Monday — Spellcasting Theory Css

  A new week dawned, dragging with it the reluctant shuffle of first-year students into the lecture hall.

  The room was a swirl of low chatter and scattered ughter. Small groups huddled around desks, catching up after the weekend with the energy only first-years could muster on a Monday morning.

  “…and I swear, she actually touched the dragon’s tooth. Her dad’s in the city guard, so she got a spot right up front!”

  “No way! Did she cry?”

  “No, I almost cried! It was huge!”

  “I didn’t even get to see it! My brothers dragged me out to help at the stall… missed the whole thing.”

  Further down the row, another conversation veered into less exciting territory.

  “Wait, you finished the History homework? What was the st question even asking?”

  “Something about the founding of the Defense Pact—I think. I just made it sound smart and hoped for the best.”

  “Ugh. I hate that css.”

  Meanwhile, Ethan was in his own quiet world, face down on his desk, half-dozing. His arms served as a makeshift pillow as his body begged for more rest.

  He was exhausted.

  Sunday had been consumed entirely by his attempts to cast Dark Sonar, the second-grade spell Lilith had introduced to him. Over a hundred runes, with enough twists and branches to resemble a maze more than a formu. At first, he’d made progress. Then… nothing. He hit a wall, and no amount of repetition seemed to help.

  He’d gone to bed past midnight, runes still dancing behind his eyelids.

  “Hey, Ethan,” Oliver’s voice cut through the background murmur, accompanied by a poke to his shoulder. “Wake up. He’s here.”

  Ethan blinked groggily, lifting his head just as the cssroom door opened.

  Their Spellcasting Theory professor strolled in with his usual chipper energy, a rolled parchment under one arm and chalk already in hand.

  “Good morning, everyone!” he called out brightly, waiting only a moment for the noise to die down. “I hope you all enjoyed the parade—plenty of fire, fir, and spectacle to recharge your mana for the week ahead!”

  There were a few chuckles, and one student loudly muttered, “Quite the opposite! It discharged my legs, alright. I stood up for over seven hours and now I can't stand anymore!”

  The professor let out a hearty ugh. “A fair trade, I’d say! Mana recharged, legs discharged—it all bances out in the end.”

  A few more students chuckled, some nodding in agreement, others groaning in shared pain. The atmosphere in the room lightened as the professor turned toward the board, already drawing out the first diagram of the day.

  “Well, luckily you won't need to stand in my css! Now, back to business! Today, we’re diving into sub-routines—a key concept for spellcasters looking to handle longer or more complex incantations.”

  He gave the room a beat to settle before continuing.

  “Up until now, we’ve dealt with spells that follow a single, linear path—from start to finish, one command at a time. But that’s not how most high-grade spells work. At a certain point, you’ll want your spell to do two or more things at once—and that’s where sub-routines come in.”

  He turned and began sketching a string of runes on the board. The chalk scratched quickly as a familiar water spell took form.

  “This is a standard Water Jet. Basic spell. It sprays a stream of water in a fixed direction once activated. But let’s say you want the stream to follow a moving target. What do you do?”

  He added a few new runes to the diagram, then circled them.

  “If you just tack on some directional runes like this, the spell will calcute its path once—right when you cast it. If the target moves, too bad. It’ll keep going the way it started.”

  Then he drew a branch off to the side—a second trail of runes running parallel to the main line.

  “Instead, we add a sub-routine—a set of runes that loop while the spell is active. In this case, we make it recalcute the target’s position repeatedly. That way, the jet constantly adjusts its aim.”

  The css was visibly intrigued. Ethan sat up straighter, already connecting the dots.

  “Let’s try another example,” the professor said, flipping to the other side of the board. “Here’s a Fireball spell. These runes tell it to explode on impact. But what if you want it to explode just before hitting the target—like a timed burst or to scatter fragments?”

  He wrote a new cluster of runes, branching again from the core line.

  “That’s where another sub-routine comes in. This one monitors distance to the target and activates the explosion rune once the proximity condition is met.”

  A few students murmured in realization, and Ethan leaned forward, mind spinning with the implications.

  That expins it…

  He recalled the Dark Sonar spell in Lilith’s book. The maze-like branching paths. He had assumed they had a reason to be written like that, but he didn't know why. Now it was obvious—they were sub-routines. Functions working independently from the main flow, responding to specific conditions or looped behaviors.

  Looking back, Ethan could now identify patterns among the runes he’d struggled with. Some that repeated in short loops—probably signal checks. Others that extended outward from a trigger—activation conditions. Some that responded only to internal spell states, like mana level or contact with Miasma.

  He clenched his fist under the desk, a small fire of hope rekindled.

  This still doesn’t help me cast it any faster… he admitted to himself. But at least now I understand why it’s so complex. That’s a start.

  Professor Lucian paced slowly in front of the board, rune diagrams still glowing faintly across the surface from his earlier demonstrations.

