The First Class (1)

Headmistress Audrey's address had just come to a close, and she now sat in her office, the room quiet and still after the words she had spoken.

Outside, nearly all of the students had been directed to their respective classes, their movements orderly as they made their way through the halls, the building once again filling with the hum of anticipation for the day ahead..

As for Amon, he, too, was now making his way to his assigned class, his footsteps steady as he navigated through the corridors, blending into the steady flow of students heading in the same direction.

He glanced at the gold card in his hand, its sleek surface catching the light.

Printed on it in bold, clear letters were the words:

Class C, 1.

A subtle sense of anticipation stirred within him as he continued on his path, the card a tangible reminder of the day ahead.

"Class C, huh... it's kind of familiar,"

Amon murmured to himself, his eyes scanning the hallway as students bustled around him, heading to their assigned classrooms.

The chatter and the echo of footsteps filled the air, but his mind was still on the gold card he held.

He paused for a moment, turning it over in his fingers as a vague sense of recognition tugged at him.

"Where have I heard that before?"

He wondered quietly, but the thought slipped away as quickly as it had come, leaving him to continue his walk toward Class C.

As Amon made his way down the hallway, his eyes were drawn to the gothic décor that adorned the walls—ornate suits of armor, candlelit sconces, and intricate tapestries hanging from the stone-like walls.

The atmosphere felt ancient and grand, almost like something out of a different time.

To him, the academy seemed less like a modern school and more like a towering castle, its medieval charm thick in the air.

"Haha, Hogwarts,"

He muttered with a slight chuckle, his amusement mixing with a sense of wonder.

He stood now in front of the classroom door, the final step of his journey for the moment.

His hand rested on the handle of the door, the cold metal sending a slight chill up his arm as he hesitated.

The weight of the moment pressed on him, and for a brief second, he wondered if stepping inside was the right choice.

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Please, just let me get through this without running into anyone from The Ascended Gray,"

He whispered, almost pleading.

He could already imagine the chaos and drama those characters would bring with them—he didn't need that on his first day.

"Haaa....."

With one last sigh, he twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

Creak—!

Whish..—!

As Amon pushed the door open and stepped inside, the faint creak of the hinges echoed through the grand hall.

His first impression was the sheer elegance of the room—immaculate, perfectly chiseled tiles lined the floor, each one polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the soft glow of the enchanted chandeliers above.

The architecture was nothing short of breathtaking, with towering gothic arches stretching across the ceiling, intricate carvings of ancient symbols adorning the pillars, and massive stained-glass windows that filtered the morning light into a spectrum of ethereal colors.

The moment he stepped forward, however, he felt it.

The weight of their stares

Dozens of students—seated in elegant rows, clad in finely tailored uniforms—had heir eyes locked onto him.

Some bore expressions of mild curiosity, others radiated open disdain, and a few were unreadable, observing him with quiet intensity.

Whispers rippled through the room, hushed yet unmistakable, their words brushing against his ears like the rustling of leaves in the wind.

"Who is he?"

"I've never seen him before."

"White hair? He doesn't look like Noble."

Amon held his expression steady, resisting the urge to react.

He had expected this. In a place like Luminae Conservatory of Magic, status and heritage dictated everything.

New faces were scrutinized, and outsiders were seldom welcomed with open arms.

But to Amon, none of the lingering gazes, whispered conversations, or scrutinizing stares mattered.

The first thing his eyes locked onto was a lone figure seated quietly in the second row, engrossed in a book.

It was him.

Although he don't want to engage with this person he was slightly curious.

The guy's

His presence wasn't loud, nor did he radiate an overwhelming aura like the so-called nobles in the room, yet there was something unmistakable about him.

Unlike the others who gossiped, sneered, or observed their surroundings, this individual remained undisturbed, completely immersed in the pages of his book.

A quiet force, detached yet deliberate.

Amon's breath hitched for a fraction of a second.

"Eugene Beethoven"

He muttered the name under his breath, his gaze sharpening.

The main character.

There he was—the protagonist of the novel Amon had once read in his past life.

The very person whose journey he knew better than anyone else.

The one destined to rise from obscurity, to uncover the greatest mysteries of the world, to surpass all expectations…

And now, Amon was here too.

A strange feeling settled in his chest, an odd mixture of curiosity and caution.

This was no longer fiction.

No longer words on a page.

Eugene Beethoven was real—breathing, thinking, existing in the same world as him.

The gears of fate were already in motion.

And Amon?

He wasn't sure whether he would be a mere spectator in Eugene's story… or something much more.

*****

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