Infinite Mage - Remake

The end of the semester—the most nerve-wracking time for students at the magic school—had arrived once again. Months of hard work and progress were condensed into a single sheet of paper. That paper held the weight of their future, acting like a guillotine that determined whether they would advance or be held back.

Alpheas had been handed a six-month suspension from the Magic Association. The suspension would officially take effect in the following semester. In the meantime, Collie, the most senior of the teachers, was serving as the acting principal.

While pulling weeds from a flower bed, Alpheas straightened his back and smiled. In the distance, his beloved students were approaching—Shirone, Iruki, and Neid. Though the trio had earned a reputation around the school as troublemakers, Alpheas saw them as bright, promising talents.

“Hello, Headmaster,” Shirone greeted.

“Haha, didn’t I ask you not to call me that? I’m just an old man doing chores now,” Alpheas replied with a chuckle.

“No way. Give it six months, and you'll be back in charge,” Shirone said confidently.

Alpheas laughed again. He was still touched by his students’ support. At the same time, a part of him felt he didn’t deserve their faith.

"Ugh, how are you holding up? Doesn’t it feel like you’re going to die now that the break’s over?"
Neid’s face crumpled as if on the verge of tears.
"I think I’m losing my mind. I need to score at least 80 in every subject for the rest of the term. It’s torture."

"Hah! Planning to use this chance to move up a class?"
To move from Class Five to Class Four, students had to score 80 or above in every subject. It was no easy task—the average wasn’t enough; every score had to meet the mark.

"Of course. What student wouldn’t think about it?"
"Right? Well, are you planning to give it your all?"

Expecting encouragement, Neid looked puzzled by the dry response. But Alpheas’s educational philosophy was clear: students aren’t racehorses. Let them wander a bit, and they’ll discover their own worth.

"Want us to help?"
Shirone rolled up his sleeves, ready to lend a hand with the weeding.

"Heh, I can’t take away the old man’s only source of joy. I’ll do the weeding myself. You kids focus on what’s important."

Neid’s eyes dimmed in disappointment. He’d hoped for an excuse to escape studying, even just for a bit, but that plan was foiled.
"Alright. Then enjoy your gardening."

As Shirone and the others returned to their dorms, their expressions were clouded with concern. It was the same all over the campus. After the Arcane incident, the school still hadn't fully settled, and focusing on studies wasn’t easy.

Frustrated, Neid snapped.
"Argh! I’m going crazy. I have to study—study! But I can’t focus!"

"When you blow up like that, nothing else gets done," Iruki commented. "It was the same after the presentation."

Shirone sighed deeply.
"You still have it better than me. I have twice as many subjects to bring up over 80. I don’t even know if it’s possible."

"Math is my only strong suit. In the humanities, I'm hopeless. Honestly, Neid’s in the best position."

"What are you talking about? I don’t even have a strong subject. You and Shirone will dominate the practical tests, but I can’t even rely on that. I’m the worst off."

In Class Five, practical exams focused more on manipulating the Spirit Zone than actual magic. Shirone, known for his Immortal Function technique, and Iruki, with his Servant Syndrome, were always top contenders. Neid, on the other hand, had no such advantage and had to compete on equal footing with the rest.

"The more I think about it, the more my head hurts. Should we just take today off and start fresh tomorrow?"
Neid's suggestion hung in the air. Even the usually diligent Shirone didn’t respond. Morale was clearly at an all-time low.

"Hey, wait... look over there."
Shirone pointed toward Central Park. Neid and Iruki followed his gaze, eyes widening.

"What? What are they doing here?"

Canis and Arin were strolling through the campus. As soon as they made eye contact with Shirone's group, they headed their way. Canis raised a hand in greeting.
"Yo. Class over already? Nice facilities, decent environment, but they treat the kids too softly."

"You! What are you doing here?"
Neid stepped in front of them. He had heard from Thaad that Canis and Arin had been cleared of any charges, but he thought that would be the end of it. So why were they walking around campus like they belonged here?