  “And that,” he concluded, tapping his chalk against the final branching diagram, “is the foundation of sub-routines in spellcasting. Whether you're controlling timing, target tracking, or condition-based effects—this is how you make your spells do more than one thing at a time.”

  A few students scribbled hurried notes, trying to catch up.

  “Don’t worry,” Professor Lucian said with a warm grin, “I’ve prepared over a hundred exercises for you to practice. For now, just make sure you understand the logic. We’ll start hands-on application next week.”

  Just then, the chime rang out.

  “Alright—dismissed!”

  The cssroom erupted with the usual post-css energy. Students stood, stretching and chatting, the scraping of chairs and rustle of books filling the air. Ethan exhaled, leaning back in his seat. He’d stayed surprisingly focused despite his fatigue, even managing to take better notes than usual.

  As he packed up, ready to finally head to lunch, a strange sensation crept down his neck.

  He looked up—and froze.

  Near the cssroom exit, Celica and Anya were gring in his direction like two executioners about to deliver judgment. Misha stood between them, looking down at her shoes, a little red in the cheeks. It was a trio of emotions: wrath, fire, and quiet confusion.

  Ethan blinked.

  Oh no.

  He gnced at the door, considered escape—but no. It wouldn’t work. He’d just be hunted down ter.

  “I’m going ahead,” he muttered to Oliver and Daniel as he stood.

  They barely had time to ask “Why?” before he was walking toward his fate.

  He offered the girls a light smile. “Good morning, girls. Hope you had a nice—”

  “You’ve got NERVE showing your face like that!” Celica’s voice rang through the cssroom like a whipcrack.

  Half the students turned instantly, conversations stopping mid-sentence.

  “What kind of guy leaves a girl alone after that and doesn’t even say goodbye!?” Anya added with just as much volume, her finger pointed directly at Ethan’s nose.

  Murmurs spread through the room like wildfire.

  “Wait, what happened?” “Did Ethan really…?” “Alone? After what!?”

  Ethan’s soul briefly left his body.

  “Can we… not do this here?” he asked, his voice tight. “Please?”

  Celica rolled her eyes, but Anya huffed and nodded. “Fine. Outside. Now.”

  Ethan followed them in silence as they stepped out into the hallway. The moment the cssroom door closed behind them, Celica rounded on him again.

  “Well? Care to expin yourself?”

  Ethan held up both hands. “Okay, first of all, I did leave a note. It was on the table next to the bed.”

  Misha blinked. “I didn’t see it…”

  “It might’ve fallen off,” Ethan guessed. “I left early for css. I didn’t want to wake you—you looked really peaceful, so I figured…”

  Anya frowned, arms crossed. “So you did just vanish.”

  “Yes,” Ethan admitted. “But I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”

  Celica and Anya exchanged gnces, their anger cooling a degree.

  Misha finally looked up at him. “…Did you really kiss my forehead before you left?”

  Ethan rubbed his neck, face growing warm. “W-were you awake!? Yeah... I wanted to say goodbye without disturbing you.”

  Misha’s face flushed even deeper, her fingers twisting together. "I thought it was a dream..."

  Celica groaned, turning away. “Ugh, these two.”

  Anya sighed, exasperated. “Hopeless.”

  But the worst of it had passed. The four of them walked slowly down the hall together, the air no longer tense—just a bit awkward, and maybe even a little warmer.

  As the four approached the canteen Anya suddenly reached for Celica’s wrist. “Come on, I need your help for a bit,” she said casually.

  “Wait, what?” Celica blinked in confusion, but Anya didn’t give her time to protest.

  “You two go ahead,” Anya added quickly, gncing at Misha and Ethan with a suspiciously knowing smile before dragging Celica off down the corridor.

  Ethan exhaled softly through his nose. Yeah… that was definitely intentional.

  He turned to Misha, who was still watching her friends disappear, and quietly slipped his arm around her waist.

  “H-Hey, what are you—?” she began, eyes wide.

  Ethan pressed a finger gently against her lips, signaling for silence, then tugged her with him around the corner of the building. It was a quiet little space out of sight from prying eyes. He scanned the area once, making sure they were alone, before finally rexing.

  “Alright…” he said with a grin. “How far exactly did you tell them?”

  Misha’s face turned pink. “Th-that’s—I… I told them about our date,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “And?” Ethan tilted her chin up so her eyes met his.

  “I told them… about our kiss,” she admitted, gncing away.

  “And?” he asked again, his voice teasing.

  Misha’s cheeks grew redder. “A-and that you helped me with my mana circution…”

  Ethan raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction. “Anything else?”

  “I… I just told them we slept in separate beds. A-and that when I woke up, you were gone…”

  Ethan blinked, then grinned. “So they don’t know the full story?”

