Rain tapped on the windows like anxious fingers. Inside his dimly lit bedroom, seventeen-year-old Ethan Grae hunched over his desk, bathed in the cold blue glow of his monitor. His earbuds buzzed softly with synth music while his right hand scrolled mindlessly through threads of gaming lore, urban legends, and increasingly surreal conspiracy forums.
School had been soul-sucking as always. His grades hovered like a dying drone just above mediocrity, and his teachers' words echoed in his mind: "You need focus, Ethan. Direction." If only they knew how little he cared for their definitions of success. The world was too… unmagical.
Ethan Grae had always been a passive dreamer. Not the kind who stared out classroom windows and wrote poetry—more like the kind who binge-watched fantasy anime until 3 a.m. and wondered, What if it was real?
The dull glow of his computer screen lit up his bedroom. Another long night of aimless surfing, one tab showing clips from a Jujutsu Kaisen fight, another tab on obscure Isekai fan theories, and the rest—just junk.
Click.
His finger paused over a banner ad at the bottom of a niche anime meme site. Unlike the garish, flickering junk he was used to ignoring, this one was elegantly minimalist. Just white kanji on obsidian:
"If you could leave this world… who would you become?"
He raised an eyebrow. Another transmigration quiz? How original.
The ad expanded smoothly into a black-and-gold interface. No logos, no loading time. A single question hovered in the center:
"You have been chosen. Your consciousness is eligible for realignment."
Below it:
Q1: If you could transmigrate, what kind of world would you choose?
A dropdown list unfurled:
• Apocalypse
• Xianxia Cultivation Realm
• Dystopian Cyberpunk
• Infinite Dungeon
• Magic Academy
Ethan snorted. He clicked Magic Academy. Obviously. The romanticism of wizardry, grimoires, towers that stabbed the sky—he had daydreamed about that setting more times than he could count.
Q2: Who would you become?
Another list.
It was huge. Characters from anime, web novels, and games flooded the screen. Heroes, villains, side characters, forgotten names. And there—nearly at the bottom—
Toji Fushiguro.
Ethan's pulse jumped. Wait—he's not even ideal for a magic academy, not exactly. But the idea… A ruthless, anti-sorcerer enforcer, reborn into the very hierarchy he detested?
He clicked. The page blinked.
"Understood. Uploading Ether Blueprint…"
"Wait, what—?"
The lights in his room dimmed. His computer screen rippled like disturbed water. Panic flared in his chest.
"Aligning Core Identity…"
He yanked his earbuds out. "What the hell is this?"
And then the questions began.
⸻
"What are you willing to forget?"
His keyboard typed for him.
"Everything irrelevant to survival."
"Do you wish to retain emotions?"
"…Only the ones that sharpen my edge."
"Will you bear the cost?"
"Yes."
The room shattered like glass.
⸻
When he opened his eyes again, gone were the cracked posters of Bleach and Naruto. Gone were the whirring fans, the dirty laundry pile, the microwave burrito he never finished.
He woke up in a bed far too soft to be his.
The ceiling above was painted with a mosaic of silver moons and constellations. A breeze blew in through a narrow arched window. Beyond it—rolling green hills, banners fluttering in the distance, and a massive tower that pierced the sky like a needle.
Ethan sat up, eyes wide.
He caught his reflection in the polished glass of a wall mirror.
Tall. Sharp-jawed. Black spiky hair. Familiar eyes that weren't his own.
Toji Fushiguro.
But he was still Ethan inside.
A knock at the door.
"Candidate Toji?" a voice called—young, polite, and clearly trying to sound professional. "Your entrance trial begins in ten minutes. Please dress appropriately."
Toji—Ethan—was still putting on the uniform when he stepped into the open-air hallway of the candidate dormitory.
Stone arches framed the academy below. A sea of spires, greenhouses, amphitheaters, floating training platforms, and rows of white-bricked classrooms shaped in perfect symmetry.
Dozens of students, aged from thirteen to seventeen, bustled through the courtyard in navy-blue robes lined with silver trim.
A banner floated mid-air:
"Valemont Academy of Arcane Arts - Class of the 304th Convergence."
