Morris hadn’t expected to earn a nickname before even enrolling. Constans seethed with rage—if Jaelman hadn’t held him back, he’d have lunged at Morris already.

“Alright, alright,” Jaelman said, brushing dust off his clothes with a weary sigh. He cleared his throat, scribbled in his notebook, and told Morris, “Head back. The passing list will be announced in five minutes.”

“You little brat,” Constans hissed, shooting Morris a venomous glare through gritted teeth. “In all these years, you’re the only one who’s made two Saint Radiants look this pathetic.”

*You’re full of it,* Morris thought. *Alex literally stepped on your spine to reach Saint Radiant rank. Last time he was drunk, he laughed while spilling everything—and said your face back then was hilariously priceless.*

“Understood, Vice Dean,” Morris said aloud, keeping his thoughts silent. He took Sherlock’s hand and quietly returned to their seats. Benny shot him a disdainful glance mid-way. Morris wasn’t sure where the hostility came from—but he didn’t care. *Just House Igquintine,* he mused. *Even if the Lunhai Holy Church is on its last legs, if Pope Morris beats this young master half to death? They wouldn’t dare complain.* That was why he’d confidently told Sherlock he’d cripple her fiancé the moment he caught him.

*This… is the feeling of holding power.* A satisfied smile flickered across his face.

On the podium, Professor Klein silently covered his face and left. As chief examiner, he was due to grade papers with dozens of colleagues. In his fantasy, he’d stride out confidently, papers in hand. Reality? Bruised face, fury so sharp he nearly spat blood—and worst of all, it all felt like an accident. No one to blame.

Before exiting, the two janitors gave Morris a silent thumbs-up. The cookie-giver especially beamed with near-adoring respect. Morris read his lips: *“May you two love deeply and stay happily together forever.”*

*“What nonsense,”* Morris mouthed back. *“She’s my young mistress.”*

*“I get it, I get it,”* the man’s expression screamed—*“We’re all men, right?”*—before adding with a wink, “Don’t worry. Go for it!”

*“You don’t get jack!”* Morris’s face twisted comically—but the man was already gone. Morris slumped back with a sigh, glancing at Sherlock, who stared blankly at the ceiling.

Few noticed several examinees had vanished from the hundred-odd crowd. Strangers anyway—no one cared. Morris eyed the empty seats. *Using “The Emperor’s New Clothes”—a secret Arcanum technique meant for interrogating spies—to test freshmen? Only a genius would devise this. Instantly weeds out the ill-intentioned. Sure, it breaks the rule: wizards mustn’t use Arcanum on civilians. But no student knows.*

*“If no one knows, it’s not a crime!”* —Naiya.

Time blurred past in five minutes of scattered thoughts.

Morris let out a quiet sneeze. Rubbing his nose, he wondered: *Who’s thinking of me? Lenna? Sif? Or my so-called teacher, Alex?*

*“Stop thinking about me, Lenna. Go plan dinner instead,”* he muttered—then froze. He’d said nearly the same thing recently. That girl had vowed to throw him an eighteenth birthday party. His seventeenth gift was already explosive… what would eighteen bring? Then Alex pressured him: *“You two must be together!”* Forcing Morris to flee the Holy City overnight.

Another sigh. *Did Sif reach Macedon safely? Is she bullied in the church? How’s the Lunhai Holy Church without me? Would Alex regret raising me…? Nah. He never cares about big things—only trivial details.* Like when Morris staggered from the Demon Realm, bloodied and carrying an expressionless Lenna. Alex rushed over—not *“Are you okay, disciple?”*—but shoved Morris aside, stars in his eyes, gushing: *“What a beautiful girl! Morris, where’d you steal her from?”*

Alex was always like that. He’d rescued Morris, tormented him daily, then tossed him into the Demon Realm: *“Don’t return until the trial’s done.”* When Morris’s heart shattered from betrayal, Alex just clapped his shoulder: *“A man’s rite of passage. Let’s discuss your Papacy succession—you become Pope, I retire to the Royal Association for good food and wine!”*

Just as irritation simmered—

The door swung open. The stern-faced guide from earlier strode to the podium’s center. The noisy classroom fell dead silent. All eyes locked on him. He scanned the room, voice low and grave: “I am Max, Dean of Academics at the Royal Arcanum Academy. As this year’s candidates… honestly…”

He paused. “Though you all tried hard, only a handful passed.”

A collective weight dropped over the room.

“First, the passing list,” Max said, lifting a white sheet. “First place: Morris. Score… perfect.”

No surprise. It felt *wrong* if he hadn’t. Even as most had failed themselves.

“Second place: Sherlock, ninety points,” Max shrugged. “Comment: weak on Saint History and Religious Studies.”

Sherlock, now composed, nodded with a blush. *If only I could vanish into Morris’s arms forever…*

Benny stood frozen. *Someone besides Morris… and it’s her?*

“Third place: Benny, eighty-nine points,” Max said, glancing at him. “No comment. You clearly know your gaps.”

“Yes, sir,” Benny rose calmly. “I left unknown answers blank. Every written answer is correct.”

“Good. Your father requested we challenge you thoroughly,” Max said. “Thoughts?”

“I hope the academy shows no mercy,” Benny replied, unflinching. Noble girls nearby squealed in admiration.

“Fourth place: Kandel, eighty-seven points…”

Scores clustered tightly—gaps of one to four points. Only Morris stood apart: ten points above Sherlock.

Then it hit them.

Perfect written score. Law Aspect revealed in Arcanum test. A true genius should inspire awe. Yet Morris felt… ordinary. Painfully ordinary. Only the title *Crystal Shatterer* left any mark.

Morris, at the storm’s center, felt nothing. He only wondered: *How many passed?*

“Seventeen initially,” Max announced. “Of 132 candidates—under twenty percent. Given the exam’s difficulty, we lowered the passing score by ten: fifty-five. With Arcanum test scores assisting, five more barely passed. Total: sixty.”

He met their anxious gazes evenly. “Accept your future, children. This is harsh reality.”

He added softly: “This… is the Royal Arcanum Academy.”