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"A shame," the voice cooed, thick with sultry venom. "I slurped you dry too soon."

A man sat motionless at a small silverwood desk, as if waiting to give a lecture he never would.

"This is what you and Mother agreed to," the voice purred again, sweet as honey and twice as deadly. "I only took what was owed… with my tongue."

His face remained pale and stiff—whether from willpower or paralysis was unclear.

Then, with a hollow thud, his head dropped forward onto the desk. A quill slid from his limp fingers and clattered to the tiled floor.

From the shadows above, a dark mist seeped downward, coiling into the shape of a woman—or something that only mimicked one.

"Mmm…" she sighed, a sound balanced between pleasure and hunger.

Her form solidified slowly. Smoke clung to her curves like veils barely hiding obsidian-glass skin that shimmered under dim candlelight. Amethyst eyes flared with inner light. Crimson lips curled into a knowing smile.

"Such a pity," she murmured, idly tracing a finger around an untouched inkwell.

"You could've been more than this. You could've improved and cultivated your level as a Mana Specialist. Your body would've burned longer. Your soul would've ripened sweeter. You and I could have seeded something powerful—an heir worthy of our armies."

Her smile turned brittle. She flicked her long, shadow-sheen hair over one shoulder with a sharp breath.

"But no… You made a second pact. You traded your lifespan for your vengeance against your family. And you ran, you hid, you wasted decades evading them instead of growing stronger… and now your lifespan's crumbled to dust in my hands."

She gave a sharp, airy giggle—playful but laced with razor edges.

The man didn't stir. His body sagged like a marionette whose strings had long since rotted away.

Her smile faltered. Slowly, she lifted from the ground, her bare feet leaving faint scorch marks in her wake.

Tilting her head back, she gazed through the ceiling, beyond the towers, into the endless tapestry of stars.

"My sisters… I have no choice but to join you as the host I was incubated into died immediately . We'll rise together. And when we do, we'll lay this world at Mother's feet."

With a soft whoosh, her body unraveled into black vapor. Dust scattered, seeping through the cracks in the walls.

Silence reclaimed the room.

Empty desks carved with forgotten runes stood in tidy rows.

Above them, crystal lanterns floated gently, their glow flickering like fading breath.

On the chalkboard, the day's lesson remained: Arcane Pulse Stabilization — Beginner's Mistakes & How Not to Explode.

It had been a classroom for magic and dreams.

Now, it was just empty and still.

The man's skin had gone pale as a ghost.

Then—his finger twitched.

Twitch. Twitch.

Suddenly—gasp!

His head snapped up so fast the chair almost tipped.

He clutched the desk and sucked in a huge breath.

"Haaah!"

He coughed hard, gasping again.

Eyes wide, adjusting to the dim light, he stared at the empty classroom.

"Same dream again, huh?" he muttered, his voice rough and dry. He wiped sweat from his forehead. "Why do I always feel like I'm choking when I dream that?"

His name was Nolan. He had once lived on Earth.

Just two months ago, he'd been a brand-new literature teacher at Ridgeview High.

On his first day, a student had come to him, crying about bullies. Nolan, fired up on coffee and justice, told him, "You know what? Punch him back."

The result?

Both kids ended up in the hospital.

Two cracked skulls, one broken nose, and a viral video that made the school infamous for all the wrong reasons.

He was fired before lunchtime.

That same afternoon, while walking home and cursing his luck, a truck almost hit him.

"Whew," he'd said.

Then another truck nudged his leg.

"Ow!" he yelped, hopping around.

Then a third truck—hauling tree trunks, of course—came flying around the corner and slammed into him.

He blacked out before he even hit the ground.

"Three trucks," Nolan muttered, staring at the wooden ceiling. "Damn fuck, three of them? They are really that adamant on taking me out?"

How could he not feel that? Not one truck, but three of them decided to end his life. 

A whole convoy of Truck-kuns.

When he woke up, he wasn't in a hospital. 

He wasn't at home. He wasn't even in the school nurse's office.

He was in a strange new world—with two moons, floating islands, swordmages, beastkin, and something called mana.

The body he now lived in?

Also named Nolan. Because, clearly, the universe had a sense of humor. And him? He just had to accept it and move on.

This other Nolan had been a Novice Mana Knight with a life that was equal parts tragic and ridiculous.

He'd been in love. Sweet girl, gentle voice, fond of harp music. They'd promised each other forever.

Then he left to train. Noble reason.

When he came back? She was engaged to join his older brother's harem. The golden boy of the family. House Flamire's pride. 

A rising Mana Knight with a magical horse and teeth that probably sparkled in moonlight.

Naturally, Nolan had been... upset.

So upset, he challenged his brother. Even though the brother was a full-fledged Initial Mana Knight and he was just a rank-five Novice Mana Knight, Nolan charged ahead anyway.

Knowing he couldn't win fairly, he secretly made a pact with a Demon God.

And still lost.

His brother spared him, but also made sure to humiliate him publicly. Over and over again.

Nolan didn't take that well either.

Absolutely not. 

So, in exchange for half of his lifespan, he cursed his brother with a spell called the Gaerona Curse.

It made his brother's… ahem… interests confused.

For a year, the golden boy couldn't perform or make his little brother between his legs stand up with his harem of women—unless he was ogling at shirtless, muscular men. 

