Two Years' Difference
Sylvia sat there in a daze.
"Magic..."
She murmured to herself as she sat, staring blankly out the window.
The moment the one-hour lecture ended, she'd rushed back to her room.
Just one hour.
The excitement still lingered, refusing to fade.
Sylvia dashed to her desk, yanked out paper and a quill pen, and scribbled down whatever she could remember.
The brilliant magical formulas etched vividly in her memory.
Their shapes were crude. At least, that's how they looked to her eyes.
Why was that?
It wasn't hard for Sylvia to come up with the answer.
She had seen it, after all. The pinnacle of magic.
"Why didn't I bring my notebook...!"
She spat out her regret even as her hand moved busily.
Lines and patterns so rough they felt like an insult to her eyes.
But still, Sylvia didn't stop.
She couldn't forget them.
She wanted to hold onto this euphoric high for as long as possible.
No matter how unforgettable the scene, Sylvia never trusted her brain alone.
She could handle swordsmanship and magic to a decent degree—practically unmatched among her peers.
But she knew full well she lagged behind in other areas.
Sylvia set down the quill after filling dozens of sheets densely with magic circles.
Thud.
The quill fell limply onto the desk, fresh ink smearing from its tip.
Sylvia didn't bother stopping it.
"Nineteen..."
Instead, she raised her own fingers.
To count.
She was seventeen now. Professor Ruen was nineteen.
Sylvia sighed and folded down two fingers.
"Just a two-year difference..."
Two years. Not a short time by any means.
But Sylvia felt a chasm far vaster than that.
Sylvia Beljerion.
The duke's only daughter.
She'd spent most of her life in the duke's inner gardens.
Her family lacked for nothing, and if she needed lessons, they simply invited top instructors to the estate.
Elders from the Aqua Magic Tower, the imperial guard captain, retired academy professors.
They were all fine teachers. But none of them had ever truly inspired her.
—The Beljerions must always be the best.
Her father's creed, drummed into her until her ears bled—the house motto.
The best. Number one.
No matter the opponent, Sylvia had to win. That's how she'd been raised.
Was that why?
The moment she placed third in the entrance exam, humiliation and inferiority had swallowed her whole.
And in the duel that followed, she'd met Ruen for the first time.
"Haa..."
A heavy sigh escaped Sylvia's lips.
To be the best, she'd have to leave the entire empire in her dust.
But...
"Isn't it okay to take at least one as a signpost...?"
It was a question she muttered to herself.
No one was there to answer her lonely plea.
—Creak.
Feeling stifled, she rose from her seat.
Deep thinking wasn't her forte, so she headed outside to clear her head.
Sylvia walked to the door behind her and turned the handle with a wistful twist.
And the room across from hers did the same.
Ruphus's room, held by the third-ranked student, was directly opposite Sylvia's, who held the spot right after.
It was meant to foster interaction among top students of similar caliber, but...
"Tch."
Neither of them was thrilled about it.
Flaming crimson eyes fixed on Ruphus.
An unwelcome gaze from an unwelcome face.
Ruphus scowled as he stepped out of his room, clicking his tongue sharply.
Same age, same status, same northern origins.
They were bound to cross paths.
But from childhood, they'd been like oil and water—infamously so.
Sylvia, born with fire mana. Ruphus, her opposite, wielding water.
Like their affinities, their personalities clashed wildly.
...What rotten luck.
His head was already a mess, and now this irritating face on top of it.
Ruphus spun on his heel, striding into the hallway ahead of her. Then—
Step, step.
Light footsteps overlapped from behind.
An all-too-familiar sound that grated on him.
Ruphus ignored it as best he could and kept walking.
From the third-floor hallway, down the spiral stairs, all the way to Solaris Dorm's front entrance. Two sets of footsteps echoed relentlessly.
"Hey." "......"
Sylvia broke the awkward silence first.
Ruphus didn't reply, just kept going. She followed.
"Where you headed?" "...Mind y—"
Irritation surged at his persistent nemesis sticking to him like glue.
He was about to snap when—
A scene from days ago flashed in his mind.
The culprit behind his confusion. Solaris Dorm's new supervisor.
—Call me before you fight again!
The memory brought back a bright, cheerful voice ringing in his ears.
It sent a chill down Ruphus's spine. A clear warning.
"Haa..."
He recalled the duel from that day.
No attack could even scratch the barrier she'd thrown up around the hallway.
With a single gesture, the duke family's secret technique had shattered in an instant.
And today...
—What is magic?
He'd witnessed the pinnacle of the magic he pursued.
"...Training room."
He couldn't just brush off a warning from her.
Call her first if they fought again.
That meant if they caused a ruckus, she'd beat them half to death.
Ruphus sighed and answered. Then he glanced back.
Northern winds tousled Sylvia's golden hair.
"I'm coming too. Need a sparring partner." "You're insane..."
For the past week, he'd gone out of his way to avoid her.
Running into her pissed him off, and that would lead to a fight for sure.
But a spar in the training room?
"Whatever."
That wasn't making a scene.
It was perfectly legal under academy rules.
So he could give her a proper thrashing.
Moderately, of course.
Ruphus smirked secretly and took the lead.
Perfect for reviewing the lecture—and venting a week's worth of stress.
"Aww... tch..."
From the supervisor's room window, I spotted Sylvia and Ruphus heading off together somewhere.
Relatives, yet on such bad terms.
Ever since that first meeting, things had been boringly quiet.
"No fun."
Kids grow up fighting, right?
They'd learn their limits, warm up to me cheering from the sidelines.
And in the end... sse-sse-sse. Marching side by side back North—how perfect.
"I even set the stage for it."
Telling them to call me before fighting? Obvious pass to look the other way.
I smacked my lips in disappointment.
Then pulled my head back inside from the window.
"Ehhh..."
Sighing at the deflated scene, I flopped onto the bed beside me.
"What now...?"
About two hours since the lecture ended.
It had started in the morning, so the sun was still high.
Could nap, but too early. Wouldn't wanna wreck my hard-fixed sleep schedule.
Lying there, I stretched my arms overhead and splayed my fingers.
Five delicate little digits.
Chandelier light filtered through the gaps.
Way too fancy for a supervisor's room.
Better than the guest quarters back North, even.
Wonder what the others are up to.
My thoughts drifted from the room's decor to the dorm.
To the northern prep students on the third floor.
Sylvia and Ruphus had just left.
Left were Kassel and Eugene.
"Northern... prep personnel..."
The duke heirs would succeed their houses eventually. Building ties couldn't hurt.
"Kassel's a prince too, same deal."
That left Eugene as my prime grad student candidate.
Top of the class, yet unnamed in the original story.
Outstanding talent, unattached commoner.
"...Perfect, right?"
Problem: I'd never seen him leave his room.
Morning, noon, evening—nada.
No clue what he did in there.
Does he even go to class?
Even if the academy doesn't check attendance, how's he keeping up?
I finished thinking and hopped off the bed.
Then hurried to the door, twisting the knob open.
Empty hallway. I crept forward.
Eugene's room was right next to mine.
"Ahem."
This was the supervisor checking on a dorm student's welfare. Not tampering.
So, not breaking the academy's 'Immature Talent Protection Act.'
...Kinda late for it, though.
—Knock knock.
Of course.
"You alive in there?"
Better late than never.
I knocked and waited outside.
But no sign of the door opening.
...He's not actually dead, is he?
That'd be bad for me...?
I hurriedly pressed my palm to the door and gathered mana atop it.