Abyss Crown Academy: The Forgotten Demon King

After reincarnating as the Demon King, You enters magic academy… where history may not remember him correctly.

Plot

The Demon King Goes to School After two thousand years, You has finally reincarnated. Not as a sealed hero. Not as a chosen saint. Not as some weak nobody who needs to grind slime quests for three hundred chapters. No. You was the Demon King. The ancient ruler whose death ended an age of war and allowed the world to become peaceful, polished, academic, and extremely confident in its own version of history. Now reborn into a loving family who are far too proud of their terrifyingly talented child, You is gently encouraged to do something “normal”: Attend magic academy. So, as an act of affection, his parents pay for his entrance into Abyss Crown Academy, the most prestigious demon magic school of the modern age. A place of noble heirs, elegant uniforms, arrogant prodigies, magical duels, political factions, forbidden archives, dramatic rumors, and teachers who are very sure their textbooks are correct. For You, it should be simple. Take the entrance test. Answer some basic questions. Enter the academy. See what modern magic has become. Easy. Probably. A reincarnated Demon King enters a modern magic academy where everyone thinks they understand history. Expect anime academy power fantasy, classroom comedy, stylish duels, arrogant nobles getting humbled, mysterious relics, faction drama, romance routes, and the slow realization that maybe the peaceful future is not as simple as it looks. Welcome to Abyss Crown Academy. Try not to correct the textbook too loudly.

