I had three days.
Three days to prove to a fire-breathing professor, a scornful academy, and a very judgmental butler that I wasn't the same Darian Ravenscar who once ate an entire birthday cake alone in his dorm room while skipping an exam.
Three. Days.
And so, like any rational man thrust into a noble's tubby body and threatened with expulsion, I did the only sensible thing: I panicked.
"Trial of Binding… Trial of Binding… what even is it again?" I mumbled under my breath as I half-jogged, half-waddled my way down the west corridor toward the academy's rune labs. "Is it a test? A duel? Do I have to bind a demon to my soul or something?"
The other students gave me a wide berth as I passed, and I couldn't tell whether it was out of deference to my noble house—or fear that I might wheeze myself into unconsciousness and fall on them.
Either way, I'll take it.
Elysium Academy was vast. Grand towers pierced the clouds, floating walkways shimmered in the morning light, and the stained glass above the main hall depicted the Five Pillars of Magic: Aether, Flame, Tide, Stone, and Glyph.
Guess which one I had?
That's right. The nerdiest one. Glyph. Also known as Runeweaving—magic for people who liked calligraphy, ink stains, and falling asleep in the library.
Except House Ravenscar used to be the name in Runeweaving. Legends said our ancestors could bind fire to a sword, wind to a cloak, or even time to a bell.
Not that any of that helped me now.
When I arrived at the rune lab, I stopped short. The doors were already open. Inside, chalk circles crisscrossed the floor like some arcane art project, runes glowing faintly along the walls.
And at the center stood a girl in deep violet robes, her back straight, one hand tracing a brush over a parchment floating in mid-air.
Her eye—the one not covered by her long silver bangs—gleamed. Not just with focus, but literally gleamed. A soft indigo light pulsed within it, like a rune brought to life.
The Rune-Eyed Girl.
Even before I fully remembered her from the game, the title just... fit. Mysterious, brilliant, unnerving. Her name struck me a moment later.
"Lina Arkwright," I murmured, mostly to myself.
"Correct," she said without looking at me. "And you're late."
I blinked. "How did you—?"
"Your footsteps," she replied, finishing the stroke of her rune with a flourish. "They echo at precisely 1.3-second intervals. A pattern consistent with Lord Darian's stride, according to the records."
Records? Does she track everyone's gait like an arcane detective?
"Also," she added dryly, "your breathing sounds like a kettle in distress."
Wounded? Yes. Offended? Not really. She wasn't wrong.
"You must be quite bored to analyze my gait," I said, walking up with what little dignity I could gather. "Or maybe you're here to join the remedial class, too?"
That got her attention. She turned slightly, revealing a stitched rune embroidered into her collar—a crimson binding sigil for fire.
"No," she said. "I'm the instructor."
"Wait… you're… what?"
Lina let the parchment drop, and it gently landed on her desk without a sound. She crossed her arms, which should've looked smug, but on her it came off as exasperated.
"You were demoted to Runeweaving Fundamentals due to academic negligence. The only available upper-year TA with Runeweaving Mastery qualifications was me. Congratulations, Lord Ravenscar. You now have the dubious honor of being my sole student."
I stared.
She stared back.
So this is how humiliation tastes. Salty… like sweat and shame.
"I… look, I may not be the best Runeweaver—"
"That's an understatement."
"—but I'm not going to fail again. I'm not here to mess around."
"Mm," she replied, walking past me to a chalk circle. "Prove it. Bind a simple Ember Sigil to this cloak."
She gestured, and a plain wool cloak floated to the center of the circle. A small ink pot and brush hovered beside it like summoned minions.
I stepped forward, hesitantly. It had been… what, years since Darian had practiced?
No. Not Darian. I was Kieran now. I had the memories. I had the bloodline. What I didn't have was the confidence.
Still, I picked up the brush.
The ink shimmered with a faint golden hue—the kind only noble families could afford. But the symbols? They danced and twisted like strangers at a masquerade. Foreign.
"You're hesitating," Lina said.
"Just getting the angle right," I muttered.
She didn't respond, but I felt her stare sharpen.
My hand trembled. The rune I drew bent too early. The brush slipped.
The ink fizzled—and the cloak caught fire.
"GAH!" I yelped, stepping back as Lina calmly flicked her fingers and snuffed the flame with a burst of frost.
Smoke curled in the air. My dignity shriveled beside it.
"Well," she said, scribbling something on a floating scroll. "At least you managed to activate something."
"Gee, thanks."
She glanced at me again, and for a flicker of a moment, something in her expression softened. Just a little.
"There's potential," she murmured. "Somewhere beneath the… excessive flesh."
"Charming as ever."
But my chest stirred, just a bit. Potential. That wasn't mockery. That was… possibility.
Lina returned to her desk, not bothering to dismiss me.
I stayed and tried again. And again. And again. The brush slipped. The ink ran. My fingers cramped.
But then, on the sixth try, the rune glowed. Just for a second. Like a heartbeat.
"Again," Lina said from her corner.
And I did.
By the time I left the lab, dusk was bleeding into the courtyard sky. My back ached. My knees throbbed. But for the first time in… well, ever, someone saw more than the disgrace.
I walked back to the dorm with the burnt cloak draped over my shoulder, soot smudging my cheek and sweat sticking to my collar.
Ormond met me at the door with a towel.
"You smell of ink and failure, young master."
"Thank you, Ormond. That's a step up from just failure."
He looked at the soot, then at me. His brow lifted a fraction.
"You're trying again."
I nodded. "I am."
He said nothing, only handed me a plate of still-warm bread and honeyed tea.
As I slumped into the armchair, cloak smoldering slightly beside me, I grinned.
I may still be the Piggy Duke to them… but not for long.