Zenith Academy stood like a crown jewel in the center of Arcadia City—a sprawling fortress of glass, steel, and runed marble, floating slightly above the ground with the aid of levitation arrays only the elite could afford.
Students from across the Empire gathered at its gates, most arriving in hover-crafts, teleportation glyphs, or magical convoys bearing their family sigils. Dressed in pristine uniforms, they stood tall—children of aristocrats, heirs to magical legacies, hand-fed power since birth.
And then there was Harvey.
He stood in the shadow of the academy's main gate, wearing a secondhand uniform a size too small, carrying a worn-out spellbook with frayed edges. A few nearby students wrinkled their noses, some whispered.
"Is that… a commoner?"
"They're still letting scholarship trash in?"
Harvey didn't blink. He didn't care.
Let them talk. He remembered their faces. Their names. The ones who sneered, who played roles in his downfall. He remembered how they changed later—after he started climbing. This time, he wouldn't wait for them to switch masks.
This time, he would burn the masks off.
"Hey, you! Stop right there."
A voice cut through the crowd. Harvey turned slowly to see a familiar figure—Darian Velcroft, a third-year student with flowing blond hair, perfect posture, and the arrogant swagger of a noble brat who'd never been punched in the face.
Harvey knew him well.
Back in the previous timeline, Darian had been one of the first to humiliate him. He led a group called the Pureline Circle, a faction dedicated to keeping "dirty blood" out of elite magic institutions.
Harvey offered a thin smile. "What is it, Velcroft?"
Darian's brows rose. "You know who I am?"
"I know what you are," Harvey replied calmly. "A relic."
The noble boy's eyes narrowed. "Watch your mouth, mongrel."
Other students paused, drawn to the rising tension. A few even began recording with enchanted comm-crystals.
"Say that again," Darian challenged, stepping closer.
"I said," Harvey's gaze sharpened, "you're obsolete. Just like your family's spell codes. I cracked them when I was fifteen."
Gasps. Murmurs. Darian's face flushed with rage.
[System Notification: Passive Skill 'Arcane Intuition' activated.]
[Host has detected Tier-1 Combat Magic manifesting nearby.]
A blue glyph flickered around Darian's hand—an attempt to cast Arc Lightning. It was supposed to be fast. Flashy. A noble's signature move.
But Harvey moved first.
He reached forward, almost lazily, and tapped the glyph once with his index finger.
The spell fizzled out mid-cast. Darian stumbled back, startled.
"What the hell?!"
"Code Rewrite," Harvey murmured, just loud enough for the watching students to hear. "Tier-1 Lightning, root structure flaw: too many redundant loops. I deleted the trigger sequence."
He turned away as silence fell over the courtyard.
The onlookers stared at him—some confused, others stunned.
Only one figure moved. A girl at the edge of the crowd stepped forward, her pale silver hair fluttering in the breeze, her amethyst eyes narrowed with interest.
Seraphine Aetherhold.
Top of the noble ranks. Ice magic prodigy. The one who…
Harvey's jaw tightened for half a second before he smoothed his expression.
She spoke, voice cool. "That wasn't spell cancellation. That was interference-level code alteration. Are you using a system?"
Harvey met her gaze with the same calm as before.
"No," he lied. "Just talent."
For a second, something flickered in her eyes—amusement? Curiosity?
Then she walked past him without a word.
The gate finally opened. Academy trials were beginning.
And this time, Harvey wasn't walking in as prey.
He was a hunter.
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