Shirone's Resolve: The Teleportation Challenge

Shirone walked forward, his footsteps steady despite the weight of dozens of eyes drilling into his back. The air in the corridor felt thick with tension, the murmurs of his classmates dissolving into a charged silence as he stopped before the notice board. His gaze swept over the official document, each word searing itself into his mind like a brand.

The so-called "Class Seven Outcast Incident" had become a spectacle, even for upperclassmen. Whispers slithered through the halls, students clustering in corners to dissect the drama.

"Can you believe this?!" Seriel hissed, her voice sharp with disbelief as she cornered Amy near the library. "They've been tormenting him for weeks—and it's all because of you!"

Amy's hands trembled as she clutched the edge of the notice board, her knuckles whitening. The words blurred before her: Teleportation Test. Class Seven Promotion Opportunity. One Winner Only. Seriel's account of Shirone's isolation—the sneers, the sabotaged notes, the way classmates turned their backs when he entered a room—flooded her mind.

'He's been hiding this… because of me?'

Her chest tightened. She remembered how Shirone had begun avoiding her after their fake relationship rumor spread, how he'd brush off her questions with a too-polite smile. Now, the pieces clicked into a jagged, ugly picture.

"What're you going to do?" Seriel pressed. "If he fails this test, they'll eat him alive."

Amy's nails dug into her palms. "I'll train him myself."

"Are you mad? You've got your graduation exam in two weeks!"

"I don't care!" Amy snapped, her voice cracking. "This is my fault. I dragged him into that stupid 'relationship' lie, and now—"

"—and now you'll both crash and burn?" Seriel grabbed her shoulders. "Listen. Boys like Shirone don't want pity. They want to prove themselves. If you barge in now, you'll shred his pride."

Amy shook her off, storming away. But Seriel's words gnawed at her long into the night.

Midnight. Boys' Dormitory, 7th Floor.

Amy's silhouette clung to the shadows, her breaths shallow as she scaled the ivy-coated wall. Moonlight glinted off the Schema runes etched into her gloves, their magic muffling her footsteps. 'Stupid, stubborn, self-sacrificing idiot,' she seethed, hauling herself onto Shirone's windowsill. 'You think you can do this alone? I'll show you what happens when you shut me out—'

She slid the window open, poised to leap inside—and froze.

Shirone sat at his desk, bathed in lamplight, his ink-stained fingers flipping through a grimoire. But it was the woman beside him—Professor Sienna—who stole Amy's breath. The teacher's silver-rimmed glasses slid down her nose as she leaned over, pointing at a diagram.

"The key is stabilizing your mana before the spatial jump," Sienna murmured. "If your Spirit Zone wavers even slightly…"

Shirone nodded, his brow furrowed. "The backlash could fracture my ribs. Or worse."

Amy's mask slipped. A floorboard creaked.

Two pairs of eyes snapped toward the window.

"Amy?!" Shirone shot to his feet, knocking his chair over.

Sienna arched an eyebrow. "A midnight visit? How… dedicated of you."

"I—I was just—" Amy stammered, her face burning as she yanked off her mask. "What are you doing here?!"

"Advising my student," Sienna said coolly. "Unlike some, I prefer to follow protocol."

Amy's temper flared. "Oh, please. If the judges find out you're tutoring him privately—"

"Enough." Shirone's voice cut through the room, quiet but firm. Both women fell silent.

He righted his chair, his posture rigid. "I'm doing this alone."

"What?" Amy and Sienna said in unison.

Shirone met their stares, his eyes like smoldering coals. "The test is supposed to be fair. If I lean on either of you, it'll just prove them right—that I'm a fraud who needs handholding."

Amy recoiled as if slapped. "You'd rather fail than accept help?!"

"I'd rather fail on my own terms than win on borrowed magic." His voice softened. "But… thank you. Both of you."

Sienna sighed, rising from her seat. "Stubbornness is a double-edged sword, Shirone. But I respect your choice." She paused at the door. "For what it's worth? I've never seen a student so determined to carve their own path."

The door clicked shut.

Amy lingered, her throat tight. Shirone's room felt smaller suddenly, the air thick with unspoken words.

"You're really going through with this?" she whispered.

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the grimoire. "I have to."

"Why?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Because people like you and Sienna… you make me believe I can."

Amy turned away before he could see her eyes glisten. "You're an idiot," she muttered, climbing back onto the windowsill. "But… good luck, idiot."

The Day of the Test: The Uncrossable Bridge

Shirone stood at the edge of the chasm, wind clawing at his robes. Below, the river roared like a starving beast. The bridge—a skeletal stretch of iron and magic—loomed ahead, its 700-meter span dotted with flickering barriers.

"Competitors, take your marks!" Professor Sad's voice boomed across the cliff.

Forty students tensed, their mana flaring. Shirone closed his eyes, breathing deep.

'Steady. One jump at a time.'

"BEGIN!"

A cacophony of spell-chants erupted. Students vanished in bursts of light, reappearing meters ahead—only to stumble as their mana buckled.

Shirone stepped forward—

—and fell.

Not downward, but sideways, through the fabric of space. The world fractured into shards of color and sound. He gasped, his Spirit Zone screaming as he rematerialized—

—10 meters out.

Laughter erupted behind him. "That's it?! Pathetic!" Mark, Class Seven's hulking ringleader, teleported past him in a clean 15-meter leap.

Shirone's knees trembled. Blood trickled from his nose.

'Again.'

He jumped. 12 meters.

Then 14.

Each leap tore at his muscles, his vision blurring. Around him, students collapsed, their mana spent. Mark faltered at the 500-meter mark, his face purple with strain.

Only Shirone pressed on, his jumps growing shorter, messier.

At 650 meters, his legs gave out.

'No. Not yet.'

He crawled forward, clawing at the bridge. The finish line shimmered in the distance.

"Give up, loser!" Mark wheezed, slumped against a rail.

Shirone's fingers brushed a teleportation rune etched into the iron.

'Sienna's voice echoed: "Magic isn't just about power—it's about understanding*."*

He slammed his palm onto the rune.

Light erupted.

When it faded, Shirone stood on the far cliff, the crowd dead silent.

A single pair of hands clapped—Amy's, her cheeks wet.

Professor Sad stared at his stopwatch. "Impossible. He… he used the bridge's own magic to jump."

Sienna smiled. "No. He understood it."