We Are a Newlywed Couple Who Entered the Academy

“… huh?”

Azyan seemed broken. His golden eyes trembled slightly as his eyelids fluttered, his gaze wandering aimlessly through the air.

“You should’ve at least consulted me before deciding.”

“… I never imagined it would turn out like this. I was just happily assuming the Goddess of Luck was on my side…”

A heavy sigh followed.

“Should I reject it now?”

As Azyan spoke, his eyes darted nervously. Having spent five years with him since their meeting, Venisha knew well that despite his words, Azyan’s personality made it unlikely for him to back out of something he had already accepted.

Venisha’s mind raced.

Professor Ronan Iotophos was notorious within the Faculty of Magic.

The old professor, well past his prime, was said to be excessively strict, disrespectful toward students, and biased in his support. He fervently backed those who gained his favor but mercilessly used petty and disgraceful methods to disadvantage anyone who fell out of his good graces.

Venisha had heard of him even before entering the academy through social gatherings. Normally, reneging on a proposal before research began shouldn’t be a big issue, but…

Of all people, it was Professor Ronan. Offending him would undoubtedly make Azyan’s next three years at the academy miserable.

And Venisha wasn’t the type to sit back and let that happen.

“How about just participating for now?”

That was what she suggested.

“Participate…? If I go along with this, Ohms First will be out of reach.”

“If you end up as a research student, maybe. But just because you participate in a research project doesn’t mean you’ll automatically become one.”

“… really?”

“Yeah. Whether or not you become a research student is ultimately up to the student’s decision.”

Not all students who participated in research projects became research students.

Although most of them smoothly transitioned into research student courses, there were exceptions, like personality clashes with the professor, personal circumstances, or even cases where professors dismissed them directly for various reasons.

“Wouldn’t it be better to join the project for now and find a reason to step away later?”

If you’re going to upset him, delay it as much as possible — preferably just before graduation.

“If I’m going to leave anyway, is there a reason to delay it?”

“While it’s not personal tutoring, as you mentioned, it’ll still help with your studies. Since you’ve got the chance, why not make the most of it? Join the project, but don’t become a research student. It’s an unusual case, but the professor will understand.”

“Got it!”

Azyan, now reassured by Venisha’s words, grinned widely, his earlier concerns forgotten.

In truth, Venisha’s suggestion was sly — a classic example of taking advantage without giving back.

Mentorship in the academy was a stable relationship, and inviting students to join a research project was equivalent to revealing critical research progress. Professors typically hoped participating students would eventually become their apprentices.

This was common knowledge, so students who had no intention of continuing such a relationship would usually decline from the outset.

On top of that, research participation came with funding.

Receiving three years of support as an undergraduate, contributing minimally to the research, and then abruptly leaving when it mattered most — essentially abandoning the professor.

While legally and administratively acceptable, the behavior was ethically questionable.

Anyone in the academy might call it shameless, yet Venisha proposed it without batting an eye.

‘Azyan isn’t planning to stay in the academy anyway.’

Once Ohms First was secured, they’d return to Elwood and live a quiet life together. A fleeting relationship with an aging professor at the academy didn’t concern her in the slightest.

“So, I’ll take the help for now and let him know later when I step away?”

“Yeah. As late as possible.”

Unaware of Venisha’s true intentions, Azyan beamed, his face glowing with relief as if he had just solved a particularly vexing puzzle.

***

Meanwhile, Professor Ronan Iotophos was in an exceptionally good mood. He was thinking about the white-haired young man who had just left his laboratory.

Samuel Azyan.

The first impression Ronan had of him during lectures was completely different from his expectations. He had assumed the student would have an arrogant expression and attitude, but contrary to that, Azyan’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, fixed intently on the professor throughout the lecture.

Professor Ronan had three students he had taken note of. Among them, one — much to his dismay — seemed to be a follower of Alexander Groseff. It wasn’t entirely unexpected; after all, Professor Groseff was immensely popular among young seekers of the magical arts.

The only girl among the three, with her peculiar appearance, didn’t quite win Ronan’s favor either.

Dragons, she claimed. Who would have thought someone in pursuit of serious magic at Arwitch Academy would utter such nonsense?

Although she had solved one of Professor Ronan’s problems, he still wasn’t entirely sold on her.

And so, that left the final student — a student who, in Ronan’s eyes, couldn’t have been more ideal.