A girl passed by, holding a tome that floated beside her on its own.
Ethan's heart pounded.
It was real.
And he had no cheat sheet. No system. No stat screen. Just a new body—and apparently, an entrance exam he knew nothing about.
⸻
The First Trial: Basic Aptitude
The candidates gathered in a stone arena where professors floated above the ground like nobles in slow orbit. A plump woman in green called out the names one by one.
"Toji Fushiguro."
Ethan stepped forward. Whispers followed.
"Fushiguro? He's foreign, right?"
"Looks like he's here on royal scholarship. Bet he's from a borderland."
A crystalline sphere hovered toward him.
"Place your hand on the Aetherstone."
He did.
The orb pulsed blue. Then white. Then a strange flicker of silver, before settling back to blue.
The instructors stared. Jotted notes.
"He's untrained but… stable."
"Too stable for someone from a non-mage bloodline."
Ethan withdrew his hand and stepped back, trying not to look confused. What the hell does "stable" mean here?
⸻
The Second Trial: Spell Affinity
Now it got interesting.
They stood before six pillars, each radiating with a different element: Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Light, and Shadow.
"Channel your intent toward the element you feel closest to," the instructor said. "And let your magic find its own shape."
Ethan stared.
He had no magic.
…Or did he?
He took a breath, stepped toward the Shadow pillar, and extended his hand.
Nothing.
Then—faintly—wisps curled around his fingertips like smoke from a smothered candle. The instructor narrowed his eyes.
"Barely any channeling. Yet… his output isn't zero."
"Faint resonance with advanced Shadow. That's rare."
⸻
The Final Trial: Duel Evaluation
The last test: a short spar against another candidate. Wooden practice rods. First to disarm wins.
Ethan was paired against a silver-haired noble named Cyris, whose smugness could have been bottled and sold as perfume.
"Try not to break, peasant," Cyris said as he drew his stance.
Alright, time to see if this Toji body has any perks…
The match began.
Cyris lunged.
Ethan stepped to the side—quick, reflexive. His rod moved on instinct. Parried. Disarmed. Pinned.
The match was over in five seconds.
The crowd gasped.
Cyris blinked, flat on his back.
Ethan stood there, breathing calmly. Not smiling. Not cocky. Just… curious.
Where did that move even come from?
⸻
After the trials, he was handed a scroll.
"Candidate Toji Fushiguro has passed the Entrance Evaluation."
"You are officially accepted into Valemont Academy, Class F."
He stared at it.
Somewhere deep inside, Ethan finally smiled.
Not a grin. Just a quiet, trembling kind of happiness.
Maybe this is real.
.
.
.
The dorm room was modest—stone walls, high windows, a single bed with iron-framed posts. A writing desk. A bookshelf already stocked with first-year tomes. And a wardrobe with neatly folded academy robes that still smelled faintly of cedar.
Toji sat on the bed, elbows on knees, staring at the scroll.
"Candidate Toji Fushiguro has been accepted into Valemont Academy. Class F."
Class F.
He read it three times before folding the parchment and tucking it under the pillow.
⸻
Class F. Not even D. What's below F—Z? Graveyard class?
He looked at his hands again. They didn't tremble. The strength was there—real, heavy, precise. During that duel, his body had moved before he even thought. It was natural. Almost… rehearsed.
But that wasn't the weird part.
The weird part was that it didn't feel foreign. It felt like he had always known how to do it.
⸻
So I'm Toji now.
Or at least… a version of him. Just a name and a face, sure, but what else came along with it? Instincts? Reflexes? Muscle memory that doesn't belong to me?
And what the hell was that Shadow thing?
⸻
The Shadow Trial replayed in his mind—the brief moment his magic flickered to life. It had curled around his hand like smoke—but not just smoke. It had listened. There was an intelligence behind it.
Not elemental magic. Not summoned beasts. Something different.
⸻
It felt like it was waiting for me to shape it… or maybe obey me.
⸻
He walked to the window.
Below, students moved in small groups across cobbled paths and sun-dappled bridges. Laughter. Chatter. The occasional pop of minor spells gone wrong. Banners fluttered. The academy looked so normal from up here.
But he knew better.
