The line moved slowly.
Steadily.
Patiently.
Hundreds of students advanced toward the eastern coastal teleportation network.
The atmosphere remained refined.
Intelligent.
Focused.
Unlike ordinary academy applicants, the people gathered here represented a different caliber entirely.
Some discussed magical theory.
Others debated military strategy.
Several exchanged opinions regarding ancient civilizations.
One group analyzed economic policies implemented throughout various territories of the Empire.
Even casual conversations felt more sophisticated than most noble gatherings.
The future of the Empire stood within this line.
Quietly.
Unknowingly.
Waiting for transportation.
Kel listened while standing calmly among them.
His dark cloak concealed his identity.
His luggage remained ordinary.
Nothing about him attracted attention.
Just another student.
Just another applicant.
Just another dreamer heading toward Aetherial Institute.
Inside his mind—
Seiren sounded amused.
"They're smarter."
Kel nodded slightly.
"Generally."
"More disciplined."
"Mostly."
"More dangerous."
"Definitely."
The Guardian laughed.
Far away, gentle waves moved across the surface of Scarder Lake.
Then suddenly—
A familiar phrase drifted through the crowd.
A phrase that instantly made Kel regret existing.
"...Divine Spoon Art."
Kel closed his eyes.
Very briefly.
Just for a moment.
Then reopened them.
Perhaps he misheard.
Unfortunately—
He had not.
Several students stood nearby discussing combat techniques.
One of them spoke enthusiastically.
"I'm telling you."
"The technique is real."
Kel immediately knew where this conversation was going.
And he already hated it.
A young noble raised an eyebrow.
"You actually believe those stories?"
The first student snorted.
"I didn't."
Several others nodded.
Reasonable.
Most people didn't believe the stories initially.
Then the student crossed his arms.
"I thought it was nonsense."
"Exactly."
The noble immediately agreed.
"Who throws a spoon as a combat technique?"
Several nearby students nodded.
Perfectly reasonable question.
Then the first student grinned.
"That's exactly what I thought."
Kel felt danger.
The student continued.
"So I tried it."
The atmosphere around their group immediately became interested.
Even Kel listened.
Against his will.
The student pointed dramatically.
"And then?"
Another asked.
The young man grinned wider.
"I accidentally broke my training dummy."
Silence.
Several students stared.
"...What?"
The student nodded proudly.
"My aura control improved."
"My projectile control improved."
"My precision improved."
"My understanding of energy compression improved."
Several listeners became thoughtful.
The noble frowned.
"That shouldn't happen."
The student shrugged.
"Yet it did."
Kel rubbed his forehead.
Because technically—
The student wasn't wrong.
That was the problem.
The technique worked.
Or rather—
The principle worked.
Unfortunately.
People attached absurd mythology to it.
The discussion continued.
Then another student joined.
"I heard a different version."
Kel immediately regretted staying nearby.
The new student lowered his voice mysteriously.
"The creator never intended to reveal the technique."
Several listeners leaned closer.
"Really?"
The student nodded seriously.
"He only used it once."
Kel blinked.
That part was surprisingly close.
Then the student continued.
"Afterward."
"He disappeared."
The accuracy immediately died.
"I heard he entered seclusion."
Someone added.
"I heard he ascended."
Another replied.
"I heard he became a dragon."
The conversation immediately collapsed.
Kel stared at the ceiling.
Inside his mind—
Seiren was already laughing.
"A dragon."
"Again."
"I noticed."
"Your reputation improves every month."
"It does not."
"You're right."
"It becomes worse."
Kel couldn't even argue.
Because she was correct.
The rumors somehow became more ridiculous with time.
Then another conversation reached him.
Different students.
Different group.
Same problem.
A young woman sighed dramatically.
"The original version was better."
Several people immediately looked interested.
"What original version?"
The young woman nodded confidently.
"The creator supposedly used a hairpin."
Kel nearly stopped breathing.
That version was actually true.
Or close enough.
The woman continued.
"He killed a giant shark."
Several students nodded.
That rumor had spread surprisingly far.
Then another student immediately objected.
"No."
"It wasn't a shark."
"It was a sea dragon."
The first woman frowned.
"A shark."
"Sea dragon."
"Shark."
"Sea dragon."
The debate continued.
