Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst-Chapter 53: Fake it Till You Mage it

Walking into class, I felt like I had already failed.

The room was lined with rows of desks, students settled in with open tomes, ink-stained hands, and the unmistakable air of people who actually knew what they were doing. The atmosphere was charged with magical energy, subtle but present, and I was honestly a bit shocked that I could feel it. Perks of the host I supposed.

I moved toward an empty seat near the back, keeping my pace measured, controlled. If I looked confident, maybe no one would notice how little I belonged here.

The professor, a tall, lean man with streaks of silver in his dark hair, glanced up as I sat down. His robes were pristine, and his posture screamed academic authority. He studied me for a moment before offering a small nod.

"Caidan Vale," he said, his voice carrying easily through the room. "It’s good to see you back."

I forced a weak smile and rubbed my temple. "Good to be back," I murmured, adding a slight wince for effect.

The professor’s gaze softened. "I imagine you’re still recovering. I heard about the... incident."

I gave him my best ’yeah, it was rough’ look and exhaled slowly. "Still a little foggy," I admitted, rubbing my temples again for good measure. "But I’ll manage."

A murmur rippled through the students. Good. Let them think I had barely scraped my way back from some horrific ordeal. If people expected less from me, they wouldn’t be surprised when I underperformed.

The professor nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Then we’ll ease you back in. Feel free to observe if things feel overwhelming."

Perfect. That gave me room to breathe.

I opened the tome in front of me, scanning the pages of dense magical script. It may as well have been chicken scratch, despite all the work I did with the old man.

"Now," the professor continued, "we’ll be building upon last week’s lesson—spell refinement through controlled mana threading."

Haha, I was so fucked.

I kept my face neutral, glancing around as the other students flipped pages with practiced ease. I quickly did the same, hoping I landed somewhere close to where I was supposed to be.

The girl next to me—freckles, sharp eyes, probably a teacher’s pet—glanced at my page and let out a quiet snort. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

Wrong page. Fantastic. I scanned the page she was on with my peripherals, which even in this body still had their refined edge. I rubbed my eyes, but quickly pulled my hand away as though it hurt to touch my face–that shut her up, as her cheeks turned red and she focused entirely on her book. I turned a few more pages, pretending like I had just gotten momentarily lost, before landing on the right one.

"Today’s exercise," the professor continued, "is to refine the elemental balance of a base spell. Specifically, we’ll be manipulating flame cohesion in small-scale fire magic."

Oh. Fire magic. That sounded... simple enough?

The professor raised a hand, and with a single fluid motion, conjured a small blue flame above his palm. "By adjusting the density of mana within the flame’s structure, we can regulate its heat, color, and duration. This technique is vital for controlled spellwork and advanced incantation layering."

Around the room, students were already focusing, muttering incantations under their breath as orbs of fire flickered into existence. Some were vibrant orange, others pale blue, a few even managing a near white-hot glow.

I stared at my empty palm, willing the spell to cast itself out of pity. No such luck.

I inhaled slowly. Alright, Lucian. Just fake it.

I copied the professor’s stance, hesitated slightly for added effect—playing up the "light concussion" angle—then murmured, Ignis.

The flame appeared. Too fast.

A small burst of fire shot up like a rogue torch before sputtering out in a wisp of smoke.

I blinked. The student beside me shrank away, all feeling varying degrees of pity for me. That’s what I liked to see. Poor little Lucian, er, Caidan. The victim who wouldn’t let something as trivial as getting jumped by a group of thugs, stop him from attending his classes.

The professor, to his credit, didn’t react much. "Overloaded output," he said, tilting his head slightly. "Try again, but focus on threading the mana instead of forcing it."

I frowned like that meant something to me and nodded. "Right. Threading." Sure.

I exhaled, tried again, focused.

This time, the flame flickered weakly, like a candle in the wind. Stable, but barely.

The professor hummed in approval. "Better. Take your time."

I gave him a strained nod and forced a pained look on my face, as if all of this was so much harder due to my tragic head injury. The professor moved on quickly enough and I resisted the urge to smirk. So far, so good.

I quickly realized something—participation was dangerous.

The more I engaged, the more chances there were to expose myself. So, I did what any sane person in my position would do... I played it safe.

I nodded along whenever the professor spoke, furrowed my brow at the right moments, and took a lot of notes. Didn’t matter that half of them were just "figure this out later", "pretend you know what a mana weave is.", "Ask old man about... everything." Writing things down made me look focused.

Most of the class was refining spells, tweaking elemental balance, adjusting mana flow. The other students were deep in concentration, barely even blinking as they manipulated fire, ice, and lightning with precision. I know I only worked on this for a few days, but good lord, ice and lightning? How would one even do that? I maintained my deep sense of concentration, pretending I wasn’t an imposter.

When the professor glanced my way, did my normal act, pretending like I was a wounded fawn. He gave me an understanding nod before moving on. Good. That excuse still had some mileage left in it.

