Tap, tap.
The crisp tapping sound echoed clearly through the air.
“Has Aurora’s Goddess of Nature made today’s weather so comfortable that it caused you to be this drowsy, or perhaps even fall asleep?”
Professor Mabel’s voice was soft as ever, carrying a hint of well-meaning teasing.
“Although the theoretical part of my class is indeed a bit dry, sleeping through it means you’ll miss the key steps for deriving the ‘Multiple Element Resonance Field,’ child.”
Child…
This long-lost form of address, filled with an elder’s care, was like a thin needle, gently piercing through Freya’s strained defenses.
She blinked hard, her gaze uncontrollably scanning her surroundings.
The bright, large lecture hall, rows of students bowing their heads to write or listening intently, complex magic circles and formulas on the blackboard, and the spring sunlight—bright to the point of luxury—pouring through the tall arched windows…
Everything was so new it was blinding, so vivid it felt unreal.
‘No… it’s impossible…’
Her heart hammered frantically against her ribs, carrying the exhaustion of a narrow escape and an unbelievable frenzy.
The damp cold of the dungeon, the weight of the shackles, the chill of the Holy Sword piercing her chest, and Irina’s viper-like smile…
‘Could all of that have been a long and terrifying nightmare?’
Just as her mind reeled, nearly believing the ‘nightmare’ theory, the person sitting in the row in front of her seemed disturbed by the sound of the professor tapping on the desk and her heavy breathing.
He shifted slightly and looked back.
It was a face caught between adolescence and young adulthood.
His profile already possessed a future handsomeness, yet it hadn’t fully shed its youthful innocence.
Short golden hair shimmered with a healthy luster in the sunlight, and his deep blue eyes held a hint of annoyance at being disturbed, along with… a sliver of pure confusion belonging to this age, not yet fully tainted by power and ruthlessness.
He wore the Academy uniform, the collar embroidered with the sword and shield emblem of the Knight Preparatory Class.
Ross Castor.
Sixteen-year-old Ross.
“!”
Freya’s breathing stopped abruptly.
The blood in her body seemed to freeze for an instant before surging back up to her head in the next second, making her vision go dark for a moment.
‘It’s not a dream!’
That hideous Holy Sword that pierced her heart, those cold eyes that looked at her as if she were an object to be stripped… They overlapped with this youthful face, tore away, and overlapped again!
A chill surged up from her spine, instantly spreading through her limbs.
Under the table, her fingernails dug deep into her palms.
The intense stinging pain barely suppressed the scream and the trembling that almost burst from her throat.
Reborn…
She had actually… returned to the year she was sixteen!
Returned to a time when everything had yet to happen, or rather, was quietly beginning!
The massive shock and the subsequent surge of chaotic thoughts nearly drowned her.
Hatred, ecstasy, lingering fear, and confusion… Countless emotions collided in her chest like a tsunami in a storm.
Just then, another voice came from the direction of the podium—soft, slightly trembling, and filled with obvious tension and unease.
“P-Professor Mabel… I’m sorry, I’m late…”
Freya turned her neck bit by bit, almost stiffly, looking toward the podium.
A petite figure stood there, also wearing the Academy’s female uniform.
Long golden hair fell smoothly over her shoulders, the ends slightly curled.
Her hands nervously clutched a brand-new leather satchel, her knuckles white from her grip.
The most striking feature was her eyes—pink pupils, now shimmering with tears, trembling uneasily like a startled fawn, while a faint blush stained her cheeks.
She looked like a chick that had accidentally wandered into unfamiliar territory, lost and bewildered, pitiful and in desperate need of protection.
Irina Ewell.
Fifteen-year-old Irina.
Having just been specially recruited into the Central Magic Academy as a “gifted individual from a remote region,” she had been transferred into this class.
It was today.
Freya’s memories burst open.
It was in this very class that Irina made her timid entrance, winning the curiosity and sympathy of most of the students.
After class, it was herself who, seeing her rare light-element magic talent, had taken the initiative to walk over.
She had clumsily tried to comfort this seemingly nervous and fragile new classmate, even helping her get familiar with the campus and answering basic magic questions…
Her stomach churned violently, and a wave of nausea rose in her throat.
She seemed to see that woman in the dungeon again, standing behind Ross with an evil, greedy smile on her face.
That smile formed a sickening contrast with the pure, innocent, startled-bird appearance before her.
‘So, the exquisite disguise was already being worn from this early on?’
Freya’s fingernails dug deeper, and a damp, sticky sensation came from her palms; she had likely drawn blood.
The pain gave her chaotic mind a sliver of twisted clarity.
She lowered her eyelashes, masking the bone-deep hatred and icy killing intent swirling beneath her eyes, nearly overflowing.
