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The crystal receiver on Caelan's bedside table hummed to life at precisely seven o'clock, its soft magical glow washing across the small room as it began delivering the weekly news updates that had become part of his morning routine.
He blinked awake slowly, grateful for the gradual transition rather than the jarring alarm bells some of his classmates preferred. The smooth, professional voice of the broadcaster filled the quiet space.
"Breaking news from the Lion Kingdom: Bastien of House Frostbear, considered a favored contender from Seraphim Academy's combat division, was severely injured last week in what authorities are calling a 'tavern brawl.' However, unofficial sources with knowledge of the incident claim hired assassins were involved, suggesting a deliberate attempt to prevent his participation in the upcoming Elite Academy Tournament. He is expected to require at least three months for full recovery. Tournament officials are urging all participating students to exercise extreme caution in the coming month and to travel with proper security..."
Caelan sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Assassination attempts over an academy tournament. The casual brutality of this world still caught him off guard sometimes, even months after his transmigration. Back on Earth, competitive disputes might result in trash talk or maybe a fistfight. Here, people apparently hired killers.
The broadcaster continued, the tone shifting to something more upbeat.
"In cultural developments from the Moonwatch Empire: Caelan Ashford of House Ironfist, a prodigy of the Illusion Arts System in Crimson Academy's first year, has pioneered an entirely new form of entertainment known as 'Illusion Games.' By channeling mana into specialized runestone tablets, users can engage in meticulously constructed interactive illusions that respond to their inputs in real-time. While the visual fidelity remains crude compared to the legendary illusions of master practitioners, the gameplay experience is undeniably captivating and highly addictive."
Caelan paused in the middle of pulling on his shirt, listening to his own broadcast description with a mixture of pride and self-consciousness.
"This correspondent was fortunate enough to acquire a tablet containing 'Elemental Contra,' and I must say, it is an absolute delight—though frustratingly difficult. We can only hope production increases soon to meet the growing demand. It has also been reported that ' Chess,' a strategy game highly recommended by Crimson Academy's Dean himself, is another invention of this remarkable student. Long-time listeners may remember Caelan as the possessor of the Ten-Star Illusion Talent that caused a national sensation over a decade ago when his evaluation was first conducted..."
Well, that's going to make shopping more awkward, Caelan thought wryly. Nothing like being called out by name on continental radio to maintain a low profile.
The news shifted to more international drama.
"The 'Ironstaff Youth Movement' of the Westridge Republic has filed a formal diplomatic protest against the Frostpeak Empire. According to their statement, Bastien of House Frostbear not only gravely insulted representatives of the Dragonspire Empire but also the entirety of the Westridge people through his use of culturally offensive language. The movement is threatening a nationwide boycott of all Frostpeak goods unless an official apology is issued within the week."
The broadcaster's voice took on a note of barely suppressed amusement.
"In response, the Frostbear Clan Chief expressed what officials describe as 'deep confusion' regarding the accusations. A diplomatic representative later clarified that the word 'pinch'—which Bastien apparently used during the altercation—is considered an absolute cultural taboo in Westridge, where significant portions of the male population believe both the term and the physical act should be banned worldwide. When this news finally reached Bastien, who had fled back to the Glacial Sanctuary Academy to recover from his injuries, his only recorded reply was a single sentence that we are unfortunately unable to broadcast due to content restrictions..."
Caelan couldn't help but snort with laughter as he finished dressing. International incidents over the word "pinch." This world was beautifully absurd sometimes.
The news continued through more standard updates.
"The abnormal drought affecting the Western Rivers Province shows no signs of abating. Both the Adventurer's Guild and Mercenary Guild have significantly increased their reward bounties in hopes of attracting capable practitioners who might resolve the magical imbalance believed to be causing the weather disruption..."
"Two Class-B Abyssal Creatures have been sighted in the southwestern region of the Chaos Lands. Multiple casualties have been reported among merchant caravans. All travelers and adventurers operating in the region are urged to remain vigilant and travel in well-protected groups..."
"In lighter news, reports indicate that an individual was spotted streaking through the streets yesterday on Stormwind Road in the northern district of the Imperial Capital. City guards are investigating, though witnesses describe the perpetrator as 'remarkably fast' and possibly magically enhanced..."
Caelan switched off the receiver with a chuckle and moved to his small mirror, examining his reflection critically. He tugged at a lock of his distinctive blue hair, tilting his head to catch the morning light filtering through his window.