Turning bathhouse visits became dangerous.

The family was horrified.

They hired specialists. 

The curse was traced. 

Guess who?

Yup. Nolan.

With no choice, he ran.

If they caught him, he'd be punished and the curse would be broken. So he fled to keep the curse working. 

Take my girl? My curse will make sure your little brother become a girl too.

So he ran and ran, far and fast.

He ended up at Silver Blade Academy in Silver Blade City, a low-rank knight school full of rejected nobles and desperate commoners.

There, he tried to hide. Tried to study. Tried to become a Mana Specialist, hoping that with enough knowledge, no Mana Specialist hired by his family would ever find him.

And he had potential. He awakened real power.

Until he mysteriously dropped dead in his classroom.

And now here he was: Nolan from Earth, stuck in the same body. Weeks had passed, but every night—every nap—the same nightmare came back.

"Damn it," Nolan muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Don't tell me I'm stuck with this nightmare forever."

Cursed with someone else's drama, a demon pact he didn't even make, and haunted by the same damned, voluptuous demon thot.

Suddenly—BANG!

The classroom door slammed open.

Light flooded in from the corridor.

A loud voice barked, "Oi! Bastard! You still snoring in here? Class's about to start. Get your rotting butt up unless you want to taste Professor Granfire's spit again!"

Nolan turned his head lazily toward the door.

The one who barged in—half out of breath, frowning with exasperated concern—was Roderick.

Fellow Novice Mana Specialist. 

Same rank. Same struggle.

One of the rare few who still talked to Nolan without sneering first.

Roderick wasn't remarkable. Brown hair, worn boots, and a voice that always sounded halfway through an apology. He wasn't ambitious, but he was… helpful. Sometimes. Maybe. Who knew?

"Why the rush?" Nolan asked, not bothering to rise. "My class isn't over yet, is it?"

Roderick blinked fast. "No, but Granfire—he's already in the hall! You're supposed to clear the room before his class starts."

Nolan leaned back, stretching with an exaggerated groan. "I've got a minute. Not moving."

Roderick stared. "You… You're just gonna sit there?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"Someone told me not to."

"Who?"

"My brain."

A long silence.

Roderick glanced around, as if the empty classroom might offer him backup. "You know Granfire's going to lose it, right? He always does."

Nolan shrugged and crossed his arms. "And? Let him."

Another beat passed.

"Why are you like this?" Roderick finally asked. "Granfire's on track to become a real professor after the one-month assessment. Students love him. Staff loves him. He helped almost every Novice Mana Knight pass barrier stabilization. And you—" he bit his tongue.

"And me?" Nolan asked, brow quirking.

"You don't even have a single student who remembers your name."

There it was. Bitter truth. Served cold, no garnish.

Nolan didn't even flinch.

"You two clashed before," Roderick added quietly. "Every time… you came out humiliated. And now you're just sitting here, waiting to provoke him again?"

Nolan smiled—crooked, tired, a little mad. "Shooo," he waved his hand lazily. "Off you go."

Roderick sighed deep and heavy. "You really… well, I warned you." He turned, steps slow, muttering as he walked away, "Guess you want to get humiliated again, huh?"

Nolan didn't reply.

He let the door creak shut, then leaned back and closed his eyes.

Humiliation. Yeah.

Granfire had a gift for it.

In the past two weeks, he'd called Nolan out during lectures, questioned his qualifications in front of students, even once made him demonstrate a stabilization circuit with chalk dust that exploded in his face.

And the worst part? Everyone clapped.

Because Granfire always wrapped his abuse in a silk ribbon called "constructive teaching."

Nolan gritted his teeth. He wasn't stupid. Granfire saw him as weak. An easy target. A failed teacher who'd never earn a license.

But that didn't mean he'd roll over.

Every time, Nolan stood up.

Every time, he fought back.

Even when he lost. 

Even when he looked like a fool.

Because if he gave up—just once—it would haunt him forever.

He cracked one eye open at the sound of shuffling.

Students were arriving.

Dozens of them, filing in with chatter, laughter, and curious glances. Most had probably never seen Nolan before. And yet… they were approaching him. Not just looking—approaching.

Nolan sat straighter.

A girl with short silver hair stepped up to his desk. Without a word, she placed a transparent crystal on the surface. A boy with a wand strapped to his back did the same. Then another. And another.

Crystals. Each one glowing faintly with that unmistakable inner shimmer of raw mana—twinkling, unstable, pure.

Mana Crystals.

One by one, they stacked up on his desk.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

At first, Nolan didn't react. Maybe it was a prank. Maybe some twisted setup.

But the stack kept growing.

Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.

He'd never seen this many in one place before. Meals in the apprentice cafeteria cost two, maybe three crystals a day. He'd spent weeks scraping together enough just to survive. And now?

He reached out and touched one cautiously.

Pop. It vanished.

Like a soap bubble.

He touched another. Pop. Gone.

"Uh," he murmured, blinking. "What the fu—"

Pop-pop-pop. Crystals blinked out one after another under his fingertips. He didn't even try to touch them anymore. They were just… going.

All thirty—maybe more—gone in seconds.

And then—

DING!

A blue screen blinked to life in front of his eyes.

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