I woke up in the early hours before dawn. I washed, as was my habit, and brushed my teeth. Once finished, I stepped out of my house.
.
Outside, the sun had yet to rise. I reached the cafeteria to find it unusually empty—no queues. I walked up to the meal window; the same attendant from the "old days" was stationed there.
He squinted at me, scrutinising my face, then extended his hand. I handed him my badge—the one engraved with the half-full cup. I expected the usual look of spite and resentment to flash across his face, but to my surprise, it never came. He handed me my meal in complete silence, without uttering a single word.
I left him and headed toward the drinks. Again, contrary to the norm, I received my beverage without those piercing, murderous glares. I sat at a table and began to eat, pondering the strange behaviour of the food servers.
There were only four others in the hall. One was a familiar face from my evaluation day: Maxwell Volt, who seemed to be the most talented prodigy in our class. Two others were strangers to me.
The last one, however, felt hauntingly familiar. I rarely forgot a face, and after a moment of intense focus, it clicked. It was the bald man I had seen on the road on my first day—the same man who had been carrying a beast on his back.
I finished my meal and headed to the tray return. After handing over my dishes, I approached a nearby sink. I took a small pail, filled it from a shallow pond nearby, and washed my hands. Only then did I make my way toward the Academy.
Upon arrival, it was clear I wasn't the first, but the crowd was thin—scarcely more than a few dozen people. I made my way to my classroom. The first thing that caught my eye was a strikingly beautiful, captivating face—hair as black as ink, dressed in exceptionally elegant attire.
She sat at the very front of the class, wrapped in serene solitude. It was Amanda. I felt a flicker of surprise; I hadn't expected her to arrive this early.
I walked to the first seat near the door and sat down without a word. The atmosphere was bizarre—heavy, absolute stillness. With nothing to occupy my time, I rested my head on the table out of sheer boredom.
Fifteen minutes passed in the same state. Nothing changed. It seemed I had arrived far too early. Eventually, students began to trickle in—one, then two, then three—filling the room little by little.
While my head was still down, someone abruptly took the seat beside me. At first, I didn't care; the seat was empty, and I had no right to stop anyone from sitting there. I glanced sideways and was met with a shock of fiery red hair. I immediately looked away.
Then I heard her speak softly:
"Why did you run away from me yesterday?"
I lifted my head and sat upright, looking at her. "Because I was in a great hurry," I replied.
She looked at me and said simply, "Fine."
Her calmness was unsettling compared to her demeanour the day before. I studied her closely, but seeing no further reaction, I scanned the rest of the room. My eyes met Wolfgang's. I gave him a cold, indifferent stare before turning away.
Suddenly, a man entered the room in a dishevelled, chaotic manner. His first act was to slam the door shut. He stood at the centre of the hall and introduced himself:
"I am Instructor Bam. I will be teaching you about the world of magic."
The room fell into a tense, expectant silence. After scanning every face in the class, he continued:
"First, I will teach you about the levels—or at least, the level you need to know for now."
"The first level you will enter upon stepping into the world of magic is Level Zero. Level Zero consists of three stages: the Initial Stage, the Intermediate Stage, and finally, the Peak Stage."
"Do not be deceived by these names. Transcending each stage will require many long years."
A collective gasp filled the room. If mere stages took years, how could anyone ever hope to become truly powerful?
The instructor continued:
"But before you can truly enter the world of magic, you must pass through the Arch of Awakening—also known as the Ritual of Defilement."
The name struck me hard. Defilement? What did that even mean? Were we meant to have our bodies violated?
Seeing the confusion on our faces, he said:
"No. Do not comfort yourselves with false hope. It is not as difficult as you imagine."
He paused, a twisted smile creeping onto his face. "It is far worse. Do not merely fear it—dread it. Some of you will wish for death."
The classroom fell completely silent, so quiet that even the frantic pounding of hearts seemed deafening.
"Now, let me explain the nature of the ritual and how it will be carried out."
The instructor turned, dragged a chair from the side, and sat down. He pulled out a comb, slicked his green hair straight back, then stood up to continue.
"First, once your magical aptitude has been confirmed, you will be restrained on the day of the ritual. Five individuals will stand over you."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across us with a malicious glint.
"Each of them will hold two needles. And then… can you guess what happens next? Hahaha!"
A tight knot formed in my chest. This was becoming far worse than I had anticipated.
The instructor continued, his expression warped by perverse delight:
"They will begin to pierce your skin again and again. They will not leave a single inch untouched."
"Even your eyebrows will be punctured. And do not imagine they will spare your most sensitive places—the needles will reach there as well. The only parts left untouched… will be your eyes."