Ch. 127.2 - The First Class Assembly (Part 2)

Waiting around is never fun, but luckily, I’d brought the stack of research papers Ji Niang had given me.

Yesterday had been such a mental drain that I hadn't even cracked them open before crashing; today, after a solid night’s sleep, I felt sharp enough to actually digest the material. It was the perfect time for a deep dive into the mechanics.

While analyzing that Spell Book yesterday, a few theories of my own had started to take root. A Spell Book essentially bypasses a trainee's inability to channel mana by drawing energy directly to cast a spell. But you still need a mental link to trigger it.

What if I could modify the internal structure of the Spell Book itself? If I could rewrite the logic, I could alter the effect. Sure, most "amateur" edits would probably just nerf the spell or make it fizzle out, but it was still progress! It was a path to total mastery.

Imagine someone chucking a Fireball that’s supposed to leave a crater, and I, with a flick of my wrist, reprogram the output mid-air until the flame just sputters out in my palm.

Now that would be a high-level flex. Way more satisfying than just pushing buttons in a video game.

As I lost myself in the text, Hong Chenyi, who was still pouting about having to sit in the front row, started nudging me.

She’d desperately wanted to hide out in the back, but she was too clingy to sit away from me, so she’d sucked it up and stayed in the splash zone.

"Yuehan, stop being such a sweat," she groaned, leaning over. "What are you even reading? My brain hurts just looking at the font."

"It’s an Analysis of Integrated Structural Logic in Fireball Spell Books: A Case Study on Standard Models," I said, not looking up. "Want a copy? I’ve got nine other variants here."

"Uh... fine. Give me one. At least I’ll look like I’m paying attention." She snatched a Fireball paper and laid it out in front of her.

She actually made it through the abstract and the intro with genuine interest, but by the time she hit the data tables, her head started nodding.

Between her "nightlife" and binge-watching TV, her battery was clearly in the red.

As the minutes ticked by, the room began to fill. I made a conscious effort to look at every student who walked through the door, tattooing their faces into my memory.

These were my classmates. Even if I wasn't going to be sitting through the foundational lectures with them, I needed to know who was who.

I sent out one last @All ping to both group chats. I didn't want to find out what happened when Ji Niang got angry. If someone ghosted this meeting, she’d likely put them on her "naughty list" before the first day was even over.

'If you're going to be late, at least give me a heads-up so I can cover for you,' I thought.

We were creeping up on the official start time. I glanced back at the sea of faces; it was almost a full house, but there were definitely still empty seats.

One girl replied in the chat saying she’d hopped on the wrong shuttle and was currently lost in the medical district. A classic freshman mistake—at least it was a valid excuse.

Suddenly, the chatter in the room died down instantly. A heavy, commanding presence filled the doorway.

Ji Niang walked in. With her sharp, professional attire and that "don't mess with me" aura, she commanded the room without saying a word.

"It looks like most of you made it," she began, her voice smooth but carrying to the back of the hall. "I’ll keep the introductions brief. My name is Ji Niang, and I am the advisor for Section 14. My office is in Room 8405. If you have a crisis, that’s where you’ll find me."

As she spoke, she turned toward the massive blackboard behind her. I realized then that it wasn't a standard chalkboard; it didn't have a speck of dust on it, and it seemed to hum with a faint, dormant energy.

This isn't just a high-tech whiteboard; it’s a massive terminal for the Earthvein Operating System.

I could actually feel the thrum of mana surging through the room as the system initialized.

With a sharp flick of her wrist, Ji Niang’s name materialized on the screen in elegant, glowing script.

A collective gasp rippled through the hall.

Most of these girls were used to chalkboards or, at best, standard smartboards. They’d never seen a terminal powered by the planet’s own ley lines.

The podium served as the Earthvein core, and as it hummed to life, intricate patterns of energy began to pulse around the borders of the display.

"The clock has struck," Ji Niang said, her voice dropping an octave. "And yet, there are still empty seats. I have a zero-tolerance policy for tardiness. I suggest you etch that into your memories right now."

She scanned the room, her gaze sharp enough to draw blood. "This is the first official assembly of Section 14. Welcome to the Witch School."

A few "eager" students, including myself, clapped and cheered to fill the silence, creating a thin veil of artificial excitement.

Ji Niang didn't seem to care. This was her first time as an advisor, and while she was still finding her footing, she wasn't about to let a lack of "school spirit" rattle her.

An advisor is an advisor, qualified or not.

"Enough with the pleasantries," she snapped, cutting the applause short. "I know many of you are buzzing with excitement. You think 'Transcendence' is a ticket to a fantasy novel. But let me wake you up: the world of magic isn't what you've read in paperbacks. No one achieves greatness overnight, and none of you are the 'chosen one' by default."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. The romanticized dreams of a hundred teenage girls were snuffed out in a single breath.

Ji Niang’s tone wavered slightly at the very end, perhaps a flicker of guilt for the "tough love" routine, but she masked it perfectly.

In this era, if you were just an "average" student at the Witch School, you were destined to be an average witch, and "average" was a dangerous place to be.

"Now, for your first requirement: the Confidentiality Pact."

She didn't ask; she commanded. "From this moment forward, nothing that happens within these walls—no secret, no technique, no event—is to be shared with the outside world. As of today, your life and the world outside are two parallel lines that will never cross again."

The silence was absolute. There was no room for debate. This wasn't a suggestion you could "opt out" of to return to your normal life. You sign the pact, or the Academy makes you sign the pact.

People tend to forget that every School of Transcendence is, at its heart, a beast that swallows you whole and doesn't bother spitting out the bones.

Translator's note: Ooops, I don't like how this is going. It seems good days are over.

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