Re:Birth: A Slow Burn LitRPG Mage Regressor

"Alright, that brings us to the end of today's lesson," Adom said, setting down his chalk and dusting off his hands. "We'll pick up with practical applications of what we discussed today when I see you again on Thursday. Remember to review the material on binding stability—I'll be asking questions."

The class stirred to life as students began packing their notebooks and quills. The atmosphere was considerably lighter than when he'd first walked in. Nothing like a bit of actual learning to break the ice, apparently.

"Oh, and one more thing," he added, turning back to face them. "For those interested in extra credit, I'd like you to think about Miss Hartwell's observation regarding recursive reinforcement loops. Consider how you might practically implement such a system. We'll discuss your ideas next week."

Vivian looked like she wanted to disappear into her chair. Several students glanced her way with expressions ranging from impressed to mildly annoyed.

Adom made a mental note to be more careful about singling students out in the future.

He began gathering his floating textbooks and scrolls, humming a little tune under his breath as the magical tomes arranged themselves in neat stacks. The day had gone better than expected. Meeting Lysandra's daughter was an unexpected stroke of luck, and the class seemed genuinely engaged once they got past their initial star-struck paralysis.

"Um, Professor Sylla?"

Adom looked up to find a line of students forming in front of his desk.

Huh.

The first student, a nervous-looking boy with ink stains on his fingers, clutched his notebook against his chest like a shield.

"I was wondering if you could help clarify something from today's lesson?" the boy asked.

Adom smiled. "Of course. What did you want to know?"

The boy opened his notebook and pushed it across the desk. "Could you... could you just write down the key points about mana decay? For my notes?"

Adom glanced at the page. It was completely blank except for today's date written at the top in careful script.

Right.

He looked up at the expectant faces in the line behind the first student. Every single one of them was holding a notebook. Every single one of them was looking at him with that particular expression he was starting to recognize—the same look he'd gotten from fans after Krozball matches.

"You want me to sign your notebooks," he said flatly.

"Well, I mean, if you could just write some notes about—"

"You want autographs."

The boy's face went red. "Maybe a little?"

Behind him, a girl piped up. "Could you sign mine too? And maybe write something about your time in the dungeon?"

"Oh, and could you tell us about the Xerkes incident?" asked another student.

"Is it true you single-handedly arrested the ex-prince?"

"Did you really glow white when you fought the dungeon monster?"

Adom looked at the growing line of students, then at his carefully organized stack of books.

This was going to take a while.

He noticed Vivian slipping out through the classroom door without a backward glance, her bag slung over her shoulder and her nose already buried in a thick tome.

Smart girl. She'd clearly figured out what was happening and decided to avoid the circus.

Eren, meanwhile, had settled into a chair near the wall and was watching the proceedings with what might have been amusement. Or possibly mild horror. It was hard to tell with Eren sometimes.

"Alright," Adom sighed, pulling out a quill. "Form an orderly line. And please, let's keep the questions reasonable."

Forty-seven minutes later, Adom finally signed the last notebook.

His hand was cramping, and he was pretty sure he'd accidentally agreed to demonstrate advanced battle magic for the inter-academy exhibition, though he wasn't entirely certain how that had happened.

The last student—a girl who'd somehow managed to produce not just her notebook but also what appeared to be an official Academy pamphlet featuring his photograph—finally left with a dreamy smile and a signed promise to "keep being amazing."

Adom slumped back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He was starting to understand why some professors maintained strict policies about student interactions outside of academic matters.

A shadow fell across his desk.

He looked up to find Eren standing there, arms crossed, with an expression that was definitely amusement now.

"Rough first day, Professor?"

"Oh, shut up," Adom said, but he was smiling as he stood up and began gathering his things properly. "I don't remember you being quite this smug when we were both students."

"I've had time to develop new skills."

"Apparently. Are you going to stand there grinning at my misfortune, or are you going to help me carry these books?"

Eren shrugged and picked up one of the smaller stacks. "I suppose I could assist my esteemed professor with his academic materials."

"I'm going to assign you extra homework."

