Returning to the Past

An undeniable truth applies to every living being in this world: if your heart is pierced, you die.

Regardless of complicated medical jargon like hypovolemic shock or massive hemorrhaging, the brutal reality remains unchanged—the warmth of life simply fades away. Unless, by some miracle, someone pulls you back from the threshold of death just in the nick of time.

And yet, here I was, alive.

The blade that had skewered my chest was nowhere to be found, and at some point, the agony had completely vanished.

"Did he... save me?"

He had to be the one who salvaged my dying body. His had been the only voice lingering in the dark. Frankly, who else in the world would have bothered to save someone like me?

I figured I ought to thank my savior first before moving anywhere, but then—

"Wait... this is my dorm room?"

As my senses cleared, the sheer absurdity of the situation hit me.

I had assumed someone miraculously stabilized me before I drew my final breath, but this made no sense. Why on earth was the academy dormitory, which had collapsed into rubble, standing intact? And why was I lying inside it?

How had I failed to notice the bizarre sensation of resting on a plush mattress? Such luxury could never exist on a battlefield.

Swallowing hard, I scanned my surroundings, realizing my eyes were not playing tricks on me.

Swish.

I raised my right index finger and ran it across an unused textbook on the desk. My fingertip came away coated in thick, black dust. Seeing that dense layer of neglect sparked a dizzying suspicion: had time itself warped?

That terrifying hunch made my hands tremble as I instinctively reached for my left chest—the place that had been run through.

"The wound..."

There was none.

Where a grotesque scar should have been carved deep into my flesh, there was only smooth, unblemished skin. My heart, which had been slowing to a halt, now beat with a vigorous, steady rhythm. The sickening crunch, the hot gush of blood, the visceral sensation of flesh tearing apart—it was all still terrifyingly fresh in my memory.

I gulped and pressed against my chest again, just in case, but it felt as pristine as if it had never been touched. Even in a world where magic existed, could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠any spell erase a fatal wound without leaving behind so much as a scratch or a lingering throb?

I scrambled out of bed and ransacked the room, until one undeniable truth struck me like a physical blow.

"No way... Did I go back in time?"

This wasn't a miraculous recovery at death's door. Time itself had turned in reverse.

For a long while, the rhythmic tick-tock of the clock was the only sound cutting through the heavy silence of the room. And echoing in the back of my mind was the haunting question that mysterious man had uttered:

I had regressed. And with all my memories intact, no less.

I knew better than anyone how absurd that sounded. If I confided in someone, they would laugh in my face and ask if I had lost my mind in a daydream. That was precisely why my chest felt so suffocated—because it was actually real.

Gulp. Gulp.

"Phew..."

My throat felt parched to the bone, so I chugged down an entire bottle of water in one breath. As the cool water washed down my dry esophagus and spread through my veins, the reality of my situation finally settled on the scales of my mind.

A single bed pushed into one corner. A study desk and chair sitting barely two arm-lengths away. A narrow gap past the foot of the bed leading to a wardrobe, a trash bin, and the attached washroom just behind it. And finally, the small entryway and front door opposite the bathroom.

"Megrez Hall's dormitory... no mistake."

This was my all-too-familiar dorm room.

Draped over the chair was the standard second-year uniform issued by Lebrant Academy. Meal tickets strewn haphazardly across the desk, along with worn textbooks from my second year, irrefutably confirmed that I was once again a second-year cadet.

In other words, it had been nearly two years since I was ripped from my original life on Earth and hurled onto the Kempf-Litton Continent to live under the name Junon.

Clatter.

Tossing the empty bottle into the bin, I walked over to the window and drew back the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠curtains.

"Just as I thought..."

Gazing outside, I took in the academy grounds basking in serene normalcy. Not a drop of blood was splattered anywhere, nor was there a single trace of beast carcasses or severed limbs. The gouged trenches, charred craters, and crumbling, half-destroyed structures left in the wake of apocalyptic spells were entirely absent; every building stood tall and pristine.

