The Unyielding Duty of Two
Surrounding me, the mana swirling in the air rushed inward, drawn like a magnet to my core. I inhaled slowly, drawing it in breath by breath, stacking layer upon layer until every cell hummed with potential.
Once full, I channeled that mana through my mana circuits, transforming it from raw energy into the precise force I needed to cast my spell. In my mind, I visualized the formula, sketched the intricate equations, and watched the circuits blaze at their absolute peak. The magic would flow—
Puushhh!!—
“Damn it…”
Again. The mana scattered uselessly. This was the 18,924th failure in a row. My devised mana cultivation method and the theory behind operating mana circuits were solid—everyone said so. Mages and knights owed me more than their lives for it. Yet here I was, utterly unable to wield magic at all.
No matter how much I gathered and stacked the mana inside me, the moment I tried to direct it, it slipped away like air from a deflated balloon. Everything dissolved into nothing. Even if the target spell was difficult, at least I could manage the basics. But even basic Light magic, the entry-level spell every first-year knew by heart, remained impossible for me.
And tomorrow, in the morning lecture, I was doomed to finish dead last again.
“No. This can’t be right. This isn’t possible.”
I wasn’t one for muttering to myself, but the situation left me no choice.
If only some deity were listening… I just wanted someone to hear my complaint.
In this fantasy world of ours, magic wasn’t just another academic subject. It replaced science and technology, elevating every aspect of life. Master it freely, and the rest of your days would be smooth sailing. You could secure a position at the Magic Tower. With talent, you could become a full-time mage and live as a freelance practitioner. More than anything else, magic itself became wealth and power—the ultimate dream job.
It was difficult, but the rewards were absolute. That was the beauty of magic.
“That magic is cursed! My life is screwed!”
Theory genius Lucian. That was the name my peers had saddled me with.
In magic and swordsmanship, there wasn’t a single person better than me at the theoretical side. Even the professors seemed quietly hopeful when I began explaining. But magic and swordsmanship had never been just theory and tongue. If someone challenged me to a duel, I would have to shut my mouth and swallow my pride.
I lay sprawled on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Honestly, right now I could draw any magic formula instantly. Not just Light level—I knew every spell I had ever seen, every variation. But knowing it and actually casting it were two entirely different worlds.
It was like melting a perfect sword and then discovering I couldn’t swing it. One thing was clear: this was a damn terrible situation.
“Tomorrow will be another nightmare…”
I closed my eyes, hoping tomorrow’s me would somehow survive the day. The morning lecture was already irritating enough, but starting at eight o’clock? When the academy wasn’t a university, that felt almost generous. Still, I had quietly hoped it would be ten, or at worst nine. The perverted professor apparently worked best with his head in the morning.
*** *** ***
“That’s enough. Everyone, stop.”
Just as I feared. No magic emerged from my hands today either. I hadn’t expected much—fantasy life had never been kind to me—but a tiny spark of hope had lingered. What if today I finally managed it? What if I finally got to taste the thrill of a real fantasy existence?
That hope died the moment the professor began speaking.
“Disappointing. Listen closely, everyone. Magic is not the exclusive domain of mages alone. It is a divine gift that enriches life for all who can wield it. And through that gift, your lives can become more abundant. Do not seek the difficult, the flashy, or the powerful. Only the basic will suffice. Yet half of you cannot even manifest magic.”
The professor in charge of our magic lecture looked utterly fed up with his students.
In this world, where magic had replaced technology, even basic magic was a fundamental requirement. Engineering and math had birthed the formulas that powered magic, and countless other fields intersected with it. Yet there were those who possessed the talent and those who did not.
Even among my own first-year Literary Division classmates, roughly half still could not grasp the concept of magic. At the entrance exam, we were only tested on how much surrounding mana we could pull inside ourselves—pure and unhindered. That was why most students had passed without issue. But beyond that, when it came to actual implementation, many struggled.
Still, students from noble families who had hired early tutors had an easier time. Minerva Academy was no private playground for aristocrats. Talent alone could grant you entry, supported by a noble you caught the eye of. Today, across every division—administration, military, medicine, or combat—the academy hammered self-improvement into us, no matter our background.
“Those who failed magic implementation today will receive an extra hour of lecture.”
“Eek?”
“Professor! That’s too much!”
