My physics masters couldn't possibly be grand mages.

Principal's Office.

Simmons was wearing reading glasses and looking down at a list in his hand.

He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the three people standing in front of him from above his glasses.

"You should already know," his voice was hoarse and slow, "that the three spots this year will be yours."

"The Tower of Truth is no ordinary place. Once you enter, you represent not only yourselves, but also Imperial College London. I don't want to hear any news about your 'poor performance.'"

He paused, put the list down, and placed his hands crossed on the table.

"Especially you, Pete."

He looked at the chubby boy among the three.

Pitt's smile froze on his face.

"The higher-ups don't know you failed the exam three times," Simmons said calmly, as if he were commenting on the weather. "But if they find out about it in the tower, it won't just be a problem for you alone."

Pete nodded repeatedly: "I know, Uncle... no, Principal, I know."

The handsome young man on the side let out a slightly disdainful sneer.

Simmons nodded as if he hadn't heard, and pointed to the three books on the table in front of him.

"As is customary, this is the 'Meditation Method' distributed by the Tower of Truth, the most important step you will take into the world of magic..."

Before he could finish speaking...

"boom--"

The office door was pushed open.

All four people turned their heads at the same time.

A young man with black hair stood at the door, his breathing slightly rapid, clearly having run all the way up.

It was Char.

His gaze swept over the three young men.

Pete and Leah are old acquaintances. As for the other one...

The handsome young man was also looking at him. They stared at each other for a second, then the young man raised an eyebrow, a look of interest on his face.

—Alan Crowlund, a transfer student who joined during the semester.

Simmons slowly took off his reading glasses.

"Char," he said, his voice devoid of surprise, "What is it?"

His tone was calm. But the temperature in the room seemed to have dropped by a degree compared to before.

"I've come to you for a reason," Xia said.

Simmons didn't answer, but simply wiped the lens lightly with his thumb. After a moment, he leaned back in his chair.

"Regarding the number of spots," he said, his tone as calm as if he were reading a document, "it will be decided by the admissions committee based on a comprehensive evaluation. Your grades are indeed very good, but there are limited spots available."

"So?" Xia asked.

"So this year we need to take care of local students."

Xia didn't speak, he just looked at Simmons.

The young man named Allen spoke up.

"Char, right?"

His voice was soft, carrying a nonchalant ease.

"You don't need to look at him like that. The number of spots isn't something he can decide on his own."

He took two steps forward, but didn't get too close. He just moved to a distance where it was appropriate to talk.

Have you ever seen a magician?

Char didn't speak.

“Not like him.” Allen tilted his head towards Simmons. “It’s the real thing, those magicians with family traditions, they call themselves the Golden Family. Do you know what they call us?”

He paused, as if recalling an unpleasant experience.

"Blind maggots. It means that we are blind and despicable like maggots in the face of magical truth."

His tone was calm, as if he were stating a fact that had nothing to do with him.

"For thousands of years, they have isolated themselves from the world, intermarried within their own kin, monopolized magic, and looked down on everything in the human world. They even... to some extent did whatever they wanted."

It wasn't until the advent of liquefied ether technology that they were forced to acknowledge our existence.

The places allocated to Imperial College London, along with those from other universities, are, in a sense, the result of a compromise between the two sides.

He looked at Xia Ya, his eyes showing neither contempt nor pity.

"Do you really think they care whether the 'blind maggots' admitted to these schools are 'excellent'?"

Char didn't speak.

Allen slightly raised his chin.

"I've seen your information. You're from the downtown area, an orphan, and you got into Imperial College London with gold you found somewhere and a scholarship. You were ranked first for two consecutive years. To be honest, that's pretty impressive."

He paused for a second.

"But do you know why you're number one? Because truly intelligent people wouldn't even bother competing with you."

The foundational knowledge you're learning at Imperial College is something I started building from when I was six. All that stuff you're working so hard on, I finished learning years ago.

There was no boasting in his tone; he was simply stating a fact that he considered self-evident.

