GameDev Reincarnated into His Own Creation

Vol 2 - Chapter XXII.V - Class & Quarter

One day, when I saw Mother again, I wanted no regrets. No failures to explain. Only achievements worthy of her memory.

The carriage stopped before the Academy's iron-wrought gates. I stepped out, my polished boots meeting the cobblestones with practiced authority.

The Academy rose before me—spires piercing the morning sky, ancient stonework weathered by centuries of ambition. This was where futures crystallized or shattered.

Family's expectations pressed at my mind. Not Kein from Elnor who played with village children, but Lord Kein Atherwind, heir to one of Lona's most distinguished noble houses.

"Young master, shall I wait?" the driver asked, standing beside the carriage door.

"No. Return for me at dusk," I replied, keeping my voice measured and cool.

I turned toward the Academy entrance. Mediocrity wasn't an option. What was the point of all that suffering if I settled for anything less than excellence?

Mother wouldn't be pleased, wherever she was now.

As I walked through the gates, the whispers began immediately.

"That's Lord Atherwind's son..."

"I heard he's a prodigy with light magic..."

"My father says his family has direct ties to the royal court..."

Their voices drifted through the air in overlapping whispers, and I dismissed them with the cold detachment I'd cultivated. Eyes followed my every step, but this attention was familiar now. My reality since leaving Elnor—to be watched, judged, measured against the Atherwind standard.

I wouldn't fail. Not today.

I leaned against the marble fountain, the cool stone at my back a welcome contrast to the morning heat. The murmur of conversations filled the courtyard as applicants arrived in waves, clutching their tokens and whispering about the trials ahead.

"Name?" a severe-looking woman asked.

"Velarian Novalance," someone replied. "Lady Halen's scholarship."

That name. That voice.

My fingers tightened around my own token as the name resonated through four years of buried memories. I found my gaze drawn to the speaker despite every instinct screaming to look away. Older, taller, but unmistakable. And beside him—Celia? Four years collapsed in an instant.

The woman consulted her list, made a notation, and handed him a bronze token. "Proceed to the main courtyard."

My pulse hammered against my ribs as I fought to keep my expression neutral. Two familiar figures stood there, scanning the courtyard with the cautious curiosity of outsiders.

Strange, I should be excited to see them, maybe I am, but my trained demeanor kept me grounded. Father's voice echoed in my mind: "An Atherwind betrays no emotion in public."

"Kein!" Celia's voice reached me, cutting through the ambient chatter of the courtyard. "I can't believe you're here too!"

The familiarity of that forgotten voice calling my old name sent a jolt of recognition through me before I could stop it. My spine went rigid, years of noble training kicking in as an automatic defense against the warmth threatening to break through. I turned slowly, my gaze finding them with the cold control of Lord Atherwind, not the eager recognition of the boy who'd once answered to that name.