‘Ross… Irina…’
Professor Mabel’s concerned words and Irina’s affected, cowardly voice felt as if they were coming through a thick curtain of water—blurred and distorted.
All of Freya’s senses were focused on the frantic drum of her heart, which felt as if it would explode, and the sharp sting in her palms.
The scene before her—sixteen-year-old Ross, fifteen-year-old Irina, and the sun-drenched classroom—intertwined and collided repeatedly with the dark dungeon, the cold Holy Sword, and the hideous smiles deep in her memory.
It gave her a splitting headache, making her want to vomit.
She had to leave this place.
Immediately. Right now.
If she stayed any longer, she couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t lose control or lunge at those two human-skinned demons in the crudest way imaginable in front of everyone.
“P-Professor Mabel…”
Freya looked up.
Her voice was dry and trembling to a degree that surprised even herself. Her face was as pale as paper, and fine beads of cold sweat broke out on her forehead.
“I… I don’t feel well… Can I… can I please go home for a bit?”
Professor Mabel immediately shifted his full attention from the new transfer student to Freya.
The state of the always calm, elegant, and model student before him was clearly wrong.
The pale face, the vacant gaze, and the trembling body were not an act.
“Freya? What’s wrong?” Professor Mabel’s tone was full of worry.
“Where does it hurt? Should I call the Academy’s physician?”
“N-No… there’s no need, Professor.”
Freya forced a weak smile, her fingers unconsciously pressing against her chest—a gesture that had become an instinctive reaction to her true pain.
“It’s an old problem… my heart. You know, I… things are a little different here. My family’s physician understands the situation better.”
She was referring to the Mana Heart Crystal within her heart, a natural gift that was as much a talent as it was a liability.
This wasn’t a secret among the upper echelons of the Academy and certain related parties.
Sure enough, as soon as the “heart” and “family physician” were mentioned, Professor Mabel’s expression became serious and cautious.
Freya’s Mana Heart Crystal was a precious magical research specimen, but it was also a fragile point that needed careful nurturing.
If something went wrong at the Academy, no one could bear the responsibility.
“I understand.” Professor Mabel didn’t hesitate and nodded immediately.
“Go home quickly and rest. Have the House Dale physician examine you thoroughly. I’ll save the notes from today’s class for you. Your health is the priority.”
“Thank you, Professor…”
Freya whispered her thanks, leaning on the table to stand, but her legs felt weak.
Just then, Ross, sitting in the front row, turned around with a slight frown, his handsome face filled with unconcealed concern.
He stood up and reached out naturally, seemingly wanting to support Freya’s arm, his blue eyes fixed on her.
“Freya, you look terrible. Let me take you to—”
The moment his fingers were about to touch her wrist—
“Don’t touch me!”
Freya recoiled as if she had been burned by a hot iron.
The movement was so sudden and large that her chair scraped against the floor with a harsh, screeching sound.
Her voice was sharp and short, carrying a visceral, bone-deep disgust and fear.
The entire classroom went silent instantly.
All eyes were focused on the two of them.
Ross’s hand froze in midair, his concern hardening into shock and a touch of awkward embarrassment.
He couldn’t understand why Freya, with whom he usually got along well (at least on the surface), would have such a violent reaction of repulsion.
Freya also realized she had overreacted.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down, but her gaze never met Ross’s.
She didn’t even look at anyone else, including the “startled fawn” on the podium.
“I’m sorry, Professor… Ross… I lost my composure.”
She hurriedly threw out those insincere words, clutched her books and notes, and practically fled, her head lowered as she rushed out the back door of the classroom.
The warm spring sunlight fell on her, but it couldn’t dispel the chill radiating from her bones.
Students occasionally passed her in the hallway, glancing at her curiously, but she ignored them completely.
She just kept walking, faster and faster, finally breaking into a jog.
She hurried through the long corridors, down the spiral staircase, and rushed out of the Central Magic Academy’s solemn main building.
The familiar campus scenery blurred past her, carrying a disorienting sense of displacement.
She rushed through the tree-lined path and across the fountain square, deaf to the faint voices behind her that might have been classmates calling her name.
It wasn’t until she burst through the Academy gates and saw House Dale’s familiar black carriage, bearing the family crest, parked in its designated area that Freya’s frantic pace halted.
Old John, the driver, was leaning against the shafts, dozing off.
She leaned against the cold courtyard wall, gasping for breath.
Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, each beat tugging at the Mana Heart Crystal and bringing waves of genuine, dull pain.
Cold sweat soaked her hair and the clothes on her back.
‘It’s not a dream. It’s really not a dream.’
She was back.
Back at sixteen, back at the starting point where the nightmare began to brew.
At this time, her grandfather was still alive, and House Dale still existed—
She still had a chance to set things right!
She still had a chance to save her grandfather!