Unlike the other two, who interrupted to show off their intelligence, Samuel Azyan remained silent, intently focused on Ronan’s words. This only piqued Ronan’s curiosity further, leading him to pose a mischievous question to Azyan during the lecture.

– What is the length of this piece of chalk?

For those with only a superficial understanding of magic, the question might seem trivial. However, for students of considerable skill — those who had earned top marks to enter the academy — it was immediately clear how absurd and intricate the question truly was.

Without sufficient data, answering the question was impossible.

One needed to account for time, location, altitude, and distance from the observer. From these variables, a precise, complex calculation could be made to determine the chalk’s .

In the first place, such thoughts were unfamiliar to humans.

The question’s mischievousness lay in the fact that Ronan had already provided all the necessary information.

A magical clock above the classroom displayed the current time — a creation of Groseff, much to Ronan’s displeasure.

The date and corresponding season were naturally apparent, while the classroom’s altitude was noted near the entrance, though most students likely missed it.

Lastly, Ronan stated the chalk’s length as 9.5mn. With all the required data available, there was no excuse to claim .

Ronan wasn’t expecting an immediate mental calculation.

He simply wanted to see if Azyan would attempt to calculate it with pen and paper. If he did, Ronan planned to use the exercise to explain why performing magic on the spot was so challenging.

Instead, Azyan gave a concrete answer almost immediately.

– I believe it’s approximately 24.1232mn.

Hearing this, Ronan first assumed.

‘This boy is just spouting nonsense.’

Then, a second thought crept in.

‘But what if…?’

Quickly, Ronan verified the positions of Azyan’s desk and his own. With thirty years of experience, estimating the distance between himself and the chalk was second nature to him.

As he worked through the calculations, the numbers grew eerily close to Azyan’s answer, filling him with a mix of shock and relief when he found a small discrepancy. Azyan’s answer was incorrect — just slightly. Thank goodness. Another Groseff-like individual wouldn’t be born of the same generation.

The world couldn’t handle more than one. What if he ended up like Groseff?

But even though Azyan’s answer was wrong, it was astonishingly accurate given the short time frame. His calculation abilities far surpassed Ronan’s.

While abstract reasoning and generalization were more critical in magical research, calculation speed was undeniably advantageous.

As Ronan reviewed Azyan’s earlier test, he felt a growing desire.

He wanted that brilliant computational ability for his current project.

And more than that, he wanted Samuel Azyan himself. Following their conversation, Ronan found himself thoroughly satisfied.

Azyan’s respectful gaze and his expressed wish to study under Ronan’s guidance sealed the deal.

“A rare, reliable young man.”

Ten years. Azyan wasn’t merely a genius but someone who had studied diligently for a considerable time. Ronan revised the image he had conjured of Azyan based on his earlier mistakes in the first lecture. He still couldn’t understand why the boy had performed so poorly then, but no matter…

“One thing still puzzles me, though. Where exactly did that calculation go wrong?”

The true length of the chalk was approximately 21.3139mn. Where had Samuel Azyan erred? Curious, Ronan picked up a quill and began rechecking the calculations.

Had Azyan misjudged the observation distance? No, that wouldn’t result in such a large error. Was the mistake in the coordinate transformation? Perhaps. Students often faltered there. But even after checking these possibilities, Ronan found no alignment with Azyan’s result.

If the mistakes overlapped in more than one place, even Ronan would find it difficult to uncover them. Just as he was about to give up, frustrated by the lack of anything that made sense, a strange thought suddenly popped into his head.

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t exactly a thought. It was about the he had initially considered — the distance between the observer and the object.

However, the hypothesis he now entertained had a slightly different orientation.

What if it wasn’t just a simple miscalculation of the observation distance?

What if the observer had been set as Ronan himself?

No, that was absurd. Who, in that sudden moment of confusion when the question was abruptly posed, would think to calculate an answer assuming the observer wasn’t themselves but the questioner instead?

Human thought was inherently self-centered. Unless given considerable time to think, reaching such a conclusion in that brief moment would be irrational.

And yet…

‘I’ll calculate it.’

With that, Ronan began anew, this time treating himself as the observer. Recalling the distance between himself and the chalk, he began to calculate step by step.

Five minutes later, he stared at his results, disbelief etched across his face.

– 24.1168mn.

The error? A mere 0.0064mn.

Ronan gulped.

His throat bobbing visibly as a mix of exhilaration and unease overcame him.

… it had been ten years since Groseff first made his mark in the academic world.

And now, after just a decade, someone of the same kind had emerged.