[No title provided]
"......Ian Ashy."
An inorganic, androgynous voice. I looked up at the man standing in the darkness. He wasn't tall—around 170 cm. His snow-white hair gleamed strangely even in the shadows, long locks cascading down his neck for a guy. Delicate lines, yet sharp. Long leather boots, tight pants hugging unnecessarily well-defined legs, and a face scrunched up like he'd spotted a cockroach.
'...Ah.'
This bastard had a shitty personality, but damn if he wasn't prettier than any pretty boy. In the most infuriating way. Guys like this were every man's enemy. They were the reason tastes like "I like bad boys" even existed.
Unaware or uncaring of my hatred, the Tower Master stared down at me for a long moment before twisting his lips in clear disgust.
"How can you stare at me so directly like that?"
"Well, in case some money—"
Falls from the sky? Is your face a masterpiece or something? Overinflated ego, tsk—I nearly said it. I clenched my throat, barely stifling the snarky retort.
This guy was a genius + madman combo. Best to shut up and play it safe if I wanted to live.
"In case some money drops. I'm broke these days."
Artist beggar mode: ON. Perfect concept, even hedging for a crystal ball reward demand. If he wants cash, tell him to hit up the dean. Dean worked his ass off for that 1 million crowns, right?
As if reading my trash thoughts, the Tower Master's gaze sank even lower, like he was eyeing vermin.
"Is the question too hard? Strange. It was plebeian-level simple."
He pointed off into the distance with a finger. Following it, my dark vision cleared to reveal a girl who stood out even in the gloom. Four rings orbited her: water, wind, earth, fire. She'd claimed all four elemental rings. In other words, a talent overflowing with potential.
'Should I clap or something?'
I narrowed my eyes, watching, then let out an involuntary gasp.
Blonde hair, blue eyes. Wasn't that the Imperial Princess?
The first disciple candidate for the Tower Master, who'd had zero prospects before. Perfect bloodline, perfect talent—daddy's girl supreme.
"One of the three still standing in this darkness."
Was standing that big a deal? The thought flickered before the princess's breathing grew ragged, her knees trembling. Thud—she collapsed.
"Ten minutes. The longest record in nearly five years. But that's it. Even she, the most promising in this class, lasted only ten. Pathetic."
The Tower Master's brow furrowed as he watched.
"Not talentless, but trash. Utterly worthless trash. Still, the Tower must accept even that. Why? Because the world overflows with trash."
This fucker talking about the princess like that. Like she's his property. "That one," "this one."
'...Fair enough.'
The Tower Master always treated the untalented as nonexistent anyway. Getting "that one" treatment was premium compared to that.
But then.
"Ian Ashy."
...Why call me by name? Gives me chills—cut it out.
A chill ran down my spine.
"Still pretending not to understand?"
The novel never detailed magic much. In romance fantasies, it was just sparkly and cool. My knowledge topped out there, but grasping the situation was easy.
In this darkness, enduring while standing meant talent.
'...So why am I perfectly fine?'
No dizziness, no discomfort. That's why I hadn't sensed shit. But one thing was clear: time to act.
"Ah, why's it so dizzy all of a sudden?"
I instantly relaxed my eyes, swaying my body like a wimp. Then toppled forward—naturally, weakly, like the perfect extra.
...Or tried to.
Thwack! A black leather boot slammed right in front of my face, inches from the floor. Precisely where my face would've landed if I'd fallen.
Slowly raising my gaze, the Tower Master stared down with utter disbelief.
"One more act like that."
He pressed his toe slightly. Marble cracked with a crunch.
"And I really stomp."
"Yep."
Shitty morals, sharp instincts. Still frowning, the Tower Master scanned me coldly.
"Magic has four elements: water, wind, earth, fire. The Four Elements Theory. Mainstream doctrine."
He raised his hand. Four glowing rings bloomed in the air: blue water, transparent wind, golden earth, red flame.
"The Tower is built on that doctrine."
They orbited his fingertip in perfect trajectories. Less beautiful, more uncannily precise.
"Other schools claim otherwise."
The rings froze. Madness flickered in the Tower Master's eyes.
"A fifth element exists, beyond our perception. Exists because we don't know it. A theory I hate. Something I don't know, existing? Clearly the envy of fools toward geniuses. Idiotic drivel. I've devoted everything to the Four Elements."
Aah, I see. But 'everything'? You've only been Tower Master five years, no?
Why dump this on me?
He jabbed a finger at me.
"You. No rings, yet enduring mana absorption."
Right. That's weird.
"Effortlessly. Boldly."
...Can't agree there. Honestly, scary as hell. Your eyes are half-crazed; I wanna bolt.
He suddenly gritted his teeth. The mood turned vicious in a flash. His emotions swung wildly, impossible to predict.
"You're a counterexample."
Counterexample. Direct refutation of a theory. For him, magic was everything— a counter to his theory was his reverse scale.
His blue eyes trembled faintly. Anger? Excitement? Both?
"What the Tower Lords devoted their lives to build."
His voice dropped.
"And what I built. You deny it all outright."
Instinct screamed: I'm fucked. He genuinely loathed my existence.
"I want to erase this counter to my greatness right here."
His face said he could snap my neck any second.
'This goddamn romance fantasy.'
Why was everywhere a crisis, every character a psycho?!
Think. Escape this lunatic mage. First idea: close combat.
'Fuck that.'
Mages weak up close was cliché, but this was an overwhelming genius. Even Kano Ameri with her shiny little sword would struggle.
'Beg?'
Doubt he had "pity" in him. One option left.
"Don't run, Tower Master."
The "scaredy-cat?" play.
His brow furrowed.
"...What?"
For his type, short, sharp, core hits only.
"Aren't you a once-in-a-millennium genius? Fleeing from one variable—one counterexample?"
Scratch the pride. True rage bloomed on his face. Timing the peak...
"No phenomenon exists that you can't explain."
Provocation on the surface, flattery underneath. Means he can solve anything. Prod the ego, then boost it. Implants logic: killing me means admitting spinelessness.
Advanced bootlicking skill, honed in the asshole politics of my old life.
He stared blankly, then—
"Puhahaha!"
Burst into mad laughter. Why did everyone laugh at me? Like it was the funniest shit.
After a while, his lips twisted slightly upward.
"Right. Erasing the subject before me isn't a mage's way."
"Exactly. You'll decipher it easily, Tower Master."
A spice of agreement, and his smirk widened. Perfect. If he holes up researching, I'm golden. This guy's dangerous.
"You talk well. Really well."
"...?"
I doubted my ears. Did this psycho just praise me? He never praised anyone—until the saintess heroine, anyway.
'...Is this fucker gay?'
Chills hit—then the bombshell.
"Become my disciple."
"......Pardon?"
"Are those ears just decorations?"
"No, but—"
You're supposed to take the heroine! The princess candidate clashing with her is a key scene!
"Last time I'll say it."
He leaned in slightly.
"Ian Ashy. You will be my disciple."
His close-up face was insanely punchable.