They said academy life would “forge us into elite battle-ready mages.”

  What they failed to mention is that the forge in question was fueled by sleep deprivation, chronic emotional damage, and one-sided gym css war crimes.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

  Our Homeroom Teacher: The Deceiver in Frilly Pink“Css 1-M, this way please!”

  The voice was pure honey. Sweet, soft, fluttery like a dove wrapped in marshmallows. She stood at the front of the hallway with both hands csped over a clipboard and the kind of smile that made you believe in gods again.

  Miss Elira Norn.

  Blonde hair in curls. Heart-shaped face. Pink cardigan over a white academy blouse. Big, sparkly blue eyes. And a voice so pure it could have cleansed me of all sarcasm, sins, and snide thoughts——Until she summoned a skeletal lich with six arms and glowing red eyes.

  “Meet Mister Cinders!” she said cheerfully as it materialized beside her, dragging a charred staff and oozing malice. “He’s my contract partner! Don’t worry, he only feeds on souls if provoked!”

  I blinked.Gram screamed.A kid in the back fainted.

  And me?I think my heart actually shattered from betrayal.

  “I was almost in love,” I whispered.

  “You fell for the cardigan again, didn’t you?” Gram muttered.

  It happens. Frequently.

  Our Schedule: A Curriculum Designed by SadistsMiss Elira (who, yes, we now feared deeply) cheerily handed out our css schedules as the lich clicked behind her like an eldritch butler.

  Year 1 – Mage Division: Css 1-M

  Magic Theory (Basic) – Instructor: Professor Tolwin

  Potion Making (Basic) – Instructor: Mistress Helsha

  Spell Weaving (Basic) – Instructor: Arken the Braided

  Magic Control (Basic) – Instructor: Miss Elira

  Practical Combat (Basic) – Joint css with Sword Division

  History of Magic & Empire

  Imperial Language & Arcane Grammar

  Maths and Magical Physics

  “Why are there eight subjects?” I groaned.

  “Because we are the future of the Empire!” Miss Elira said cheerfully. “And the future must suffer!”

  That st part was definitely not in the brochure.

  The Sword Department – Hostile Gym Instructors with SwordsOur very first Practical Combat css was a "joint training session" with the Sword Division.

  Transtion:It was an ambush.

  They lined us up on the sand field, surrounded by blunt training weapons, enchanted wooden dummies, and at least three instructors who looked like they’d been raised on war and protein powder.

  “You mages think you’re all smart and soft with your sparkles and scrolls,” growled Captain Drask, head of Sword Combat Training. “Today, we test your bodies.”

  “Do we get weapons?” someone asked.

  “No. You get pain. Now drop and give me fifty pushups.”

  Gram colpsed after twenty-two.

  I died at thirty-eight. Briefly.

  Lucien Wyrhart, born with noble fire magic.Defeated by physical education.

  Even Rielle jogged by and shouted, “Come on, Bookworm! My grandma squats better than you!”

  “Your grandma’s probably jacked!” I gasped from the dirt.

  “Damn right!”

  Back to Css, Back to TraumaBetween push-ups and being forced to duel animated dummies, we had theory csses.

  Magic Theory was bearable—Professor Tolwin was old, stern, but fair. He introduced us to mana composition, flow direction, and why your spells might explode if you skip the warm-up chant.

  Potion Making was a nightmare—Mistress Helsha smelled like fermented lizard guts and made us chop glowing mushrooms with knives that screamed if you cut wrong.

  Spell Weaving was oddly beautiful—Arken the Braided (his beard had runes stitched into it) taught us how to yer incantations like musical harmonies. I was… decent. Gram was accidentally turning water spells into accidental gusts of wind that blew skirts upward. He’s now hated by half the css.

  Magic Control was... disturbing.

  Miss Elira still smiled like she baked cookies. All while making us bance fme wisps over our open palms—bare-skinned.

  “Remember,” she chirped, “if you feel pain, you’re doing it wrong! Or right! That’s part of the learning!”

  Her lich loomed in the corner, taking notes with a quill made from a raven's femur. I'm not even kidding.

  End of the First Week: Burnout and Sword-shaped PTSDBy the end of our first week, I had:

  Burned off my own eyebrows (they’re regrowing, slowly).

  Failed to pronounce an ancient incantation and made a desk levitate into the ceiling.

  Been tripped during combat training by a Sword Division noble who called me “robe scum.”

  Pulled a mana muscle (yes, that’s real).

  Shared five meals with Gram, who could eat like a bck hole and talked the entire time.

  Fought three dummies, lost to one.

  Had my summon Snakecoil spit fire at a teacher’s chair. Accidentally. Maybe.

  And I still had homework in four subjects and a test on mana flow diagrams.

  Rielle’s Report: Proud, Bruised, and Dangerous“I broke a training dummy’s neck,” Rielle reported cheerfully over lunch. “Sword Department cheered.”

  “I nearly summoned a fire wraith instead of a fme thread,” I muttered. “Magic Department panicked.”

  “Progress!”

  “Your definition of progress concerns me deeply.”

  “Oh, by the way,” she added, “next week is our first inter-division mock battle. Teams of two.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You want to team up.”

  “Obviously. We’ll destroy them.”

  “You just want to use me as magical artillery.”

  “Yes, and I’ll block the arrows with my face. It's called synergy.”

  God help me.

  As the sun set over the academy towers and the lights of floating mana-orbs flickered on, I dragged myself back to my dorm, colpsed on my bed, and stared at the ceiling.

  Fire spells, sword maniacs, eldritch homeroom teachers, and homework schedules longer than my life expectancy.

  This was my new life now.

  And the worst part?

  I think I was starting to like it.