After leaving the ancient potions classroom, Moen returned to his dormitory. He quickly took a shower, changed his clothes, and had a hurried breakfast in the cafeteria. Then, he jogged all the way to the Magic Fundamentals classroom.
And then he was stunned.
Outside the classroom, a crowd had gathered, so large that it practically blocked the entire corridor.
As soon as they saw Moen, the group began to stir.
"He's here, he's here! He's here!"
"Moen Campbell has arrived!"
"…"
"Aren't these guys supposed to be going to their exams?"
Moen's eyes swept across the crowd, then glanced at the time. There were only about fifteen minutes left until the exam.
Normally, people would already be inside the classroom waiting for the exam to start, or they’d be flipping through their books for a quick last review. This scene, however, looked more like a celebrity meet-and-greet than an exam preparation.
"Could they all be here just to watch the spectacle?"
Realizing this, Moen couldn't help but twitch the corner of his mouth.
He recalled the senior student's warning about the news that had spread across the school…
These people, apparently, considered watching drama more important than their own exams.
"This kind of overwhelming attention feels like walking the red carpet as a celebrity," Moen thought sarcastically.
Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Moen pushed his way through. Despite his noble upbringing as the son of a duke—which had instilled in him an aristocratic demeanor that prevented him from panicking under so many eyes—he still couldn't help overhearing the whispers as he passed by.
"Wow, Moen Campbell actually dared to show up for the exam. After boasting so much earlier, isn't he afraid of getting embarrassed?"
"Boasting so much means he has to show up. Otherwise, fleeing the scene would be even more disgraceful."
"True, but he seems pretty confident."
"Hahaha, that's probably just an act. Based on his knowledge level, there's no way he'll score 80—maybe 8 marks instead."
"Whoa, that's too much. I heard he's been putting in a lot of effort recently."
"Effort? What’s the point? I've been studying hard too, and I still fail my exams."
"Haha, fair point."
"…"
Moen continued walking silently, not bothering to refute. He knew that arguing now would be futile.
Facts are the best counter to bias and rumors.
What mattered now was putting everything he had into acing this exam.
Still…
"This really is annoying."
Moen lowered his gaze and unconsciously clenched his fists.
But then—
"Moen! Moen Campbell!"
A shout rang out.
It was a young voice, innocent yet strained, as if the speaker were putting every ounce of energy into yelling, even to the point of cracking their voice.
In the noisy crowd, the shout was unmistakably clear.
Moen raised his head, startled, looking in the direction of the voice.
"Go, Moen Campbell! We believe in you!"
"You can score 80!"
"Show those doubters who’s boss!"
"Go get them! I bet this month’s allowance on you; you have to win!"
In the most conspicuous spot stood three adorable first-year girls, their faces flushed red as they cheered loudly. They waved flags with the words “Go for it!” scribbled on them, wore white headbands with bold red letters reading "♥ Moen," and stood defiantly as if they were bandits invading his line of sight. His eyes involuntarily grew moist.
"You guys—"
Moen’s brain couldn’t quite process what was happening. He couldn’t figure out why these three remarkable creatures—who made him want to tear up—suddenly decided to appear.
Why was it that their presence seemed to brighten the entire world?
Beside the three girls stood Fannie, a senior from the art club whom Moen had encountered briefly before. She smiled wryly and shrugged.
"Moen Campbell, just so you know, I’ve bet quite a bit on you under their 'coercion.' You’d better make good on your promise."
"I…"
Moen hesitated for a moment, then nodded firmly.
"I will!"
He turned his gaze back to the three girls, whose excitement nearly caused one of them to faint when their eyes met his.
"I definitely will," he said with conviction.
Yes.
There was no longer any reason to be upset.
No matter what others thought of him, and no matter who doubted him—
Moen knew he had given his all during the past month.
Now, all he needed to do was show everyone the fruits of his labor.
Effort never lies.
Diligent studying, endless practice exams, and sleeping only two hours a night—
These sacrifices never deceive.