Opening scene

After two thousand years, you finally opened your eyes again. The first thing you felt was not fear, confusion, or regret. It was relief. A small, ridiculous, almost insulting kind of relief. You remembered dying perfectly: the final battle, the broken sky, the roar of ancient magic, the silence after the last blow. Then nothing. For two thousand years, nothing. So when you returned to the world in the body of a newborn child, with tiny hands, weak lungs, and two parents sobbing happily over your cradle, your first thought was simple: finally. Your second thought was that being a baby was an unacceptable downgrade. The midwife gasped when you opened your eyes and looked directly at her. Your mother cried harder. Your father clasped both hands together and whispered, “He’s looking at us already! What a clever boy!” You were not being clever. You were offended. Your body could barely move, your mana channels were absurdly small, and your voice came out useless and thin. So you fixed the problem. A tiny spell circle formed above your crib. The windows sealed themselves, the lamps brightened, and the room temperature stabilized. The midwife fainted. Your father’s eyes sparkled. Your mother pressed both hands to her cheeks. “Our child is casting already!” your father said, voice trembling with joy. “How lively!” Lively. That was one word for it. Using all the dignity available to a creature wrapped in a blanket, you spoke your first words. “Too loud.” For a moment, the room was silent. Then your mother burst into tears again. “He spoke!” Your father looked as if the heavens had personally delivered him the greatest child in existence. “He’s a genius!” The midwife remained unconscious. That was how your new life began. By the third day, you could speak clearly. Your parents celebrated by buying you picture books, then immediately became emotional when you corrected the grammar in one of them. By the seventh day, you had corrected your father’s breathing method for mana circulation. He did not take offense. He took notes. By the second week, the local priest declared you “a divine blessing,” then quietly stopped visiting after you improved three flaws in his blessing rite. Your mother kept the corrected version and said it would make a wonderful memory. By the end of the month, your body had grown far beyond infancy. By the end of the season, you looked old enough to attend an academy. Your parents handled this with an astonishing amount of love and almost no common sense. They did not fear you, reject you, or whisper about curses and monsters. Instead, they watched every impossible thing you did with shining eyes and the emotional stability of people who had decided that their child was simply very, very special. When you repaired the household wards by pointing at them, your father applauded. When you accidentally made a spoon float during breakfast, your mother called it adorable. When your shadow briefly moved before you did, both of them pretended not to notice because they were too busy discussing whether you preferred honey cakes or fruit tarts. Peace had made people fragile. Your parents had made peace look strangely warm. The world itself was pleasant. Too pleasant, maybe. No armies outside your window. No divine spears splitting the sky. No desperate kings begging for alliances. No heroes kicking down your throne room doors with speeches they clearly practiced in mirrors. Only warm meals, worried affection, peaceful roads, and a sky that looked almost proud of itself for staying intact. Perhaps your death had worked. Perhaps the world had finally learned how to breathe without you. That thought amused you more than expected. Then, one morning, your parents sat across from you at breakfast with the stiff expressions of people about to reveal a surprise they had rehearsed all night. Your father cleared his throat. Your mother folded her hands, visibly trying not to smile too early. “You are… gifted,” she said. That was one word for it. “Extremely gifted,” your father added. “Miraculously gifted,” your mother corrected. “Historically gifted,” your father said, becoming emotional for reasons only he understood. Your mother placed a sealed letter on the table. “Abyss Crown Academy is accepting new students this year.” Your father nodded quickly. “It is the finest magic academy in the realm. Very prestigious. Very expensive.” Your mother leaned forward, eyes shining. “And we want to pay for your entrance.” The room went quiet. Your father smiled with nervous pride. “You deserve to see the world. To learn. To make friends. To be around other talented young people.” Your mother’s voice softened as she reached across the table and squeezed your hand. “You have grown so quickly. We do not know everything you are capable of, but we know this: we are proud of you.” Your father nodded so hard it almost looked painful. “Very proud.” You looked at them. You could have refused. You could have explained that you had once ruled from a throne before their nations had names. You could have told them that basic academy magic sounded like a game invented to keep children from burning curtains. But they looked so happy, so hopeful, so determined to support the impossible child they had somehow decided was simply their wonderful son. And perhaps it would be interesting. A peaceful world had built a school to teach magic. You wanted to see what magic had become. So you smiled and said, “All right.” Your mother immediately cried. Your father stood so fast his chair nearly fell over. “He said yes!” “I heard!” your mother said, already crying harder. They hugged you like you had accepted a royal crown instead of school admission. In a way, perhaps you had. That was how you arrived at Abyss Crown Academy. The academy rose from the cliffs like a palace pretending to be a school: black spires, silver bridges, violet banners, enormous stained-glass windows, floating lanterns, and towers carved with protective runes so simplified they almost looked decorative. Students filled the courtyard in polished uniforms. Some arrived with servants, some with noble escorts, and some with enchanted luggage that followed them around like obedient pets. Everyone looked excited, nervous, proud, or desperate to appear important. It was adorable. A crystal bell rang above the gate. “First-year entrance evaluation will begin shortly.” You followed the crowd inside. The examination hall was vast and bright, with rows of polished desks beneath floating chandeliers. Examiner crystals hovered above each seat, recording answers with quiet mechanical obedience. A test appeared on the desk before you. **ABYSS CROWN ACADEMY — FIRST-YEAR PLACEMENT QUESTIONNAIRE** Around you, students straightened. Pens moved. Someone whispered a prayer. Someone else cracked their knuckles like the paper might fight back. You looked at the first question. **Question 1: What is the safest method for stabilizing a basic mana circuit?** You blinked once. That was it? You wrote: **Anchor the dominant channel, regulate the flow, and close the circuit through a controlled return point.** The examiner crystal pulsed. **Accepted.** **Question 2: Name three common dangers of overcharged spellcasting.** You wrote: **Core backlash, formula collapse, and uncontrolled mana discharge.** **Accepted.** **Question 3: In formal dueling, what conditions may end a match?** You wrote: **Submission, incapacitation, ring-out, surrender, or instructor-declared tactical defeat.** **Accepted.** A noble student nearby exhaled in relief. “This is easier than I expected.” You had to admire his confidence. **Question 4: Why is ancient magic considered difficult to use by modern mages?** You paused. Not because you did not know the answer, but because the wording was adorable. You wrote: **Because modern mages lack the structural discipline, mana depth, and formula comprehension required to use it safely.** The examiner crystal flickered. Not rejected. Not accepted immediately. Just… flickered. A professor at the front glanced up. You smiled faintly. Good. At least one object in this room had a sense of drama. The test continued. Spell theory. Dueling etiquette. Noble protocol. Magical safety. History. Most of it was simple. Some of it was charmingly wrong. All of it was manageable. One by one, the questions vanished as you answered them, while the students around you grew more tense with every passing page. Then the final page appeared. The last question formed at the bottom of the paper in elegant academy script. **Final Question:** **Who was the Demon King whose death brought peace to the world two thousand years ago?** For the first time that morning, you almost laughed. What a strange thing to ask. What an easy thing to answer. Around you, pens began moving immediately. The examiner crystal hovered above your desk, waiting. The blank line beneath the question gleamed softly. Of course you knew the answer. After all, it was your death. **What do you write?**

Characters

Tags: Academy Anime AnyPOV Comedy Demon Fantasy HiddenIdentity HiddenPower Invincible Magical Mystery Noble PoliticalIntrigue Reincarnator SchoolLife SlowBurn Student

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