The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

Desmond's eyes fluttered open, assaulted by a cacophony of strange, disorienting sounds. As he gathered his bearings, he found himself standing in a small, dimly lit room. In one corner, a solitary table and two chairs stood, while a window offered a glimpse of the academy grounds below, its splendor distorted by the chandeliers adorning the walls.

The room exuded an air of enigma, shrouded in a veil of mystery.

"Welcome to my humble office," Weston proclaimed, extending his arms and grinning awkwardly. Positioned before the table, he loomed with a peculiar portrait of himself against the backdrop of the academy.

"Please, have a seat," Weston gestured, his voice a soft murmur. He muttered incantations under his breath, causing the portrait to come alive, drawing on the ambient energy and twisting it into an ethereal dance.

Desmond tentatively lowered himself onto one of the chairs, his gaze fixated upon the bewildering sight. The portrait seemed to pulsate, captivating his attention. Cautiously, he refrained from commanding his system to scan any object within the room, wary of the consequences it might bring.

Observing Desmond's captivated state, a gleam of satisfaction glimmered in Weston's eyes. He reclined in his chair, his hand gracefully tracing circles in the air, effortlessly manipulating the very fabric of energy. The white tendrils, like delicate threads of a child's toy, weaved intricate patterns.

As the portrait's distortion gradually mended, Desmond found himself trembling, his gaze transfixed on his own image. There he stood, atop a rocky outcrop, face slightly pallid from the strain of upholding colossal stellar plates amidst the jungle's heart.

Applause erupted, jolting Desmond out of his daze. The sharp sound of clapping reverberated through the room, reverberating within his core.

"At that moment, I was astounded to discover my meticulously crafted jungle had been plunged into an icy stillness," Weston confided, clasping his hands together, his eyes fixated on Desmond like a predator stalking its prey. A wave of pressure crashed upon Desmond, forcing him to bear the pain, his head bowing instinctively.

But the torment proved fleeting. In a surge of power, Desmond's aura erupted, unveiling a phantom silhouette, an obscure entity with outstretched wings.

"Shit," Desmond muttered under his breath, a curse seething within him.

"Principal, I beg your forgiveness for the turmoil," Desmond replied, his complexion drained of color. His trembling hands bore the weight of agony, while the system, triggered by the surge of energy, instinctively unleashed its power, leaving Desmond in an awkward predicament.

Desmond's gaze flicked towards Weston, but something seemed amiss. The principal's countenance remained unchanged, devoid of any discernible reaction. His eyes, fixed upon the ethereal shadow, betrayed no hint of surprise or concern.

This is the end, Desmond thought, his eyes growing frigid. The distorted reflection of his true nature rendered any denial futile; no ordinary observer would mistake him for a mere human in his current form.

But how could he place blame upon the state or reprimand the system? It had activated in response to Weston, the first person to stir within him a sense of imminent danger.

A whirlwind of thoughts raced through Desmond's mind, and his once-cold eyes morphed into narrow, dark-purple slits, emanating a lethal aura, prepared to vanquish anyone obstructing his escape.

Should he attempt to flee? Surveying the room, his gaze settled on two potential exit routes. The first option involved leaping through the window, his strength ensuring a graceful landing. Once on solid ground, he could employ a custom spell to vanish from the academy, making his way towards the portal.

The second choice entailed slipping through the door and instantly cloaking himself using the same custom spell, masking his presence from prying eyes.

However, the quandary lay in Desmond's spell. Would the Light Distortion spell be sufficient to deceive and outwit a third-class wizard? The idea of launching a direct attack on Weston as a diversion had already been dismissed from his mind. After all, who would be foolish enough to assail a former grandmaster with the power of a mere first-class wizard?

As a brief silence enveloped the room, a gasp escaped Weston's lips, his expression shifting to one of shock. "I-I can't believe this... you..." he stammered, his voice trailing off.

Desmond, poised and ready, prepared to unleash his gathered energy, his vigilant gaze darting between his surroundings and Weston's movements. But Weston's subsequent words shattered his intentions, halting his thoughts in their tracks.

"As expected from the son of that couple. I can't believe your family possesses a method to augment your energy capacity to such an extent," Weston uttered, his smile wry as he shook his head, his eyes fixed on the shadowy figure behind Desmond.

"But that is precisely why I recruited them both. And now, their son has not disappointed me. My foresight is truly remarkable, isn't it? Hahaha," Weston laughed, relieving the tension that had gripped Desmond, prompting him to release a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Fortunately, it seemed Weston paid no heed to the murderous intent Desmond had directed towards him.

Without awaiting Desmond's response, Weston muttered an incantation, his hand sweeping toward the portrait, causing the image of Desmond maintaining the spell to slowly transform into a depiction of a battle among the academy's students.

Simultaneously, Weston's expression shifted from surprise to amazement, his eyes alight with fascination as he witnessed the magical skirmish unfold. "Thanks to you, they remain unaware of the thief who pilfered their miniatures," Weston remarked.

"But, thanks to this incident, the students have become more energized and motivated to reclaim their belongings, suspecting their fellow students of deceit. Hahaha."

As he laughed, Weston playfully smacked the table with one hand while the other caressed his white beard, his gaze utterly entranced and fixated on the portrait, completely disregarding Desmond's presence.

What a peculiar old man, Desmond thought, utterly dumbfounded. He stood there, rendered speechless, ignored by the person who had brought him into this room. He couldn't fathom what he was supposed to do while others fought tooth and nail for a chance to enter the academy, while he remained stranded in this room, unaware of his own qualifying status.

Lost in his thoughts, Desmond's hands instinctively reached into his pockets, only to discover with surprise that all the miniatures he had collected were gone!

"You can relax, kid. You have passed the first test and need only await the next one to secure your entry," Weston responded, still fixated on the portrait. Simultaneously, a small black portal materialized on the table, slowly extricating a shadowy miniature resembling Desmond.

Observing this peculiar occurrence, Desmond stood still, his gaze fixated on the fading black portal. "Principal, may I ask a question?" Desmond calmly inquired, glancing between the portrait and Weston.

"You wish to know the nature of the next test, don't you?" Weston replied, still engrossed in the ever-changing portrait, which now depicted someone Desmond was all too familiar with.

Desmond's mind recognized the figures portrayed in the ever-shifting portrait—none other than the bothersome Clark and the rotund ball of energy known as Gibson. Annoyance flickered across his thoughts as he observed their imminent battle, his eyes fixated on the unfolding scene.

"Yes, Principal," Desmond responded, his gaze transfixed on the impending clash depicted within the portrait.

"Would you mind waiting? I am quite intrigued to see how these youngsters fare," Weston requested, his attention still captivated by the magical spectacle unfolding before him.

"Of course, not a problem," Desmond answered without hesitation. He swiftly pulled his chair closer to the portrait, positioning himself for an optimal view of the impending showdown.