The tower loomed above us like a relic carved from time itself. Its ancient stone spiraled toward the clouds, wrapped in moss and silent majesty. As I stepped through the gates into its shadow, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Not awe.Not fear.Just curiosity.

  The courtyard was packed with fifteen-year-olds from nearby vilges. Some wore clothes barely stitched together. Others came with fresh haircuts and family crests sewn into their sleeves. Everyone talked—ughing, nervously whispering, sizing each other up like livestock at market.

  I stayed back, arms folded, eyes sharp.

  ‘This ceremony will separate the flowers from the weeds,’ I thought dryly. ‘Let’s see which one I’m supposed to be.’

  At the center of the tower’s base stood a raised ptform—a circur dais ringed with worn carvings, some glowing faintly with magic. Above us, bookshelves spiraled into the open air, suspended by nothing but mana. It was a marvel of spellwork, sustained by centuries of tradition and yers of ancient enchantment.

  Grimoire Tower. A pce where magic chose the worthy.

  An old man in ceremonial robes stepped forward. “Let the ceremony begin!”

  Everyone held their breath.

  And then—it happened.

  The wind shifted. Dust lifted from the ground, swirling gently in the air. One by one, grimoires began to float from the sky like falling leaves, shimmering as they descended toward their chosen wielders.

  Screams of joy rang out. Gasps. Cheers. A girl to my left dropped to her knees, clutching a glowing pink-edged book to her chest.

  Then came the real stars.

  Yuno’s grimoire descended like a bde unsheathing itself. A four-leaf clover grimoire, glowing emerald, its aura almost regal. The air trembled slightly as it nded in his hands.

  A hush fell over the crowd. Even the cocky kids shut up.

  "A four-leaf..." someone whispered. "Just like the first Wizard King."

  Yuno stood tall, eyes sharp as ever. He said nothing. Just stared forward like it was exactly what he expected.

  I studied him carefully. That book… it felt sharp. Clean. Purposeful. Like it had waited centuries just for him.

  Then came the crash.

  “WHERE’S MINE?!”Asta.

  He stomped forward, waving his arms like a maniac. “I’M GONNA BE THE WIZARD KING, TOO, DAMMIT! GIMME MY BOOK!”

  But no grimoire came. Not a single flutter of paper. Not even dust.

  People ughed.

  Some looked away in pity. Others openly mocked him. A few boys from Houter whispered behind me, "That’s the magicless freak, right?"

  I didn’t join them.

  I just stared.

  Because while the rest ughed, I saw something different in Asta’s eyes. Not shame. Not fear.

  Just determination, radiating like heat off scorched stone.

  ‘He doesn’t need pity,’ I thought. ‘He needs a detonator.’

  I stepped forward slowly, heart quiet.

  No butterflies. No thrill.Just a question: Would I even get one?

  The sky above shimmered.

  For a moment, nothing moved.

  Then… something stirred.

  A book emerged—not glowing gold or embroidered in jewels—but worn, slightly mossy around the edges. Its cover was wooden, textured like bark, and the emblem of the three-leaf clover gleamed faintly in the center.

  It floated down slowly. No music. No gasps.

  It stopped in front of me, hovering just within reach.

  I took it.

  The moment my fingers touched the cover, a faint pulse of mana traveled up my arm—like tree sap running through capilries, slow and patient. The book opened slightly, pages curling toward me like leaves reaching for sunlight.

  Three leaves. Not four. No ancient prophecy. No choir of angels.

  Just roots.Solid. Quiet. Persistent.

  I held it close, nodding to myself.

  ‘That’ll do.’

  The ceremony ended. Most of the crowd dispersed, still talking about Yuno’s grimoire or ughing at Asta’s failure.

  I leaned against the tower wall, flipping through my grimoire. The spells weren’t fshy, but they were… odd. Structured more like schematics than incantations. Some pages looked like diagrams of vascur systems—custom-built for precision, not power.

