The practical examination hall looked nothing like the theory center.
That made sense. You could fit two hundred students inside a classroom. You couldn't safely fit two hundred students throwing magic around.
The examination complex occupied the western edge of the campus grounds. Large reinforced buildings stretched across several acres, each surrounded by observation towers and mana-insulated walls. Apparently, the authorities had learned through expensive experience that handing stressed teenagers access to magical energy occasionally produced undesirable outcomes. The black scorch marks visible on a nearby structure suggested the lesson had been learned more than once.
I followed the signs toward Hall Twelve.
Candidates were seated on long benches outside the building, waiting for their assigned times. Some revised notes despite there being almost nothing left to revise. Others meditated. A few paced nervously back and forth. One particularly dedicated individual appeared to be reciting an entire textbook from memory.
Personally, I had already accepted my fate.
Worrying wasn't going to increase my magic power.
Believe me.
I'd tested that theory thoroughly.
As I sat down, two boys occupying the bench opposite glanced in my direction.
"...that's him."
"The theory guy?"
"Yeah."
The second boy looked me up and down.
His eyes lingered on the tattoo visible beneath my sleeve.
"Dreggo?"
The word wasn't spoken loudly.
It rarely was.
People generally preferred plausible deniability when using slurs.
The first boy shrugged.
"Probably."
I pretended not to hear.
They weren't wrong anyway.
My mother had been human.
My accent wasn't local.
Eventually, the examination doors opened.
A tall woman in examiner robes stepped outside.
"Candidate one hundred and eight."
A boy immediately stood.
"That's me."
She glanced at her clipboard.
"Raudra Vashkar."
Even I recognized the name.
The prodigy.
The blessed child.
The future star.
Several candidates straightened as he walked past.
One actually wished him luck.
Raudra thanked him politely before entering the examination hall.
The door closed behind him.
Almost immediately, conversation resumed.
"He'll definitely get first."
"Did you hear he crossed eight MCass last month?"
"Really?"
"My cousin goes to his academy."
Lucky bastard.
I wasn't even jealous anymore.
Jealousy required hope.
About twenty minutes later the doors reopened.
Raudra emerged.
Several candidates immediately tried reading his expression.
Unfortunately for them, he looked completely calm.
A few minutes later an assistant posted preliminary scores on a side display.
A crowd instantly formed around it.
I stayed seated.
There was no need.
The reactions told me everything.
A collective murmur spread through the waiting area.
Someone whistled.
Someone else swore.
Curiosity eventually got the better of me.
I walked over and looked.
Candidate: Raudra Vashkar
Core Stability: 97%
Mana Control: 96%
Magic Output: 8.24 MCass
Overall Rating: Grade A
I stared at the number.
Eight point two four.
For reference, I would have sold one of my kidneys for half that.
Maybe both kidneys, depending on market conditions.
No wonder people were impressed.
The gap between four and eight wasn't simply numerical.
It was the difference between struggling through university and becoming one of the students professors bragged about.
A hand touched my shoulder.
I turned.
Raudra immediately withdrew it.
"Oh. Sorry."
For some reason he looked nervous.
Again.
I was starting to wonder if I frightened him somehow.
"Congratulations," I said.
His expression brightened slightly.
"Thank you."
A few moments of silence followed.
Then he added,
"Your theory result was incredible."
There it was.
The reason he wanted to talk.
The perfect score.
"Thanks."
"I still don't understand how you answered Question One Hundred."
I blinked.
Of all the topics he could've chosen, he wanted to discuss trap questions.
A true scholar.
"You read the wording."
"I did."
"You assumed the examiner knew what he was talking about."
Raudra frowned.
I continued.
"He didn't."
For several seconds, he simply stared at me.
Then, slowly, understanding appeared.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
His shoulders slumped.
"I hate that question."
"Me too."
To my surprise, both of us laughed.
The tension disappeared instantly.
Maybe I had judged him a little harshly.
Only a little, though.
An announcement echoed through the hall.
"Candidate Neal."
Well.
Time to ruin the mood.
The practical examination chamber was smaller than I'd expected.
A raised platform occupied the center of the room. Floating recording crystals hovered overhead while various measuring devices lined the walls. Three examiners sat behind a desk near the far end.
One of them was reading my file.
