Academic Symposium

Delphia walked through the grand corridors of the Royal Academy with measured steps, about a week after the Faremont Celebration had stirred the Kingdom's social scene. The marble floors gleamed beneath rows of tall windows, which let in a cold winter light. Servants and staff moved briskly in the background, some darting polite glances at her in passing.

She'd been away from the Academy for nearly a month—an absence the original Delphia Vosswell had somehow managed to justify with 'self-requested time off' for all of December. However, a stern notice delivered to the Vosswell Estate had warned that if she did not resume attendance immediately, she would face expulsion. Thus, Delphia found herself returning to fulfill the absolute minimum requirement of three lesson days a week until graduation.

Scanning the Academy's bustling foyer, she spotted a large bulletin board crowded with announcements. At its center was a parchment advertising the Academic Symposium—an annual showcase of magical or academic prowess; It was happening today. She let out a small sigh. Originally, Delphia might have tried to garner Alaric's attention here. But the new Delphia planned only to observe.

Guided by distant murmurs, she followed a flow of students into the Assembly Hall.

Rows of seats faced a broad platform where participants took turns demonstrating spells, sharing research, or performing magical collaborations. Nobles, teachers, and a few high-born spectators watched from designated seats in the front. Delphia slipped quietly into an empty chair near the back, unnoticed by most, but a few still caught sight of her familiar hair color. She surveyed the crowd. Plenty of familiar faces clustered together, brimming with excitement.

Then her gaze settled on Calista Faremont, poised at the foot of the stage alongside Crown Prince Alaric. Their regal attire stood out: Alaric wore the deep-blue Academy uniform with gold detailing, while Calista's gown was modest yet undeniably refined—a subtle statement that she had adapted quickly to nobility—in the Academy's colors.

The Symposium moderator stepped to the front, projecting an authoritative voice. "Next, we have Lady Calista Faremont and His Highness, Crown Prince Alaric, demonstrating synergy in spell-casting." Polite applause rippled across the hall.

Delphia leaned back in her seat, arms folded. In The Rose of Avalon, moments like these had showcased Calista's innate 'innocent brilliance.' But as she watched Calista step forward, meeting Alaric's gaze with a confident nod, Delphia sensed how carefully staged everything was.

Calista conjured a small swirl of earth-infused magic, while Alaric created a fire spell. Their powers meshed smoothly, forming a dazzling spiral of dust and light that shimmered above the stage.

Enthusiastic cheers erupted. On the surface, it was an impressive display of trust and skill. Delphia found herself acknowledging Calista's genuine competence.

She's good, Delphia thought. But she also knows exactly how to play to the crowd. The applause had barely died down when a figure emerged from one side of the stage: Sybil Mooresbane, posture stiff with barely contained irritation.

Her voice carried across the hushed space: "A lovely display, Lady Faremont... But I wonder if 'lost daughters' truly grasp high-level theory beyond parlor tricks." A frisson of unease rippled through the audience.

Calista blinked, tilting her head as though perplexed. "Parlor tricks? I only hoped to reflect the Academy's teaching—basic synergy can accomplish wonders... Or else, I wouldn't have attempted it." Her words, gently put, nonetheless had a delicate sting. Murmurs spread, and Alaric's brow furrowed.

Sybil bristled. "Basic synergy, indeed. But a truly educated mage might aim higher."

Calista replied with a soft, practiced smile, "I'm certain you can demonstrate something grander, Lady Mooresbane, if you wish to guide us all by example."

A few titters arose among the students. Sybil's cheeks turned a splotchy red, and she muttered an excuse about lacking time before turning away. The audience's attention swung back to Calista, who maintained her immaculate composure, perfectly aware she'd deflected Sybil's attempt to undermine her.

Delphia exhaled, a flicker of amusement passing through her. So this is how Calista effectively cements her dominance—by gracefully sidestepping challenges and making her rivals look foolish. In the original novel, the old Delphia might have leapt in to either outshine Calista or brawl with Sybil; Now, Sybil faced humiliation alone.

The symposium continued, but Delphia had seen enough. She quietly rose from her seat, slipping out a side exit to the corridor beyond. The reason for her presence here wasn't to spectate—she needed to sort out her new class schedule. If she was to meet the required attendance, she'd better know which classes were assigned.