Eventually, we were paired up for spell application exercises. That was bad enough, but what made it worse was that I got paired with Mara. I mean, on a personal level, I had never been happier, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t touch her, I couldn’t reassure her, I couldn’t kiss her. I was more or less a stranger to this wonderful woman.

She looked at me with contempt, and it killed me, though I admit it was a little adorable when I focused on the fact that it was Caidan she was annoyed with, not me. "Try not to set anything on fire this time," she said.

"No promises." The attitude dripping from my response. I had been playful with her all the time like this, but maybe I should hold back for a while.

The exercise was simple—stabilize a partner’s spell mid-cast, adjusting the energy flow to refine the effect. Simple for someone who knew what they were doing.

Mara held out her hand, summoning a small orb of crackling blue energy. A raw force spell, meant to be adjusted on the fly.

"Your turn," she said, but I hesitated a second too long.

Mara’s eyes narrowed. "You do remember how to do this, right?"

"Of course," I lied, placing my hand near the spell. I felt the energy, pulsing, shifting. I tried to focus on "threading" mana like the professor had mentioned earlier. Unfortunately, nothing happened.

Mara sighed, reaching forward. "Here, let me—"

The spell jerked violently under my fingers. A pulse of unstable energy burst outward, knocking both of us back.

Mara caught herself easily, I stumbled like an idiot, and the professor looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"Mana instability," I muttered, rubbing my temple again. "Still getting my focus back." Good one Lucian!

He nodded like that made sense. "You’ll adjust in time. Try again."

Mara didn’t say anything, but the look she gave me wasn’t buying it.

I forced a grin. "Told you no promises."

She rolled her eyes. "You’re an idiot."

Maybe. But I was an idiot who just barely made it through the lesson. Take that, nerds!

By the time class ended, my brain felt like it had been shaken, beaten, and left for dead. I barely understood half of what had been covered, and the other half, I was pretty sure I had misunderstood completely. Oof, I was going to need a lot of help and only one man, one very very old man, could help me.

After grabbing a quick meal from the mess-hall, I slipped out of the Academy grounds and made my way back to the old man’s place. We had agreed on a meeting point, and I would pay for it.

The moment I walked through the door, he looked up from his book, adjusted his lenses, and sighed. "You look like you’ve had a long day."

I dropped onto the nearest chair. "You have no idea."

He closed the book with a soft thump. "Oh, I have an idea. You walked into an advanced magic course with the experience of a toddler who just learned fire is hot."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I don’t need the commentary."

"No, you need competency." He stood, moving toward a nearby shelf. "So, let’s fix that before your little ’concussion’ excuse wears thin." He tossed me a small, dull metal ring.

I caught it, frowning. "What’s this?"

"A mana conduit. A cheap one, but it’ll keep you from embarrassing yourself too much."

I turned it over in my fingers. "How does it work?"

"It stabilizes mana flow. Think of it as training wheels, a way to waste less energy, and to produce fewer accidental explosions." He gave me a pointed look. "Which I assume were a problem today."

I didn’t answer. It was hardly my fault that all of those fires were started.

The next few hours were spent going over everything I had butchered in class.

Mana threading? Turns out, I had been forcing energy through like a hammer instead of guiding it like a needle.

Spell refinement? I had zero control over output, which explained the whole fire burst incident.

Adjusting an active spell? My technique was about as stable as a drunk child on a tightrope.

Each mistake was met with corrections, drills, and long lectures. I was annoyed, but this was all important stuff and I needed this.

By the time I left, I could barely keep my eyes open. My mana reserves were drained, my body felt heavy, and my mind was swimming with corrections I needed to make. I wish I could use a mana potion, but the risks that the old man described were far too great.

But I had made progress, and hopefully tomorrow I would be faking it a little bit less.

I decided to forgo my physical routine. When I finally made it back to the Academy, my body was running on fumes.

Every step felt heavier. My mind buzzed with spell formulas, mana control techniques, and about ten different ways I had nearly killed myself in training. My hands still tingled from overuse, my head pounded, and I was pretty sure my body hated me. At this rate, I wouldn’t have to fake the concussions.

Instead of working out, I dragged myself to my dorm, shut the door behind me, and collapsed onto the bed. For a while, I just stared at the ceiling. My muscles twitched from exhaustion, but my mind wouldn’t shut off. I had spent years mastering combat, moving like a ghost, killing with precision. I had been the predator. Now? I was playing catch-up with teenagers.

I let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over my face. "At this rate, I’ll be a real mage by the time I’m eighty." Still, as frustrating as it was, I had to admit... I was getting better. Not fast enough. Not effortlessly. But better. I had no idea where the baseline was, and if it was Mara, I would never make it. Still, each day would be another test to see where I was in comparison to the others.

With that final thought, I let sleep take me. Tomorrow would be another long day. But at least now, I was somewhat ready for it. At least until tomorrow came, and I was put in my place again, and again.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freewe(b)nov𝒆l