Chapter 7
Ian couldn't help feeling uneasy.
Had he not encountered Felix while leaving the mansion, he would have dismissed the matter entirely.
“Business?”
The young man being questioned contorted his face into a deep scowl.
His massive frame and bulging muscles made the expression threatening, but Ian didn’t flinch in the slightest.
“What nonsense! I came to unpack in my dorm. Why are you loitering outside someone else’s room?”
“This is your dorm?”
Ian double-checked the number on the door. Clearly 307.
Then he recalled a key detail—dorm rooms were typically shared by three students.
Only one conclusion remained:
This muscle-bound oaf was his roommate.
“What a coincidence.”
Ian raised his key.
By chance, both ended up revealing their keys simultaneously. Each bore the identical number: A-307.
“Ian Oracle. Seems we’ll be sharing a room. Let’s get along.”
“Huh? Hahaha! My bad, roommate! Nice to meet ya. Don’t take it personally—I’m just loud by nature.”
They exchanged a brief handshake.
Though the misunderstanding was resolved, one question lingered. It all traced back to the administration office.
“Mind if I ask something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why were you staring so hard at me earlier in the office?”
To Ian’s surprise, the young man answered without hesitation:
“Nothing serious. Just wanted to befriend a good-looking guy? You stood out instantly. Handsome guys attract crowds—perfect for meeting fine ladies. Heh heh heh.”
“......”
Ian’s temples throbbed prematurely.
The staff in the guy’s hand was clearly meant for clobbering people. If he’d enrolled in the College of Magic, he ought to think more. Seemed more attuned to brawn than brains.
“So you approached me to meet women?”
“It’s a figure of speech! Ever heard of metaphors? Quit nitpicking—just go with the flow.”
The young man snickered.
Surveying his polar-opposite roommate, Ian sighed deeply.
Would he ever manage to study properly here?
This guy reeked of the type who’d drag him out drinking nightly. As long as he didn’t sneak girls into their room, it’d be a mercy.
“Did you come to the academy to fool around?”
“Got a law against fun?”
The bluntness was almost refreshing.
“I’ve never attended a single social event. If you want high-society connections, look elsewhere.”
“What’s it matter? Plenty of nobles coast on family names alone. But House Oracle? You’re the real deal. Authentic, right?”
“You know about our house?”
“Can’t say I don’t.”
His tone carried no falsehood.
The reply—that he wasn’t ignorant of their lineage—struck Ian as noteworthy.
His roommate’s abysmal rating inched marginally upward.
“Quit being so stiff! We’re roommates for at least a year—might as well get along.”
Not entirely wrong.
Truthfully, the guy’s mindset wasn’t flawed.
The scene Ian witnessed earlier proved it.
Outside the administration building, clusters of freshmen chattered excitedly.
Most noble scions already knew each other—through family ties, social events, or other connections.
Many viewed the academy as an extension of their social stage.
With inherited wealth and status ensuring lifelong comfort, a little revelry posed no risk.
Students like Ian, driven by clear purpose, were rare exceptions.
“Your name?”
“Seriously? You don’t know me? Harsh!”
“As you see, I avoid social circles.”
Ian’s counter landed clean. The young man exhaled heavily, shaking his head.
“Tch. So the rumors about Oracle’s heir being a recluse were true. I’m Milo. From House Vinettia.”
“House Vinettia?”
Ian blinked in surprise.
The Vinettias were a martial dynasty renowned across the kingdom. Their knights achieved legendary status, and the Vinettia swordsmanship style ranked among the continent’s most celebrated.
Yet here was their scion enrolled in the College of Magic?
How’s that possible?
The dissonance between Milo’s sturdy physique and the staff he carried suddenly made sense.
His lineage held the clue.
Despite grueling knight training, he’d chosen magic for his academy path.
“Getting that tired question already? If you’re about to ask why a Vinettia didn’t join the martial arts department—save it.”
“Essential info for roommates.”
“Tch!”
Milo slumped against the wall. Their conversation continued in the dorm hallway.
“Our house is famous for swordsmanship. My brothers are royal knights. All geniuses with blades… except me.”
The picture clarified.
Vinettias were sword prodigies. Milo, however, seemed the magical black sheep of a martial family.
