Chapter 41 : Chapter 41
Chapter 41: People Always Change
Ryan almost failed to keep a straight face.
Good grief. So all those awful things he had done in the past could actually be interpreted by the teachers as having some kind of “motivational effect”?
“So,” the department head concluded, “our basic judgment of you over the past two years was this: astonishing talent, terrible temper, but controllable destructive tendencies, and occasionally… some unexpected benefits. We kept an eye on you because we valued talent. We did not interfere because we felt you had not yet crossed the line.”
He lowered his hands and leaned back in his chair, his gaze landing on Ryan’s face like a searchlight.
“But this semester, something is different.”
Ryan’s heart tightened.
“First, you brought someone with you,” the department head said. “Registered under the name Cosette. Unclear origins. Barely literate. No connection to your family. You picked her up in White Bell City, correct?”
“Second, your specialization choice,” he continued. “For the past two years, every sign pointed toward the combat path. Yet on the very first day of registration, you submitted Magic Tool Application, Appraisal, and Risk Management.”
“Third—and this is what concerns me most—” his voice lowered slightly, “your whole person has changed.”
“You used to set fires everywhere and bare your claws at everyone. Now you keep your head down and focus only on your own affairs. When others provoke you, you avoid them. But when something is worth fighting for, you do not back down. It is as if…”
He paused, searching for the right words.
“…as if you suddenly withdrew all your claws, wrapped yourself in a hard shell, and started burrowing single-mindedly in one direction.”
The office fell so quiet that Ryan could hear his own heartbeat. Sunlight shifted slowly, and dust drifted lazily through the beam of light.
The department head looked at him with a calm gaze that nevertheless seemed capable of seeing straight through to his bones.
Then he leaned forward slightly, his pale gray eyes locking onto Ryan.
“So, Ryan Velt, I did not summon you here today to praise your improvement.”
“I want to ask you—”
“What happened?”
“What could make a rotten boy who used to take pleasure in trampling on others—never crossing the line, but clearly enjoying himself—suddenly withdraw all his claws, put on this shell of ‘keep away, I only do serious work now,’ and even abandon the path he was obviously good at, only to turn around and bury himself in bottles and trinkets that require patience?”
“You used to have the fire of arrogance in your eyes. Now…” He narrowed them slightly. “…now they look like still water, with no telling what is hidden underneath. Are you building up to something big, or are you hiding from something? Or both?”
Ryan set down his cup.
So this was finally the real point. This was exactly what he had been worried about.
“People change, sir.”
“They do,” Morris said with a nod, his expression gentle. “But usually they do not change this… completely. You used to be a blaze spreading in every direction. Now the fire has been gathered in and turned into a lamp that only lights your own road. Tell me, dear Mr. Velt, why is that?”
Ryan drew in a breath.
“During the trip home over last semester’s break, I thought about many things,” he began. “About what exactly I came here for. If it was only to learn a few spells, fight a few battles, and earn a diploma… that would be too meaningless.”
Morris listened in silence.
“Then I realized something,” Ryan continued. “Most people in the academy are desperately squeezing toward the paths of magical theory or dual cultivation of magic and martial skill. But those paths… consume too many resources.”
“You know my family’s situation. The Velt territory lies in the northern frontier. The winters are long, and the harvests are poor. Magical beast incursions happen every year, and every year many people die.”
He raised his eyes. His face showed no unnecessary emotion, but the weight in his words was real.
“There is no way for me to make everyone in the territory learn magic. That is impossible. So I began wondering… whether there might be another road.”
Morris listened quietly, his teacup suspended in midair.
“Magic Tools,” Ryan said. “If a defensive spell could be fixed into a stone and carried by an ordinary soldier, would that not mean a few fewer people die? If a constant-temperature rune could be carved into the wall of a farmhouse, would that not mean a few fewer old people freeze to death in winter?”
“Magic should not exist solely as a privilege for the few who stand at the top of the tower. It should be able to descend to the ground, into the hands of those who need it but cannot reach it. Magic Tools… perhaps they are the key.”
The office was silent for several seconds.
Then Morris looked at him and slowly smiled.
It was not a polite smile. Warmth first appeared in his eyes, and only afterward spread to the corners of his mouth.
“It seems our young Mr. Velt has begun thinking about the things a lord ought to think about. I am sure your father would be proud of you.”
Ryan did not answer. He simply sat there.
Morris watched him for a while, then nodded. He set down his teacup and picked up a small white porcelain plate from the side table. Several butter biscuits were arranged neatly upon it.
“Tea should always have something to go with it.” He pushed the plate slightly toward Ryan. “Try one. My wife baked them this morning.”
Ryan took one. It was crisp and fragrant with butter.
“Having such thoughts is a good thing.” Morris took one for himself and bit into it slowly. “I have been at this academy for many years and have seen quite a few students. Some spend their whole lives never asking what their magic is meant to be used for. Others…” He paused. “…come to understand certain things all at once because of a single moment.”