The color was acceptable, he supposed—just a shade or two worse than the black hair he'd had in his previous life. It made him stand out more than he'd prefer, drew attention he didn't always want, but there was nothing to be done about it. He'd been born with this hair in this world, and magical hair dye hadn't been invented yet as far as he knew.
Could probably make a fortune if I figured out how to enchant permanent hair color, he thought idly. Add it to the ever-growing list of business opportunities.
He finished his morning preparations and headed downstairs to open Game City for the day's business.
Despite the early hour—only just past seven o'clock—Ella was already inside when he arrived, moving efficiently through the main hall as she organized the shelves of runestone tablets. The display cases had been somewhat depleted by yesterday's sales, and she was restocking them from the inventory room with practiced efficiency.
The moment she noticed Caelan emerging from the back office area, she paused her work and bowed her head politely, her expression bright despite the early morning hour.
"Good morning, Boss."
"Morning, Ella." Caelan returned the greeting with a warm smile. The Redbean siblings had proven to be excellent hires—hardworking, trustworthy, genuinely enthusiastic about the games. "I'll leave the shop to you and Oliver today. I'm heading to the academy for classes."
"Understood! Have a good day, Boss!"
Caelan grabbed his academy satchel and headed out the door into the crisp morning air of Crimson Port.
By the time he reached Crimson Academy's main campus, the grounds were already bustling with early-arriving students. But what immediately caught Caelan's attention was the massive banner that had been draped across the primary propaganda wall—the large notice board where the academy posted important announcements.
The banner was impossible to miss, rendered in bold crimson and gold letters that seemed to shimmer with embedded magic:
"ELITE ACADEMY TOURNAMENT"
"Begins September 1st at Radiance Academy, Lion Kingdom"
Beneath the main text, smaller script provided additional details about registration deadlines, selection criteria, and preliminary qualification matches.
The Elite Academy Tournament. The annual spectacle where the absolute best students from all thirty-two advanced academies across the Six Great Empires gathered to compete in ritualized combat. Each participating academy selected four representatives from each grade level—first through fourth years—creating a massive bracket of young warriors, mages, and specialists all vying for glory, recognition, and the substantial prize purses that came with victory.
Nations outside the Six Empires could also participate—certain independent city-states from the Chaos Lands held invitation slots, as did a few particularly prestigious academies from smaller kingdoms. The scale of the event was genuinely continental.
The official justification for the tournament, as stated in founding documents, was to ensure the younger generation didn't grow complacent during times of relative peace. To remind them that threats from evil planes, corrupted magical beasts, and hostile forces still existed beyond civilization's borders. To hone their combat skills against worthy opponents in controlled conditions before they faced real danger in the field.
At least, that was the public narrative everyone pretended to believe.
In reality, the tournament was about national pride, academy rankings, family honor, political maneuvering, and the sheer visceral entertainment of watching talented young people beat each other senseless under officially sanctioned conditions. The "life-and-death struggle" aspects were heavily monitored by referees and healing specialists, of course, but accidents still happened with disturbing regularity.
For Caelan, a self-acknowledged combat weakling with First Circle magical strength and virtually nonexistent fighting ability, the tournament was completely irrelevant. He would never be selected, never participate, and frankly had no desire to be anywhere near that level of violence.
However, his two newest friends—Cassius of House Everflame and Victor of House Blazeheart—were both considered prime candidates to represent Crimson Academy's first-year division. Both were Fifth Circle practitioners with excellent combat records, from powerful families, with the kind of raw talent that drew attention.
Caelan mentally wished them a victorious return, hoped they wouldn't get too badly injured, and felt grateful he wouldn't be expected to participate in any of that madness.
He made his way to Class Eight—the "combat-challenged" division where students with weak battle capabilities were grouped together. The classroom was already filling with his classmates, and as always, their conversations revolved entirely around games rather than the tournament announcement that had other classes buzzing with competitive energy.
"Caelan! Caelan, please!" The moment he sat down at his desk, Theron materialized beside him with the desperate expression of a man who'd been waiting hours for this conversation. He leaned across Caelan's desk with absolutely no regard for personal space. "Will you sell me a thirty-life version of Chronicle of the Fierce Tortoise Warriors? I'll pay extra! Name your price!"
Before Caelan could formulate a polite refusal, another classmate cut in from across the aisle.
"Scram, you shameless idiot! Caelan explained ages ago that there are only two versions available: Home and Shop. No special editions, no custom modifications. Stop begging for preferential treatment!"