Mages were rare.
Sensing mana was considered a divine blessing—the “Grace of Gods.”
Though Milo’s exact talent remained unclear, gaining magic department admission from a sword-focused house implied extraordinary aptitude.
“You look plenty strong. Shouldn’t you be in martial arts?”
“Ignorant. Strength isn’t everything. Swordsmanship prioritizes agility and endurance—especially our family’s technique-focused style.”
“That staff’s for mana channeling, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Knowing your background, it looks more like a bludgeon.”
“Hah! I’ll admit using it to whack things sometimes, but relax—I won’t turn it on you.”
The conversation stretched longer than expected.
Still, Ian gleaned useful insights. While Milo’s character remained unclear, he seemed harmless.
Building rapport couldn’t hurt.
House Oracle specialized in theoretical magic.
Milo, from a prominent martial family, likely had knight connections—potentially valuable for future needs.
“We’ve lingered outside long enough.”
Ian unlocked the door. Milo trailed him inside.
The room was neatly arranged.
White curtains draped a large window, flanked by three beds—confirming another roommate’s existence.
One wall housed laboratory equipment.
Modest but functional setups for enchantment, herbology, and potion-making stood ready.
“Whoa! Royal Academy doesn’t skimp! Never imagined dorms having these facilities!”
“You mentioned brothers?”
“Sweaty knights wouldn’t appreciate such refinements.”
Milo fiddled eagerly with enchantment tools, clearly intrigued.
This wasn’t merely a living space.
It functioned as a comprehensive facility for study, research, and training—modest yet fully equipped.
“Into enchantment?”
Milo asked as Ian settled at his labeled desk.
“No field of magic bores me. I’m interested in all aspects.”
“Confident, aren’t we?”
“Though I’ll focus on potion-making initially.”
“Why? That’s grunt work.”
“Personal reasons.”
Potion-making demanded laborious effort—sourcing ingredients, precise measurements, tedious brewing.
An inefficient pursuit for most.
But not for Ian.
His mind housed exhaustive knowledge of herb processing, compound ratios, and brewing techniques—accumulated since childhood.
A privilege of enlightened upbringing.
“Planning to sell potions? I know decent workshops if you need supplies.”
“No. It’s trivial—don’t mind it.”
Ian unwrapped his admission gift package.
A lengthy staff, cloak, and clasp tumbled out—standard academy welcome kit.
Channeling mana through the staff, Ian nodded approvingly.
Better than expected.
The wooden staff conducted mana smoothly, ideal for novices despite modest amplification.
Royal Academy’s magic department used these staves to denote rank.
Upperclassmen received cubicle-embedded variants, while elite students earned gemmed versions—sometimes elevating family prestige.
Performance improved with seniority.
Barring exceptions, students used issued staves exclusively.
Thwack. Thwack.
Milo smacked his palm with the staff, dissatisfaction etched on his face.
“Useless. Can’t even land a satisfying hit...”
“Still time to transfer to martial arts.”
“You wouldn’t get it. I’m sick to death of swords. Ugh, my cursed fate.”
Leaving Milo to his melodrama, Ian donned the cloak.
The black hooded garment combined luxurious fabric with practicality—plush inner lining, durable exterior.
Finally, he fastened the academy-emblazoned clasp.
Click.
The gold pin’s insignia marked him as a true academy student.
“IAN!”
The bellow nearly shattered his eardrums. Ian turned, scowling.
Milo gaped at him, dazed.
Ominous.
“What the hell? That uniform looks criminal on you! Where’ve you been hiding? Show up at one party, and girls would mob you!”
Instinctively, Ian pulled up his hood.
He’d need to keep this on permanently.
As he scrambled for a response, the door creaked open—a timely distraction.
Both turned toward the newcomer.
“Um... hello?”
A slight figure bowed nervously.
With chestnut cropped hair and delicate features, the boy seemed tailor-made for academy robes.
“Who’re you?”
“I-I’m Edel! Assigned to this room... Are you my roommates?”
“Yeah.”
Ian studied Edel quizzically.
“Dorms are gender-segregated. You lost?”
“N-no! I’m male!”
“Male?!”
Ian and Milo exclaimed in unison.
