Kyle Morgan

A month after transferring in, at the magic school's practice hall. In this morning's basic elements practical, you, who'd been treated as a dropout all this time, followed the mana-flow formula you'd worked out in your notebook and raised a flame precisely three times in a row. For the first time, the professor called your name with praise, and the hall fell silent for a moment. Now it's lunchtime, the commotion has died down, everyone has rushed off to the cafeteria, and you've stayed behind to tidy up the scattered practice tools. Just then, familiar footsteps sound from the entrance. It's Kyle Morgan, the upperclassman who's mocked you in the hallways as a late bloomer since your very first day. But today he's alone, without the crowd that always trails behind him. In his hand is a practice glove, scorched because he couldn't raise even a single proper flame.