Strongest Existence Becomes Teacher

Selene's POV

I folded my legs into lotus pose on the training ground, sitting among a half-circle of fellow mage students. Professor Zane's voice lingered in my ears, calm yet commanding:

"Breathe deeply. Picture your mana as a soft veil around your mind."

The atmosphere was hushed, only the shuffle of robes and the occasional cough disturbing the silence.

I closed my eyes, trying to obey. A slow breath filled my chest, and I coaxed my mana upward, shaping it as a misty film, delicate and silver, wrapping around my thoughts.

But it faltered. My awareness betrayed me—the brush of someone's robe, the loudness of my own breathing, the gnawing worry that Professor might notice my failure. Was he disappointed?

For an instant, calm brushed against me. The veil seemed to take shape, light as gossamer, and then… doubts intruded. The pressure to keep up with the others, the fear of lagging behind, the burning hope that I wasn't a burden. The mist thinned, my concentration scattered.

Still—I caught a glimpse of it. The calm was real.

I inhaled again, steadier this time, and forced my thoughts to still. The veil formed—cool, soft, like morning fog drifting across my mind.

And then everything shifted.

Noise faded. The rustle of classmates, even the faint cough, dissolved into silence. My thoughts stood in neat rows, crisp and uncluttered. Spells I had once labored to weave suddenly seemed so simple I could shape them with a glance.

This is it…

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Third Person POV

Selene's veil had taken form—misty and ethereal, cocooning her mind. But as it thickened, something went wrong.

Her thoughts didn't just quiet—they vanished.

She opened her eyes in alarm, and the training field looked unchanged: students still sat in meditation, Zane reclined casually beneath his umbrella, sipping some cold drink. Yet she felt… nothing. Too calm. Too quiet.

The wrongness prickled at her instincts, and unease twisted in her chest.

She clenched her hands and began shaping an illusion spell, but before she could even weave the first thread—

Thwack!

A sharp chop landed atop her head. She gasped, the veil shattered, and sound rushed back into her ears. The chatter of mana, the weight of her own heartbeat, the sting of sweat on her forehead.

"What—?!" she whispered, trembling.

Professor Zane stood above her, expression flat, glass in hand.

"You made the veil too thick," he said simply. "Instead of calming you, it swallowed you. Calm became quiet. Control became silence. That's not what Tranquil Veil is meant for."

Her breath hitched, shame burning her cheeks.

"Try again," Zane added, already turning back toward his chair. "You can do it."

Selene froze, blinking at his retreating figure.

He… believes in me. Even after I shamed myself—running from training, rebelling, trying to undo his spell… He still believes I can do this.

Her chest tightened—not with fear, but with resolve.

"I'll prove myself," she murmured.

Settling back down, she closed her eyes once more, determination sharper than doubt. The mist would form again—but this time, she would not let it consume her.

Zane lounged for a while longer, watching the waves of effort ripple across the training ground. The air was thick with concentration—mana flowing, breaths steady, faces scrunched in focus. Finally, he set his empty glass aside and clapped his hands once.

"Alright," he said, his voice carrying across the field. "Time to see your progress."

Students stirred from their meditations and stances, some blinking rapidly as if surfacing from deep water, others steadying their breath with pride—or frustration.

Zane's gaze swept first toward the mages.

Selene sat with her eyes half-closed, a faint shimmer curling faintly around her brow like morning mist. He raised a brow.

She crossed the threshold. Imperfect, but unmistakable.

Most of the others… not quite. A few wisps here and there, scattered concentration. Two students had come close—the veil flickering like faint candlelight—but nothing steady yet.

His eyes slid to the warriors.

Ron stood solid in horse stance, sweat dripping from his brow, a faint rhythm in his mana aligning with his heartbeat. Lia, too, her breathing sharp and controlled, her pulse echoing through her stance.

Both had grasped Iron Pulse. Imperfect, unstable—but undeniably present.

And then there was Maera.

Her golden-green eyes burned with determination, yet her mana wavered wildly. She was trying—too hard to be calm. Her instinct resisted the stillness, and the pulse she forced lacked flow.

She's fighting herself. Still trying to copy calmness instead of shaping the technique into her own rhythm, Zane thought.

The others fared decently. Some progress, some stumbles. Normal.

But one figure stood out.

Jax.

