Riversong Advanced Academy—widely known as R.S. Advanced—stands as a beacon of prestige for those destined to reshape the world. Whether through the mastery of magic or the cutting edge of technology, few institutions in this world can rival its brilliance.
Founded by the First Empress of the Riversong Empire, Liza Riversong, the academy serves as a forge for the nation's greatest prodigies. It is the birthplace of every genius who has ever defined the Empire's history, and its standards for admission are appropriately ruthless.
The entrance exam is a gauntlet of notorious difficulty, designed to filter the worthy from the masses. It is a statistical slaughter: out of 160,000 applicants, only 160 survive the selection process. With a mere 0.1% acceptance rate, the exam is less of an academic test and more of a trial by fire.
To secure a seat at R.S. Advanced is to be branded a genius by birthright. Within these walls, even the lowest-ranking student is considered a gifted intellect compared to the world outside.
The applicants filed through the towering, ornate gates of R.S. Advanced, a collective gasp rippling through the crowd as the academy grounds opened before them. The sight was nothing short of majestic.
Pristine walkways of polished marble caught the morning light, cutting through lush gardens manicured with mathematical precision. Grand, sweeping architecture dominated the skyline, its spires piercing the clouds. Every detail, down to the alignment of a single brick, radiated absolute refinement.
At the dead centre of the courtyard stood a monolithic statue of the founder, Liza Riversong. The craftsmanship was flawless, capturing her likeness with terrifying accuracy. Carved from immaculate stone, her eyes seemed to hold a sharp, silent judgment—gazing down at the newcomers, weighing whether any of them were truly worthy of stepping into her legacy.
Senior students escorted the applicants into the opulent exam halls. Once the crowd settled into the plush seats, the presiding professor stepped forward to outline the gauntlet ahead.
The entrance exam was divided into three distinct phases. First came a rigorous written test, designed to push their intellect to its absolute limits. The second phase was a direct combat trial: a duel against an upperclassman.
The third phase, however, remained shrouded in total mystery.
It was a hidden trial, reserved exclusively for the exceptional few who managed to survive the first two rounds. While passing the initial phases guaranteed admission into R.S. Advanced, conquering the third promised an undisclosed, highly coveted benefit—a reward the Academy didn't reveal.
As the explanation concluded, the air in the hall grew visibly heavy. Tension rippled through the room as applicants exchanged anxious glances and murmured nervously. A sharp, single command from the professor cut through the noise, plunging the hall back into a dead, suffocating silence.
In the very back row, Amon sat in relaxed nonchalance.
He wore a deceptively simple outfit—a fitted black t-shirt that hinted at a thin, muscular build, paired with stark white trousers and pristine white monk shoes. But it was the crimson blindfold tied tightly over his eyes that truly drew the gaze of those around him, a striking contrast against his remarkably handsome features.
"Um, Amon?"
A faint whisper drifted from his side. Turning toward the voice, he found Seraphina looking back at him, her expression lighting up with pure relief. "So, it really is you..."
"Obviously," Amon whispered back, a faint chuckle vibrating in his chest. "I don't think you know anyone else eccentric enough to walk around in a blindfold."
Seraphina let out a soft laugh, finding his easy confidence both amusing and endearing. "You really are a character, aren't you?"
"I am a Crown, after all," Amon shrugged casually, his lips curving into a gentle smile. "It's good to see you again, Seraphina."
"Yeah. It's really good to see you, too, Amon." Her smile softened, casting a genuine warmth over her features that made her look remarkably striking.
She wore a structured, light blue jacket draped neatly over a flowing white dress, the clean contrast of colours making her brilliant golden eyes pop. A pair of gleaming white heels completed her outfit, polished to a mirror shine, grounding her elegant, ethereal presence.
"Could you two please quiet down?"
A sharp voice cut through their whisper from behind. Turning around, they met the gaze of a boy their own age. He was undeniably handsome, with fair skin, striking green hair, and matching green eyes framed by a slender, athletic build. His attire was meticulously formal: a crisp white shirt, tailored black trousers, polished black shoes, and a gleaming black watch catching the hall's ambient light.
"If you have this much liberty to chat during a critical briefing, I suggest you leave," the boy said, his tone dripping with cold annoyance. "This isn't a playground for hillbillies to hang around, you know?"
Seraphina fell silent, her posture drooping slightly under the harsh rebuke. Amon, however, didn't flinch. His calm smile remained perfectly intact.
"If you have such a problem with our conversation, you're welcome to get the fuck out of that seat and move somewhere else, Mr Serious," Amon said. His delivery was entirely smooth and conversational, but the venom in his words made it clear he was anything but friendly.
A vein throbbed against the green-haired boy's temple, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his desk. "Did your parents fail to teach you any basic manners?"
"I think you should be asking yourself that exact question," Amon countered. The friendly facade evaporated from his voice, and his smile thinned into a dangerous, razor-sharp line.
"Amon, please, you don't have to..." Seraphina whispered anxiously, tugging gently at his sleeve, her eyes darting nervously toward the front of the hall.