Walking along the hall's polished floors, she passed clusters of students whispering about Calista's incredible synergy and Sybil's embarrassment. Some recognized Delphia but didn't approach; Her newly distant aura deterred casual chatter. Arriving at the Academic Affairs office, she stepped inside, meeting the polite gaze of an administrative clerk who hastily bowed.

"Lady Vosswell," the clerk greeted. "We're glad you've returned to complete your term. Here is your revised schedule." He handed her a folder sealed with the Academy's crest.

She scanned the contents: classes in advanced etiquette, political diplomacy, and magical theory. Trivial, she thought, recalling her twenty years of rigorous education in her original world. Still, she'd fulfill them—quietly and efficiently. "Thank you," she replied, her voice neutral. The clerk inclined his head. "Remember, you must attend at least three days a week for the rest of the school year," he reminded her. "Or you risk disciplinary action."

"I understand," Delphia said softly. Tucking the folder under her arm, she exited back into the corridor.

A small window revealed the bleak winter sky overhead. She paused briefly, reflecting on what she'd witnessed: Calista's swift adaptation to noble society, Alaric's readiness to stand at her side, and Sybil's frustration at being overshadowed. These events differ from the novel in subtle ways, she thought. But the end result is the same: Calista rises, someone falls... and I remain an onlooker.

Observing from a distance suited her. She had her own priorities—learning how to navigate this world's politics on her own terms and avoid the tragic fate the novel once laid out for her.

Let Calista revel in her spotlight, she thought. For me, it's enough to keep moving forward, forging my own path. She opened the folder fully once she was back in the hallway, checking the times. She had a Magical Theory lesson starting in less than twenty minutes. Perfect—she could attend right away. Glancing at a hanging clock, Delphia decided she had time to drop off her coat in a cloakroom first.

Navigating the Academy's corridors, she soon found herself in front of a classroom door marked "Magical Theory: Specialized Concepts." A faint hum of chatter sounded from inside. With a small breath, Delphia pushed it open and slipped inside. The dozen or so students who'd already arrived paused, curiosity in their eyes, but she quietly made her way to an unoccupied seat toward the middle.

The instructor—an older Noble with silver hair—stopped writing on the board when he noticed her arrival. "Lady Vosswell," he said, inclining his head in greeting. "We weren't certain you'd rejoin us this term."

Delphia gave a polite smile. "I've been absent, but I'm ready to resume. I hope to catch up quickly." He nodded. "Well,we're on advanced formula derivations this week. I trust you have your notes from last month's classes?"

"Not exactly…" She admitted calmly, "but I'll manage." She sensed a ripple of amusement or doubt among a few classmates. The old Delphia had indeed been notorious for disinterest in academic rigor. However, the new Delphia felt only confidence. Let them think what they like.

As the instructor begin, delving into a web of magical runes on the board, Delphia listened attentively. Within moments, she identified the underlying logic, far simpler than the mathematical complexities she'd studied in her past life. She jotted notes with efficiency, ignoring the occasional sidelong glance from her peers.

"Now, class," the instructor said, tapping the chalk on a set of intricately drawn symbols, "notice how these runic paths influence the elemental flow. If one miscalculates the amplitude…" He drew a small circle around a specific rune and paused, searching the rows of desks.

"Lady Joyner," he called on a girl in the front, "can you explain what happens when the amplitude is set too high?" The girl offered a shaky reply, halfway correct, but the teacher nodded politely before turning back to the board. "Close. The effect can become unstable, causing what we term a 'surge reaction.'"

He paused again, looking around. "If anyone can elaborate on that further…?" Silence hung in the air, a few students fidgeting with their quills.

Delphia shifted her notes, realizing the correct answer was straightforward if one understood basic energy thresholds. This is nothing I can't handle, she mused. I just need to maintain the minimum attendance. A faint smile curved her lips. Rather than chasing the ephemeral approval of a 'Crown Prince' or stirring up drama, she would quietly excel. She raised her hand, attracting startled looks from several classmates.

The instructor blinked, as though recalling Delphia Vosswell rarely participated. "Yes… Lady Vosswell?" He asked cautiously.

