Chapter 2: The Weight of Mediocrity

The false villain had taken his first steps into the arena. And he would play his part perfectly, waiting for the one moment, the one loophole, that would allow him to tear the whole stage down.

That moment was not today. Today, he had to survive Magic Fundamentals I.

The classroom looked like something stolen from a cathedral—tall windows spilling light across neat rows of desks, an enchanted crystal the size of a boulder mounted at the front. It pulsed faintly, colors shifting like oil on water. Students whispered to one another, some in awe, others in thinly veiled anxiety.

Lucien slid into his seat near the back. A few eyes flicked toward him—some wary, some openly judgmental. The name Rennehart carried weight, and none of it good.

“Alright, settle down.” The professor, a lean man with a sharp mustache, rapped his cane against the stone. “We begin with mana evaluation. This crystal will gauge your innate capacity. Nothing more, nothing less. You’ll each step forward, place your hand upon it, and channel.”

Whispers rose. Some students looked eager, others pale. Lucien? He kept his face as flat as stone.

[Reminder: Maintaining mediocrity is required. Overperformance will trigger penalties.]

“Yes, yes,” he muttered under his breath, ignoring the glance from the boy seated next to him. “Wouldn’t want to break your precious toy by accident.”

Golden hair slicked back, chin high, grin smug—he strutted up like the whole room was his stage. The crystal blazed bright, flooding the chamber in golden light. Students gasped. Roland smirked and, just for good measure, flicked a glance at Seraphina.

“Impressive,” the professor admitted, scribbling notes.

Roland turned back to the class with a look that said, Yes, I’m incredible, feel free to kneel.

Lucien leaned back. Peacocks always strut hardest before they get plucked.

When she stepped forward, the room shifted. Confidence rolled off her with each step, her fiery hair catching the sunlight like living flame. She placed her hand on the crystal, and soft, controlled firelight spilled across the room—warm, unwavering, proud.

It wasn’t the brightness that stunned them. It was the steadiness.

“Exceptional control,” the professor murmured with approval.

Lucien’s lips twitched. Flames that don’t burn, pride that doesn’t waver. Poster girl material, through and through.

The gorilla in uniform practically jogged up. He slammed his hand onto the crystal, and the thing practically screamed with light before a sharp crack split across its surface.

“—ah, oops.” Marcus scratched the back of his head, grinning. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

The professor pinched his nose. “Sit down, Mr. Drake.”

Lucien sighed. Brains of a rock. Power of a landslide. Predictable.

Poise incarnate. Platinum hair, posture perfect, words slow and calculated. Her touch drew forth an elegant azure glow, refined and dignified.

“Flawless,” the professor praised.

Elise inclined her head with practiced grace.

Lucien smirked faintly. Careful, princess. Keep speaking like that and people might think you’re campaigning for office.

The so-called protagonist. He looked utterly average, dark hair, modest uniform. No one spared him a second glance. But when his hand touched the crystal—

It glowed. Not blinding, not cracking, just… balanced. Too balanced. Like every strand of his mana lined up perfectly, humming in quiet harmony.

Lucien’s brow twitched. And there it is. The ‘ordinary boy’ the universe bends over backwards for. Of course.

The rest blurred together in Lucien’s sharp observations:

Clara Weiss, soft curls and gentle aura, weak numbers but praised for rare healing affinity. A fragile glass—expensive, delicate, and impossible to ignore.

Dorian Holt, muttering formulas under his breath, fumbled so badly he nearly tripped. The brainiac archetype. Heroes collect these like shiny coins.

Iris Veyra, sly grin, treated it like a performance, adding unnecessary flourishes until the professor barked her name. A jester with knives hidden in her sleeves.

Kael Avaris, stoic knightly posture, efficient, precise, boring. A blade disguised as a boy.

Selene Duskmoor, pale and unsettling, her reading flickered unpredictably before stabilizing. Great. A mystery box. Because this class wasn’t complicated enough already.

Then, finally—

Every eye turned. The whispers swelled. That’s him. The Rennehart heir.

He stepped forward, calm, detached. The crystal loomed before him, pulsing like a heartbeat. He placed his hand against it, willing his ocean of power down, down, down—

The crystal lit too bright. A warning flashed.

[Penalty Imminent.]

Pain stabbed behind his eyes, sharp and blinding. He clenched his jaw, forcing the magic down further, strangling it into submission. The glow dimmed, sputtered, until it barely matched Adrian’s balanced flicker.

Then the pain lanced again, leaving him staggered, breath ragged.

[Penalty Applied: Neural Shock. Reminder—Deviation from mediocrity will increase difficulty of subsequent arcs.]

The professor frowned. “...Acceptable.”

Murmurs spread through the class.

“Isn’t he supposed to be some genius?”
“That’s it? I expected more from a Rennehart.”
“Pathetic.”

Roland smirked. Seraphina’s eyes slid over him once, cold and dismissive, before moving on.

Lucien turned away, face unreadable. Inside, he wanted to laugh. Day one, and mediocrity already feels like a death sentence.

He returned to his seat, leaning back as the professor droned on. His silver eyes flicked over the gathered cast. The pieces were all here, in place. Heroes, rivals, allies, enemies.

And him—the false villain, the strongest of them all, hiding in plain sight.

The professor dismissed them with a sharp rap of his cane. “That concludes today’s evaluation. Results will be compiled and posted tomorrow. Class dismissed.”

Chairs scraped, chatter rose. Students gathered in clusters—praising each other, boasting, gossiping. And, inevitably, the spotlight drifted toward Lucien.

“Pfft. That’s the mighty Rennehart?” Roland’s voice carried across the room like a trumpet. “I thought he’d at least try to impress us. Or maybe that was his best?”

A few students chuckled nervously. Others nodded. The infamous Lucien Rennehart, reduced to average.

Lucien stifled a yawn, stretching as though Roland’s words were background noise. “Sorry, were you talking to me? I thought peacocks only squawk when someone steps on their tail.”

Roland’s face reddened. “You—!”

But Seraphina’s voice cut through, calm, sharp as steel. “Enough.”

The room quieted. She stood with effortless authority, fiery hair catching the light, gaze fixed on neither of them but heavy all the same. “Boasting over numbers means little. In real combat, only discipline matters.”

Roland’s jaw clenched. He muttered something under his breath and stalked toward the door, golden hair flashing. His entourage scrambled after him.

Lucien watched him go, amused. And there it is—the heroine keeping order. Predictable as sunrise.

“...You handled that well.”

Lucien blinked. The voice belonged to Adrian Cross—the so-called protagonist. The boy stood there, scratching his cheek awkwardly, his tone more genuine than mocking.

Handled what? The humiliation? The insults?

Lucien tilted his head. “I didn’t handle anything. I let the peacock scream, and the knightess shush him. Efficiency at its finest.”

Adrian chuckled lightly, then gave a small nod. “Still. You didn’t rise to it. That was… surprising.”

Lucien studied him. There was no mockery in Adrian’s eyes, only a straightforward earnestness that almost made him nauseous.

“Surprising,” Lucien said flatly, “isn’t always a compliment.”

Adrian blinked, then smiled faintly anyway before moving off to join Marcus and Dorian.

Lucien exhaled, slouching against his chair. His head still throbbed faintly from the System’s punishment, a cruel reminder that this game wasn’t his to win on brute force alone.

One by one, the pieces were aligning. Heroes, rivals, allies, enemies. And him, their villain, wearing mediocrity like a noose.

He muttered under his breath, just loud enough for himself:
“Day one, and I already miss being irrelevant.”