In short, the demonic beasts had yet to lay siege to Lebrant Academy. It was undeniable proof of my regression.

What about my body, then? Was my physical condition reverted just like my surroundings?

Whoosh.

Focusing my intent, I summoned mana to my palm. A humble, flickering ember flared to life.

The mana I had once lost was circulating again. The circuits that had been violently warped and crippled were now spinning smoothly and energetically.

"...My body returned to this state, too."

I couldn't fathom the how or why. All I knew was that I had been cast back to a time before catastrophe struck. That was the only clue I had, and I had to exploit every bit of it.

I refused to live through that wretched, miserable future ever again.

A present where nothing had gone wrong yet. And me, armed with memories of the disaster to come.

All the puzzle pieces were in my hands. If all I had to do was assemble the border and fit the pieces in place, I actually had a fighting chance.

I sat down at the desk, grabbed a promotional poster meant for scrap paper, and began scribbling down a chronological map of future events in bold letters.

Ten minutes passed, then thirty, an hour, two hours.

Only after three full hours did I finally organize what needed to be done. At the very bottom of the parchment, I scrawled my ultimate conclusion in thick, deliberate strokes:

The Grand Duchy of Ardelion occupied the southern region of the Kempf-Litton Continent. As the duchy's core pillar, Lebrant Academy was the stronghold tasked with teaching magic—the only weapon capable of combating the demonic beasts threatening humanity from beyond the borders.

When Lebrant Academy had rotted from within and crumbled from without, the Grand Duchy collapsed with it, dragging everyone down into ruin. If I wanted to survive, the duchy had to stay standing. That meant the defense of the academy required ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thorough preparation.

And... beneath that resolution lay another line, though I didn't even want to dwell on it right now.

"I need a shower to clear my head."

That was the non-negotiable rule written beneath my grand conclusion, born from hours of agonizing contemplation.

I had figured out I was a second-year, and judging by the crisp chill in the air, it was clearly winter, but I couldn't pin down the exact date from my room alone. Even if I knew how the catastrophe would unfold in the future, I needed to head outside to gather basic information like today's date.

After a quick shower, I threw on my uniform and headed to the cafeteria, where a barrage of hushed whispers immediately assaulted my ears. Watching the crowd part like the sea to give me a wide berth gave me a pretty solid idea of what point in time this was.

"Hey, look, it's him..."

"Damn. He's still attending classes? When's he finally getting expelled?"

"Why? Did he pick a fight with someone again?"

"Just yesterday, he lunged like a mad dog to beat someone half to death, but Sylvia stepped in and stopped him cold. Man, that was satisfying to watch."

"So he's all bark and no bite? Why not just beat the crap out of him in a fair fight?"

"Easy for you to say. Don't even make eye contact and just keep walking, unless you want trouble. That lunatic would throw punches even with both arms broken."

"Seriously. Everyone he jumped got ambushed from behind or had sand kicked in their eyes. Since he has no real power to be proud of, he resorts to filthy, underhanded tricks to win."

I must have been the center of campus attention right around this period. Thanks to the endless string of brawls I had started across the academy grounds, I had earned quite the reputation...

"Anyway, stay away from that Class E degenerate. The guy can't survive a single day without causing trouble. You're better off keeping your head down and ignoring him."

"Ah... so he's a vicious psycho. Got it."

Ah, right. That was it.

"The Class E Degenerate"—the pet moniker favored by those arrogant pricks intoxicated by their petty superiority during class assignments. I recalled having other charming titles, too, like "The Weakest Vanguard."

Hearing it again after all this time... honestly doesn't stir a thing.

After living sixteen years on Earth, I had suddenly been dumped into this place—Lebrant Academy. I still remembered how utterly lost and baffled I had been at the time.

Fundamentally, this was a school. Not an ordinary one, but an institution that taught magic. Lebrant Academy categorized cadets into classes using their own proprietary evaluation metrics, ostensibly to provide tailored education suited to each student's needs.

Which was complete bullshit, of course.