  Perfect for someone with low mana.Tailored for someone like me.

  I gnced up and noticed Asta walking away, fists clenched. His shoulders shook, but he didn’t cry.

  Yuno followed silently, hands in pockets, eyes low.

  I might’ve left it there.

  I really might’ve.

  But then he showed up.

  A fsh of metal. A sudden scream.

  I peeked around the corner to see a man in a ragged cloak, his breath stinking of old beer and failure. A wand in his hand. Greasy hair. Eyes too wide.

  "Hand it over, kid," the ex-Magic Knight barked at Yuno. "That’s not a grimoire for a brat like you."

  Yuno didn’t answer.

  Revchi, the dropout knight. I’d heard of him—kicked from the Magic Knights years ago for theft and corruption.

  Now he was back for one thing: Yuno’s four-leaf.

  Yuno raised his hand. Wind spiraled.

  Revchi moved faster. Magic chains erupted from his wand and wrapped around Yuno, smming him into the wall.

  I stayed in the shadows. Watching.

  And then came Asta.

  Charging in with no grimoire. No spells. Just fists and fire.

  He hit Revchi square in the gut. The knight grunted, stumbled—but retaliated fast. Chains coiled around Asta’s arms and legs, yanking him back.

  Asta screamed.

  The knight raised his wand. “You little shits don’t know your pce.”

  I didn’t move. Not yet.

  ‘Come on… come on…’ I stared at the ground beneath Revchi’s feet. The roots I’d coaxed earlier—still dormant, still shallow.

  Then—he stepped right where I wanted.

  Now.

  I flicked two fingers behind my back. Silent. Precise.

  A root snapped upward—no glow, no chant—just pure function.

  Revchi’s foot twisted. He slipped mid-incantation, wand jerking upward. The magic misfired. Chains uncoiled.

  Asta dropped free.

  Yuno surged forward, wind bursting from his palm. The grimoire flew back into his hand. A bde of compressed air fred to life.

  Revchi stared in disbelief.

  Asta stood beside him, fists clenched.

  Yuno leveled his grimoire. "You’re done."

  Together, they sent Revchi flying through the wall of a shed.

  He didn’t get back up.

  Silence.

  Then Asta let out a ragged ugh. “Told ya… I’m not done yet!”

  Yuno didn’t smile, but he looked over at him and said calmly, “I’ll be Wizard King.”

  Asta blinked. “What?! No way! I’m gonna be Wizard King!”

  They stared at each other like wolves circling the same meal.

  And then—me.

  I stepped from the shadows, still holding my book. “Sounds fun,” I said, voice dry. “I’ll join you both.”

  They turned.

  Asta blinked at me. “Huh? Who’re you?”

  Yuno narrowed his eyes. “You helped us.”

  I shrugged. “Little nudge.”

  Yuno’s gaze dropped to the spot where Revchi had tripped. His eyes flicked back up to me. “The root.”

  Asta followed his line of sight. Then his jaw dropped. “Wait… you did that?! That was your magic?!”

  I gave a zy nod. “Tactical botany.”

  Asta burst out ughing. “That was awesome!”

  Yuno extended a hand. “I’m Yuno.”

  “Vriksha,” I said, shaking it.

  Asta grinned. “Asta! No magic. All guts!”

  I smirked. “Vriksha. Low mana. High spite.”

  He cackled. “I like you already!”

  We stood there for a moment—three very different boys.One with no magic. One with magic destined for greatness. And one who no one noticed—except now.

  We didn’t say it, but something shifted.

  That evening, we left together.

  Not as a trio. Not yet.But no longer strangers.

  The road to the Magic Knight Entrance Exam stretched ahead, full of doubt, dreams, and dangerous bastards like Revchi.

  Asta shouted, “I’m gonna become the Wizard King!”

  Yuno said nothing, but his gaze burned forward.

  I walked behind them, flipping open my grimoire to a bnk page and smiled faintly.

  ‘Let them run. I’ll grow.’