Reincarnated as the Only Male in an All-Girls Magic Academy!-Chapter 12: The Surface.

Ren didn't pause for a second.

His legs carried him forward with silent purpose, striding confidently across the white marble path leading to the grandest library on the street.

His upgraded ID badge hung from the clip attached to his uniform, still pulsing with the faint glow of activation.

But even as his heart thudded with anticipation from the earlier announcement—the thought of achievement points and special classes dancing around in his brain like candy on a conveyor belt—he didn't waver.

He had made a plan, and it was going to be followed to the letter. Because he wasn't here just to compete.

He was here to dominate. And knowledge was the sharpest blade he could wield.

'There's still an hour before the column unlocks anyway,' he thought, adjusting his collar. 'That's more than enough time to understand what kind of world I'm dealing with, at least.'

He approached the towering glass doors with swift steps.

Runes shimmered across the surface like delicate threads of gold, pulsing once before the doors silently parted like the jaws of a great beast letting in its next meal.

The moment Ren stepped through, his footsteps came to a dead halt.

His breath caught in his throat.

"Indeed..." he whispered, eyes wide as saucers.

Books? There were no books. No scrolls. No dusty tomes waiting to be flipped open with dramatic flair.

Instead, thousands, no, tens of thousands of glowing orbs floated silently on crystal shelves that stretched endlessly across the massive halls like a sea of hovering stars.

The orbs glowed in every shade of color imaginable. Azure blue. Sunset gold. Emerald green.

Even ones that pulsed black with eerie rhythm, as though they were breathing in darkness.

At first, Ren was quite disappointed. He had come in expecting the noble smell of old paper and ink, the dramatic slam of books on ancient wooden tables, the romantic image of leafing through secrets by gentle light.

But instead... floating balls? It felt like a cheap sci-fi knock-off of what a magical library should look like.

But then, as always, his logical brain kicked in.

"Actually..." he muttered, pushing up an imaginary pair of glasses he wasn't wearing. "This is far more efficient."

After all, in a world brimming with magic, why would anyone use paper? It could rot. Burn. Tear.

Or worse, it could fall into a toilet during a magic-related bathroom accident. These orbs were better.

They didn't need light to be read. They weren't bulky. And, judging from their variety, they probably held more than just words; perhaps images, sounds, even full simulations?!

He was sold!

With new excitement in his step, he moved deeper into the hall and approached the librarian which was a softly glowing green sphere that hovered behind a circular counter.

Unlike Jelly Bean, this spirit was silent, smooth, and radiated a sense of dignity. Its glow flickered faintly as Ren approached.

"Excuse me," Ren said politely, keeping his voice polite but clipped. "Could you please direct me to the section that holds information on the history of this world?"

The spirit floated up slightly, its glow warming as it responded instantly, its voice soft and genderless.

"Certainly. You will find the historical archives of the Surface located in Wing D. Follow the gold-lit path to your left, take the second corridor, and continue straight until you see a sign labeled 'Chronicles of the Surface.'"

Ren nodded. "Thanks. Also, how do I access the information stored in these... memory orbs?"

"You simply hold the orb and focus your intent to learn. Your mind will sync with the contents."

"Got it. Much appreciated."

With a nod of thanks, he turned and moved swiftly in the direction the spirit indicated, golden lights lighting up beneath his boots with every step.

The deeper he went into the library, the quieter it became. Not silent, but thick with the kind of reverence only found in places where knowledge slept.

And as he reached Wing D, his eyes scanned the glowing sign above him.

[CHRONICLES OF THE SURFACE]

Below that, the shelves were labeled neatly, row after row of glowing orbs stacked in clear order. Some of the tags included:

• The Age of Threads: Pre-Weaving Civilizations

• The Founding of the Loom

• The Great Carver Rebellion

• The Fall of Surface Kings

• Unification of the Five Pillars

• Rise of the Twin Cults

• The First World Wound

• Continent Splinter Wars

• The Treaty of the High Peaks

• Era of Hidden Flame

• Modern Weaving and Civilization

Ren's fingers paused on one label near the top:

"Foundational Overview of the Surface: A Beginner's Lens"

Perfect. He didn't need to dive into politics or war just yet. First, he needed to understand the basics.