"Theory Rank One."
His eyebrows rose.
The younger examiner beside him leaned forward.
"The perfect score candidate?"
The older examiner nodded.
For a brief moment, genuine interest appeared on their faces.
Then he turned the page.
The room grew quieter.
The enthusiasm vanished.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Three prior attempts.
Maximum recorded output: 3.99 MCass.
I watched the transformation happen.
The younger examiner frowned.
"Ah."
The older one closed the file.
"Candidate Neal, please state your identification number for recording purposes."
Just like that.
Back to procedure.
Maybe I imagined it.
Probably not.
The younger examiner offered an apologetic smile.
I hated apologetic smiles.
They usually arrived moments before terrible news.
The stability assessment came first.
A crystal sphere floated toward the center of the platform.
"Channel mana continuously."
I did.
The test itself was simple. Most candidates became nervous and produced fluctuating readings.
Years of monitoring my pathetic magic core had accidentally made me very good at consistency.
The crystal recorded data for five straight minutes.
When the results appeared, all three examiners leaned forward.
Core Stability: 99.8%
The younger examiner checked the screen.
Then checked it again.
"That can't be right."
The older examiner adjusted his spectacles.
"It appears to be."
Another examiner looked through my file.
"Run verification."
The measurement repeated.
Five minutes later the result appeared again.
99.8%
The room fell silent.
Finally, the older examiner wrote something down.
"Proceed."
No explanation.
No comment.
Just proceed.
The control assessment followed.
Three metallic rings emerged from the floor.
The objective was straightforward.
Guide a mana thread through all three moving rings without touching the edges.
Simple.
Not easy.
I concentrated.
Years of careful practice paid off.
The first ring.
The second.
The third.
Again.
Again.
Again.
When the exercise ended, the display appeared.
Mana Control: 99.1%
The younger examiner finally stopped pretending not to be impressed.
"Extraordinary."
"Not possible with that output," another muttered.
I pretended not to hear him.
Unfortunately, I heard him perfectly.
The examiner glanced at my file once more.
The look on his face annoyed me.
It wasn't contempt.
It wasn't mockery.
It was curiosity.
Like I was a puzzle with a missing piece.
Then came the part that mattered.
The output assessment.
The dream killer.
The professional disappointment generator.
The machine rose from beneath the platform.
A large crystal column surrounded by engraved metal rings.
This fucking machine, I hated this machine.
This machine hated me.
Our relationship was uncomplicated.
"Maximum output upon instruction."
I nodded.
My pulse quickened.
Everything else stopped mattering.
Just one number.
Four MCass.
The minimum.
The barrier that had ruined my life for three years.
The machine activated.
Light spread through the crystal.
"Begin."
I reached inward.
Toward my magic core.
Mana surged through the apparatus.
Numbers appeared.
3.2
3.5
3.7
3.8
My heart started pounding.
Come on.
Please.
Just this once.
3.9
The display flickered.
A strange expression crossed one examiner's face.
The number jumped.
For the briefest fraction of a second, I thought I saw:
4.61
Then it disappeared.
Maybe I imagined it.
The display stabilized.
3.98 MCass
The machine powered down.
Silence filled the room.
I stared at the number.
Three point nine eight.
Again.
Not exactly the same result.
Close enough.
Two hundredths short.
The younger examiner looked at the display.
Then at me.
Then at the display again.
"Did you—"
The older examiner cut him off immediately.
"Candidate Neal, please wait outside while we complete the evaluation."
Something in his tone felt strange.
But I was too busy staring at the number.
Three point nine eight.
Three years.
Everything boiled down to three point nine eight.
An hour later, I was called back.
The examiners sat around a table covered in documents.
Far more documents than seemed necessary for somebody who had clearly failed.
Strange.
The older examiner handed me an envelope.
His expression was unreadable.
"Your preliminary classification."
I opened it.
Inside sat a familiar header.
School of Magic Technology
Department of Technical Apprenticeship
Preliminary Recruitment Notice
I stared at the paper for several seconds.
Then I laughed.
A short, tired laugh.
Three years of effort.
Three years chasing the dream of becoming a magician.
And the world was offering me a career fixing magical infrastructure.
Somewhere in the distance, I could almost hear fate laughing.
This time, I wasn't entirely sure it was wrong.