"You can try."

They headed toward the door together.

"So," Adom said as they walked down the corridor, "how are you holding up with all this?"

Eren shrugged. "You mean having my friend become my professor? It's fine. Weird, but fine."

"Weird how?"

"Well, for starters, I'm technically two months older than you."

Adom chuckled, but something twisted uncomfortably in his chest. He wasn't sure how to handle this conversation, honestly. The dynamic between them had always been complicated—Eren looking up to him, comparing himself, measuring his progress against Adom's achievements. It was the kind of thing that could go one of two ways: either Eren would find his own path and confidence, or the gap would keep widening until resentment crept in.

Adom had seen it happen before. Friendships that soured because one person always felt like they were chasing the other's shadow. He didn't want that. Not with Eren. Not with someone he genuinely saw as a little brother.

"Stop comparing yourself to me," he said, maybe a bit more earnestly than he'd intended. "You're doing great on your own."

"Am I? Because I'm pretty sure you're an anomaly."

Adom paused, then glanced sideways at Eren. "Can't really say that when we've got Mr. Two Circles over here."

Eren actually laughed at that, and some of the tension in Adom's shoulders eased. Maybe this could work out after all.

"Right. Speaking of anomalies, I saw you fight plenty during our first mission. If the two of us ever had to go at it, you'd crush me."

And there it was again. That automatic assumption of defeat before they'd even hypothetically started.

"Eren—"

"I'm not sure how you did it, but I'm pretty sure you're close to second circle yourself, right?"

Adom gave him a look. "You really need to believe in yourself more."

"I'm just being realistic." Eren shifted the books to his other arm, his voice quieter now, like he was admitting something he'd been carrying for a long time. "I've got raw power, sure. I'm not half bad with spells. But every time I think I'm getting somewhere, every time I think maybe I'm actually good at this—like, really good—I see you do something that reminds me how much further there is to go. It's not that I'm jealous, exactly. It's just... I'll be proud of mastering something, feeling like I've really accomplished something significant, and then you'll casually do the same thing but better, or solve a problem I didn't even know existed, or come up with some solution that makes me realize I was thinking about the whole thing wrong from the start."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

He paused, looking down at the books in his arms. "Every single time."

Adom felt his stomach drop. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of. Eren wasn't bitter about it—not yet—but there was something resigned in his voice that was almost worse than anger would have been.

They reached the main staircase.

Adom waited for a group of younger students to pass, using the moment to figure out what to say. How do you tell someone that their problem isn't lack of ability, it's lack of perspective? That they're comparing themselves to someone who's literally lived through all of this before?

"After all these years," Eren continued, his tone getting quieter, "I just accepted it. I'll gladly take second place in our generation."

The casual way he said it, like he'd made peace with being permanently in second place, made Adom's chest tighten.

This wasn't healthy.

This wasn't the confident, capable mage Eren could become if he stopped measuring himself against impossible standards.

Adom chuckled, but it felt forced. "Do you know every single mage in our generation?"

"Do you know any other second circle mage our age?"

"Fair enough."

But it wasn't fair, and they both knew it. Adom was working with advantages Eren couldn't even imagine. The comparison was fundamentally flawed from the start.

Should he... tell him? About the regression?

They emerged into the academy's main courtyard. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the new oak trees, casting long shadows across the stone pathways. A few students were scattered around, some studying on benches, others practicing basic spells on the designated training grounds.

No. Not now.

Maybe a change of subject would help. Something normal. Something that reminded them both that they were still just friends, regardless of titles and relative magical ability.

"I need to head to the new bank," Adom said. "Get things set up for our adventurer guild."

Eren blinked. "That's today?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." Eren's expression brightened slightly. "Sam and I were planning to get some frosties and talk by the beach later. You haven't done that with us in a while. Why not come tonight?"

Adom smiled, and this time it felt genuine. "I'd like that, yeah."

He gestured casually, and the books floated up from Eren's arms to join his own floating collection. Then, with another thought, all of them simply vanished into his [Inventory].