Shirone asked calmly, "Do you have business at the school?"

Canis didn’t answer right away. He stared directly at Shirone—the only student he truly acknowledged. The one who had defeated him. If Canis couldn’t overcome him, no amount of strength would matter.

"Listen carefully. Next time we face off, the result will be the opposite."

Neid scoffed before Shirone could reply.
"You’re still delusional. You’re ten years too early to beat Shirone."

"Do you really think ten years isn’t enough to take me down?"

Neid’s face twisted in anger. His emotions flared as memories of Shirone nearly dying resurfaced. But Iruki, trying to avoid escalating the situation, stepped in.
"That’s enough. What we want to know is why you’re here."

"Why? I’m staying here now."
"What?" Shirone’s eyes widened.

"Exactly what it sounds like. I thought it’d be fun to experience life in a magic school."

Neid crossed his arms in disbelief.
"You’ve mocked this place before, and now you want in? Who even let you in?"

Canis raised a finger and pointed.
"The headmaster."

"What?"

"Call me senior from now on. I’m in Class Four. You’re Class Five."

Shirone and the others were stunned. It had to be Alpheas who let them in. Still, joining straight into Class Four was almost unheard of.

"What’s with the shocked faces? We’re disciples of the Archmage. We've already mastered the fundamentals. Grouping us with amateurs like you is just insulting."

None of them could respond. After all, they had spent over ten years learning magic under Arcane. Even Class Four might not be a stretch.

"So yeah, from now on, call me senior."

"Get real! You won’t even be around next semester. We’ll be in Class Four by then!"

"Oh, really? Your grades are that bad? I was honestly disappointed. You were struggling with these low-level scrubs?"

One of the first things Canis did upon arriving was look into Shirone’s academic standing and social ties. He expected to find a top student, but instead discovered that Shirone was just mid-tier. It was shocking. Still, everyone knew that Shirone had the potential to rise quickly if he truly tried.

With Shirone and the others silent, biting back their frustration, Canis turned with a smirk.
"Do your best. If you make it into Class Four, you’ll be my cute little juniors. Haha!"

As Canis walked away, his shadow stretching toward them, he raised both arms and flipped them off with a smug grin.

The three stood trembling with anger. Shirone finally broke the silence.
"Today’s break is cancelled."

"Agreed. Canis, a senior? I’d rather drop out than call him that."

"Drop out? No way. I’m going to crush him and wipe that smirk off his face."

All three had only one goal now—promotion. But how? The end-of-semester exams weren’t just obstacles—they were the final reckoning of everything they’d done for half a year. Even if they started studying right away, success wasn’t guaranteed.

"You know," Shirone said thoughtfully, "I’ve been thinking..."

Neid turned quickly, eyes lighting up.
"What? You have an idea?"

"Honestly, if we keep studying the same way, we won’t make it. Our chances are too low. We need to change strategies."

Iruki nodded.
"Agreed."

“You want to change your approach? How exactly?”

“The 30 percent I mentioned is based on the assumption that you're studying hard,” Shirone explained. “But if I focus solely on what’s going to be on the test—without bothering to actually study everything—I think I can score over 50%. And for you guys, that could mean getting 70% or even 80%.”

“Huh. So, you’re saying we should aim specifically for the test? Pick and focus on what really matters?”

“Exactly,” Shirone nodded. “All I need is to score above 80 points. There’s no point spending time on subjects we’re already good at, or on content that won’t be on the test. The sixteen subjects can be grouped into four main categories: humanities, mathematics, science, and practical skills.”

He held up his fingers one by one as he explained.

“Fortunately, each of us has at least one area we can handle easily. More importantly, our specialties don’t overlap. I’m strong in humanities, Iruki is best at math, and Neid’s got science covered. Practical skills are out of our hands anyway.”

Iruki nodded, catching on quickly.

“So basically, you’re suggesting we form a study group. Since each of us is already strong in one area, we can cover each other’s weak spots.”