"It's called the Arcade Version, not the Shop Version," someone else corrected pedantically. "Learn the proper terminology."
"I like calling it the Shop Version, got a problem with that?" the first student shot back defensively.
"Actually, yes, I do have a problem with—"
Their argument was immediately drowned out by other conversations erupting throughout the classroom.
"Man, when my monthly allowance comes in, I'm finally buying Chronicle. I've been saving for two weeks now!"
"You're still saving? Just go play at the arcade like everyone else. Ten copper bits for five lives is totally reasonable."
"What level have you guys reached? I'm still stuck on the third stage. This game is absolutely brutal."
"Heh, I made it all the way to stage four," someone bragged, their tone suggesting this was an achievement worthy of ballads.
"Only stage four? Quinn of House Stormcall is apparently on stage seven already. She's going to clear it first for sure."
"That's because she's an actual combat prodigy! She probably has the reflexes of a Fifth Circle warrior even though she's only First Circle like us. It's not fair."
"Nothing about Quinn is fair. Have you seen her Tank Battle scores? She's dominating that leaderboard too."
Theron, undeterred by the chaos around him, continued his pleading directly into Caelan's face. "Come on, give me a discount at least! We're classmates! I'm broke!"
"You have the absolute nerve to ask that?" another student interjected hotly. "If he gives you a discount, he has to give everyone a discount. How would he explain that to all his other customers? That's terrible business practice!"
"Plus," someone else added, "you're not actually broke. I saw you buying expensive lunch yesterday at the Rose Garden Café. You just spent all your money on food instead of budgeting for games!"
The arguments continued, voices overlapping and rising in volume as more students joined various debates about game strategy, pricing fairness, and Theron's questionable financial priorities.
Caelan felt a familiar headache building behind his temples. The noise level was approaching physically painful territory.
I should use a basic sound-dampening illusion, he thought, already channeling his magical energy. Just a simple hearing blockage spell. Other Illusionists do it all the time when they need to concentrate.
He carefully wove the illusion, visualizing the spell structure, channeling mana with precision, targeting only his own sensory perception...
Result: Hearing Blockage Failed (99%)
External volume: Unchanged
The noise continued at exactly the same painful level.
Caelan stared at nothing in particular, his eye twitching slightly.
Even using illusions on myself is nerfed, he thought with profound frustration. Even the simplest, most basic utility spells. The Weave truly is a bastard. An absolute, unmitigated bastard that hates me personally.
He resigned himself to suffering through the noise until class actually started.
After their morning lecture on theoretical illusion frameworks—which most of Class Eight slept through or spent covertly discussing game strategies—they moved to the mana gathering array chamber for their daily energy absorption session.
This was the one part of academy routine Caelan genuinely appreciated. Sitting in the specialized magical formation, feeling mana flow into his body and slowly, incrementally strengthen his core, watching his progression toward Second Circle advance by tiny fractions each day. It was meditative, peaceful, and didn't require him to pretend he was interested in combat applications.
Once the session concluded and students began filing out of the chamber, Cassius and Victor approached Caelan with purpose in their expressions.
"Has anyone cleared Chronicle of the Fierce Tortoise Warriors yet?" Victor asked immediately, not bothering with pleasantries or small talk.
Caelan shook his head, pulling his consciousness out of his Mind Palace where he constantly monitored game statistics and player performance. "Not yet. Why the sudden interest?"
"Because," Victor said with exaggerated patience, as if explaining something obvious to a child, "I want to see who poses a genuine threat to my entry on the First Clear Hero Rankings, obviously."
Caelan stared at Victor in absolute silence.
It was the specific, unimpressed look an expert craftsman gives a customer who asks "Do you know how to make this?" while the craftsman is literally holding the half-finished product in their hands. The look that says really? that's your question?
Victor, under the weight of that stare, seemed to realize how his words had sounded.
"...Right," he coughed, clearing his throat with performative embarrassment. "I mean, obviously I want my dear beloved cousin Cassius to get on the list. That's what I meant. His achievement. His glory. I'm just... supportive. Very supportive."
Caelan shifted his gaze to Cassius, one eyebrow raised in silent question.
The redhead looked slightly embarrassed at being the center of attention, a faint flush coloring his cheeks, but his voice was firm and sincere when he spoke. "I genuinely do want to be on that First Clear Hero Rankings list. It's become... important to me. More than I expected it would."
