Luke ignored the sudden and suspicious 180-degree shift in Damian’s attitude as he made his way toward the buffet table. His focus was simple—grab a light meal and get out. There was no point in lingering when he had a long journey ahead. He estimated at least two more days to reach the South Gate Station, where he was supposed to catch a train for the academy. The sooner he ate, the sooner he could move on.

Taking a plate, he carefully selected a few light dishes and grabbed a cup filled with yellow-colored juice. With his breakfast sorted, he scanned the room for an empty seat, only to let out a quiet groan of dismay. The only available spot was at a table already occupied by none other than Damian.

“Just my luck,” he muttered under his breath, his brows knitting together. He could already envision the countless scenarios in which Damian would start causing trouble again. Mentally preparing for a counterattack, he sighed and made his way over, settling into the empty chair with practiced indifference.

As expected, the moment he sat down, Damian’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “What a coincidence,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “We’re sharing the same table.”

Luke exhaled sharply through his nose, deciding it was best to outright ignore him. He focused on his food, pretending Damian wasn’t even there.

Predictably, Damian didn’t take kindly to the silent treatment. “Hey, hey, don’t ignore me,” he blurted out, frowning as he leaned forward. When Luke still refused to acknowledge him, he coughed awkwardly and sat back.

Silence stretched between them for a few moments before Damian, in a rare moment of restraint, spoke again—this time in a more subdued tone. “I was drunk last night,” he admitted. “Sorry for what happened.” His voice carried an air of reluctance, but the sincerity was evident.

Luke glanced at him briefly before taking a sip of his juice. His face immediately contorted in disgust.

What the hell is this?

Ignoring the vile taste, he placed the cup down and responded flatly, “It’s alright.” Then, unable to resist, he added dryly, “So, do you usually like to test people’s patience when you’re drunk?”

Damian looked momentarily surprised before breaking into an easygoing grin. “Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “I was just curious about the ‘trash of Viscount Garhan.’ No offense intended.” He raised both hands in a mock gesture of surrender.

“None taken,” Luke deadpanned, though his eyes betrayed mild irritation. Without another word, he grabbed the plastic covering off the glass of water on the table and drank deeply, desperately trying to wash away the bitterness of the juice. Meanwhile, Damian watched the entire ordeal with amusement.

“Name’s Damian Atredius,” he finally introduced himself, leaning back in his chair. “Fourth son of Count Atredius from Atredius County. It’s about two days from Timberdell.” He took a sip of his crimson-colored drink, clearly savoring it.

Luke eyed the drink enviously before responding flatly, “Luke. The ‘trash’ that everyone’s talking about.”

“Aww, come on, man. Stop sulking,” Damian huffed, rolling his eyes. If anyone saw them now, they’d probably assume they were old friends instead of recent acquaintances.

With a sigh, Luke relented, offering a more proper introduction. “Luke Raynott. Candidate of Viscount Garhan.” He took a bite of the soft bread, finally ridding his mouth of the awful aftertaste of the yellow juice. “So, what was yesterday’s fiasco all about?”

“A fiasco, huh?” Damian mused, smirking. “Well, you’ve heard the saying ‘birds of a feather flock together,’ right?”

Luke, already guessing where this was going, gave him a side-eye. “Yeah, I have. What about it?”

Damian’s smirk widened as he leaned in slightly. “I’ve heard a similar saying too,” he said mischievously, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement.

The two locked eyes for the first time, and with a playful yet sharp tone, Damian delivered his line. “Trash can sniff out trash.”

I should make a habit of checking everyone’s status. Luke affirmed in his mind as he followed Garhan’s knights back to his carriage.

After an unexpectedly eventful breakfast with Damian, the ‘pretend young master,’ he was more than ready to leave for the academy.

Settling into the lavishly decorated carriage, Luke leaned back, his thoughts drifting to the stat window he had just examined.

