How I go to school

Years pass, not with grand battles or glorious speeches like Arthur first imagined - but with long mornings, quiet breathing, and the sound of Mike’s chalks clacking against stone.

Arthur has grown taller, his back straighter and his eyes clearer, but the boy beneath the skin was still very much himself. He still spoke with the strange pauses of someone who once had no voice, and he still lit up like a child every time a new task from Mike is finished.

Today, when Arthur was still practicing to change his state to see mana when Mike walked in holding two sealed envelopes: one large, gilded, and formal; one slim and plain.

He dropped the gilded one in Arthur’s lap like a challenge, while Mike proclaims the other one.

“As the seventh hundred seventy-seventh hero, you are required to come to Hero Academy as a student.”

Arthur stares at the envelope like it just whispered a prophecy. His fingers hover over the seal, trembling - not from fear, but more like the thrill that only comes when your childhood dreams suddenly have a destination.

“Hero Academy…” he murmurs.

His eyes brighten like fire.

“I knew it! A secret school in the capital! Magical artifacts! Duels at sunrise! Cafeteria battles! Mysterious transfer students!”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “It’s a state-run institution with a magic curriculum and military oversight.”

“A school that provides heroes for the kingdom? That’s even better! Would it be to find the chosen one! Or would it be to train people that are on par with me!”

Mike sighs, rubbing his temples. “You’re officially registered as the seventy seventh hero, which is not a secret, people just don’t know your face. And no, almost everyone is way above your level.”

Arthur doesn’t even blink. “That’s exactly what they’d say to the chosen one before the reveal.”

“You’re exhausting.”

“You’re coming with me, right?” Arthur stops mid-spin.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Mike tosses the plain second envelope onto the table. “I am your supervisor from birth until graduation.”

The journey begins two days later.

The road to Tanerag meanders like an old tale: through sleepy hills, across gentle rivers, past farms and forests with the smell of damp leaves and morning bread. The weather is gentle, with stunning sunlight across the hills and occasional misting rains

Arthur goes with his eyes wide open, devouring every corner of the landscape. He tries to name the trees that they pass, waves at all unique creatures and asks Mike questions that can give anyone a headache. Whenever they arrive at a waystation, Arthur would run ahead in the wind with arms outstretched like wings, as if he is making up for every step he missed in the previous life.

Mike walks beside him, staff tapping lightly against the road, cloak fluttering just enough to be dramatic. He narrates their journey with mock grandeur and endless creativity. He once declared a rock as an “ancient stoic being” - Arthur actually fell for it and gave some food to tall stones in a palace.

By the time they see the outer walls of Tanerag, a long, winding line of teenagers appears. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, stretching along the outer district road like a human river. Each face carries something different: excitement, nervousness, confidence.

“These people are here to be considered,” Mike says, nodding toward the crowd. “Every generation, just two to five people are chosen for the Hero Party, including the traditional royalty.”

Arthur stares, caught between the thrum of excitement and a feeling that’s hard to name. “So it’s like a competition?”

“It is,” Mike says, stroking an imaginary beard. “Back in my day, the chosen one simply observed while others scrambled. But after the sixty-fifth ran when facing skalls, the rules changed. Now, the chosen one must prove themselves as the hero.”

“Just as expected, a worthy competition to raise my reputation. This will be my first step to save the world,” Arthur says with a confident voice, but he can’t stop sweating.

“No, your first step is to get inside the capital alone, as I already have the passport,” Mike says, then heads to the gate with a superior grin as he surveys the never-ending queue.

Arthur slips into the line like a single drop merging with a river. The stone walls of Tanerag loom in the distance, vast and quiet, casting long shadows across the road. Around him, the crowd buzzes with soft chatter, boots shuffling, bags rustling - the sound of hundreds holding their breath.

Arthur grips his envelope like it might fly away if he lets go.

He adjusts his posture, tries to look confident.

But his heart is pounding like it used to when he watched superhero finales.

“This is it,” he whispers. “Opening theme starts now.”