre-*Grand Mage* life.
“Someone like that is willing to take me on as their disciple... and I actually hesitated earlier?”
If he could go back just ten minutes, Moen would grab Mela’s leg and never let go.
Such a sturdy thigh! Once embraced, unless the Dark God personally descended, what could possibly threaten Moen’s insignificant life?
The *Crowned* champion under the God of Love? Just a nobody. That title couldn't compare to the colossal support of the snow-white thigh he’d have wrapped around him.
Main characters with countless cheats? What could they do? Rings with hidden omnipotent older-sisters? Even stacked together, they wouldn't reach the ankles of this glorious leg!
Being Professor Mela’s disciple... as long as he didn’t actively seek death, wouldn’t he be free to live life as recklessly as he wanted?
—Except...only in his thoughts.
Because very quickly, rationality returned, followed by...a creeping fear.
The path suggested by MelaDormir, a route even she wasn’t confident in managing—was it truly a "right choice"?
Not for some villain without plot armor like Moen.
“But...with everything as it stands—I have to keep going forward.”
Moen slapped his cheeks, trying to reinvigorate himself.
The *Black Book's* prophetic dream loomed over him like a blade poised near his throat—a blade whose eventual swing was uncertain but inevitable.
So, he had no choice but to struggle.
Before fate's malice returned to crush him, Moen needed to seize every opportunity within grasp—to fight back without reservation!
Even if the direction of his struggle...ultimately led to a genuine hell.
...
...
“Still...can someone come help me, please...”
Less than two minutes after bolstering himself, Moen found himself curled up in his blanket, rolling back and forth in defeat, groaning like a dying dried fish.
Because, no matter how he thought about it—
Professor Mela’s condition was impossibly strict.
One month from now, pass the *Fundamentals of Magic Theory* exam—get a passing score!
One month to learn what takes others a year and one month!
This wasn’t like a college student revisiting elementary school material, easily grasping the concepts with just a few glances.
In the realm of magic, Moen was just an elementary schooler.
And barely a first grader at that—yet Professor Mela expected him to participate in a second-grade-level exam in just one month...and pass it!
To say it was "unfairly demanding" would be an understatement.
But Moen knew, deep down, that the professor’s expectations were entirely reasonable.
For the challenging subject of magic, failing even *Fundamentals of Magic Theory* at three points proved someone lacked even the basics to start learning properly.
“But it’s still so hard—there’s no way to gain knowledge without studying, is there?! Aghhhhhhhhhhh!” Moen twisted himself into bizarre shapes, desperately wishing for a miracle—the sudden appearance of a certain blue robotic cat with limitless abilities.
"The Dark God's corruption...has it truly damaged your brain, Moen Campbell?"
A cool, crisp voice suddenly echoed throughout the small ward.
“Uh...”
Moen’s cries instantly ceased, as if someone had hit the mute button.
He cautiously peeked his head out from the blanket, revealing his flushed, embarrassed face as his gaze landed on the silver-haired figure standing there.
With an awkward smile, he said:
“Ce...Celicia, what brings you here?”
“Can't I just be here?”
Celicia remained in her student council’s signature crimson uniform, its deep red accenting her snow-white skin with a slight rosy glow.
She placed the fruit basket she brought on the cabinet beside Moen’s bed, brushed a strand of platinum hair away from her face, and glanced at him with a sidelong look.
"Or were you hoping for the doctor instead?"
“No no no, my brain is absolutely fine, perfectly fine.”
Moen shook his head insistently, quickly sitting upright from under the covers.
He hurriedly adjusted his rumpled hospital robe to make himself look presentable—as though he were the hapless employee meeting a demanding CEO.
“Is the student council busy? Shouldn’t things be pretty hectic for you right now?”
“Not too bad. While this incident was far-reaching, ultimately no students actually died during the chaos. The student council’s role has been limited to handling follow-up administrative tasks. The ones truly swamped with work right now are the professors and the dean.”
Celicia sat in the chair, the one already graced by two beauties before her.
“Want an apple?”
Although she asked the question, she was already slicing into the apple with a fruit knife as she spoke.
With a resigned voice, Moen meekly added, “Yes.”
“How’s your body?”
“Completely recovered.”
“When will you return to class?”
“The doctor says I can be discharged tomorrow.”
“How about mentally?”
“I’m in great spirits, eating well.”
“...”
Celicia continued cutting the apple without comment. Her movements were steady, slicing the peel with uniform precision. The spiraling apple skin fell gracefully from her palm like a ribbon.
Once peeled, she set the apple on a plate and, with a subtle motion of her fruit knife, caused a faint flash of light to shimmer. In an instant, the apple was evenly divided into eight slices.
After that, she inserted toothpicks into each piece and pushed the plate toward Moen.
How elegant—even peeling an apple looked graceful when Celicia did it.
Moen couldn’t help but silently praise her skill as he casually picked up a slice and popped it into his mouth.
Deliciously sweet.
“By the way—nothing’s happened at the academy recently, right?” he asked.
Having been confined to the ward for days, the only outside information he gleaned had come from the occasional laughter of girls drifting through the window.
Those professors and doctors, with their stiff expressions, weren’t people Moen felt comfortable asking for gossip.
“No, nothing much. Thanks to decisive measures taken, the Dark God's incursion resulted in no actual damages to the academy itself, so most classes have pretty much resumed as normal.”
Celicia picked up a slice of apple herself, her movements graceful, as she took small, genteel bites. Her rosy lips opened and closed as she ate, radiating elegance.
“But, if you mean the topic students are buzzing over...”
She paused slightly before continuing.
“It would have to be...the mysterious disappearance of the blonde girl that night.”
...