The boy stood with his guns drawn, breathing steady, his stance set. For a heartbeat, Zane saw it—the Stillpoint behind his heart flare, synchronizing body and mana in perfect unison. His eyes opened, sharp and focused, the world bending around his awareness.

But only for an instant. The glow flickered out, his shoulders slackened, and the rhythm broke.

Zane's lips curved.

He got it… he really did. He just can't hold it yet.

.

.

.

Zane clapped his hands once more. "That's it—stop, all of you. Training's over for now."

A collective sigh of relief rippled through the field. Some warriors collapsed onto the ground, panting heavily. The mages stretched stiffly from their lotus poses. Only Ron and Lia still held their stances, sweat glistening but their posture unbroken.

"It's already afternoon," Zane continued, his voice calm but firm. "Go eat your lunch. Afterward, gather here again. I have an announcement for you all."

The students began dispersing, murmuring amongst themselves.

Ron glanced at Lia. "You could grasp it too, right?"

Lia nodded, brushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes… but I couldn't maintain it for long. Though… in that moment, it was like the world slowed down. Not just slow—very slow. Everything felt calm, and my thoughts… they felt sharp, almost racing."

Ron frowned. "Slowed down? It wasn't like that. When I used Iron Pulse… I could see it. Lines across their bodies—tiny gaps, weak points, vulnerabilities in their stance, their flow. It's like… the world was showing me where to strike."

Lia's brows knit. "Weak points? Vulnerabilities?"

Ron nodded firmly. "Yeah. And for me, it wasn't just clarity—I felt stronger. My strikes were heavier, sharper."

"But I didn't feel stronger," Lia said, puzzled. "I felt… quicker. Lighter. Like I could slip through anything."

Ron blinked. "But I never felt like that at all. What the hell…?"

Silence hung for a beat. Then Lia's eyes lit up. "We have to ask Professor Zane about this!"

Ron agreed instantly. "Yeah—let's go."

The two sprinted after him.

Zane, already walking away, slowed his steps. A faint smile touched his lips as he heard their hurried footsteps. He turned, hands tucked behind his back, and waited until they caught up.

Lia called out breathlessly, "Wait—Professor Zane!"

Ron followed with urgency, "We need to ask you something. It's about Iron Pulse."

Zane tilted his head, feigning curiosity though his deep eyes glimmered knowingly. "Oh? What is it you want to ask?"

Both spoke in a rush, explaining their experiences—Lia describing the slowing world and seeing vulnerabilities, Ron recounting his sense of strength and steadiness.

Zane listened in silence, then smirked. "So you finally felt the true effect of the technique. And yet… the effects differed for each of you?"

They nodded quickly.

"That," Zane said, his voice lowering slightly, "is because you've already begun shaping the technique into your own. Subconsciously, you poured your specialties into it, allowing the core principle to adapt. The foundation remains the same—but its expression? That is yours alone."

Both students froze in shock.

Zane turned away again, lifting a hand lazily. "Now then… shouldn't you be off to lunch?"

And with that, he walked off.

Ron and Lia stood in stunned silence, exchanging wide-eyed looks.

Ron finally muttered, "I've never even heard of a technique like this… one that fully adapts to its user."

Lia nodded, awe in her silver eyes. "Exactly. Usually, techniques demand the user adapt to them. But this…" Her voice lowered. "…this is something far stronger."

.

.

.

As Zane's footsteps carried him across the training grounds, the salty breeze tugged lightly at his coat. He didn't look back—Ron and Lia were still standing there, whispering in disbelief.

A faint smirk curved his lips. They're decently talented. Without even realizing it, they've already begun to pour their own style into the technique… Not bad.

His expression shifted, thoughtful. Anyway… Lucen wanted me in his office. I should go. And I'll also ask him when this dungeon expedition is scheduled to begin—if I know the timing, I can adjust their training properly.

Just then, a familiar beep sounded from his technowatch. Eira's calm, ever-present voice followed.

"And don't forget—you still have to watch the video message Zayne sent."

Zane's eyes narrowed slightly. "Eira," he said, his tone casual yet edged, "I gave you permission to hear my commands through thoughts—but that doesn't mean you can eavesdrop anytime."

There was a pause. For the first time, Eira's digital voice carried a faint tremor.

"…Understood."

Zane blinked, then chuckled. "But, yes… video message...that too." He adjusted the collar of his coat, eyes glinting faintly. "You know what? Let's watch it now."

With that, he turned his steps toward the teachers' residence, heading for his own room.