“Right. If we just teach each other the key strategies needed to score over 80, our overall chances will rise dramatically. I think we can push our success rate up by at least 50%.”

A small grin appeared on Iruki’s face. Shirone’s determination was clear, and it was obvious that having Canis and Arin ahead of them was pushing him to take this seriously.

It was a smart plan. And if all three of them could move up together, that would be the best outcome possible.

“I’m in. Let’s head to the research meeting room and start planning. Sound good?”

“Let’s do it!”

Fueled by their shared motivation, the three boys dashed off toward Estas.

Shirone threw himself into studying, day and night.

He understood that time management was key. For someone who isn’t aware of time, an hour slips by unnoticed. But for someone who breaks that hour into ten-minute chunks, it feels much longer—and more manageable.

He broke down the days until the semester exam into hourly blocks, always keeping the clock in mind. That way, not a single minute was wasted.

This method allowed him to approach the test with maximum efficiency. Instead of trying to deeply understand every topic, he focused on identifying question patterns, understanding the examiner’s intent, and mastering the solution process. In this regard, the study group proved extremely effective. By helping each other overcome their weaknesses, Shirone raised his average mock test score to over 70 points.

Of course, it wasn’t all smooth sailing. As he studied more, Shirone realized something important—his struggles in certain subjects weren’t because of laziness. He just wasn’t naturally good at them.

The biggest gap was between humanities and mathematics, especially for Iruki. After working through a test Shirone had made, Iruki dropped his pen and stretched after just thirty minutes.

“All done.”

“Let me see.”

Shirone went over the problems Iruki had solved, his expression growing more incredulous with each one. Iruki’s hand began to tremble as Shirone pointed out the mistakes. It was no mystery why the humanities teachers were always frustrated with him.

Holding up the test paper with a baffled expression, Shirone asked, “Seriously? How does ‘You eat pasta, I’ll eat pasta’ make sense here? I just explained how auxiliary verbs are used.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t make sense?” Iruki argued. “You eat pasta. I’ll eat pasta. What’s wrong with that? It emphasizes that each person is acting independently.”

“Huh? Well… I mean—” Shirone faltered for a second. It kind of made sense. But he quickly snapped back to his senses.

“No, that’s not how it works! Language isn’t math! It’s not a tool for proof, it’s a tool for expression! You’re supposed to read between the lines—not split the sentence in half!”

“Tch. What does that even mean? Math is so much better!”

“Shut up! I know you’re just being stubborn! Come on, even you have to admit it sounds weird, right?”

"Of course it sounds strange. But that's just a matter of perception. Mathematically, there's nothing wrong with the sentence."

Iruki took great pride in his math skills. It was a major blow to his ego that the humanities teachers had given his answer a zero.

Shirone decided to use his trump card.

"Aren’t you going to get held back if you fail?"

"What?! Damn it!"

Iruki dropped to his knees at those words. Dying would’ve been better than becoming one of Canis' juniors.

As Iruki turned back to his problem set, Shirone returned to his seat and sighed.

‘If I did this on an actual test… That would’ve been a disaster.’

Just then, Neid looked up from his book, as if something had occurred to him.

"Oh right, the practical exam is next week. Have you two been practicing?"

Shirone and Iruki asked in unison.

"What kind of test is it?"

"You’ve got to be kidding me. You seriously don’t know? It’s the Heartbeat Test—the Spirit Zone Endurance Evaluation."

"Do we really need to practice for that? Shirone and I can easily score over 80. Why are you stressing?"

"Still, practice matters. There are a lot of variables. Unlike written tests, this one’s graded relatively. If others outperform us, our scores could drop. I’m thinking about reviewing it one more time."

"It’s fine, seriously. I don’t have the time."

Iruki didn’t even bother listening—he just focused on solving his problem. He figured anyone at Class Five level could handle the Spirit Zone, so he wasn’t worried about the practical at all.

Shirone spoke up while working through a math question.

"Same here. I’ll pass. I’ve got too much to worry about already."