Meanwhile—
Kel questioned reality.
Inside his mind—
Seiren laughed so hard their telepathic connection trembled.
"Sea dragon."
"Congratulations."
"You've upgraded."
"It was a shark."
"History disagrees."
Unfortunately.
History often ignored facts.
The line continued moving.
Slowly.
Patiently.
Yet the conversations refused to end.
It spread like a disease.
Everywhere.
Every group.
Every discussion.
At some point.
Kel realized something horrifying.
The Divine Spoon Art had achieved genuine popularity.
Not merely fame.
Popularity.
Students actually practiced it.
Not because they believed the stories.
Because they wanted to test the stories.
And when they tested it—
They accidentally improved.
That was the true problem.
The underlying principle possessed legitimate value.
Then a particularly dangerous conversation began.
A scholarly-looking student adjusted his glasses.
"The fascinating aspect isn't the technique itself."
Several listeners looked interested.
The scholar continued.
"The fascinating aspect is the philosophy."
Kel immediately sensed catastrophe approaching.
"What philosophy?"
Someone asked.
The scholar smiled.
"The spoon."
Silence.
Then he continued.
"The spoon represents humility."
Kel nearly choked.
The student looked increasingly confident.
"A simple object."
"A common object."
"Yet capable of extraordinary results."
Several listeners nodded thoughtfully.
The scholar continued.
"The lesson is obvious."
"It teaches us that greatness comes not from the weapon."
"But from the user."
The group became silent.
Then one student whispered.
"...That actually sounds reasonable."
The scholar nodded proudly.
"It is."
Kel stared blankly ahead.
Because somehow—
The student had accidentally extracted a meaningful lesson from complete nonsense.
Inside his mind—
Seiren sounded delighted.
"I like this one."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it encourages them."
"The others encourage them too."
She had a point.
Unfortunately.
A very good point.
The line advanced again.
Several teleportation circles activated nearby.
Brilliant light illuminated the chamber.
Groups departed.
New groups advanced.
Time passed.
Yet the discussions continued.
One student claimed the Divine Spoon Art contained hidden principles regarding spatial manipulation.
Another insisted it originated from an ancient civilization.
A third argued it represented the purest form of martial simplicity.
The theories multiplied endlessly.
Then—
Kel heard the worst one yet.
A confident noble youth folded his arms.
"The technique isn't the important part."
Several listeners turned toward him.
The noble nodded wisely.
"The true mystery is Nameless."
Kel froze.
Oh no.
The noble continued.
"The man himself."
Several students immediately became interested.
Then the noble lowered his voice.
"My family's intelligence network gathered information."
Kel suddenly wanted to leave.
Immediately.
Unfortunately.
The line prevented escape.
The noble continued dramatically.
"Nameless has appeared in multiple locations simultaneously."
Kel blinked.
"..."
The listeners gasped.
"He fought monsters in the north."
"Explored islands in the east."
"And appeared near southern waters."
"All within the same week."
The group fell silent.
Then someone whispered.
"Impossible."
The noble nodded.
"Exactly."
The silence deepened.
Then—
One student quietly asked:
"...Twins?"
The entire theory collapsed instantly.
Several people laughed.
The noble looked offended.
Yet couldn't refute it.
Because twins actually sounded more reasonable than his explanation.
Inside his mind—
Even Seiren stopped laughing briefly.
Then exploded.
"Twins!"
"Someone solved the mystery!"
"It is not a mystery."
"It clearly is."
"No."
"Then why are there twelve versions of you?"
Kel chose silence.
A wise decision.
Far away.
The Guardian continued laughing.
The line moved forward once more.
Closer now.
The coastal teleportation gate waited ahead.
Beyond it lay the eastern shore.
Beyond the eastern shore lay the sea.
And beyond the sea—
Aetherial Institute.
The gathering place of geniuses.
The academy of future legends.
Yet somehow—
Even here.
Even among the Empire's brightest students.
Even among future scholars and rulers.
The Divine Spoon Art continued spreading.
Growing.
Mutating.
Evolving.
Like some immortal monster.
And as Kel listened to yet another wildly inaccurate explanation of his own accidental technique—
He finally accepted a terrible truth.
The legend no longer belonged to him.
It had escaped.
Completely.
Irrevocably.
And now—
It was probably immortal.