The day started with me getting hit in the face.
Not metaphorically.
Not emotionally.
I mean a full-on collision with a soccer ball the second I stepped through the front gates of Kuoh Academy.
"HEADS UP!" someone screamed, roughly two seconds after the ball had already rearranged my jawline.
I staggered, blinking stars out of my vision, and looked up to see a panicked first-year bolting over. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—oh my god, are you okay? Please don't sue me, I don't have money!"
"It's fine," I muttered, holding my face like it owed me money.
She helped me up and bowed approximately fifty times before running off.
By the time I got to class, Issei was already in his seat, grinning like the devil's intern.
"Rough morning?" he asked, as I dropped into the chair next to him and rubbed my jaw.
"Soccer ball to the face. About ten seconds into the school day."
He gave a sympathetic nod. "Classic Kuoh. Don't worry, you'll get used to random projectiles. Once I got hit by a shoe. No one even threw it. It just fell from the sky."
I stared at him.
He just sipped his juice box like this was normal.
I walked in with my bag slung over one shoulder, earbuds in, pretending I had somewhere important to be. A few people glanced my way. A couple whispered.
Two weeks in, and the novelty of "the mysterious new handsome rich kid" hadn't quite worn off.
Girls glanced from time to time. Ahh the woes of being handsome.
Didn't help that I still hadn't joined a club, barely spoke unless spoken to, and rode to school in a car that made me look like I had my own security detail.
Honestly, I wasn't trying to be dramatic. I just liked having a quiet morning.
Classes passed like they usually did. The content wasn't hard—at least, not hard enough to actually demand my full attention—but I made an effort to take notes. Being quiet didn't mean I could afford to be careless.
People still watched. I'd gotten used to it by now. Most of it was harmless curiosity. A few brave girls had even tried to start conversations. I responded politely. Briefly. That was usually enough to make them retreat, whispering things like "cool and distant" behind their hands.
Lunch came, and like clockwork, I got dragged to the usual table.
Issei, Matsuda, and Motohama were already mid-discussion when I sat down.
"No, I'm telling you," Matsuda insisted, "if you confess right after finals, the emotional stakes are higher. Like a drama arc."
Motohama nodded, adjusting his glasses. "Strategic timing. Also, summer uniforms are more flattering."
I gave them a long, flat stare. "You guys plan romantic confessions like military campaigns?"
"Absolutely," Issei said, unwrapping his second sandwich. "We believe in preparation."
"I believe in not getting slapped," Matsuda muttered.
I pulled out my bento—one of the housekeepers had packed it this morning, something simple but nice. The kind of food that made people think you came from a home full of warmth.
It tasted fine. But it was just food.
"So," Issei said, mouth half-full, "still not joining a club?"
"No."
He leaned closer. "Come on. Occult Research Club's full of gorgeous girls. And if you show up, they might actually let me in too."
"Sounds like a trap."
"It's character-building," he said, dead serious.
I gave him a look. "I'm not your ticket to fantasyland."
"Yet," he grinned.
The rest of the day passed without incident.
I kept to myself in the remaining classes, answered when called on, and avoided eye contact with the few teachers whose smiles lingered a little too long.
At the final bell, I packed up my things and slipped out before Issei could rope me into more harem-related discussions.
The black sedan was already waiting at the gate.
"Later, Tatsuya!" Issei called after me.
I waved over my shoulder without turning around.
Hayama opened the door with his usual quiet efficiency, bowing slightly as I stepped inside.
"Welcome back, young master."
"Thanks."
The door shut with a soft click, and the car rolled forward, smooth as ever.
Back at the mansion, everything was quiet. Again
My room greeted me like it always did.
I dropped my bag and sat at my desk.
Time for work.
The armor's timer had dropped under 15 days. The elixir would be ready by today.
Laevateinn still had a long way to go. Its blueprint pulsed with slow, molten energy in the Workshop—less a weapon and more a declaration.
I reached into the Workshop with a thought.
The familiar sensation washed over me, like opening a door into a world that existed behind my eyes. The blueprint space unfolded in front of me: glowing lines, suspended components, floating schematics in various stages of construction.
A week ago, I made a discovery.
It had started as a hunch—just a stray thought while I was experimenting with the Celestial Workshop. I'd been expecting more weapons, tools, enchantments… the usual.
And when I envisioned it, the workshop responded. Not with steel or circuitry, but with theory. Structure. Abstract constructs. It was then I realized—the Workshop didn't just create objects.
It could design systems.
Concepts.
Sculptures, inventions, music… methods.
The kind of thing that couldn't be held in the hand—but could still reshape the world.
So I experimented.
Over the past week, whenever I had time between classes and homework. I worked on it slowly, layering it piece by piece. Drawing from what the Workshop offered and what I already understood about physical training, magical reinforcement, and a very human obsession with progress.
I sat back slightly, heart beating faster than I'd expected. I already knew what I needed.
A framework. A method. A cultivation manual, basically—but without the flashy flying or overblown martial arts metaphors.
To change. To evolve
The Workshop could've offered shortcuts. Hell, I'd even checked.
The Perfect Golden Sentry Serum.
Designing and making it only took a few days. Enhanced strength, reflexes, recovery... everything I'd ever want, neatly packed in a vial.
The problem?
Manifestation time: 600 days.
Almost two years.
Yeah. No thanks.
So I did the math. Balanced risk and reward.
Laevateinn is enough for now.
And in the end, I decided on something better. Something smarter.
Body of the Everflame
That's what I ended up calling it. Dramatic, yeah, but fitting.
It wasn't a shortcut. It was a method. A cultivation manual, in spirit if not in name. A structured way to train and refine the body and mana—starting the moment the dragon's elixir will rewrite me on a cellular level.
A system to take raw potential and shape it into something stable. Efficient. Real.
Muscle. Bone. Breath. Magic.
Every piece of me, reforged—through intent, repetition, and will.
I hadn't manifested it yet. That came after the elixir.
The Workshop had already given me the details—Manifestation time: 10 days.
Doable.
And more importantly, it was mine. Built from scratch. A method I tailored to my upcoming evolution.