legacy of being a master's child

The academy grounds were buzzing with activity. Parents and students alike swarmed the area, their voices blending into a cacophony of excitement, nerves, and anticipation. James stood amidst the crowd, his face calm but his mind racing. He wore his usual plain clothes, clean but modest, which contrasted sharply with the extravagant attire of some other students. Beside him, his mother clutched his arm tightly, her eyes darting around nervously.

"Do well, Jamey," she said, her voice trembling. "Don't mess up, okay, my dear? And don't lose hope. It's fine to fail. No need to get sad." She kept repeating herself, her concern as visible as the lines of worry on her face.

James sighed, trying not to let her anxiety get to him. "I know, Mom," he replied softly, glancing around at the crowd.

Behind them, a group of girls whispered among themselves, giggling and pointing at James. He could hear snippets of their conversation: "Look at him, clinging to his mom like a baby," one of them said, laughing. Another chimed in, "Doesn't he look nervous? Poor thing probably won't make it past the first round."

James's ears burned with embarrassment, and he tugged gently at his mother's sleeve. "Mom, I'm fine. Really," he said, lowering his voice. "Don't embarrass me—it's annoying. Others are laughing at me."

His mother blinked, her worry momentarily replaced by surprise. She looked around, noticing the girls for the first time, and her face flushed. She loosened her grip on James's arm and smoothed her dress nervously. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jamey. I didn't mean to... I just want you to do well."

"It's okay, Mom," James said, giving her a small smile to ease her nerves.

The ringing of the academy bell cut through the air, signaling the start of the examination. The crowd began to disperse as students headed toward their assigned rooms.

James turned to his mother, who was now trying to hold back tears. "Bye, Mom," he said, giving her a quick hug. "I'll be fine."

"Bye, Jamey. You'll do great, I know it!" she called after him, her voice a mix of encouragement and desperation.

James waved one last time before joining the flow of students heading inside. The corridors were vast and meticulously maintained, with high ceilings and intricate carvings that hinted at the academy's prestige. He found his assigned classroom, a spacious room with rows of desks arranged neatly. Students of all shapes, sizes, and races were already seated, their expressions ranging from confident to terrified.

James took a seat near the middle, preferring neither to stand out nor to hide in the back. He scanned the room briefly, noticing a few orcs with their broad shoulders and tusks, and some lithe battlers with their sharp features and agile movements. Despite the diversity, there was an unspoken tension that united them all—this was the first step toward their future, and everyone knew it.

The examiner entered shortly after, a tall woman with a stern face and a flowing robe adorned with intricate runes. She carried a clipboard and a mana-infused staff, which shimmered faintly with a soft blue glow.

"Welcome to the entrance examination for the Oklahoma Magic Academy," she said, her voice clear and commanding. "You have been chosen to compete for a place among the 100 students who will join our ranks this year. This is not merely a test of skill but also of character and potential. Give it your all."

James took a deep breath, steadying himself. This is it, he thought, his hands tightening into fists under the desk. All the training, all the studying—it all leads to this moment.

The examiner began explaining the first part of the test, which involved theoretical knowledge of magic principles. James listened intently, his mind already racing through the notes he'd memorized and the concepts he'd mastered from both this world and the fragments of knowledge from his previous life.

As the first paper of the day landed on James's desk, he took a deep breath and glanced over the questions. The crisp parchment smelled faintly of mana ink, and the neatly printed letters shimmered subtly under the classroom's enchanted lighting. He wasted no time and dived right in.

The first section was straightforward: basic mathematics. Problems such as addition, division, multiplication, and subtraction were presented in a clean, orderly fashion. For James, this felt like revisiting the nursery rhymes of his old life. He breezed through them effortlessly, his pen scratching rapidly across the paper.

The next set of questions involved measurements—units like kilograms, meters, and liters. These were framed in practical scenarios, such as calculating the weight of harvested mana fruits or determining the length of enchanted ropes. James's mind worked like a well-oiled machine, recalling concepts he had internalized during his rigorous self-study.

Then came the word problems, designed to test not only numerical skills but also logical reasoning. One problem described a scenario involving a merchant who sold mana stones of varying sizes and weights, asking the students to calculate profits while considering storage limitations. For most students, these problems were meant to be a mental hurdle, but for James, they were little more than child's play.

The geometry section followed, filled with questions about shapes, symmetry, and simple angles. There were diagrams of pentagrams, mana arrays, and enchanted crystals requiring analysis. James's previous-world knowledge, combined with the foundational theories he had picked up in Elseiyere, made these questions feel like solving puzzles he had already seen a hundred times before.