Damian Atredius

Alignment: Neutral (Gray)

Class: Mage

Title: None

Specialty: Riling up (Passive)

Strength: 4 | Agility: 9 | Intelligence: 15 | Divinity: 2 | Luck: 4 | Wisdom: 9

Skills: Wind-Creation (Lvl 3) | Wind Blades (Lvl 2) | Silver Tongue (Passive)

Overall Rating: Average

Luke exhaled as he recalled Damian’s status window. Well, that explains a lot.

‘Trash can sniff out trash.’

So that’s what he meant. Damian’s stats were abysmally low—his overall rating was also average, just like his own. But the difference between them was stark: Damian was a native of this world, born into nobility, while Luke had only arrived here a week ago. Despite having had all the resources and opportunities that came with his noble lineage, Damian’s stats remained unimpressive. That could only mean one thing—he was also an outcast in this society.

But that wasn’t what intrigued Luke the most. It was their conversation that had followed after.

Damian was headed to the same place as Luke—the Academy of Berch Gyara. He, too, was a first-year student. The only significant divide between them was that Damian was of Eldorian nobility, his lineage purely Eldorian. There were no other-worlders in his bloodline, save for the candidates his father chose once every decade.

The purple-haired noble spoke bluntly about Luke’s impending fate at the academy. Given his reputation as the most talentless candidate this year, isolation was inevitable. No one would associate with him. No one would stand by him. However, Damian made an offer: an alliance. He suggested that they stick together, watching each other’s backs while navigating the treacherous academy life.

Luke understood the implications all too well. In his past life, he had encountered similar situations. Damian was extending an invitation—an opportunity to form an early alliance. Given Luke’s position, the offer wasn’t bad at all. He was walking into an unfamiliar world, certain to face hostility. Having an ally, especially one familiar with the academy, would be beneficial.

But Luke wasn’t one to rush into things. Accepting such an offer without caution would be foolish.

More importantly, he had no plans to remain weak forever.

His gaze shifted toward one of the briefcases lined up neatly before him. A small case, only about 1.5 feet wide, given to him at the last moment by Garhan—a token of appreciation for his efforts. Luke still didn’t know what lay inside, but Garhan’s emphasis on opening it only after reaching the academy made him certain: whatever was inside, it would aid him greatly.

With that thought, he pushed aside unnecessary distractions and focused on his reading. The journey was long, and he wanted to make the most of it.

Time passed like a fleeting breeze. Two days went by in a blur, filled with quiet solitude, interrupted only by the rhythmic rocking of the carriage and the occasional sound of passing travelers. Luke spent most of his time immersed in books, only pausing for brief meals and rest.

And then, at dusk on the second day, the carriage suddenly halted.

Knock! Knock!

A firm rapping on the door jolted Luke awake. His book slipped slightly from his lap as his drowsy mind tried to process what was happening.

“What’s going on?” he mumbled, his voice groggy from sleep.

“We have arrived at the South Academy Gate Station. This is as far as we can escort you,” came the voice of a knight from outside.

Luke sighed, shaking off his sleepiness. He quickly straightened his clothes, ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and grabbed a handkerchief to wipe his face.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the carriage door and stepped out.

What greeted him was a place filled with hordes of people and semi-people.

As soon as Luke stepped out of the Lily Hotel, another figure turned toward the grand staircase leading to the upper floors. A young man with striking purple hair and black eyes, dressed in extravagantly noble attire, strode through the corridor. The insignia embroidered on his coat gleamed under the soft glow of mana lamps. Behind him, a heavily armored knight followed, their metallic boots clicking against the polished marble floor.

To an outsider, this sight would be nothing short of blasphemy. A knight entering the personal quarters of a noble? Unthinkable. Yet, in this case, the circumstances were far from ordinary.

Inside the lavish VIP suite, the moment the door shut behind them, the armored figure reached up and unlatched their helmet. As the metal piece slid off, a cascade of jet-black hair spilled out, shimmering as if freed from its restraints. Beneath it was a woman with striking ashen eyes, her gaze sharp and discerning. Her pale skin contrasted starkly with her dark hair, and with a closer look, her long, pointed ears peeked through the flowing strands—a telltale sign of her elven heritage.