"Oi, you three back there," the professor's voice rang out from the podium, sharp and laced with mounting irritation. "I told everyone to quiet down, didn't I?"
"I was quiet, Professor, but these two—" The green-haired boy instantly assumed a defensive stance, pointing a finger directly at Amon and Seraphina. "These two were whispering and disrupting the hall. I merely asked them to show some respect and shut up!"
"Look, Professor," Amon said, pushing back his chair and standing up. His posture was perfectly loose, his expression entirely composed. "When he 'kindly' asked us to shut up, I simply 'kindly' suggested he find himself a new seat."
The entire examination hall turned in their desks to stare, the silence in the room deafening. At the front, the professor's icy expression remained completely unwavering.
The heavy oak doors of the hall swung open, and a woman stepped inside. The moment the professor's eyes landed on her, her icy demeanour vanished, instantly replaced by a rigid, formal posture. The very air around the podium shifted, thick with unadulterated reverence.
"I'll oversee this exam hall, Professor Celestia," the woman announced, stepping up to the stage with a playful smile.
"But, Headmistress—"
Before Celestia could offer a protest, the Headmistress raised a single, elegant hand, cutting her off without a word. Professor Celestia bowed her head in compliance and quietly exited the hall.
The Headmistress was a tall, striking figure, possessing a commanding presence wrapped in effortless grace. Cascades of long, silver-grey hair flowed past her waist in soft layers, shimmering faintly under the ambient light.
Her lashes were long, framing a serene countenance, but beneath them lay deep, dark blue eyes that seemed to pierce through to the very soul. Dressed in a refined black gown and a matching hat, she exuded an aura of quiet authority and timeless elegance, as though she existed on an entirely different plane from the rest of the world.
"Now, Mr Crown, Mr Genius," the Headmistress said, turning her gaze toward the back rows. Her expression was calm, yet laced with a subtle amusement. "I would appreciate it if you both settled down and forgot whatever transpired between you. After all, you are here to take an elite entrance exam, not bicker like children. Am I correct?"
With a sharp click of his tongue, the green-haired boy—Genius—slumped back into his seat, his face burning with suppressed irritation. Amon sat down as well, entirely unbothered, his relaxed posture drawing a sharp contrast to Genius's rigid anger.
"Now." The Headmistress snapped her fingers.
In a blink, stacks of exam papers materialised on the desks before each applicant.
"Your written exam will last exactly two hours, and I expect pin-drop silence," she stated, her playful smile vanishing. "If I see or hear anything other than the scratching of pens against paper, that applicant is immediately disqualified."
She delivered the final words with an overwhelming pressure, unleashing a wave of conceptual gravity that sent a visceral chill down every spine in the hall. "Begin."
The moment the command left her lips, the applicants frantically gripped their pens, a desperate flurry of scratching ink instantly filling the silence.
The exam questions were a merciless slaughter. Specifically designed to break those unworthy of R.S. Advanced, the test was already doing its grim work. Across the hall, despair ran rampant. Dozens of applicants sat paralysed, their pens hovering uselessly over the pages while some stared down at the desks, on the very verge of tears.
Time bled away quickly. Soon, only an hour remained.
Amon slid his pen across the desk, having already filled out every single answer. Finished with the exam, he leaned back, crossed his arms, and promptly closed his eyes to doze off. The casual display of confidence earned him a wave of disbelieving stares from the panicked applicants around him.
Seraphina finally straightened her back, her wrist aching after an hour of non-stop, furious writing. As she rolled her shoulders to relieve the tension, her gaze drifted sideways toward Amon—only to find him peacefully asleep.
"How can he be snoozing at a time like this?" Seraphina's mind raced, utterly bewildered. "Is he already done with the exam?"
A flurry of chaotic thoughts crossed her mind, but she quickly shook her head, forcing herself to refocus. She couldn't afford to waste a single second. Dipping her eyes back to the page, she resumed writing, her pen flying across the paper once more.
. . .
Upon completing the written exam, the applicants filed back out into the grand courtyard. They were informed that the final tallies would be ready within the hour. To the common examinee, the concept of grading over a hundred thousand complex papers in less than sixty minutes sounded impossible, but for an institution of R.S. Advanced's calibre, it was nothing more than ordinary.
Most of the applicants were a mess of raw nerves, whispering anxiously or slumping against the polished wooden benches in sheer exhaustion. Amon, however, stood leaning against a stone balustrade, humming a peaceful tune. He already knew his results; there was zero utility in worrying.
He felt a passing flicker of concern for Seraphina, but quickly brushed it aside. The narrative deviations he had caused wouldn't magically nerf her raw intellect. Besides, his status system's analytical skills had already verified that her cognitive capacity was safely off the charts.
He glanced back at the invisible stream window floating in his peripheral vision.