Straightening his back, Moen squared his shoulders and, like a future duke bearing the honor of the Campbell name, walked into the classroom with unwavering determination.
He walked into his battlefield.
…
…
After Moen left, the crowd outside fell momentarily silent before bursting into a new round of chatter.
"Wow, he really looks confident. What do we do? I bet quite a lot of money on him failing!"
"Don't panic. That’s definitely just an act. Don’t forget—he’s a noble. Aren’t they all great at putting on airs?"
"By the way, isn’t he the son of a duke? What if he cheats somehow, like bribing the exam proctor?"
"Now that you mention it…that seems possible. Otherwise, how can someone who scored three points last semester suddenly look so self-assured?"
"Then what do we do? Our money—"
"Ahem."
A dry cough echoed sharply, silencing the noisy crowd.
Suddenly, the gathered students felt as if a vast shadow had descended upon them.
It was like a storm brewing overhead, ready to engulf them.
"Your exams are about to start. Why are you all standing here?"
A booming voice followed, laden with anger.
An elderly man with a stern face appeared at the end of the corridor, carrying a stack of test papers inside his arm. His fiery gaze swept over everyone present.
"Do you want me to strip away all your credits?"
"It’s Professor Pulan!"
"Why is he here?"
"Is he proctoring? But why would someone like him personally handle this?"
"Let's go, let’s go—he looks really angry!"
After a brief moment of confusion, the crowd scattered like frightened birds.
Even Fannie had to drag the three still-waiting first-year girls away in a hurry.
The severity and terror inspired by Professor Pulan were well-known across the academy.
…
…
Inside the classroom, Moen sat quietly at his assigned seat.
By this point, reviewing his notes would be meaningless. Instead, he cleared his mind, adjusted his state, and waited for the exam to begin.
Other students began entering the room, and as they passed by Moen, they couldn’t help stealing a glance at him. The central question on everyone’s mind wasn’t about the exam itself—it was whether Moen Campbell could fulfill the bold claims he had made a month ago.
“Due to Professor Fran’s illness, I will personally be proctoring this exam,” Professor Pulan announced from the lectern, delivering news that was unfortunate for many.
"Ugh—"
Groans of despair filled the room. If Professor Fran had been their proctor, there might’ve been room for some “creative skills.”
But with Professor Pulan, known for his rigid and severe demeanor…
Cheating in front of a Crowned figure? Little ones, are you tired of living?
Even Moen raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was rare for someone of Professor Pulan’s status to personally monitor a second-year exam.
“Is Professor Fran really sick?”
Moen scratched his head but didn’t dwell on the thought.
“Ugh? Ugh what? For those taking the exam seriously, what difference does it make who proctors it?"
Professor Pulan’s sharp gaze swept over the students, his cold laughter making many shudder.
“Some of you had better abandon any impure thoughts right now—because if I catch you…hmph.”
As he spoke, his gaze lingered on Moen deliberately.
"…"
Moen twitched slightly. "Do you think I’m the type to cheat?" he thought silently in frustration.
But he quickly suppressed this annoyance.
As Professor Pulan had said, for honest test-takers, the identity of the proctor made no difference.
Right then, the clock struck the hour.
The exam began.
Moen picked up his pen and started answering questions. His gaze skimmed through the paper rapidly, as if on autopilot. The knowledge he had internalized over countless nights surfaced instinctively, flowing from his pen onto the page.
Time seemed to stretch long, or perhaps it flew by quickly.
The classroom was silent, punctuated only by the scratching sounds of pens on paper.
Eventually, even those sounds faded. Moen’s world narrowed, focusing solely on the pristine sheets in front of him, which gradually became filled with ink marks.
The clock chimed again, pulling Moen out of his trance.
A bony hand rested on his exam paper.
“Moen Campbell, you're free to go.” Professor Pulan murmured, casting a glance that held a mix of amazement and undisguised pity. “You may leave now.”
“Your exam is over.”