Neid felt confident too, but he also knew it’d be tough to beat the other two in raw scores.

‘Hmm… What should I do?’

He considered asking for help, but leaning on his friends out of anxiety felt like cheating the system.

‘Whatever. I just need to land in the top ten.’

Neid pushed the thought aside and resumed studying. In a group study session, each person had to pull 33.3% of the weight. If one person slacked off, the whole group suffered.

They cooperated for the group's benefit, but in the end, success still came down to individual performance.

Spirit Zone Practice Hall

This time was usually reserved for advanced class integration, but today only Class Five students were present. It was the infamous practical evaluation period—a time that had pushed Shirone to the edge more than once. With the semester wrapping up, tension in the room was at an all-time high.

Ethela entered the Image Zone and spread out her Spirit Zone to its usual 20-meter diameter before speaking.

“Today’s evaluation is the Mental Beat Test. We’ll be measuring how long you can maintain rhythmic changes in your Spirit Zone.”

She stretched her arms out and gestured toward two black rods standing far apart. They were inscribed with strange characters.

“The standard distance is 20 meters, measured from end to end between the rods. If your Spirit Zone doesn’t reach that far, you’re ineligible to take the test. But I doubt anyone here falls below that level.”

Ethela then shrank her Spirit Zone. When its volume dropped below 2 cubic meters, a buzzer sounded from the speaker system.

“When you hear the buzzer, that marks one cycle. The test lasts for 30 seconds, and you’ll earn points based on how many cycles you complete. Since we rarely practice this with the recorder on, I’ll demonstrate it for you first.”

With a signal from Ethela, the Image Zone entered Mind Beat mode. Her Spirit Zone pulsed like a heartbeat, rapidly expanding and contracting.

“Wow…”

The Spirit Zone shrank from 20 meters to less than 2 in an instant before blooming outward again. The rhythm wasn’t particularly fast, but each contraction and release packed explosive power.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

The speaker system tracked the beats and played explosive sounds with each one. This wasn’t just for show—engaging the five senses helped the students better understand the invisible Spirit Zone, making training much more effective.

After 30 seconds, the scoreboard lit up: 30 points—a beat per second.

Students whispered among themselves. According to the upperclassmen, you needed at least 90 points—three beats per second—to qualify for promotion. Watching Ethela's display, they silently reviewed their own strategies.

Ethela clasped her hands behind her back and continued.

“In real combat, you often need to rapidly shift your zone’s shape. The Mental Beat is basic training, but don’t stop just because class is over. Keep working on it.”

She called students forward in the order determined by their recent speed test. As expected, the rankings didn’t shift much—it's hard to make big leaps in skill over just a few months.

One by one, students recorded their scores. The lowest was 48. Then it was Neid’s turn. Since he ranked in the upper-middle last time, he went before Shirone and Iruki.

“Neid, do your best.”

“Ugh, I’m so nervous.”

With encouragement from his friends, Neid stepped into the zone, closed his eyes, and focused. A start-up tone rang out, and his Spirit Zone bloomed to life, beating furiously like a heart under pressure.

“Whoa! What’s going on, Neid?!”

The students were stunned. In just ten seconds, he had passed 50 points. At five beats per second, his rhythm carried overwhelming force.

“Wasn’t he just middle-ranked? At this rate, he might end up in the top group!”

“Guess all that training with Shirone really paid off. We should’ve joined their study group!”

“Seriously. Even Iruki’s been showing up to every class lately.”

At the 30-second mark, Neid’s final score appeared: 173. A boost in the last 10 seconds helped him score big.

“Well done, Neid.”

Ethela smiled warmly as she recorded the score. Her pride was evident—her student had done well.

‘Honestly, I expected this much from him.’

Neid returned to his seat, looking both proud and embarrassed. After high-fiving his friends, he collapsed into his chair.

“Man, I thought I was going to pass out from nerves.”

“Nice work. That’s one of us done. Just the two of us left.”