He worked methodically, double-checking his answers as he went. Despite the ease of the material, he knew better than to rush carelessly. Mistakes could still happen, and he wasn't about to let something as trivial as overconfidence derail his efforts.

Around him, the other students were furiously scribbling, some with beads of sweat forming on their foreheads. The room was filled with the quiet hum of concentration, punctuated occasionally by the sound of someone tapping their pen or muttering under their breath.

James finished the paper well before the allotted time. With minutes to spare, he leaned back in his chair, stretching his fingers and casting a casual glance around the room. Some students were biting their nails, their faces etched with worry, while others looked downright panicked. He felt a pang of sympathy for them; not everyone had the advantage of memories from another world or a natural aptitude for such tests.

The examiner walked between the rows, her sharp eyes scanning the students and their papers. When her gaze fell on James, she paused momentarily, as if sensing his ease. Her lips twitched in what might have been approval before she moved on.

As the time for the first paper came to an end, the examiner called out, "Pens down. Papers to the edge of your desks."

James placed his paper neatly at the corner of his desk, his heart steady and his mind already preparing for the next challenge. This was only the beginning. The real test, he knew, lay not in the simplicity of mathematics but in the trials yet to come.

The next paper arrived in James's hands with a rustle, its title boldly proclaiming, General Knowledge and Comprehensive Studies. He flipped through the pages, eyes scanning the variety of questions spread across several disciplines. This wasn't just a test of memory—it was a measure of how well a student understood the world they lived in.

James began with the first section on geography and agriculture. The questions were simple enough, asking for descriptions of terrains and the crops grown in the region. With the ease of someone well-versed in both his own past life's knowledge and this world's unique traits, he wrote about the fertile plains that were perfect for growing grains like wheat and barley. He mentioned the magical properties of mana-infused soil, which allowed certain enchanted herbs to thrive, their uses ranging from medicine to potion crafting.

Moving on to nutrition and health, James carefully detailed the importance of balanced meals, including proteins, vitamins, and minerals. His answers wove examples from both Elseiyere and Earth, blending the practical with the fantastical. He explained how enchanted fruits rich in mana could rejuvenate energy and boost vitality. Personal hygiene came next, and he wrote with meticulous clarity about daily baths, clean water, and mana-purification techniques practiced in Elseiyere.

The paper then delved into social responsibilities and time management. James described the necessity of helping the less fortunate, promoting public welfare, and maintaining harmony within communities. Drawing from his disciplined routine, he outlined strategies to balance work, study, and rest, sprinkling in personal anecdotes to make his answers relatable.

As he turned to the section on culture and etiquette, James's thoughts wandered briefly to the customs he had observed over the months. He wrote about the formal greetings in Elseiyere—how bowing or placing one's hand over their chest was a sign of respect. Festivals, he elaborated, were vibrant celebrations of mana's balance in nature, with the Lightfall Festival standing out as a beacon of unity and joy.

Questions about government and religion demanded a more cautious approach. James deftly outlined the responsibilities of the head of state, careful to stay within the expected flattery of the system. He emphasized their role in ensuring education, peace, and security. Religion and festivals, though trickier, were tackled with neutral reverence. He described the rituals honoring the mana gods and their symbolic importance without diving into potential controversies.

The paper took a lighter turn when it asked about animals and the environment. James smiled faintly as he described the role of mana bulls in agriculture and the fascinating flame-winged birds that lit up the skies. His descriptions were vivid, almost like he was sketching their forms with his words, bringing these creatures to life on paper.

Time flew by as James worked through the pages, his focus unwavering. When he finally reached the last question, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. The room was filled with the sound of pens scratching paper, some students clearly struggling with the breadth of the topics.

He glanced over his answers, revisiting each section with a critical eye. Small corrections were made here and there—an extra detail about mana-infused crops, a polished explanation of time management techniques. James was thorough, ensuring that no part of his paper lacked depth or clarity.

As the examiner's voice cut through the room, announcing the end of the session, James placed his pen down with a sense of accomplishment. Papers were collected row by row, and James handed his in calmly, his expression betraying nothing of the quiet confidence he felt.

Looking around, he noticed a few students still slumped in their chairs, defeated by the challenge. Others seemed indifferent, already chatting with their neighbors. For James, however, this was more than just an exam—it was another step toward his goal, another opportunity to prove his worth in a world that had yet to see his potential.