He plucked the orb from its place; it hummed gently in his hand, warm and inviting.

Then, with practiced grace, he moved to a nearby seating area which was a suspended chair that gently hovered an inch off the ground and sat down.

He leaned back, closed his eyes, and thought:

'I want to know everything inside this orb.'

And the moment he did, the world around him changed.

'Welcome,' said a voice in his mind. It was deep, slow, and smug—like a professor who enjoyed knowing more than everyone else but still loved the sound of his own voice.

At least, that was what Ren thought. Only after a few seconds did he realize it was just his thoughts.

There was no voice in his head, but was like his thoughts were speaking to him!

'You are now witnessing the beginning of everything that matters. The Surface. The cradle of reality. The battlefield of Will.

'The stage where power is born, shaped, and destroyed. You may be from the Outer World—one of the many sad little realms where steel and science struggle to pretend they're gods—but here... the impossibility reigns.'

The image in his mind opened up like a storybook painted with light.

He saw endless floating continents, suspended by golden threads that shimmered across the sky like bridges between heavens.

Cities floating on spinning disks. Towering spires wrapped in eternal flame. Massive beasts curled asleep beneath entire mountain ranges.

'The Surface is not a continent. It is not a planet. It is a vast plane stitched together by ancient Threads.'

'Each region floats on its own fabric, suspended by the Will of the Loom. Gravity is obedient here. Reality listens to Weavers. Thought becomes weapon, and soul becomes storm.'

Ren's heart raced. This wasn't just a magical society—it was an entire plane of existence, governed by principles that made physics look like a side character in its own book!

'Weavers are those who manipulate the Threads. Carvers are those who etch personified laws into the structure of reality.'

'Both are gifted. Both are dangerous. Both are needed. Without them, the Surface would unravel.'

'Literally. You see, in our world, reality is like a tapestry. And only those who understand the Loom... can alter its pattern.'

The narration paused for dramatic effect, letting the enormity of those words sink in.

Ren leaned forward slightly in his floating chair, mind racing. 'This... This is exactly what I needed to know.'

In the next segment, the voice said smugly, we will begin examining the first formation of Will Threads, and how the first humans became Weavers after the Age Of Threads.

Ren's lips curved into a slow, feral smile.

"Oh yes," he whispered. "Feed me more."

.....

Forty-five minutes passed in a blur.

Creed finally opened his eyes, blinking as he returned to reality. The chair he was sitting in gave a soft hum as it gently lowered him back to the floor.

His fingers loosened their grip on the glowing orb, which now flickered softly like a candle about to go out, as if it had emptied its soul into him and was now taking a well-deserved nap.

He exhaled.

"...That was insane," he whispered to himself, his voice shaky with awe. "Forget books. These things are like learning on fast-forward steroids."

He wasn't wrong. The memory orb didn't just tell him the history of the Surface—it practically uploaded it into his mind like a dream that you could remember in perfect clarity.

Especially for someone like him with a near photographic memory, he could easily retain the knowledge he had just witnessed.

And unlike books, there was no flipping pages, no dry lines of text, and no back pain from leaning over a desk for hours.

It had been like living through a movie that was also a lecture and a spiritual awakening at the same time.

Ten out of ten. Would do it again!

And now? Now his mind was overflowing with revelations.

The Surface.

A world unlike anything he had ever imagined. Even in his past life as a world-class scientist with more theories in his head than friends in his phone.

The orb had laid it all bare. This wasn't just a fantasy world; it was a complete and living ecosystem with rules, history, and structure that was terrifyingly elegant.

At the core of everything were two dominant paths: Weaving and Carving.

Weavers were the ones who connected with the Loom, the invisible and mystical web that governed reality.

To be a Weaver meant manipulating the threads of law itself—gravity, time, fire, emotion, space, lightning—literally re-writing how the world worked through concentrated will.

When Weavers fought, cities bowed. When they danced, the elements bent. When they wove, the world shifted.

They were the composers of reality's music, and the Loom was their instrument!

Then there were the Carvers—no less dangerous. Where Weavers altered the outside world, Carvers altered themselves.

Similarly known as warriors, they etch sigils of power into their own flesh, marks that glowed with deep meaning and mystery.

