Chapter 1

Sophia's POV

The Magic Arena was filled with roaring cheers.

I pulled my hood down low, using a Concealment Spell to blend my figure into the shadows of the crowd, watching everything on the central platform.

George Miller stood on the left side of the arena in silver-white wizard robes.

Facing him was Simon Williams, the dark magic prodigy known for his ruthlessness.

"George, give up!" The instructors below couldn't help but stand up and shout. "The attribute suppression is too severe!"

George said nothing.

Simon smirked and began summoning with his wand: "Come forth, Three-Headed Hellhound!"

A dark red magic circle instantly swallowed the light of the arena, and a beast as massive as a small mountain roared into existence.

Its three heads spewed sulfurous poisonous fire, crimson compound eyes locked onto George—the oppressive presence of hell itself.

In comparison, the Frostland Dire Wolf George summoned, though magnificent, looked almost like a cub in size and ferocity.

The hellhound's middle head suddenly inhaled and blasted black flames toward George.

George's expression changed drastically. His hands formed seals rapidly as the frost wolf charged forward.

However, with one collision, the frost wolf instantly shattered, and the massive backlash struck George immediately.

A mouthful of blood sprayed from his mouth, staining his silver-white robes red.

He staggered backward and dropped to one knee.

The arena fell silent, followed by a wave of regretful sighs.

Hiding behind the crowd, my heart clenched violently. My fingers gripped my hem so tightly my knuckles turned white.

"Give up, George." Simon looked down at him with contempt. "A muggle half-blood thinks he deserves the championship? Your wolf is finished."

I knew George would never give up.

This man was prouder than anyone deep down. He fought his way up desperately just to stand at the strongest position and make everyone shut up.

Sure enough, George wiped the blood from his lips and said hoarsely:

"My wolf isn't finished. It just changed form."

The next second, a shocking scene unfolded.

George actually dispersed all his defensive magic. The moment the hellhound lunged at him, instead of dodging, he used a teleportation spell to leap directly toward the hellhound's most vicious middle head.

"Madman!" Simon's face turned pale with shock.

George rode on the beast's neck, his hands covered with high-density offensive magic, frantically pounding the hellhound's hard skull.

Each punch was accompanied by the crisp sound of shattering bones and the hellhound's agonized howls.

It was a life-or-death fighting style.

Blood splattered along George's arms—impossible to tell whether it was his or the beast's.

In the end, he actually punched through the hellhound's skull with his bare fists, penetrating its heart core.

The massive hellhound collapsed with a thunderous crash, kicking up dust everywhere.

At the same time, Simon was thrown back by the tremendous backlash, hitting the ground hard and passing out on the spot.

The arena erupted in thunderous cheers.

"He won! George won! The strongest of us muggle half-bloods won!"

"Oh my god, tearing apart a magical beast with bare hands? So cool!"

George stood on the fallen beast's back, chest heaving violently, sweat dripping down his sharp jawline.

His instructor was so excited his beard trembled as he rushed onto the platform shouting.

Countless flowers and ribbons fell as everyone surged madly toward the radiant young man.

I didn't move.

I remained standing in the shadows, greedily yet restrainedly watching him through layers of people.

Just now, George seemed to glance in this direction.

My heartbeat skipped. I instinctively held my breath, body tensing.

Did he see me?

However, he only swept past casually before looking away.

I felt a bit disappointed, listening to their chatter:

"Hey, did you see George's expression just now? So attractive!"

"At this year's academy ball, I'm definitely asking him to dance!"

"I heard the dance partner gets chosen for the first dance—that means commitment."

"That spot will definitely go to one of us, because we're the strongest mages."

I lowered my eyes, looking at my old robe's faded cuffs.

I remembered my first meeting with George was also before a ball.

Because I was a muggle, I was always bullied. To survive, I learned concealment magic.

That night, I was hiding in a corner crying because I missed my grandmother, and forgot to maintain my concealment spell.

I was discovered by those mages who bullied for fun. They pinned me to the ground.

"Throw her in! Let her wake up and see what she really is!" The lead girl grabbed my hair, about to push my head into the water.

Suffocation hit me. I closed my eyes in despair.

Just then, a silver shadow tore through the rain.

A massive Frostland Dire Wolf appeared out of nowhere and swatted the girl away with one paw.

Through wind and rain, George rode the white wolf like a descending deity.

He looked down at the terrified bullies and said: "Get lost."

Just a few words, but with undeniable authority.

The group scrambled away.

George jumped off the wolf's back and walked to me.

He didn't mind my mud-covered state. Instead, he extended a hand, inviting me onto the wolf's back.

"Can you still walk?"

I stared at him blankly, finally squeezing out: "Thank you."

That night, he not only took me back to my dorm but also said before leaving: "If you're in danger again, come find me directly."

That was the first kindness I'd felt in three years at The Magic Academy.

From that day on, George lived in my heart.

To avoid expulsion, to stay close to him, I desperately self-studied those obscure spells.

Later, I even secured a chance to help his instructor, just to catch a glimpse of him through the bookshelves when he occasionally came to the lab.

I thought I'd gotten close to him.

But today, watching him shine brilliantly on the arena, seeing those privileged girls' confident faces around him, I clearly realized:

Light and shadow are ultimately two different worlds.

"Move along, don't block the way."

I pulled my hood and turned to blend into the dispersing crowd, walking in the opposite direction.

Behind me, the cheers remained deafening.

At the center of the noisy arena, George suddenly pushed away the flowers offered to him. His gaze pierced through the celebrating crowd, landing precisely on the thin figure about to disappear around the exit corner.

"What's wrong, George?" His instructor noticed his unusual behavior and followed his gaze, but only saw an empty corridor. "What are you looking at?"

George withdrew his gaze, fingertips lightly rubbing a bit of blood on his cuff left from the earlier battle.

As if remembering something, his lips curved into a meaningful smile as he said softly:

"Nothing."

"Just watching a coward."