Motivated by Neid, the other students gave it their all, but no one managed to beat his score.

Finally, it was Iruki’s turn. Calm and confident, he stepped into the zone and activated his Servant ability. He had pre-programmed his zone to expand and contract like a machine—less useful in combat, but perfect for this kind of evaluation.

The result: 210 points.

The other students gawked.

“Is his brain made of formulas too? This guy’s insane.”

“No way Shirone can beat that, right?”

Then, a cold voice cut through the chatter.

“Tch. You’re all excited over those weak scores? Looks like Class Five is just a playground for losers.”

Everyone turned, their eyes going wide as if they'd seen ghosts. Canis and Arin—set to join next semester—were standing at the back, watching the test.

Ethela looked up from her clipboard and asked,

“Hm? What brings you two here?”

“The principal said we should observe. We’re here to see how the tests are run.”

“Oh, I see. Come stand over here—it’s a better view.”

Canis frowned. Does this woman really not get it? She was cool-headed in battle, but now she looks like a fool.

‘Is she doing this on purpose… or is she really that clueless?’

Still, he was curious about the exam. He and Arin stood behind the students.

“What do you think, Arin?” he asked.

“I practiced this so much I thought I’d die. Master told me to max it out no matter what. If it were me, I’d score at least 250.”

Arin specialized in Spirit magic. His Spirit Zone had exceptional stamina, especially since he used the tentacle-type—a notoriously difficult form to control.

‘As expected of Arcane’s disciples… They’re on a whole different level.’

The students looked discouraged. Many of them came from noble families, but being a direct disciple of a legendary wizard like Arcane was everyone’s dream. Despite their humble origins, Canis and Arin had taken the fast lane to the top.

‘Tch. But we’ve got a secret weapon too.’

When Shirone, the final contestant of the group, stepped into the Image Zone, the students erupted in cheers.

Now that their memories had returned, they remembered that Shirone had defeated Canis. That alone made them eager to see what he would show this time.

Standing at the center of the Image Zone, Shirone took a deep breath. Iruki had already scored 210 points—enough to qualify for promotion even if she had just skimmed the edge of passing. But Shirone’s eyes held a different fire. Even if this test wasn’t about beating Canis, he had no intention of holding back. He had a goal, and he would give it his all.

At Ethela’s signal, the device activated. Shirone immediately pushed the Spirit Zone to its highest frequency from the very start.

Unlike Iruki, who used precise calculations to evenly divide each second, Shirone relied on something different—something inherently human: rhythm. The body’s internal clock, its sense of timing, was his guide.

Tuning into John’s rhythm, Shirone aligned himself with the beat and quickly accelerated. The sound machine burst into action, echoing like a thunderous drumline.

Puff pup pup pup pup!

The students stared, mouths agape. Even watching intently, they could only catch glimpses of the Spirit Zone—maybe once per second.

“I can’t even count… How many times per second is that?”

Several Spirit Zones were moving at once, making it impossible to keep track by eye. The students waited ten seconds in breathless anticipation. Then, a massive number appeared on the display:

120 points.

“Twelve times per second…”

A sphere with a diameter of twenty meters, expanding and contracting twelve times in a single second—can you imagine it? Even with their own eyes on it, no one could fully comprehend what was happening inside. Only the exploding bursts of sound and the rapidly rising score revealed the speed at which Shirone’s mind was operating.

Even Canis and Arin were left speechless, watching in stunned silence. Arin, in particular, looked shaken. At that kind of speed, the body usually gives out long before the technique does. The mind breaks down under the pressure.

In this test, the key was how quickly one could expand from the smallest circle to the largest—and how well one could endure the violent recoil of contraction.

And Shirone’s demonstration? It was peak performance—maximum speed, maximum durability.

Ethela understood instantly what she was witnessing.

“Incredible. That child’s potential… it’s beyond anything I imagined.”

Even she couldn’t tell where Shirone’s limits lay. Just when she thought he had reached one, he had already surpassed it.