Go to the Welcome Speech

Max decided, for the moment at least, to play the role of the dutiful first-year student. The welcome speech was the only mandatory event of the entire year; after today, every door in the academy and the capital beyond would be open to him. There was no harm in making an appearance. Besides, the lingering heat from his all-night marathon with Darren still thrummed pleasantly through his veins, and the faint, delicious ache in his body reminded him exactly how far his magical reserves had already climbed. A little public restraint might even make the next indulgence taste sweeter.

He stepped out of the dormitory into the bright morning air, the long grey-and-gold academy robe swaying around his slender frame. Beneath it, the tight pants clung to his plump ass with nothing in between—no underwear, just as he preferred. The thin fabric teased his skin with every step, a constant, secret reminder of how easily he could be exposed if anyone cared to look. Max kept his expression perfectly neutral, purple eyes cool and aristocratic, the thousand-yard stare of high nobility masking the quiet hunger that never quite left him.

The campus paths were already alive with activity. First-years moved in loose groups, chatting excitedly on stone benches or clustering around glowing vending machines that dispensed everything from enchanted energy drinks to minor stamina potions. The distinctive scent of alchemical reagents and oiled machinery drifted on the breeze—Lustria Academy’s unique blend of magic and invention. In this world, the old sciences of medicine and engineering had never faded; they had simply evolved into something far more decadent. Flying ships sliced across the distant sky, teleportation circles hummed in guarded courtyards, and the alchemists and machinists of the academy turned potions and gears into weapons, pleasures, and miracles.

Max fell into step behind a small caravan of merchant-class students who had arrived together. Most were heading into the capital proper after orientation—eager to open shops, inherit family businesses, or chase fortunes in the bustling streets of Lustria City. Only a handful were actually enrolling. Their families had connections to minor noble houses, which explained why they had been allowed to travel in such comfort. Max had hitched a ride with them days earlier, his own modest barony in the western hills of the Great Lustria Kingdom too far for comfortable solo travel. The Frost lands were peaceful but unremarkable—once part of a mighty empire that had fractured centuries ago in royal wars and succession crises. The old empire had been carved into duchies and kingdoms; Lustria had earned the title “Great” as a consolation prize, still powerful but forever one rank below the true empires that remained. None of it mattered to Max. He was here for power of a far more personal kind.

Inside the sprawling academy, the diversity of the old multicultural empire was on full display. Humans mingled with elves whose elegant features and long ears marked them as natural mages, while stocky dwarves kept to their own clusters, beards braided with runes and hammers slung at their belts. The two races maintained a polite but icy distance—ancient grudges still simmering like embers. Scattered among them were the beastkin, their furry ears, tails, and animalistic features impossible to miss. Max privately called them furries, though he kept the thought behind his flawless mask. Their innate talent for druidic magic was legendary; many traveled with their bonded animal companions, communicating through gestures and soft growls that no outsider could understand. One fox-tailed beauty in particular caught his eye—her sleek black ears twitching as she laughed with friends. A fleeting image flashed through Max’s mind: his own transformation magic, the way his ancestors might have mingled bloodlines with such a creature long ago. The God of Lust’s blessing warmed in his chest at the thought.

By the time he reached the grand auditorium, the hall was already filling. Max chose an empty seat near the back, where the shadows were deeper and expectations lower. The rear rows stayed sparsely populated—some students had overslept, others had simply decided the speech wasn’t worth their time. Their end-of-year points would suffer for the absence, but true geniuses always found ways to compensate. Max crossed one leg over the other, the robe falling just so to accentuate the curve of his thigh, and waited.

Half an hour later the vast chamber was packed. The low murmur of conversation buzzed like a living thing until the side doors opened and the faculty filed onto the stage. At their center stood Archmage Janus, the headmaster himself. He was nothing like the frail, bearded wizards of children’s tales. Instead, he looked like a battle-hardened knight who had simply traded his plate armor for flowing robes—broad shoulders, barrel chest, and a square jaw framed by silver hair. At seventy he appeared vigorous and imposing; in a world where proper magical training granted centuries of youth, that alone spoke volumes. The rest of the teaching staff looked even younger—some barely older than the students—yet Max knew most were older than his own parents. Longevity was the great equalizer here.

Janus stepped to the podium, and the hall fell into respectful silence.

Before the headmaster could begin, a bright, sunny voice cut through the quiet from Max’s left.

“Hey, Max! What are you doing all the way back here?”

Max turned his head with cool precision. The speaker was a handsome blonde young man with bright blue eyes and an easy, open smile—Mark, one of the merchant-class students from the caravan. His family’s wealth was modest but comfortable, and Mark had proven cheerful company on the long road to the capital. Max remembered the journey well: Mark’s father had refused to fund his travels, claiming the boy needed to “learn to stand on his own.” In truth, the old merchant was simply tight-fisted. It had been Mark’s sweet, curvaceous mother who had slipped her son a generous pouch of coins in secret—money Max had noticed Mark still carried. The two of them had hitched the same ride, and now here Mark was, sliding into the seat beside him as though they were old friends.

Max offered the barest nod, his aristocratic mask firmly in place, purple eyes calm and distant. Inside, however, the God of Lust’s blessing stirred with quiet interest.

The speech had not even started, and already the day promised new opportunities.

The headmaster cleared his throat, the sound magically amplified across the auditorium, and began.