Eren stared at the empty space where the books had been. "Wait. You could have done that from the start instead of making me carry your stuff?"

"You could have levitated them too."

Adom's feet left the ground as his [Flight] spell was weaved. He reached into his bag and pulled out his pointed mage hat—the ridiculously traditional one that Sam always made fun of—and settled it on his head.

Maybe things would be okay. Maybe they could navigate this new dynamic without losing what mattered. Maybe Eren would find his confidence eventually, and maybe Adom could figure out how to be a good friend without accidentally crushing his friend's spirit in the process.

He winked at Eren. "It was good to talk. I'm glad you're not bitter about all this."

Eren sighed in annoyance, but he was almost smiling. "You're impossible."

"See you at the beach later," Adom said, rising higher into the air. "I've got someone to introduce to you both."

Eren's expression shifted to curiosity. "Don't tell me you got a girlfr—"

But Adom was already gone, shooting across the sky toward the city center with his ridiculous hat trailing behind him.

The city sprawled beneath him as he flew, and Adom found himself having to navigate more carefully than he remembered. New construction had sprouted up everywhere in the past few years—towers and apartment buildings that hadn't existed during his student days.

The skyline was denser now, more cluttered. He had to pull up sharply to avoid a particularly ambitious clocktower that some architect had decided needed to be exactly where his usual flight path used to go.

Progress, he supposed. Though it made getting around by air considerably more annoying.

The financial district came into view, all gleaming stone and brass fixtures that caught the late afternoon sun. He descended in a controlled spiral, landing smoothly on the wide cobblestone plaza in front of his destination.

The Goldleaf Mint stood before him like a fortress designed by someone with excellent taste and unlimited funding.

Its facade was all polished marble and intricate metalwork, with security enchantments humming so loudly in the magical spectrum that Adom could practically taste them. The building had only been completed two years ago, but it had already established itself as the premier financial institution in the city.

Probably had something to do with the lutins running the place.

Adom adjusted his hat and pulled his robes more securely around himself. The traditional mage outfit was excellent camouflage—generic enough that people tended to look past the wearer rather than at them. Just another mage conducting business.

The two orc guards flanking the massive brass doors were impressive specimens—broad-shouldered and alert, their tusks gleaming as they scanned the plaza. Their armor was impeccably crafted, all polished plates and joints that somehow made them look more like elite security than simple muscle.

Lutins had a reputation for being absolutely incorruptible when it came to money.

Something about their dual nature—part fae, part mortal—made them physiologically incapable of financial dishonesty. They could step between the mortal realm and the fae courts at will, existing in both worlds simultaneously.

Their tall, lean frames and angular features, combined with the subtle shimmer of their skin and those ancient, intelligent eyes, made them uniquely suited for managing wealth across multiple planes of existence. They were also reportedly the most secure banking option available, which was exactly what Adom needed.

The whole adventurer guild situation was getting complicated.

Technically, he could continue operating as an independent contractor, but the profit margins were terrible. Most guilds took thirty percent of whatever resources their members acquired during dungeon raids. Then there were equipment rental fees, processing charges, administrative costs, and a dozen other little expenses that added up fast. It was designed to keep individual adventurers dependent on the guild structure.

Which was fine if you were just starting out and needed the support network. Less fine if you were planning to make serious money from high-level dungeon expeditions.

Starting his own guild and affiliating it directly with the Wangara made much more sense. He could manage his own resources, set his own policies, and keep the profits where they belonged. Cass had been enthusiastic about the idea when he'd floated it past her—probably because it meant the Wangara would have direct access to whatever he pulled out of the more dangerous dungeons.

Speaking of Cass, he really needed to pay her a visit soon. And Valiant. And Cyrel. And the dryad sisters. And Bob, and Kern and Fili. So many people to catch up with, so many relationships to maintain...

Adom sighed and stepped toward the imposing entrance.

A small figure suddenly collided with his side, sending books and papers scattering across the cobblestones. An elderly woman stumbled, her cane clattering away as she lost her balance.

