Though the test had taken only seconds, to Lanen, it felt like half a minute. Finally, Professor McDonnell's voice rang out:
"Mental Strength: 89 – Good. Mana Affinity: 45 – Poor. Compatibility Rate: 67%. Overall Aptitude Score: 26.8!"
Perfectly average.
This defies all tropes. And that's fantastic.
Lanen mentally patted himself on the back.
The numbers spelled it out—neither a prodigy nor a failure. Maybe this means I get to carve out a unique path, he mused.
The testing wrapped up swiftly. A few students scored exceptionally well—the two elves, for instance, both had mana affinities above 95. Beta, meanwhile, scored a solid 85 in affinity with 73% compatibility, landing him a respectable result.
Everyone received their score slips. As the dust cover was dragged back over the machine, Headmaster Blank clapped his hands, his booming voice echoing across the square:
"And thus concludes the thrilling yet largely inconsequential Aptitude Test! In this day and age, innate talent is no longer the bottleneck for a mage's growth. Diligence and insight are what truly matter. So, ladies and gentlemen, study hard—knowledge is the finest ladder to elevate yourselves."
A smattering of applause followed, led by the faculty.
"Next, please line up with Professor Shauna and Professor Castor to collect your class schedules and uniforms. Change into your new attire and await further instructions for tonight's feast—the most sumptuous meal our dining hall serves all year. Don't miss it. Dismissed!"
Lanen soon held his schedule—a comprehensive list of all courses for the upcoming year, spanning two semesters.
From what he'd gathered, the entire foundational curriculum was crammed into this single year. By the end of Term 1, students could choose to take the advancement exams. Those who passed would proceed to intermediate arcane studies; those who failed or opted out would repeat the same courses. No wonder classes here might have first-, second-, and third-years all mixed together. Very arcane. Very logical.
The schedule was rigidly structured—six days of classes per week, alternating between Magic and Arcana every three days. Two weekly Physical Education slots were split between the two disciplines (a compromise, given the ongoing societal debate over whether P.E. belonged to magic or science).
"Hey, Lanen!"
He turned to see Hale Wesley waving his schedule like a flag.
"Over here!" Lanen called back, jogging to join him.
"Uniforms and academy badges are issued by dorm. Let's grab ours for Room 312 and change quick. Word is, tonight's feast is legendary." Hale then introduced their roommates: "Lee Bronte and Danny Bloomfield—both from Lorendan. They registered at noon, so we missed them earlier."
Lanen exchanged greetings. Lee was a sun-kissed, athletic type, while Danny was paler and wiry, though both towered over Lanen and looked sturdy.
The school provided two full sets of uniforms—innerwear included—per student. The outer robe followed traditional mage aesthetics: loose, comfortable linen with that crisp new-cloth scent. The dun-gray ensemble came complete with a pointed hat and soft boots.
To Lanen's surprise, the fit was perfect.
"They sized them up based on our submitted measurements, anticipating summer growth spurts," Danny explained knowingly to Lee.
After a quick wash, the four changed into their new garb.
"Ah, this looseness—bliss. My mother kept trying to strangle us with turtlenecks," Hale groaned, luxuriating in the robe's freedom.
The Feast
Atlanta Arcane Academy's dining hall was magnificent.
Beneath a vaulted ceiling ablaze with chandeliers, long tables draped in white linen groaned under platters of food. Each seat had a gleaming silver plate and cutlery, with dishes repeated every six places: fried cutlets, roasted pigeon, apple pie, beef-and-potato stew, kale juice, cream of mushroom soup, egg-and-vegetable salad, Lorendan hotpot—common and exotic fare arranged meticulously. For dessert, individual fruit cakes waited at every setting.
Lanen's mouth watered violently. The agony of sitting before this spread, forced to wait for speeches, was exquisite.
Glancing around, he noticed over half his classmates staring fixedly at the ceiling's candlelit fixtures—except for a few girls murmuring about diets. He followed suit, studying the chandeliers.
"With such a feast before us, I'll be brief. First, let's welcome the Deputy Director of the Municipal Education Bureau, who honors us with his presence today!" Headmaster Blank announced, arms theatrically wide.
A gaunt, sallow-faced man rose from the head table and nodded. The applause was thunderous—mostly because it meant food was imminent.
Lanen shuddered as the man's vulture-like gaze swept the room, lingering unsettlingly in certain spots. When those cold eyes passed over him, an inexplicable dread coiled in his gut.
"School rules and semester notices will be delivered to your dorms with your textbooks. Read them. Especially note the penalties for severe violations—they are severe for a reason. Every year, someone learns this the hard way. Also, tomorrow and the day after will cover the most exam-critical material for freshmen. Stay alert! Now—"
"—let the feast begin!" The headmaster, mercifully, knew his audience.
The hall erupted into a symphony of clinking cutlery. Blank nodded deferentially to the deputy director before attacking his own fried cutlet.
"Hey, the headmaster never introduced that guy's name," Hale muttered between spoonfuls of soup.
"Maybe he forgot. Or maybe saying his name summons instant doom," Lanen deadpanned.
The joke fell flat, even to himself.
Nearly every boy ate until they could barely breathe. Lanen was no exception. After the day's exhaustion, his body demanded surrender.
He stumbled back to the dorm with the crowd, managed to shed his robe and hat, and collapsed onto his bed.
Sleep took him instantly—deep, dreamless, and uninterrupted.