Each sigil represented a truth about the universe, a concept so potent that the mere act of carving it into their body changed them.

Made them stronger. Faster. Smarter. Some Carvers could leap across mountains!

Others could bend light, punch through barriers, or shrug off lava like rain! They were monsters!

The difference was fascinating. Weavers turned the world into clay. Carvers turned themselves into gods.

And despite the almost mythical powers both paths offered, their balance was surprisingly... stable.

Mostly.

Creed had learned that both classes were essential. They weren't at war with each other. In fact, they complemented each other beautifully.

Weavers handled wide-scale manipulation and spellwork. Carvers specialized in personal combat and frontline power.

The major organizations of the Surface, called Sovereignties, often had powerful heads from both factions to keep the peace—and if one got too cocky, the other was there to smack them back down.

At least, they were like this against this common enemy.

And then came the wild part.

Apparently, Weaving had always been a women-only thing.

As in, literally never in recorded history had a man been born with the ability to manipulate the Loom.

It wasn't even a debate. It was accepted like the sun rising or fire being hot. Carving, on the other hand, was a bit more generous.

Both men and women could do it, though men made up the larger share there. But Weaving? That was women's exclusive domain.

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Until now.

Creed blinked and looked down at his hands, flexing them slowly. 'So... what the hell does that make me?'

He shoved the question away for now and returned to the bigger picture.

The Surface itself was split into five major Sovereignties, each one controlling vast floating regions suspended on massive fabrics of Loom-stitched land.

Formerly known as Pillars, each Sovereignty had its own culture, leadership, and priorities. Some focused on magical advancement.

Others on military strength. Some even controlled trade routes between floating continents, using flying beasts and enchanted platforms to ship goods across the sky like fleets of airborne caravans.

And guess what tied everything together?

Academies.

Academies were the heart of the Surface. Every major Sovereignty had at least one, and they were more than just schools.

They were the battlegrounds for status, the engines of civilization, and the gates to power.

Everything revolved around them. Politics. Warfare. Research. Even marriage proposals. If you wanted to matter, if you wanted influence, you needed to be trained in one of the elite academies.

Life was extremely hard for rogues!

The Loom Academy, where Creed was now enrolled, was also the most famous. Or rather, infamous.

The reason why that was so was not stated in the orb, unfortunately.

Then there were the Curses.

The great enemies of this world. These weren't people or monsters—they were nightmares made real.

When the Loom—the mystical fabric of reality—was damaged, a Wound opened. And through that wound came a Curse.

Each Curse had its own nature. A fear-based Curse spread terror like a plague. A despair-based Curse dragged entire cities into suicidal hopelessness.

A greed-based Curse turned people against each other until only one stood atop the pile. They didn't just destroy—they corrupted. Twisted.

Devoured everything from the inside out. And the worst part? You couldn't predict when or where a Wound would form.

They could appear in the middle of the sky, in the heart of a temple, or in someone's backyard chicken coop!

Because of this, both Weavers and Carvers had to work together to push them back. It was the only thing keeping the Surface from falling into chaos.

Unity wasn't a choice, it was a survival instinct.

Creed sat there, stunned. There were entire economies dedicated to Loom-derived products.

Weaving-based medicine. Carving-inspired architecture. Even their fashion had runes woven into it.

Their social structure was based on weaving affinity, mental strength, rune compatibility, and public service in curse-cleansing missions.

Before the Loom was discovered, the world was fragmented. Carving existed, but it was raw and simple.

Tribes marked themselves with crude symbols and gained strength like cavemen with superpowers.

But then the Loom was found, or perhaps revealed, and it changed everything. Civilization boomed.

Weaving evolved into a high art. Power became more centralized, more sophisticated, and more dangerous.

Creed's thoughts raced.

'Power is everything here. Social standing. Survival. Even romance probably depends on how well you can blast someone across a mountain.'

He was still lost in the sea of revelations when suddenly—

BEEP!

His ID badge flashed bright orange.

A soft female voice echoed in his ears.

"Attention all prospectives. The Achievement Column has now been unlocked. Please check your badge interface for details on available achievements, milestones, and deadline windows. May your ambitions light the Loom."

Creed's heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, it's showtime now," he muttered, already rising to his feet.