The sun shone gently through the crystal glass of the isolation room, casting warm golden streaks across the floor. Elijah sat beside his bed, arms resting on his knees, quietly watching students laughing and playing beyond the window.
His eyes followed their movements—not with envy, but with a distant longing.
"Though I'm in isolation," Elijah murmured to himself, "every professor still comes to teach me. They didn't abandon me… but it's not the same."
He chuckled softly, thinking of one particular figure.
"Clark Renfield's class… At first, I feared him. His presence was suffocating, like a shadow looming over my shoulder. But… eventually I got used to it. Now I even miss it a little."
A lot had happened in that month of isolation. Not only had he studied magic, literature, and war history, but also the hidden, uncomfortable truths of the world. One such truth had come from professor Elbeth during a quiet lesson the day before.
"In my isolation class," Elijah recalled, "I came to know from Professor Elbeth that the Human Continent was once united. But later, due to political tension, it was divided into two major lands—the Human Continent and the Alba Continent."
The Alba Continent, has no Magus Tower. It is ruled by the King Alliance, and it operates under its own laws, governance, and even follows a different leveling system altogether.
Elijah looked through the glass, eyes distant, thoughts wandering far beyond the walls of his isolation.
"We call ourselves one race—human—but even within our kind, borders cut us like blades. Power redraws lines and truths shift depending on whose hand holds the pen. A continent without the Magus Tower… perhaps they're free, or perhaps they're simply governed by another kind of chain. What makes a law just? What makes a path right? If strength decides everything, then is justice just another word for victory?"
His fingers lightly traced the glass. "Maybe one day… I'll step onto that Alba soil and see for myself whether it is another cage—or a kind of freedom we've forgotten."
His thoughts shifted back to himself.
It had been a month since the isolation began. A full month—and yet, his essence still hadn't fully blocked. That strange delay gnawed at him. The symptoms, once violent and unpredictable, were now fading… but the uncertainty of what it meant only made things worse.
He stared at his hands. No glow. No spark. Just dull flesh.
A knock came at the door.
The air shimmered, and Principal Belbub stepped into the room with his usual serene smile. He looked less like a feared Magus Tower leader and more like an old sage visiting a sick student—no, not a student, his own beloved grandson.
"How are you feeling now?" Belbub asked, his voice calm.
Elijah nodded slowly. "Physically… fine, I guess. But mentally?" He gave a dry chuckle. "Boring. Completely boring."
Belbub laughed heartily. "Can I ask what exactly is boring about your world-class private tutoring, endless books, and a daily dose of herbal medicine that tastes like swampwater?"
Elijah cracked a faint smile. "I've been stuck in this room for a month without stepping outside. Anyone would go crazy."
"Is that so?" Belbub raised a brow. "But it's still dangerous for you to leave."
"I know," Elijah said, gazing out the window again. "Still…"
"Then perhaps," Belbub said, raising a hand, "I can bring the world to you."
With a snap of his fingers, mist gathered from the corners of the room, swirling and coalescing in midair. Slowly, it formed a large floating square—like a magical screen. Light erupted from it, and images sharpened into focus.
Beyond the glowing veil, Elijah saw students standing on a wide, open field—some mounted on hovering broomsticks, others cheering from the sidelines. Two teams had gathered—one dressed in black, the other in white.
His eyes widened. "What is this?"
"A student competition," Belbub replied with a satisfied smile. "The winning team will get the chance to participate in the Cup of Power Tournament."
Elijah leaned forward, his heart suddenly racing. The white team caught his attention immediately.
"Is that… Ayn? And Anna? Sylphira—wait, even Daud and Drake?"
He spotted them—his four close friends, standing confidently in white uniforms, preparing for the match.
"They didn't tell me about this…"
"They wanted to surprise you," Belbub said, watching Elijah's stunned face.
As the match began, Elijah found himself completely captivated.
The players soared through the sky, diving and weaving through the clouds with broomsticks trailing colored ribbons. Their goal was clear: catch the golden bird—a fast, magical creature darting through the sky like lightning.
It wasn't just a game. It was combat, strategy, flight, and magic—all woven into one exhilarating event.
The black and white teams clashed in the sky. Students conjured small barriers, used elemental puffs to gain altitude, and performed mid-air acrobatics to chase the golden bird. Each failed attempt to catch it brought gasps from the crowd—and from Elijah.
His heart pounded. He forgot the room, the isolation, the essence, even the pain. He was with them, in spirit, cheering his friends.
Ayn narrowly missed the bird with a desperate lunge. Anna shouted commands to coordinate the team. Sylphira shielded Daud with a wind spell just as a black team member tried to intercept him.
Then, the bird shot upward—its wings a flash of gold against the sky.
"Come on… come on!" Elijah whispered, hands clenched.
Time slowed.
Daud rocketed upward, eyes locked on the bird. He leapt from the broom in a wild, reckless move—catching the golden creature mid-air before tumbling back down. A spell caught him just before he hit the ground.
The field erupted in cheers. The white team had won.
"YES!!" Elijah screamed, springing to his feet. "YES! DAUD DID IT!!"
He clapped, laughed, and even punched the air with joy.
On the screen, the white team surrounded Daud, lifting him into the air in celebration.
Belbub simply watched the boy beside him, smiling softly.
"Sometimes," he said gently, "a little happiness is better medicine than any potion."
Elijah didn't reply. His eyes shimmered—not with sadness, but with something warm, like hope. For the first time in weeks, he didn't feel alone.