"Congratulations, Muen Campbell."

In the student council room, Veil had once again disappeared off to handle some other task, so Celicia was personally preparing coffee for Muen.

"From thirty points to eighty in just one month—such a feat is unheard of in this Academy’s history. One could say, you've made history."

"Thank you."

Muen accepted the coffee from Celicia’s hand, then watched as she dropped sugar cubes into her own, one after another, until the drink had grown nearly syrupy in consistency. Only then did she take a small sip, her expression showing a hint of satisfaction.

Still likes her coffee absurdly sweet, huh.

Muen smiled faintly and took a sip of his own. Bitter, but refreshingly fragrant.

"But saying I made history is too much. Compared to that, Ariel getting a perfect score—that’s what really makes history."

Getting full marks in the subject Introduction to Magical Foundations was about as difficult as getting a perfect score in language class back in Muen’s previous life.

So Ariel's perfect score should've been jaw-dropping.

It had been in the original storyline. Teachers, students, even Celicia—all had been stunned by that perfect score.

A textbook protagonist-moment, the kind meant to dazzle.

And yet for some reason, Muen hadn’t heard anyone around him discussing that score.

Instead, all the chatter among students had been about how strong the wind was on the rooftop.

But after the Academy had installed ten-meter-high iron fences on all its rooftops at lightning speed, that topic had died out too—

—only to be replaced by debate over which river on campus was the clearest.

Thankfully, anyone who could get into this Academy was at least not foolish enough to drown in the one-meter-deep artificial streams and decorative lakes. So for now, the only fallout was a few satirical opinion columns in the News Club’s paper from gambling addicts who refused to give up.

"Ariel got a perfect score?"

Celicia seemed to be hearing it for the first time. She brushed a strand of silver-white hair behind her ear, a hint of admiration in her eyes.

"That’s rather impressive."

"...That’s it?"

"Hm?"

"I thought you’d praise her a bit more."

Muen looked a little puzzled. After all, in the original storyline, Celicia had lavished praise on that achievement.

"Ariel’s perfect score is indeed surprising."

Celicia’s cool gaze swept over Muen.

"But seeing as even you managed to score eighty, I find it harder to be surprised by what scores other people achieve."

"Was that... a compliment?" Muen’s lips twitched.

"Let’s just say it was."

Celicia opened the folder in front of her and began working through the documents.

"You didn’t suddenly drop by just to brag about your score, did you?"

"Heh, as if."

Muen let out a slightly nervous laugh.

"I came to..."

Before ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) he could finish his sentence, a card slid across the table to land in front of him.

Celicia, pen in hand, continued writing on her documents without so much as glancing up, as if she had already anticipated what Muen wanted.

"Go to the Academy infirmary and show them this. Someone will take you to see Student Eamon."

"Thanks."

Muen accepted the card with a grateful expression and turned to leave—only for Celicia to stop him.

"Keep it brief."

She added calmly:

"He’s still very weak."

"Weak?"

Muen frowned.

"But it’s already been a month. Even if he sustained serious injuries, with the Academy’s medical standards, he should’ve fully recovered by now, no?"

"The injuries were treated long ago. But the potion he drank... its effect is to stimulate the body’s bloodline and potential. Normally, an ordinary person would just need a week or two of rest to recover. The issue is that his internal reserves were so depleted that the potion nearly damaged his very foundation by forcibly activating his potential. He’s still recuperating."

"I see."

Muen recalled the moment when Eamon had transformed from a figure so scrawny he looked like the wind could knock him over into a terrifying werewolf. If the potion hadn’t replenished his energy, then the toll it had taken on his body was truly unimaginable.

But the potion had only been the trigger. The real cause...

A flicker of fury passed through Muen’s eyes.

"Celicia, those people—"

"A few days ago, three upper-year students were expelled from the Academy."

Celicia interrupted.

"The reason cited was using improper means to harm another student. The announcement has already been posted on the Academy bulletin board. You didn’t see it?"

"Ah... thank you." Muen blinked. His mind had been entirely consumed with exams lately—he hadn’t had the time to look at any bulletin boards.

"You don’t need to thank me for that. Didn’t I say it before? Disciplining bad students is the Student Council’s responsibility."

Celicia continued flipping through documents, seemingly indifferent to such trivial matters.

"Besides, those guys really were trash. Resorting to violence against someone completely defenseless... even the scumbag you used to be wouldn’t have stooped that low."

"...Is that another compliment?" Muen’s mouth twitched again.

"Let’s just say it is."

"..."

"By the way, was the person who gave Eamon that potion ever identified?"

Muen suddenly remembered.

Eamon had mentioned it too—he’d been enticed by a mysterious woman into drinking the potion.

Muen still didn’t know what her motives were, but back then, it had nearly cost him his life.

So he couldn’t just let it go.

"Regarding that..."

Celicia looked up. Her cold eyes, deep as ancient wells, locked onto Muen with a piercing chill.

"I’m sorry. I can’t reveal that information for now."

"Can’t reveal it?"

Muen frowned instinctively.

If this were just a student dispute, there was no way Celicia would use those four words—can’t reveal it.

There had to be more going on.

Still, Muen didn’t press.

Knowing Celicia’s nature, if she said that much, then no amount of questioning would squeeze more out of her.

All he could do was trust her.

...

...

After Muen left, Celicia finally set down her pen.

She looked at the files and documents in front of her, all circled in red and annotated in detail. She rubbed her temples, and on her normally composed face, a rare trace of fatigue appeared.

"Evolution potions... they really do bring to mind some unpleasant things."

She turned to the window. The sky was overcast, thick with clouds, and her mood darkened with it.

"I just hope nothing goes wrong during the upcoming Open House."

...

...

In the warm infirmary room, Eamon sat in a daze, reeling from the news the nurse had just brought back.

"He did it..."

"Young Master Muen actually succeeded?"

No.

No, that’s not right.

Of course he succeeded.

Because back then—back then, the look in Young Master Muen’s eyes, burning like fire... anyone who saw it would’ve believed he had the power to turn the impossible into reality.

"It’s just..."

"How can I face him now?"

"I... almost killed the Young Master..."

His memories of transforming into a werewolf were hazy, but even so, Eamon could vaguely recall—

At that time, he really had wanted to kill Young Master Muen.

He looked down at his still-skinny hand. In his mind’s eye, he saw it again—this very hand wrapped around the Young Master’s throat. Self-loathing and guilt surged within him.

The Young Master must hate me now.

He’ll probably abandon me again, just like before.

Because...

Creak.

At that moment, the door opened.

That familiar, mellow voice—like a spring breeze—drifted into the room.

"Good afternoon, Eamon. Have you eaten yet?"