Adom's reflexes kicked in automatically. He caught her arm, steadying her, while simultaneously casting a gentle retrieval spell to gather her scattered belongings. The books and papers floated back into a neat stack in his free hand.

"Oh my," the woman said, breathing heavily as she regained her footing. "I'm so sorry, young man. These old eyes aren't what they used to be."

"No harm done," Adom said, handing her back her things and retrieving her cane. "Are you hurt?"

She smiled at him, her face crinkling with warmth. "Not at all, thanks to you. Such a kind young mage. Your parents raised you well."

"I'm glad you're alright."

"As am I." She patted his arm gently, then glanced up at the imposing bank entrance. "Actually, I was heading in there myself. Need to open an account for my grandson—the boy's finally old enough to handle his own finances, though heaven knows if he's responsible enough."

She chuckled and started toward the doors. "Would you mind terribly if this old woman walked in with you? These steps look rather intimidating."

Adom fell into step beside her. "Of course."

The orc guards hadn't moved during the entire exchange, but he could feel their attention on both of them as they approached the entrance together.

Time to get this done.

He held open the heavy brass doors for the elderly woman, then followed her inside.

Stepping through the doors was like walking into an entirely different world.

The interior looked like a forest. Not metaphorically—literally.

Ancient oak trees stretched toward a ceiling that seemed impossibly high, their branches intertwining overhead to form a natural canopy. Soft moss covered the ground in patches between perfectly manicured pathways, and the sound of flowing water came from a cascade somewhere deeper in the space. The air smelled of pine and wildflowers.

But it was also unmistakably a bank.

Comfortable chairs were arranged in conversational clusters around the base of the larger trees. The temperature was perfectly regulated despite the outdoor atmosphere. Discreet magical lighting provided warm illumination even in the shadowed areas.

And there were butterflies everywhere.

Except they weren't butterflies. They were pixies, about the size of Adom's thumb, with gossamer wings that caught the light as they fluttered between customers. One of them immediately approached the elderly woman beside him.

"Welcome to Goldleaf Mint!" the pixie chirped in a voice like tiny bells. "How may we assist you today?"

"I need to open an account for my grandson," the woman said. "The boy's just turned sixteen."

"Wonderful! Right this way, please."

The pixie guided her toward a section of the forest where Adom could see other customers seated at what looked like naturally formed clearings.

Another pixie zipped over to Adom, hovering at eye level with wings that shifted color as they moved.

"And you, sir? What brings you to our establishment today?"

"I'm here to open an account for an adventurer guild."

The pixie's expression brightened. "Excellent! We've been seeing more and more adventuring guilds lately. Very exciting business. Follow me, please."

As they moved deeper into the forest-bank, Adom could feel the spatial magic humming around them. The place existed partially in the fae realm and partially in the mortal world—a clever bit of magic engineering that would allow the lutins to vanish into the fae courts with all their assets if anything ever went seriously wrong. Only the non-fae would be left behind.

Which was exactly why Adom was here.

Having a merchant guild affiliation with the Wangara was useful for normal business, but this bank offered something more valuable: direct access to the fae realm. There had been problems over there recently. Problems that required adventurers to solve them. Problems that occasionally put those adventurers in direct contact with fae nobility.

Bob had been frustratingly unhelpful on that front.

Something about being a normal subject with no special privileges. But adventurers were different. Adventurers got missions from the fae king himself sometimes. Rarely, but it happened.

And if Adom could manage to rally the fae realm to his cause, they could prevent a lot of future disasters. Including the fae realm's own eventual doom.

The pixie led him to a section where the trees formed a natural alcove. A desk had grown directly from the forest floor—or been shaped to look like it had—and behind it sat a lutin.

Tall and elegant, with the sharp cheekbones and pointed ears that marked his heritage. His skin had that subtle shimmer that meant he could step between realms at will, and his eyes held depths that suggested he'd seen far more than his apparently youthful face would indicate. He was dressed in what looked like formal business attire, but the fabric seemed to shift slightly in the light.

When he looked up from his paperwork, his smile was genuinely welcoming.

"Hello there," He said.