There was something in his tone—a mix of determination and vulnerability—that made Caelan take the request seriously rather than dismissing it as competitive posturing.
He checked his Mind Palace again, reviewing the latest player statistics and progression data. After a moment, he met Cassius's eyes directly.
"Then you'll have to work very hard," Caelan said honestly. "Someone has already reached stage seven."
Cassius's entire body tensed, his heart visibly tightening in his chest. When he spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. "Quinn of House Stormcall?"
Caelan gave a thumbs up and nodded confirmation.
Cassius and Victor exchanged a meaningful glance, some unspoken communication passing between the cousins. When they turned back to face Caelan, both their eyes were filled with renewed fighting spirit and determination.
Looks like Cassius has a very long night ahead of him, Caelan thought, suppressing a smile.
He could see the statistics in his Mind Palace with perfect clarity. Cassius had actually already reached the final boss—the ultimate, transformed version of Shredder—using his special fifteen-life version of the game. He'd gotten there multiple times, actually, learning the approach patterns and earlier stage strategies.
However, Caelan had deliberately modified the home version's final boss to be significantly more challenging than the arcade version. The boss had higher attack power, a much thicker health bar, and a more complex, less predictable moveset that required genuine mastery to overcome.
Cassius hadn't figured out all the patterns yet. Even arriving at the final boss with ten or more lives still in reserve, he was getting absolutely brutally dismantled every single attempt. The boss was simply on another level of difficulty.
Still, having fifteen lives total—compared to the standard five—was a massive advantage that bordered on genuinely unfair to anyone else attempting to challenge for the First Clear position. It gave Cassius multiple extra opportunities to learn the boss patterns, to experiment with different strategies, to make mistakes and still have chances remaining.
But what did any of that matter to Caelan? It wasn't like Quinn of House Stormcall was his girlfriend, his family member, or someone he owed particular loyalty to. If Cassius wanted to leverage his special-edition game to claim First Clear, that was perfectly fine. Friendship had its privileges.
"By the way," Caelan said, something occurring to him suddenly, "isn't the Elite Academy Tournament coming up soon? I saw the banner this morning. You two are apparently both grinding games all night based on the dark circles under your eyes." He gestured vaguely at their faces. "Don't you care about your rankings? Shouldn't you be training for combat instead?"
Victor waved his hand dismissively, his expression suggesting Caelan had asked something incredibly naive.
"Hah. Training harder won't help us at this point. Both Cassius and I have been stuck at the absolute peak of Fifth Circle for months now—probably close to half a year. If we can't find a new insight, a new direction, some kind of breakthrough in our understanding, simply working harder won't push us over the threshold to Sixth Circle. It just results in frustration and wasted effort."
He shrugged with affected casualness. "Even my mother is stuck at the same bottleneck in her own advancement. She's been peak Eighth Circle for three years now. More training, more combat, more meditation—none of it helps if you don't have the conceptual breakthrough you need."
Cassius nodded in firm agreement, clearly having had this exact conversation before. "Exactly. We're well past the point where brute force effort yields meaningful results. The Fifth to Sixth Circle transition requires understanding fundamental changes in how magic flows through your core, and you can't force that understanding through repetition alone."
His expression shifted to something more determined. "Honestly, I'd much rather spend my time and mental energy trying to achieve First Clear on the game rankings—which is an attainable goal with concrete feedback—than waste weeks banging my head against a conceptual wall that won't budge until I have some kind of enlightenment."
Caelan was genuinely speechless.
He stood there, absorbing this information about magical cultivation bottlenecks and advancement barriers, thinking about his own combat strength—which was still firmly, stubbornly sitting at First Circle despite months of academy training and mana gathering sessions.
First Circle. The absolute bottom tier of magical practitioners. The level where children started their journey.
Meanwhile, his two friends were casually discussing being stuck at Fifth Circle peak—a level that most mages never reached in their entire lives, a threshold that represented genuine mastery—and treating it like it was a minor inconvenience rather than an achievement worthy of celebration.
Caelan decided, with great wisdom, to keep his mouth completely shut about his own pathetic cultivation level.
Instead, he smiled warmly and said with complete sincerity, "Then I genuinely wish you an early victory on the First Clear Rankings. May your grinding be fruitful and your boss patterns become clear."
At least in his games, Cassius could be the hero he deserved to be.
That was worth something, wasn't it?
For every 300 Power stones bonus chapter.