Magic is Real. Now Drop and Give Me 20.

A young man, seemingly in his twenties, strolled in. His entire presence radiated lethargy—wavy black hair, droopy eyes, and a posture that suggested life itself was an unbearable burden. 

Even the way he moved—deliberate, sluggish steps—gave the impression that if given the choice, he'd rather collapse on the spot and never get up again.

Reaching the center of the podium, he exhaled long and slow, rubbing his neck as if the mere act of existing exhausted him.

"Welcome, everyone, to the tutorial city," he said, his voice carrying a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "My name is Victor Wiseman. You can call me Mr. Wiseman or just Professor." 

He gestured vaguely. "I'll be teaching most of your regular classes… aside from physical training. So yeah… you're stuck with me."

He let the words settle, scanning the room with half-lidded eyes before continuing.

"Our first class today is Mana Theory, according to your schedule, so we'll start with that."

A few students let out barely concealed sighs of irritation. Some shifted in their seats, clearly dissatisfied.

Wiseman, unfazed, gave a slow nod—like he had expected the reaction.

"I know, I know," he drawled, "some of you already learned this stuff. Maybe from your families, maybe from some expensive tutors." He gave a lazy shrug. "But we're not skipping it. Not everyone here has had the same education."

He sighed again, rubbing his forehead before adding, "Look, it won't take long before we move on to the good stuff. Just have a little patience. Besides, reviewing the basics never hurts. Who knows…" He trailed off, eyes momentarily flickering with something unreadable.

"…you might have missed something."

Walking to the whiteboard, Wiseman picked up a pen and wrote a single word:

Mana

He circled it with a lazy flick of his wrist before turning back to the class.

"Before we get into the theory, we need to understand what Mana is, where it comes from, and what it can do."

His gaze swept across the room, ensuring he had everyone's attention before continuing.

"At its core, Mana is just another form of energy—like heat or electricity. But what makes it special?"

He turned back to the board and wrote another word beneath Mana, linking them with an arrow.

Versatility.

"That's what sets Mana apart." He tapped the board twice. "With the right knowledge and tools, Mana can replace almost every mundane energy source."

Pausing for a second, he added, "More importantly, Mana isn't just something external—it can fuel our own bodies."

He let that sink in before writing another word:

Breathing.

Linking it to Mana, he continued, "Mana can be absorbed simply by breathing in a mana-rich environment."

Some students exchanged confused looks, prompting Wiseman to elaborate.

"Mana exists in the air. When you inhale, it enters your lungs, spreads throughout your body, and eventually settles in your heart."

A timid hand went up. A young woman hesitated before speaking.

"Professor, if Mana is everywhere, why does no one back in Esperra know about it?"

Wiseman nodded, seemingly pleased with the question.

"Excellent question, Miss…?"

"…Sophie."

"Well, Miss Sophie, Mana isn't evenly distributed across the world. It naturally flows toward the largest sources of absorption, and for centuries, that's been the Seravelle continent." 

He shrugged and then shook his head in a seemingly helpless manner. 

"Its inhabitants have been pulling Mana from all over the world long before Esperra was even colonized."

He waved a hand dismissively. "But that's more of a history lesson. For now, let's stick to the basics."

Turning back to the board, he wrote:

Heart.

Linking it to Mana, he explained, "Raw mana in the air isn't very useful to us. It needs to be refined."

Lungs.

He drew another link, connecting Lungs to Mana, completing a closed chain.

"The lungs act as an intake system, while the heart serves as the final reservoir. From there, refined mana is stored and distributed throughout the body."

Just as he was about to continue, a handheld brass bell rang, signaling the end of class.

Wiseman let out a long-suffering sigh, as if liberated from a grueling chore.

"Well, that's enough for today." He stretched his arms overhead before adding, "I'll see you in the next class."

With that, he turned and strolled out—moving as sluggishly as he had arrived.

Most of the Esperrian trainees were stunned by this otherworldly information. 

They couldn't believe that the world, which had once seemed so ordinary, hid such fantastical truths beneath the surface. And apparently, this was only the beginning.

*

After class, they made their way to the next session—physical training.

Arriving at a vast training ground, Ashen and his two friends noticed over a hundred students already present.

"Looks like a joint class this time," Braun noted.

Following the signs to the changing rooms, they quickly changed into their gym clothes and returned to the large clearing where the others were gathering.

A moment later, their instructor arrived. 

The man was built like a tank, his military uniform straining against bulging muscles. His sharp eyes swept over the trainees, weighing them in an instant.

He came to a stop in front of the group, inhaled deeply, then barked a single word:

"ATTENTION."

The casual murmurs and side conversations died immediately, as an invisible weight pressed down on the trainees.

Ashen stiffened, recognizing the sensation.

'similar to Cornelia…'

But unlike Cornelia's pressure, which sniffed out irritation and suppressed lingering anger, this was different. 

It felt like a lion standing before them—proud, dominant, and making you keenly aware of your own insignificance.

The man scanned the faces before him, eyes locking onto a few as if daring them to break under his gaze. 

Then, he spoke—his voice sharp, cutting through the morning air like a blade.

"My name isn't important. You'll call me 'Coach.' I don't care where you come from or what you think of yourself. Here, you're all the same—weak and untrained."

He took a step forward, his boots grinding against the dirt.

"Slacking off? Not an option. This class is the only thing standing between you and death. How do you expect to survive if you're winded after swinging a weapon twice? How will you fight when your attacks hit like a love tap?"

He let the words settle, scanning their reactions. A few trainees swallowed nervously. Others clenched their fists, standing straighter.

"I don't train cowards. I don't train weaklings. I train people who will stand their ground, who won't flinch when their lives are on the line."

His tone was sharp and unforgiving. The fire in some students' eyes flared; others struggled to hide their unease.

"By the time I'm done with you, you'll either be ready for war, or you'll break trying."

The trainees stood rigid, the weight of his words pressing down harder than his presence ever could.

Their blood boiled with sudden determination. But that fire was about to meet reality—and reality never played fair.