He sipped his tea, his eyes resting on Ryan’s face.
“Compared to those ‘major scandals’ that stir up the academy, I would much rather see you as you are now. Settling down and learning something practical.”
The only sound in the office was the quiet crunch of biscuits breaking.
“However,” Morris said, shifting tone without changing his voice, “an idea is still only an idea. On the opening day of the term, you struck that servant named Karl in the dormitory district. That does not seem especially related to this ‘changing the world’ of yours.”
Ryan’s expression did not change.
“He bullied one of my people and damaged academy property. I reported it to the administration in accordance with the rules. The academy should have handled it, I assume?”
“Of course,” Morris replied with a nod. “Demerits, compensation, a written warning, and the dismissal of that male servant. The result was posted on the notice board yesterday. You probably did not notice it.”
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
“You did the right thing, Ryan. Following the rules is better than settling things with private violence. I only hope that in the future, when similar matters arise, you think of the rules before you think of your fists. Can you promise me that?”
“I will, sir.”
“Good.” Morris leaned back in his chair, tapping lightly on the armrest with his fingers. “Then let us return to the main subject. Many teachers have noticed the changes in you this semester. They admire your talent, and they are curious about your choices. So several of them asked me to pass on a message—if you are interested in anything beyond Magic Tool Application, Appraisal, and Risk Management, you are free to sit in on other courses at any time.”
He paused briefly.
“But I must remind you, Ryan: studying too many things at once easily leads to breadth without depth. On the path of magic, focus is often more important than range. If you have ideas or difficulties, you may also come directly to me.”
Ryan nodded. “I understand. Thank you, sir.”
“Mm.” Morris set down his empty cup. “Then there is one specific matter.”
His tone turned light.
“At the beginning of next month, the academy will hold a small internal competition. Students from first year to third year may all participate. The rules are broad, and you may use whatever methods you are best at. In previous years, students from the Magic Tool Department and the theory track usually do not participate. They prefer to bury themselves in research.”
“But I think,” Morris said, looking at Ryan as he lightly rubbed the rim of his teacup, “that you might consider joining this year.”
He paused again, as if choosing his words.
“I actually support your idea,” Morris said directly. “So I may as well tell you this much—if you can achieve a respectable ranking in this competition as a student of the Magic Tool specialization, the academy… will allocate some additional resources to you.”
He raised his eyes to meet Ryan’s.
“The road of Magic Tools may not burn money as fiercely as dual cultivation of magic and martial skill, but if you truly want to make something worthwhile, the expenses will not be small. Materials, tools, losses from experimentation… the academy can help with those.”
Ryan did not hesitate.
“I will participate, sir.”
“Good.” Morris rose and walked to the window. The sunlight turned his white hair pale gold. “The details will be announced in a few days. Prepare well, but do not be too anxious. Think of it as… an interesting practical lesson.”
He turned back and looked at Ryan for a moment.
“Everyone has their own road to walk, Ryan.” The old man’s voice was gentle but firm. “The academy can provide the soil and the sunlight, but what you ultimately grow into depends on you. Remember that.”
He returned to the desk, opened a drawer, and took out a kraft envelope, handing it to Ryan.
“These are the contact details and research fields of several instructors who have made achievements in the field of Magic Tools. It is nothing confidential, but it should be useful to you.”
Ryan accepted the envelope. “Thank you, sir.”
“Off you go.” Morris waved a hand. “Tea is no good once it gets cold.”
As Ryan walked out of the office, he glanced back once.
Edgar Morris had already returned to stand before the stained-glass window, his back facing the door. He seemed to have lifted his teacup once again.
The door closed softly.
Ryan walked down the corridor.
That conversation… had been nothing like he expected. There had been no interrogation, no pressure. It had felt like nothing more than an ordinary afternoon tea.
And yet every sentence had landed exactly where it needed to.
He lowered his eyes to the envelope in his hand. The kraft paper was thick and sturdy, and the seal bore the emblem of crossed staffs and gears.
The road of Magic Tools was one he had chosen for himself.
Now there was an additional lamp along that road—a lamp provided by the academy.
A lamp could illuminate the road, but it could also illuminate the person walking upon it.
The noise of students drifted from the far end of the corridor. Afternoon classes were about to begin.
“An interesting practical lesson…” Ryan murmured quietly, repeating the words.
It was probably not going to be that simple.
But at least now he had a clear short-term objective: in next month’s competition, he would make a name for himself through Magic Tools.
As for Edgar Morris…
Ryan glanced once more at the tightly closed door at the far end of the corridor.
A veteran mage who had retired from the imperial palace.
The academy’s department head for student affairs.
An elder who could see through a person almost completely in the time it took to drink a cup of tea.
Every word he had spoken today had conveyed the same message:
The academy has seen your value, and it has also noticed that something about you is unusual. We are giving you an opportunity, but we are also watching you.
That was neither wholly good nor wholly bad.
Ryan drew in a deep breath and headed toward Silver Fir House.