"A surge reaction," Delphia began, tapping her quill against her paper, "refers to a point where the rune's energy threshold surpasses the stable output range, correct? If the amplitude continues to climb, you risk a chain break in the neighboring runic sequences."

The teacher's brow lifted. "That's precisely it," he said with measured approval. "And what might be the consequence of such a chain break?"

Delphia exhaled easily. "It can manifest as anything from a localized burst of power—like a spark explosion—to an internal collapse of the entire spell, depending on the runes' complexity." The instructor blinked in pleasant surprise at her astute question—and answer.

He nodded slowly. "Very well explained, Lady Vosswell. Quite thorough indeed."

A few students murmured among themselves, perhaps stunned that Delphia Vosswell—a name synonymous with a lacking performance—would dare engage academically. One or two students, like a brunet-haired boy two rows ahead, cast her a quick, intrigued glance. She almost found it amusing. This might be far, far simpler than I thought.

"Let's expand on that," the teacher continued, flicking a piece of chalk to sketch an additional rune sequence on the board. "For a practical approach, we'll examine how adjusting the amplitude mid-cast might mitigate a surge. Watch closely."

From outside the tall windows, the cold winter sky hung heavy, but inside, Delphia felt a gentle warmth from the purposeful routine of study. The memory of the Symposium—a swirl of Calista's triumph and Sybil's rage—faded into the background. At present, Delphia's focus was on the diagram the instructor drew, her mind swiftly grasping each concept.

Partway through his explanation, the instructor asked for a volunteer to illustrate how a minor amplitude shift could rescue a faltering rune. Silence once more—and then Delphia set down her quill and stood. Several pairs of eyes trailed her uncertainly.

"I can demonstrate," she offered, her voice calm. The teacher cleared his throat, evidently still adjusting to this new, composed Delphia. "Be my guest." He stepped aside, gesturing for her to come to the front.

Approaching the board, Delphia took the chalk, rewriting one of the runes with a slight modification. "If we lower the base amplitude by two degrees here," she said evenly, "the chain break risk diminishes to nearly zero—though you do lose some overall power." A collective hush settled in the room. Her movements were precise, her explanation succinct. A girl in the back whispered something to her neighbor, and the teacher leaned in, nodding.

"Yes… precisely that." Turning to the rest of the class, he added, "Observe how Lady Vosswell isolated the amplitude variable—this is the logical approach we want." Returning the chalk, Delphia reclaimed her seat. The instructor resumed his lecture with renewed vigor, but the hush of mild awe lingered. She took a measured breath, determined not to let the attention fluster her.

Class continued for another half hour, and Delphia asked one more clarifying question about adjusting elemental synergy in multi-rune sets. Each time she spoke, the instructor's subtle astonishment showed, and the other students exchanged glances. A few scribbled notes, suddenly viewing Delphia as someone who understood more than they'd guessed.

By the lesson's end, the teacher turned toward the class, "Next session, we'll do a hands-on lab—so come prepared." He paused, eyes flicking to Delphia. "And Lady Vosswell… well done today. Keep up the excellent work."

"Thank you," she replied quietly, gathering her notes.

The conversation level spiked as students packed up. One or two lingered near her desk, uncertain if they should strike up conversation, but Delphia smiled politely and left without fuss.

She'd shown enough skill to secure her place, but she had no desire to be the center of social circles she'd never truly fit into. Stepping into the corridor again, she felt a small stirring of confidence. Attending class might be an unexpected relief—free from melodramatic court politics and overshadowed relationships. It was a domain she could master with logic and diligence, drawing no one's pity or romantic entanglements.

Perhaps, she mused, this is the best path for me in this world—quiet competence, minimal drama. And, as she made her way out into the Academy's hall, heading to her next obligation, her lips curved faintly. The new Delphia was proving to be someone far different from the destructive villainess the novel foretold.

Yes, she decided, returning to the Academy might be a blessing in disguise. It provided the perfect vantage to track Calista's progress, observe high society's budding alliances, and refine her own skills without undue fanfare. If the conspiracies and politics of this world demanded readiness, she would be well-prepared.

This, she thought, is a step forward, one more piece of the puzzle in rewriting my fate.