I didn't know what demented standard they used, but the system was severely broken. Back then, being subjected to such scorn and injustice made my blood boil every single day. But having heard it countless times across a lifetime, it barely registered now. Why waste energy getting mad over petty insults when I knew half these idiots would be dead in the future anyway?

Regardless, I found out today's date from the cafeteria bulletin, and that was enough for me.

With my stomach filled from breakfast and a morning lecture scheduled on the timetable, I decided to attend class for the first time in an eternity.

"Haaah..."

In the lecture hall where the Class E cadets were gathered, Professor Kyope let out a heavy, theatrical sigh. The class had barely started, yet here she was, already sighing as if she were doing us a favor just breathing the same air.

"You. Stand up and explain why we study magic."

A middle-aged woman who couldn't even bother to remember her students' names. Deep creases webbed across her face like dried, cracked mud, earning her the behind-the-back moniker of the Wicked Witch.

Incidentally, "Wicked Witch" was her actual nickname among the student body.

"To... fight off the demonic beasts..."

"Then why do we use magic circles?"

"Because for those who struggle with direct mana control, it helps them channel spells effectively and—"

SLAM!

Professor Kyope brought her palm down hard on the podium. The answering student flinched, squeezing his eyes shut.

"If you know that much, how can you fail to solve a simple problem like this? Every single one of you is the same! What on earth are you even learning at this academy?"

Instead of teaching the material, she spent the period browbeating the lower classes to shatter their morale. That was why the cadets of Classes D and E secretly despised her.

The academy's class division was purportedly designed to identify potential and provide appropriate instruction, but in reality, Classes D and E were treated as little more than disposable frontline fodder, while Classes A through C enjoyed all the glory.

Professor Kyope was a textbook product of that rotten culture. She behaved this way simply because she had zero intention of actually educating us.

Lebrant Academy had been founded on the premise of equal opportunity, echoing the imperial philosophy that anyone could enroll, learn magic, and cultivate their talents. Beneath the polished exterior, however, the reality was grotesque. The noble ideals had long faded into irrelevance; the faculty colluded with aristocratic cartels, breeding systemic corruption and deep-seated prejudice.

"Tsk. This is precisely why none of you ever earn promotion to the upper classes. If you can't even solve a problem as simple as this, what good are you?"

Her sneer laid bare the academy's harsh dividing line: those capable of unleashing lethal firepower against demonic beasts versus those who were not.

Watching Professor Kyope sneer and spit insults made an involuntary urge rise up in my throat. I couldn't stomach listening to another second of her garbage.

"The balance between the Alpeid Line and the Betrine Line has collapsed," I interjected smoothly. "You need to reduce the Betrine Line's four linear paths down to two, and scale down the central glyph to two-thirds its original size."

"...!"

Her eyes widened. Caught off guard, wasn't she?

Sorry, Professor, but I already know the answer. Written theory was the one thing I was always damn good at.

A low murmur of admiration swept through the classroom, followed by scattered applause from my classmates.

Irritation flashed across Professor Kyope's wrinkled face. She slammed her fist against the lectern, cutting the applause short.

"You seem awfully proud of solving something so basic! And you lot, clapping as if he performed a miracle—you're just as pathetic! Absolutely disgraceful!"

Ha. Unbelievable. How in the world was that basic? Even the high-and-mighty geniuses of Class ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠A wouldn't be able to solve that formula on the spot. Spewing that nonsense at students encountering this magic circle for the first time—most of whom were trained frontliners rather than backline casters—was pure malice.

No matter how you look at it, she was just trying to break our spirits.

Things I had failed to grasp in my past life were now glaringly obvious. The intuition hit me with crystal clarity: this entire institution was rotting from the core.

Come to think of it, hadn't this witch publicly humiliated and badmouthed me on multiple occasions in the past?

A reckless impulse took over.

"If that was so basic, Professor," I said, leaning back with a sharp smirk, "why don't you give us a difficult problem for once?"

"What...!"

A sudden wave of stubborn spite flared inside me. I was going to wipe that arrogant smirk right off her wrinkly face.

Go ahead. Give me your worst.