Damian rested a hand against the edge of a marble table, watching her warily. He exhaled, reaching into his coat and pulling out a small communication crystal. Without preamble, he activated it. "I'll report to my father," he said, casting an expectant glance at his so-called knight.

The elf woman mirrored his actions, producing a crystal of her own. While Damian connected to his father, she, too, linked her own call. Their conversations remained separate, each speaking in hushed yet firm tones. Damian’s voice held the cautious deference of a son reporting to an overbearing patriarch, while the knight’s words carried an authority unexpected of her station.

Minutes later, Damian ended his conversation and set the crystal aside, rubbing his temple as he sank onto the edge of his bed. His knight, however, finished her call and with a sharp, decisive statement, said "Good work today. Keep an eye on him the entire time you’re at the academy."

Damian barely hid his annoyance as he nodded. Without further explanation, the elf handed him a small glass vial filled with golden liquid. Then, without another word, she dissolved into shadow, her presence vanishing as if she had never been there.

Haah…

Luke let out a long breath as his eyes darted around the grand station.

The South Gate Station of Berch Gyara was a marvel of craftsmanship. Towering arches of polished marble framed the entrance, adorned with intricate carvings depicting legendary heroes and mythical creatures. Luminescent mana crystals, embedded into the pillars, cast an ethereal glow over the entire expanse, illuminating the sprawling platforms with a warm golden hue.

The air buzzed with the murmur of countless voices.

Clusters of noble children stood apart from the common candidates, their fine garments and house insignias marking their status. They laughed amongst themselves with the ease of those who had never known hardship, their servants bustling around them, ensuring their masters’ belongings were handled with care.

Meanwhile, the candidates waiting for departure presented a stark contrast. Some fidgeted nervously, clutching their acceptance letters as if afraid they might vanish. Others stood with steely determination, their gazes fixed ahead, bracing for the trials awaiting them at the academy.

The diversity of races present was nothing short of breathtaking.

Tall, elegant Elves moved with quiet grace, their pointed ears twitching at the sounds around them. Dwarves, stout and broad, engaged in deep, rumbling conversations, their voices rich with dialects Luke couldn’t even begin to decipher. Orcs loomed among the crowd, some sharpening their weapons while exchanging hearty banter. The Beastmen, each unique in their animalistic traits, added to the vibrant tapestry of life at the station.

Luke pressed his hand lightly against his mouth, maintaining his composed demeanor despite the sheer awe surging through him. This is as fantastical as it gets. Before stepping into this world, he had only ever seen such sights in books and CGI-heavy movies. Now, it all stood before him in raw, tangible reality.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as one of Garhan’s knights approached, handing him a card. “Sir, this is your luggage card. We’ve already arranged for most of your belongings to be shipped via the delivery train. You’ll only need to carry your hand luggage.”

His eyes scanned the group of knights who had accompanied him. They had fulfilled their duty diligently, escorting him without fail. Even though he appreciated their efforts, he couldn't afford to express gratitude openly.

So, instead, he did the next best thing.

“Good job, everyone,” he said clearly, his voice cutting through the noise of the station. “Here, take this and relax for a change.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a few crisp notes—three bills of ten sils each.

The knights exchanged looks, momentarily stunned. While the amount wasn’t staggering, it held enough value for their ever-stoic expressions to shift in mild surprise.

The knight leading the group accepted the money without hesitation, bowing his head slightly. “Have a safe journey, young sir,” he said, his voice tinged with rare sincerity. “Take care of yourself at the academy.” With that, he turned swiftly, the knights moving in perfect unison as they boarded their carriage. Within moments, they had disappeared into the bustling station.

Luke watched them leave before glancing down at the medium-sized briefcase in his hand. Inside, he carried only a handful of things—some paper currency, two sets of clothes, a comb, perfume, a mouthwash, two books, and his holster hanging around his waist. Nothing more.

For the first time since arriving in this world, he was truly alone.