Valemont wasn't safe. Not really.
It wasn't dangerous in the "monsters eat you in the hallway" kind of way. But there was something behind the marble. Behind the etiquette and tradition. Something watching.
⸻
I didn't transmigrate into a fairy tale. This is a place with old rules. Old bloodlines. And me? I'm a kid with no backstory and a borrowed face.
⸻
He turned back to his desk. His class schedule was neatly printed on thick parchment:
Class F - First Term
• Principles of Aether
• Elemental Command
• Magical History I
• Aetherial Practice (Supervised)
• Noble Etiquette (Compulsory)
• Familiarization and Summoning
That last one stuck out.
Summoning?
Shadow magic isn't supposed to be summoning, is it? But that trial… it wanted me to "connect" to something.
⸻
Later That Morning
Toji found Class F at the western wing, a garden-level chamber with vine-covered stone arches and wide windows facing the lake.
The room was already half-filled when he entered.
About twenty students, none of them older than sixteen, all of them seated behind crescent-shaped wooden desks.
Conversations quieted as he walked in.
He ignored it.
Took a seat near the back. Watched.
A few students gave him the side-eye.
One boy whispered, "That's the transfer, right? The one from the borderlands?"
Another muttered, "He's the one who beat Cyris in the duels."
⸻
The door opened again.
An instructor walked in—a tall, olive-skinned man in silver robes, with a long staff of twisted yew and an expression that said he had no time for games.
"Professor Aldwin," he said. "Aetherial Practice. Some of you will enjoy it. Some of you will die early because of it."
The students froze.
He smiled faintly. "Joke. Mostly."
⸻
They were led outside, to a walled courtyard filled with training circles.
A practice ground.
"Class F," Aldwin said, "is a foundational class for students with low to uncertain aether output. But raw numbers don't always determine potential."
"Toji Fushiguro."
Toji looked up.
"Step forward. You showed anomalous readings in your entrance test."
A ripple of murmurs.
Toji stepped into the center circle.
Professor Aldwin lifted his staff. "We'll assess your resonance again. This time, try to manifest intentionally."
"Toji," he said, "draw from the part of you that knows it doesn't belong."
⸻
That sentence hit harder than it should have.
⸻
Toji closed his eyes.
Breathe in.
Everything dimmed.
And in the silence of his mind, he focused—not on fire, or light, or air—but on weight. The heaviness. The shadow that curled beneath thought.
⸻
His hand twitched.
Something moved.
Not from him, but through him.
The shadow beneath his feet deepened, expanded—like oil spilled across marble. A second later, it rose.
A shape began to form. Smoke twisted upward, taking a loose canine form—long limbs, white eyes glowing faintly in the black haze.
It stood beside him. Silent. Waiting.
⸻
Gasps.
A student stumbled back. One girl dropped her quill.
Professor Aldwin raised an eyebrow. "Fascinating."
"What is that?" someone asked.
"An Echo," Aldwin said, "but not a true summon. A primitive shadow construct."
"Why does it look alive?"
Toji exhaled.
"I didn't give it a shape. It chose one."
⸻
The instructor nodded slowly.
"Then it's not a construct. It's a tethered entity."
He turned to the class.
"Toji Fushiguro has awakened what appears to be a rare subtype: Sentient Aether Shadows. These are uncommon and difficult to control. They are not beasts. They are aspects—manifestations of memory and identity."
He paused.
"To awaken them at all—especially untrained—is rare."
⸻
Sentient Aether Shadows.
Toji stared at the hound beside him.
It looked at him. Not like a pet. Like an equal.
⸻
That's not something I chose. So what part of me did?
⸻
Professor Aldwin lowered his staff. "Dismissed for today. Except for you, Toji. Stay behind."
The others filed out. A few glanced back, whispering.
When it was quiet again, Aldwin approached.
"You aren't from the borderlands, are you?"
Toji said nothing.
"Wherever you're from… these shadows—these echoes—they remember things. Even if you don't. Magic always tells the truth, eventually."
A beat.
"Be careful what you remember."
⸻
Toji watched the hound vanish into smoke.
⸻
Yeah. Careful.
That's the plan.