The shadows of the Valerius estate didn’t just feel cold to Roxy; they felt like a judgment. While Alaric moved through the manor with the effortless grace of a predator, Roxy moved like a ghost haunted by his own skin. Alaric was the House’s masterpiece—a "masculine nerd" who spent his hours devouring ancient celestial maps and his afternoons breaking sparring partners. He was a wall of refined muscle, his presence so magically dense that candles flickered when he walked past.

To Alaric, Roxy was not a brother. He was a crack in the foundation. He was a constant, wheezing reminder that the Valerius bloodline could produce something fragile

The carriage was waiting to take them back to the Royal Magic Academy. Roxy stood on the gravel path, his breath coming in shallow, careful hitches. The Mana-Stagnation was particularly heavy today; it felt like molten lead was circulating through his veins instead of blood. His magical capacity was enormous—legendary, even—but his body acted as a cage that burned every time he tried to unlock the door. Alaric stood by the carriage door, adjusted his silver-rimmed spectacles, and looked at his watch. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't even offer a look of recognition. "If you're going to faint, do it now so the servants can carry you back inside," Alaric said. His voice was a flat, icy rasp. "I have a lecture on Trans-Dimensional Theory at noon. I won't have your 'episodes' making me late." "I'm fine, Alaric," Roxy managed, his voice thin. He straightened his back, forcing his trembling legs to hold. Alaric finally looked at him, his golden eyes sharp and devoid of warmth. "You aren't fine. You are a burden. You possess the raw mana of a high lord and the constitution of a wet paper. It’s an insult to the art of magic that someone like you was born with that much potential."

The Royal Magic Academy was a sprawling fortress of white stone and soaring spires. As they stepped out of the carriage, a crowd of elite students gathered. Alaric was their sun. He was the rare genius who could discuss the ethics of soul-binding while effortlessly crushing a mana-stone in his bare hand. "Alaric! We were waiting for your take on the new enchantment arrays!" a group of seniors called out. Alaric transitioned into his public persona—the stoic, brilliant leader. But as Roxy tried to follow, a sudden spike of heat erupted in his chest. His knees buckled, and he had to catch himself against the stone pillar of the gate. He coughed, a harsh, rattling sound that drew eyes. The social circle around Alaric went silent. The "Popular Nerd" didn't move to help. He didn't even flinch. He simply looked over his shoulder, his expression one of pure, unadulterated loathing. "Go to the back of the line, Roxy," Alaric commanded, his voice loud enough for the other students to hear. "You’re leaking mana again. It’s pathetic. The smell of your sickness is ruining the air."

In the combat arena later that day, the brothers were paired for a resonance test. They were meant to channel their magic into a central crystal to measure output. Alaric went first. He gripped the crystal, his bicep tensing beneath his uniform. A roar of pure, disciplined blue energy filled the room. The gauge hit the "Master" tier instantly. He let go, not a bead of sweat on his brow, and stepped aside. "Your turn, Roxy," the instructor said, sounding hesitant. "Try not to… overexert." Roxy stepped forward. He felt the power inside him—it was a sun trapped in a glass jar. He touched the crystal, and for a second, the light turned a violent, blinding violet. The gauge spiked past Alaric’s mark, screaming under the pressure. But then, the cage broke. Roxy’s lungs seized. Alaric didn't rush to his side. He stood five feet away, looking down at his twin with a sneer of disgust.

"A god’s power in a beggar’s body. Do us both a favor, Roxy. Stop trying to be a mage. Every time you stand up, you just remind everyone how much of a failure you truly are."