“I have my next class! If I’m late—”
“Quiet. I will take responsibility. I’ll speak with the other professors. You will all stay silent and do exactly as I say. Can you call yourselves Minerva Academy students after not mastering even one spell? Be ashamed!”
Failing to cast magic carried serious deductions—it was unavoidable. But it wasn’t enough to ruin one’s entire life. In the twenty-first century, living without knowing even one English word would be far more crippling.
Yet Professor Eggmas was pushing harder and harder, his tone increasingly authoritarian.
At first I thought he simply wanted to take responsibility for every student. Then, through recent connections, I learned the truth: several professors treated their lectures as personal brand boosters. They expelled anyone who couldn’t keep up quickly, then dumped crushing extra classes until the students dropped out. They only wanted pupils who could follow their methods and one day bring them glory.
While listening, I had thought no one could be that cruel—until I saw Eggmas’s face today. He fit the mold perfectly.
But without proof, I couldn’t accuse him outright. I sighed heavily, and it came out louder than expected.
“Who was that? Who just sighed? The professor says he’s taking responsibility, yet you still sigh? Who dares act so insolent in front of the professor?!”
I was finished. I slowly raised my hand, taking the hit for my own carelessness. I refused to let my peers suffer because of me. Father had always said as much.
“Lucian, you’re the second-worst student in my lecture—bar none.”
“I’m sorry. I must have made a mistake without realizing.”
“A mistake? Of course. Even basic magic remains beyond you, despite my constant instruction. How can you expect to understand it?”
The professor’s aristocratic background, his connections to noble houses, and his sharp tongue painted a picture of a man who loved tearing people down. As a noble myself, I felt the sting of his words, especially since I couldn’t cast magic and hated that weakness being used against me like a leash.
“I apologize for my mistake. I accept any deduction you give. But, Professor, calling my skill ‘inferior’ feels a bit excessive.”
“Excessive? Do you have a conscience, Lucian? Tell me, is this the hope you speak of? Basic magic you can’t even do, and you still want to claim potential? If you’re trying to pressure me as a noble—”
“…”
“Your arrogance in theory is showing. Listen carefully. No matter how brilliant your theories, if you cannot implement magic, you are an empty shell. Other students constantly praise you as if you were extraordinary. Don’t fool yourself. This is not a theory lecture. The focus is on magic implementation.”
“…”
“It’s truly unfortunate that a fool like you sits in my lecture.”
Who said I was ignoring the professor? I was simply scolding someone whose attitude was unworthy of teaching.
After only two months here, I was already seeing the academy’s cracks. Minerva Academy had once been a shining beacon, but time inevitably brought decay. Even this kingdom’s premier institution had fallen victim to the natural order.
Professors and students both harbored ulterior motives now. We had come to learn, not to serve hidden agendas. The professor existed to teach, we existed to study. Eggmas clearly had no intention of following that natural flow.
Anger welled up again. I couldn’t hold it back.
“Professor Eggmas. Do you know the quadratic equation for mana rearrangement?”
The professor’s eyes narrowed dangerously at my sudden, nonsensical question. A first-year who couldn’t even cast basic magic was referencing calculations only advanced Magic Tower mages studied. It was absurd.
But he had no idea what I was really talking about.
That same revolutionary formula everyone praised was one I had secretly designed years ago and quietly shared with a trusted colleague inside the Magic Tower.
“What are you playing at? Trying to prank me?”
“Again, Professor. Do you know that calculation?”
“Of course I do. It’s fundamental for any mage.”
“Good. Then…”
I stepped forward and began writing a massive formula on the blackboard. It was one of several new spells my friends and I had been refining. While the professor strutted around, I filled the space with problems he could never solve even after waking from death.
“The solution is a quadratic equation in mana rearrangement. I’ve been struggling with it. I’m lacking in both level and skill, so I hoped you could advise me.”
“What…?”
Confusion flooded the professor’s face. He had never seen such a formula before. Honestly, I hadn’t expected him to solve it either. I simply wanted a quiet, uneventful academy life—neither too easy nor too hard. That was why I had introduced and concealed myself just enough.
“Please, Professor. Given your expertise, I’m sure you can handle it.”
I had no intention of blindly accepting failure or hiding myself. Once we left the academy, I would sell my name to earn a living no matter what. I wouldn’t show off my abilities openly, but if someone provoked me, I wanted to fight back fiercely.