Thursday, noon.

  Ethan and Oliver were quietly eating while jotting down notes for their History homework when Daniel came storming into the canteen, his expression lit up like someone who’d just found a treasure chest.

  “Yo guys! Have you heard the news!?” he blurted out, practically skidding to a stop in front of his two friends.

  Ethan barely lifted his eyes from his book. “Hm?”

  Oliver didn’t even bother looking up. “What now?”

  Daniel plopped down across from them with dramatic fir. “The Principal’s back!”

  Ethan and Oliver exchanged a gnce.

  “…Okay?” Ethan said ftly.

  “So?” Oliver added, already turning a page.

  Daniel looked between the two of them as if they’d just insulted his ancestors. “What do you mean ‘so’? It’s Garrick Thorne! You know—The S-rank adventurer Garrick Thorne! That guy is part of so many tales that even a dozen books wouldn't be able to cover it all!”

  “Why should we care?” Ethan muttered.

  Daniel leaned in with wide eyes. “There’s gonna be a parade! This weekend! Right in the pza! They’re going to show off the dragon he killed to everyone.”

  Oliver shrugged. “Sound like my family will make a ton of money again.”

  Daniel filed in frustration. “Why are you guys like this!? Where’s your sense of adventure? Of awe? That man is a living legend!”

  Ethan tapped his quill against the table. “My sense of awe is currently buried under this mountain of homework. Speaking of which—” He gave Daniel a side gnce. “Have you finished your History essay yet?”

  “I, uh—” Daniel paused, suddenly looking far less legendary himself.

  “If you really want to enjoy the parade,” Ethan offered, “I could write it for you.”

  Daniel lit up. “Seriously!? Man, I owe you one—”

  “For a price, of course!” Ethan added, not missing a beat. “100 silver for a C, 150 for a B, 200 if you want me to do my best.”

  Daniel clutched his chest. “You heartless goblin.”

  “Business is business.” Ethan smirked.

  Oliver chuckled over his spoon. “Better cough it up or start writing like me.”

  Daniel colpsed onto the table with a groan. “This school is evil.”

  Ethan grinned. “Nah. You’re just zy.”

  The Math css passed without incident, smooth and uneventful—just the way Ethan preferred it.

  Then came Monster Biology.

  The professor entered with his usual enthusiasm, cpping his hands to gather attention. “Books away, everyone! You won’t need them today.”

  A low wave of murmurs passed through the room as students exchanged curious gnces.

  “Today,” the professor said, gesturing dramatically toward the board, “we’ll be talking about dragons!”

  That got the css buzzing.

  “Since you’ll be seeing one up close this weekend, I figured it’s best if you know what you’re looking at.”

  He pulled down a rge map and pointed at the Central Mountains. “As you all know, our country has dragons residing in this range. These are Wind Dragons, and they’re the most common in our region. But there are others out there.”

  He tapped different parts of the map as he spoke. “The northern deserts? Earth Dragons. Aurora Vulcan? That’s where Fire Dragons are rumored to live. The Elven Forests? Home to Forest Dragons.”

  A hand shot up. “What about Light and Dark Dragons?” someone asked.

  The professor nodded. “Good question. Light Dragons are said to dwell in the southern ice fields—extremely rare and elusive. As for Dark Dragons…” He paused. “They’ve supposedly been extinct for centuries. No sightings, no corpses, no records. Whether they’re truly gone or just hiding, nobody knows.”

  Another student chimed in, “What about Water Dragons?”

  “Ah! Water Dragons,” the professor said, snapping his fingers. “Live in the deep ocean. Hard to study, extremely dangerous, and technically not true dragons, since they don’t possess a Dragon Heart. But don’t let that fool you—they’re just as deadly. If you’re not an A-rank with a solid party, don’t even think about fighting one.”

  The next question came from the back of the room. “What about Ancient Dragons?”

  For a moment, the professor actually fell silent. His usual energy quieted, his expression tightening into something almost respectful.

  “Ancient Dragons…” he said slowly, as if the very words carried weight. “They’re not beasts. They’re beings beyond our understanding. Some call them gods. Others, forces of nature. What’s certain is—they are not to be trifled with.”

  The css was still.

  “Their lifespans are unknown—likely infinite. No one knows if they have Dragon Hearts. Why? Because no one has ever managed to kill one. Hunting them isn’t just illegal—it’s suicidal. There are records, over a dozen of them, of entire kingdoms wiped off the map after offending just one. And these weren’t tiny border towns either—major powers, gone in days.”