  “N-no…”

  “Good girl,” he said, leaning in to kiss her gently on the forehead.

  Misha looked back up at him, eyes soft and glowing, and he met her lips this time, the kiss warm and familiar.

  “Don’t tell them anything else,” he whispered. “It’s better for both of us.”

  Misha nodded once, then kissed him again—this time, she was the one to close the distance.

  Ethan chuckled softly when they parted. “Now come on. We should go before they come looking.”

  Misha clung to his sleeve. “Just a little longer…”

  He sighed, wrapping his arms around her and giving in. “Alright. Just a little longer.”

  But before long, the sound of footsteps echoed from around the building. They pulled apart quickly, smoothing out their uniforms and trying to look casual.

  Ethan offered his hand with a smile that didn’t quite match the flush in his cheeks.

  “Shall we?”

  Misha took his hand with a reluctant pout. “Let’s…”

  Evening had settled in by the time Geography css ended. The golden glow of sunset poured through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the desks. Ethan packed his things slowly, stretching out the stiffness in his arms. He was just about to sling his backpack over his shoulder when a ripple of excitement spread through the cssroom.

  Girls near the door squealed and whispered among themselves.

  “Is that…?”

  “Oh my gods—it’s him!”

  Ethan looked up and, sure enough, Christopher Lightwatch stood in the doorway, pristine as always, golden hair catching the light like a halo. His deep blue eyes swept the room, unbothered by the attention.

  “Daniel,” Christopher called, nodding once in greeting. “We need to go.”

  Ethan and Daniel approached him, curious. “Something going on?” Ethan asked.

  Christopher nodded. “Change of pns for today’s training. A third-year team approached me earlier. They proposed a joint sparring session—team versus team. I accepted.”

  Daniel perked up immediately. “Wait, really? A real match?”

  “A controlled spar,” Christopher crified, “but yes. A proper test.”

  Ethan blinked, then smirked. “Sounds like a great show. Mind if I tag along?”

  Christopher raised an eyebrow, considering. “You want to watch?”

  “Yeah,” Ethan shrugged. “I’m curious. Plus, someone has to cheer for you when things get ugly.”

  Christopher allowed the smallest smile. “Fine. You can come.”

  Ethan grinned. “Cool. Oh—can I bring a few friends?”

  That made Christopher pause. “Friends?”

  “No more than four,” Ethan said quickly. “We’ll keep quiet. Swear.”

  Christopher exhaled through his nose. “You’re lucky I owe you. Fine. Consider this debt repaid.”

  “Deal,” Ethan said, already turning back. “I’ll grab them now.”

  A few minutes ter, the arena stands had gathered a modest but steadily growing crowd. Ethan sat with Oliver, Misha, Anya, and Celica, all clustered near the railing with an unobstructed view of the training ptform below. The soft glow of evening light spilled over the battleground, giving everything a quiet, golden tension.

  “So… are we really about to watch first years spar against third years?” Oliver asked, his voice somewhere between awe and disbelief.

  “It sounds insane when you say it like that,” Ethan muttered.

  “Because it is,” Anya added, brows raised. “Even second years would be a tall order. A single year at this Academy gives you an insane leap in power. I mean—look at spellcasting. We’re just starting to get a grip on first-grade spells.”

  “Right?” Misha nodded. “Meanwhile second years are already working on second and even third-grade spells. And third years?” She looked out at the ptform, a flicker of nerves in her voice. “They can cast third-grade spells without breaking a sweat… and some even risk trying fourth-grade spells.”

  “And don’t get me started on martial skills,” Celica added. “Lord Christopher may be the exception but I doubt anybody else in our team can compete against them!”

  Ethan folded his arms. “Yeah. Fighting third years head-on is like a squirrel trying to box a lion… unless you add some bancing rules.”

  “Which they probably will,” Oliver said. “I mean, they have to, right? Otherwise it wouldn’t be a spar. It’d be a massacre.”

  Anya’s eyes scanned the central ptform. “Still. The fact that Christopher’s team even dared to challenge them…”

  Celica let out a quiet breath. “That’s what makes him different.”

  Other students were beginning to fill the surrounding benches. A few third years had taken seats higher up—likely there to cheer on their friends or size up Christopher’s team. A handful of second years remained as well, some lingering after their own training to watch the madness unfold. The low buzz of conversation hinted that this was already becoming the talk of the hour.

  Oliver leaned closer to Ethan and grinned. “You’ve got a talent for dragging us into the craziest situations.”

  Ethan shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “If you think it’s crazy, you can always just say no.”

  Oliver ughed. “And miss the battle of the century? Not a chance.”

  “Then stop whining and enjoy the show,” Ethan said, nudging him with his elbow.

  The others chuckled as the atmosphere in the arena buzzed with growing anticipation. Then, a hush began to settle over the spectators as someone familiar stepped out onto the training floor...