Dawn hadn't broken when Thunder got dressed. Passing the study, he saw Tifa's kicked-off blanket revealing a stretch of creamy thigh. The already vibrant morning suddenly felt...distracting.
After half a month of proper nutrition, the girl had transformed—rosy-cheeked, her once gaunt frame now softly rounded.
Gritting his teeth, Thunder tucked her leg back under the blanket, muttering *"form is emptiness, emptiness is form"* before fleeing outside.
Only after the door closed did Tifa open her luminous eyes, pouting faintly.
---
Morning theory class proceeded as usual. Though everyone knew Thunder couldn't cast spells, understanding magic theory remained crucial for scroll engraving.
When Beatrice and Eric left for practical training that afternoon, Thunder stayed behind, poring over the three library books. Between studies, he practiced his Heavenly Master's Agile Steps and Eyes, or meditated to expand his mana reserves.
In a way, skipping group drills granted him precious freedom.
Days passed. Thunder's footwork grew fluid, his mana reserves purer and denser. With the Dragon-Tiger Sect's Spirit-Calming Pearl and this world's abundant elements, his progress dwarfed anything back in his sect.
His reserves now sufficed for intermediate scrolls—all his current stock were tier-3, with a few tier-4.
Not once had he failed an engraving. Pride swelled—maybe he *was* destined to become a true Scrollsmith.
Only one frustration remained: his materials capped at intermediate scrolls. Rumors spoke of advanced scroll manuals in the library's restricted section—far beyond his current clearance.
Life seemed unchanged—Beatrice still mocked his "wastrel" status, Eric occasionally discussed magic theory. Then, unnoticed, the Faeil Magic Academy's tournament sign-ups began.
---
The trio saw the announcement outside the cafeteria, where a massive bulletin board displayed academy notices and student graffiti.
"Ten days till the tournament?!" Beatrice shoved through the crowd, eyes alight. As usual, it featured team and individual brackets—but this year's prizes dwarfed past offerings.
Top three finishers gained restricted library access plus massive gold rewards. The individual champion would receive a *spatial pouch*, while winning team members earned baronies from Faeil's lord!
"Holy—!" Beatrice nearly hyperventilated.
A spatial pouch! Peak alchemical craftsmanship! The crowd's eyes turned bloodshot. And noble titles? Had the academy head and city lord gone mad?
"Brothers, who owns these prizes?" A voice rang behind Thunder. He turned to see Flanx of the Fire Magic class.
"Fire Magic!" roared his numerous classmates.
"Delusional fools!" Beatrice sneered.
"My lovely Sisi!" Flanx appeared with his ever-present shadow, Kari. "Planning to steal *our* prizes?"
"Like they're already yours? Ask my lightning first, cretins!"
"Flanx's combat index hit 190 yesterday," Kari crowed. "The individual title isn't yours for sure." Flanx puffed his chest under envious gazes.
"Oh? *You* reached 190?" Beatrice eyed him mockingly.
"Just following your glorious footsteps!" Flanx beamed.
"Pray you lose early. Meet me, and I'll electrocute you till your mother disowns you!" Nose in the air, she stormed into the cafeteria.
---
Alone, Beatrice's bravado collapsed. "Trouble," she muttered, delicate brow furrowed.
"What's wrong?" Thunder asked.
"Fire class won last tournament. With you dragging us down, team gold's hopeless. Our only shot's the individual bracket."
Unspoken hung their deeper motive—Professor Maria's class had never achieved glory. Beatrice longed to gift her mentor victory.
Fire and lightning magic were equally formidable. With Flanx matching Beatrice's 190 combat index, the outcome hung in balance.
Lunch passed tensely. Thunder studied the siblings' pensive faces.
"Maybe I can help."
"Help? You'd get insta-knocked out!" Beatrice rolled her eyes.
---
That afternoon, Professor Maria confirmed the tournament. "With Thunder, we qualify for team brackets. Sisi—experience matters more than victory, understand?"
Beatrice nodded meekly.
"I've entered you two for individuals. Here are your match tokens." Maria handed over numbered plates.
"Thank you, Professor!" Beatrice lunged into a hug, face buried in Maria's ample bosom.
"And Thunder..." Eric sighed.
"That useless lalafell!" Beatrice peeked up, recalling Thunder's recent diligence. She blinked twice. "He'd just embarrass us in individuals. Better he sits out."
**Will Thunder defy expectations—or remain the academy's laughingstock?**