"The professors at level five and above in the Tower of Truth have no teaching obligations. The few open classes they occasionally give are highly sought after. Do you have money? Do you have connections?"

He glanced at Pete, then at Leah.

"I have it. They both have it too."

Then he turned back and looked at Char. He said seriously.

I'm not trying to humiliate you. I'm just telling you a fact.

The reason you weren't selected isn't because you're not good enough or smart enough.

Simply because... you are you. That's all.

The office fell silent.

Char stood still, looking at Eren.

He could sense that Allen wasn't saying these things to humiliate him. He was simply stating facts that he considered self-evident.

But in some ways, this is more impactful than any humiliation.

The reason you won't succeed isn't because you're not smart enough, or because you don't work hard enough, but because you don't deserve it...

This is a form of class-based condescension...

He glanced at Simmons.

Simmons kept his head down, organizing the documents on the table, without looking up. But his hands paused for a moment—very briefly—before continuing to organize.

Char remained silent for a long time.

"……I see."

His voice was calm.

He turned around and walked towards the door, closing it behind him.

The door closed behind him.

Pete clicked his tongue behind him and muttered under his breath, "Just like that, they're leaving?"

"Pete," Simmons said in a lower voice.

Pete quickly shut his mouth.

Simmons didn't look at him. His gaze was fixed on the closed door, his brow furrowing slightly. Then he glanced down at the table—

His pupils contracted sharply.

There were originally three copies of "The Method of Meditation" on the table. Now, only two remain.

"Where's the book?"

Pete followed his gaze and was also stunned.

"Huh? It was just here!"

He suddenly turned his head to look at the doorway.

"That guy stole it!?" He gritted his teeth. "I'm going after him—"

"etc."

Simmons' voice wasn't loud, but Pete stopped.

Simmons stared at the spot on the table where the book had disappeared, his expression shifting between light and dark.

"You mean, an ordinary person stole the book right under my nose, right here as a third-tier mage?"

The room was silent for a few seconds.

"Don't make a fuss yet," Simmons finally spoke, his voice even lower than before. "I'll handle this. You can use mine for now."

He pulled out a well-worn copy of "The Method of Meditation" from under his desk.

.........

The light in the corridor was much dimmer than in the office. A kerosene lamp shone a dim yellow light through the door, illuminating the stone walls.

Char stood at the doorway, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled.

An elderly man with white hair leaned against the wall, holding an unlit pipe in his hand.

Einstein.

Xia paused for a moment, then a slight twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth. It was unclear whether he wanted to laugh or sigh.

"How did you get up here?"

"I came up," Einstein said, looking around. "And I also took a look at the structure of your school. The designer of this building was clever, but he made a mistake in the distribution of the load-bearing columns. If an earthquake were to occur, the west tower would collapse before the east one."

Char: "..."

"Of course, that might not matter," Einstein said, putting away his pipe. "What matters is... what are you planning to do now?"

Char remained silent for a moment.

"Let's go back and talk about it first."

Einstein nodded, turned around, and walked downstairs side by side with Char.

Footsteps echoed in the stone stairwell.

Halfway there, Einstein suddenly spoke.

"What was the name of the young man you were just talking to?"

"Allen," Char slowly uttered a name, "He joined during the semester. I reckon he's the new governor's son."

Einstein nodded. "I met many people like that when I was in Bern. They didn't need to do anything particularly good themselves; they just needed to prevent others from doing things to maintain their position."

He paused.

"And they always have their own theory that makes you feel that everything is reasonable."

The stairwell was quiet for a few seconds.

"How did you handle it back then?"

Einstein thought about it.

"I wrote a paper."

Char remained silent.

"It was about the photoelectric effect," Einstein said. "That paper later earned me the Nobel Prize."

He turned his head and looked at Xia.

"Of course, I'm not saying you can solve the problem by going back and writing a paper. What I mean is..."

Some things they can take away.

But there are some things they can never take away.