  His grin returned, though it was edged with something more somber.“Fortunately, they’re not hostile—at least, not unless you trespass into their territory. As long as we respect their Sanctuaries, they don’t bother us. It’s believed they feed on pure mana itself. And their intelligence? Unmatched. They speak through magic, wield spells with casual ease, and their mana reserves…” He chuckled. “Well, ‘infinite’ might actually be underselling it.”

  A few students exchanged wide-eyed gnces.

  “There are many stories—travelers meeting an Ancient Dragon and trading priceless artifacts for lost knowledge. Sounds like fantasy, right?” He leaned forward. “But we do have evidence. For example, some of the core runes used in modern teleportation magic are traced directly back to draconic origin. So next time you hear a legend, maybe… just maybe, that legend isn't just some made up story of a drunken bard.”

  He straightened, cpping his hands once.“Now, that said—don’t get your hopes up. Most of you will never even see one. So let’s get back to what actually matters.”

  He turned to the board.

  “Wind Dragons. These are much more likely to kill you.”

  He turned back to the map. “Wind Dragons are typically between five and twenty meters long. The really old ones can hit thirty, but they rarely leave their mountain territories. The real troublemakers are the young ones—between five to ten meters. That’s when they go off on their own to establish new nests, and if they choose nd near a vilge or town, that’s a problem.”

  The room quieted as the implication set in.

  “That’s what happened this time. One of these young dragons flew out of the mountains and started causing trouble. And that’s why the Principal, Garrick Thorne, was called in.”

  Ethan sat up straighter. Even he couldn’t deny the gravity of it.

  Ethan raised his hand, his expression uncharacteristically serious.“Professor… were there any casualties during the hunt?”

  The room quieted as everyone turned their eyes toward the front.

  The professor’s cheerful tone dulled. He let out a long breath before replying.“…Yes. Unfortunately, there were.” He paused a moment, as if debating whether to say more. “An entire vilge was wiped out. Only a few survivors lived to tell the tale.”

  Gasps and murmurs rippled through the cssroom.

  Ethan’s throat tightened. “Do… do we know the name of the vilge?”

  The professor gave a quiet nod. “It was called Thaler’s Ridge. Small pce, built near the base of the southwestern cliffs. I doubt any of you have heard of it.”

  And he was right—no one in the room reacted to the name. Ethan’s chest loosened just a little. It wasn’t his hometown. It wasn’t any of the three they’d studied st month either. He sank back into his seat, relief washing over him like a wave, though the lingering sense of tragedy remained.

  The professor picked up again, shifting gears as if the conversation about Ancient Dragons had never happened.

  “Now, as I was saying—Wind Dragons. Contrary to what some bard songs may tell you, they’re not man-eaters by nature. Their typical diet consists of rge birds, wolves, and livestock—especially sheep. Human settlements only draw their attention when they’re too close to a dragon’s nesting site. And even then, it’s not hunger that drives the attack—it’s territorial instinct.”

  He turned and tapped a chalk diagram on the board that vaguely resembled a mountain with concentric rings drawn around it.

  “When a young dragon reaches 20~30 years of age, they leave their parents’ nest and begin searching for a location to call their own. They favor isoted, elevated pces—mountain peaks, cliffside caves, even deep ravines in some cases. Once they choose a spot, the real work begins.”

  “Real work?” someone echoed.

  “Yes,” the professor continued with a grin. “They actively hunt down and drive away any potential threats or predators within roughly a hundred-kilometer radius. That includes wolves, trolls, orcs, goblins, manticores—yes, even humans. To them, we’re just another creature that might pose a danger to their future offspring. They’re not being cruel. They’re being cautious.”

  He paced slowly, tapping his chin. “After establishing their territory, they begin to hunt more regurly within it and the surrounding regions. At the same time, they begin searching for a mate. If they manage to find one—and this doesn’t happen often—they’ll settle permanently in that territory and remain there for the rest of their lives.”

  He paused dramatically. “But…”

  The css leaned in.

  “In the far more common case where they fail to find a partner, they will eventually, around their 60th~70th year, abandon the territory and return to the nest of their birth.”

  There was a pause, followed by a confused voice from the back.“Wait… you mean—?”

  “They’re beasts,” the professor said pinly, crossing his arms. “They don’t share our moral code, our customs, or even our biological boundaries. Inbreeding? Perfectly normal for dragons. Their species has no taboo against it, and their genetics—at least as far as we can tell—don’t suffer from it either.”

  A collective shiver rippled through the css, and someone muttered, “That’s messed up…”

  “Yes, well,” the professor said dryly, “welcome to the animal kingdom. Dragons may be intelligent, but they’re still beasts at heart. Don’t make the mistake of projecting human values onto them.”

  The professor paced slowly in front of the map, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor.

  “Now, let’s talk about hunting.”

  His tone had shifted—less lecture, more warning.

