I descended the stairs and made my way toward the back garden doors. Pushing them open, I stepped outside into the crisp air. Mr. Poley sat on a nearby bench, his gaze fixed on the students forming lines in the training grounds.


    A woman stood at the front of the group. She was around 170 centimeters tall, her strong build evident in her stance. Her short brown hair framed a chiseled jawline, and a small scar shaped like an ''S'' marked the area near her nose.


    Sliding into the line with the other boys, I glanced at the formation. The girls stood in a neat vertical line to our right, while we were arranged horizontally. A tense silence hung in the air. No one dared to speak, their nervous glances toward the woman betraying a quiet fear.


    “Is that all?” the teacher asked, her sharp gaze scanning the group.


    “Yes, ma’am,” a girl replied promptly, her voice steady.


    “Good,” Ms. Casto said, nodding. “Since we have a new face among us, we’ll start with the basics. Accelerated basics, of course. Axel, step forward.”


    “Yes, ma’am.”


    It was already a bad sign that she’d learned my name. Back in my world, if someone showed my picture to one of my teachers and asked who I was, they’d probably shrug and say they’d never seen me before. That anonymity had always been a blessing. But here, things were different. Here, I needed to make them forget about me deliberately.


    There was only one way to do it—lower their expectations.


    “Do you have any experience with weapons, Axel Millo?” Ms. Casto asked, pacing like a lioness surveying her prey.


    “None, ma’am,” I admitted without hesitation. “I’m an amateur.”


    “Daggers, then?” She stopped and crossed her arms, tilting her head.


    “No, ma’am. Anything sharp, I try to avoid entirely.”


    Laughter rippled through the students, soft but cutting.


    “Don’t worry,” she said with a tight smile. “We’ll make a pro out of you yet.” She turned to address the group. “As you’ve heard, students, we’re back to basics.”


    A groan escaped from somewhere in the boys’ line. “Aw, come on! This sucks! We just had tournament train—”


    The student didn’t get to finish. Ms. Casto seized him by the collar and, with surprising ease, hauled him forward before tossing him to the ground.


    “Big mouth, huh?” she hissed, clapping her hands together. A sword materialized between her palms, shimmering briefly before falling to the ground at his feet. “Pick it up.”


    The boy scrambled back, raising his hands defensively. “I—I didn’t mean to, ma’am! I’m sorry!”


    “Pick up the fucki—” she began, her voice rising, but she stopped mid-word as Mr. Poley’s voice cut in from the bench.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    “Ms. Casto,” he said firmly, his tone calm but commanding. “Let’s keep things civil, please.”


    Ms. Casto drew in a sharp breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling through her nose. The sword disintegrated into dust, carried off by the breeze. The student remained frozen, avoiding her gaze and biting his lip nervously.


    “Back in line,” she ordered curtly. “And don’t speak again without permission.”


    “Yes, ma’am,” he squeaked, practically stumbling as he retreated.


    Ms. Casto turned back to the group, her expression hard. “Everyone, pair up. I’ll distribute blue and red bandanas. The red will attack; the blue will defend. No spells allowed, or shields—only physical tactics. Understood?”


    “Yes, ma’am,” the students chorused, their voices steady but subdued.


    “Axel,” she said, her eyes locking on mine. “You’re with me. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”


    “T-thank you, ma’am.”


    Walking to one of the empty benches, Ms. Casto pulled a backpack from beneath it. She rummaged through the bag, retrieving a handful of red and blue bandanas, then began distributing them among the students. When she reached me, she paused, her gaze lingering for a moment before moving on, leaving me empty-handed.


    Once all the students had been paired, the groups formed naturally, a murmur of excitement rippling through the training ground. With synchronized claps, the students conjured wooden swords, each one materializing in their hands like a polished branch plucked from a dream.


    “Hmm.” I muttered. “I wonder what kind of a spell is that.”


    Ms. Casto swept her eyes over the groups, ensuring there was enough distance between them before gesturing for the exercises to begin. The sharp cracks of wood meeting wood filled the air as the red-banded attackers lunged and swung, their blows met by the blue-banded defenders’ parries.


    Seated on a nearby bench, Mr. Poley scribbled in his notebook, glancing up periodically to observe the students’ progress.


    “Now, Axel,” Ms. Casto called, her voice cutting through the rhythmic chaos of training. “You’re up. Attack me. Conjure a weapon of your choice. Not a bow, of course. Sword or dagger. Not shields.”


    I hesitated, shifting my weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I… don’t know the spell to conjure a sword yet,” I admitted, scratching the back of my neck. “Where I’m from, spellcasting was strictly forbidden. I’m still learning.”


    Without missing a beat, she clapped her hands, and a sword materialized before her. Catching it with ease, she tossed it toward me.


    I flinched, stepping back as the weapon clattered to the ground at my feet. Only then did I stoop to pick it up, my fingers brushing against the cold steel. It was no wooden imitation—this was real. The polished blade reflected my face, its dull sheen betraying every detail, including the faint, bullet-like scar partially hidden by my hair.


    “This is real steel,” I muttered, my grip tightening on the hilt. “Are you sure about this, ma’am?”


    “You need to feel the weight of a proper sword before we move to the wooden ones,” she replied, crossing her arms.


    “Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” I ventured, glancing nervously at the blade.


    “Not in my class,” she snapped, her tone as sharp as the weapon in my hand. “The old sword-and-shield instructor coddled you all. I’m here to fix that.”


    “Right,” I muttered, adjusting my grip awkwardly. “Then I’ll… attack?”


    “Yes.” Her eyes narrowed. “Begin.”


    “Like… just run up and swing?”


    “No,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Run up and stick the sword into your own ass. How did you even manage to save the Queen with a head like that?”


    “I keep telling people—it was luck,” I replied, sighing. “Nothing more. Pure luck.”


    “Enough talking!” she barked, her voice echoing across the training ground. “Attack me already!”


    The sharpness in her tone sent a jolt through me. Tightening my grip, I stepped forward, the blade trembling slightly in my unsteady hands. “Okay, Ax,” I whispered to myself. “Come on. You can do this.”