"A shame, I slurped you dry too early," a voice moaned with a sultry sting.
A man sat at a small desk, as if waiting to give a lecture he never would.
"This is what you and Mother agreed to. I just took what I was owed… with my tongue," the voice purred again.
The man's face stayed pale and frozen—whether by his own will or because he couldn't move.
Then his head dropped forward, hitting the silverwood desk with a dull thump.
A quill rolled off and clattered onto the tiled floor.
A dark mist slipped from the ceiling, swirling into the shape of a woman. Or something pretending to be one.
"Mmm…" she sighed, her tone halfway between pain and pleasure.
Her curvy figure slowly took form, wrapped in thin veils of smoke. Her skin shone like black glass under candlelight. Amethyst eyes glowed. Red lips curled in a knowing smile.
"Really is a pity," she said, tracing a finger around an untouched inkwell.
"You could've become a Mana Specialist. I could've fed on your energy and grown stronger. But no—you had to make another deal with my mother. You cursed your family and wasted your life being chased by them, leaving no time to improve yourself so you could live longer."
She flipped her long, shadowy hair with a dramatic sigh.
"And now look at you. So close, here in an academy. But I'd already drained you dry like a slushie."
She winked and giggled—a sound full of both sweetness and danger.
The man didn't move. His head stayed down like a puppet with cut strings.
Her smile faded. Floating off the ground, she left faint scorched marks under her bare feet.
She looked upward—past the ceiling, the towers, and into the starry sky.
"My sisters… We'll feast on this world. We'll rise. Then we'll offer it to Mother."
With a soft whoosh, she turned to smoke, then dust, and drifted away through the wall.
Silence fell.
Empty desks carved with runes sat in rows.
Crystal lanterns hovered in the air, glowing faintly.
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. "That felt personal."
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.
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 looking 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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