  “As I already said, Wind Dragons are clever. Smarter than you think. They know how to identify traps, how to assess threats. If something looks suspicious, or if they feel the odds are against them, they retreat. Instinct over pride. They’re not like trolls or ogres—they don’t throw themselves into unwinnable fights.”

  He raised one hand and twirled his fingers, mimicking a spiraling gust of air. “They use Wind Magic to boost their flight, letting them hover, dive, stop mid-air—maneuver with terrifying precision. They can create cutting bdes of wind, bst gusts strong enough to knock you off your feet, even generate shields to deflect incoming attacks. Think of them as airborne spellcasters with cws.”

  A few students shifted in their seats.

  “And yes,” he continued, “they can breathe fire. But they rarely do. Fire breath disables their ability to fly for a short while. That’s why they only use it when desperate. If you see a Wind Dragon breathing fire, it means they’re backed into a corner. And that’s when they’re most dangerous.”

  Ethan’s hand twitched again, almost rising to ask something, but he stopped himself. He was too focused to interrupt.

  “The best time to strike is when they’re asleep in their nest,” the professor said, dropping his voice slightly, as if imparting a secret. “You ground them by damaging the wings first—cut off their ability to escape. Then, and only then, you surround them. Aim for the neck.”

  He moved to the side of the board and tapped a diagram pinned there—an annotated drawing of a Wind Dragon’s anatomy.

  “Don’t bother aiming for the head—the skull’s denser than enchanted steel. Same goes for the cws. The belly’s softer, sure, but unless you’re attacking from range, you risk being crushed. It’s happened. Too many times.”

  There were murmurs now, a ripple of unease across the css.

  “And don’t forget their magic resistance,” the professor added. “Anything below a Grade Five spell won’t do a thing. Stronger spells might get through, but the damage will be reduced. Plus, they can use basic healing magic. No, they can’t regrow wings or reset bones, but they can stop bleeding, close wounds, and drag the fight out longer than you’d ever want.”

  He straightened up and looked at the css—serious now. Measured.

  “In short—Wind Dragons are a nightmare. A flying, spellcasting, deadly nightmare. Most of you will never face one in your entire lives. And that’s a good thing. But knowledge is survival.”

  He paused.

  “If you ever do see one—don’t be brave. Be smart. Be quick. And above all…”

  A long pause.

  “Don’t try to be a hero.”

  Silence reigned. Even the talkative students had nothing to add.

  Ethan stared at the dragon diagram, the professor’s words etched into his mind like the runes in a spellbook.

  Even if he never saw a dragon again… he had a feeling this knowledge would matter one day.

  "You know what, maybe taking a look at this dragon wouldn't be a bad idea..." Ethan considered while looking through the window.

  As the css wrapped up, Ethan packed his materials and stretched, ready to head back to the dorms for a little rest. The moment he stepped through the cssroom door, though, he nearly collided with a familiar trio waiting outside.

  Misha stood at the center, fnked on either side by her ever-reliable friends, Anya and Celica. Ethan blinked, a little surprised—he hadn’t expected to see them right outside.

  Then, with a not-so-subtle shove from her friends, Misha stumbled forward a step, her face already a deep shade of red.

  “E-Ethan,” she began, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “Um… you’ve heard about the parade this weekend, right?”

  Ethan tilted his head, then gave a half-smile. “Yeah. Daniel’s been yelling about it all day. I think the entire Academy knows by now.”

  Misha giggled nervously, eyes briefly darting to the side.

  “Well, um… I was wondering…” She paused, took a breath, then added in one rush, “Areyoufreethatday?”

  Ethan blinked. There was no mistaking the intention behind those words. A warmth crept into his cheeks as he tried to py it cool. He gave a slow nod. “Yeah, I’m free. So... want to go to the parade together?”

  Misha froze.

  That wasn’t how it was supposed to go—she was supposed to invite him, after building up the courage. But he’d just… flipped the script. Now she didn’t know how to respond, her brain spinning in circles.

  “Ah—I—uh…”

  “She said yes!” Celica jumped in with a grin, throwing an arm around Misha’s shoulder before the poor girl could melt into the ground.

  Anya chimed in with a smirk. “She’ll be waiting in the school garden, one hour before noon. Don’t be te.”

  “Got it,” Ethan replied, amused by their tag-team efforts. “One hour before noon. I’ll be there.”

  The moment passed, and with their mission accomplished, the three girls turned and walked off in a flurry of whispers and ughter, Misha gncing back over her shoulder with a face still burning red.

  Ethan stood for a moment, watching them go, then exhaled with a crooked grin and muttered, “Guess I better finish that homework fast.”

  With that, he turned toward the dorms, already wondering what kind of parade day this was shaping up to be.