RandomGuy69: That green-haired guy was so annoying... Good job, streamer! |
CatnipIsDelicious: The streamer felt like an edgelord back there. Not only that, his op-ness annoys me. |
ForestHuntress: Then get off the fucking stream, geez. All I see is you complaining about this and that. What is wrong with you? Did your parents drop you when you were a kid? Or do they just not love you at all? |
FangirlingIsMyPassion: Good lord... Anyways, is it me or is the streamer head-over-heels for Seraphina? |
"I like her, but calling me head-over-heels is a stretch," Amon countered internally, his expression remaining perfectly blank to the outside world.
The chat wasn't aware of the dark reality of this novel. Seraphina was the tragic protagonist of the dark-fantasy novel in which he had been reincarnated. In the original timeline, she was less like a female lead and more like a victim.
The plot and her canon love interest had systematically broken her down, subjecting her to horrific mental, emotional, and physical abuse, all while the narrative toxicly framed the dynamic as 'dark romance.'
The chat completely exploded the moment the reality of the original plot set in. The scroll speed blurred as thousands of viewers lost their minds, their collective fury locking squarely onto Sophia—Seraphina's canonical love interest in the original text.
"It's natural to abhor her after hearing all that," Amon spoke internally, watching the red-hot wall of text fly past. "But the difference between the original Sophia and the current one is night and day. In the source material, she was cold, ruthless, a raging elitist, and toxically obsessive. The current Sophia? She's still cold and ruthless, but she completely lacks that insufferable aristocratic mindset. The catch is, she's actually far more obsessive than her original counterpart now—except all of that obsession is directed entirely at me."
ForestHuntress: So, you're saying the current Sophia is a diabolically downbad bro-con? |
SugarPieEater: And that she isn't a toxic bitch like her original counterpart? |
"Exactly," Amon confirmed silently. But before he could entertain his chat any further, a sharp, familiar voice sliced through his internal monologue, calling his name across the courtyard.
Turning toward the voice, he saw Seraphina navigating through the crowded courtyard toward him. A wave of visible relief washed over her features—a telltale sign that she had been scanning the sea of applicants for quite some time before spotting his crimson blindfold.
"How was your exam, Amon?" she asked, stopping right in front of him and looking up with genuine curiosity.
"I'm taking first place," Amon replied, his tone flat and utterly certain.
"Wow." Seraphina blinked, momentarily disarmed by the sheer, unshakeable confidence radiating from him.
"What about you, Seraphina?" he asked, his expression softening into a small smile.
"Well... I just hope that I pass," she admitted, her shoulders dropping slightly as she let out a nervous chuckle.
"You will. Trust me." Amon's voice dropped into a gentle, reassuring register. "In fact, I'm willing to bet ten thousand deiom right now that you're sitting comfortably in the top five."
RandomGuy69: That sounds like a lot of money... |
FangirlingIsMyPassion: How much is that anyway? |
"It's roughly ten thousand dollars, going by the metrics of my old world," Amon explained internally to the floating window. "And to be entirely blunt, that amount of pocket change is basically nothing to me."
SugarPieEater: Holy moly, talk about being loaded! |
AppleApple: Well, he's the son of a Grand Duchess, after all. |
ForestHuntress: He actually has his own independent source of income—Khalia mentioned it right before the Trials of Worthiness. If I had to guess, the streamer is easily a billionaire on his own merit, even without his family's treasury. |
"Spot on," Amon confirmed, a faint, phantom smirk playing across his mind.
Seraphina stared at Amon, completely dumbfounded. A wave of complex emotions swirled within her, leaving her choked with silence. She couldn't understand why Amon held such absolute confidence in her abilities when she could barely muster a shred of belief in herself. Why did someone like him—a striking, powerful individual who owed her absolutely nothing—care so much?
As if reading the unvoiced turmoil written across her face, Amon's expression softened further.
"It's because I consider you a friend, Seraphina," he said, his smile gentle and grounding. "I know we haven't crossed paths all that often yet, but that doesn't change anything. Even from afar, it's easy to see that you have a brilliant mind—and an even better soul."
Before Seraphina could find her voice, a calm, monotone announcement resonated across the entire academy grounds, cutting through the ambient chatter.
"Attention, examinees. The results of the written exam will now be announced."
In an instant, a massive, luminescent interface materialised high in the sky. Lines of geometric text shimmered across its translucent surface, displaying a live-updating leaderboard of every participant alongside their respective scores.
Gasps and anxious murmurs rippled through the massive crowd. Thousands of applicants craned their necks upward, their eyes darting frantically across the blinding mirror of light suspended above the courtyard.
Merit List: Top 10
1. Amon Von Crown [100/100]
2. Jeanne Nova [99.5/100]
3. Ross Thoumeax [99/100]
4. Mia Wales [98.5/100]
5. Seraphina Nightfallen [98/100]
6. Christopher Genius [97.5/100]
7. Rose Vasquez [97/100]
8. Levine Blanc [96.5/100]
9. Jose Brown [96/100]
10. Tia Denver [95/100]
Staring up at the glowing board, Seraphina went completely rigid, her jaw dropping. She had braced herself to barely scrape by on the threshold of a passing grade; she had never envisioned her name appearing on the prestigious Merit List, let alone anchoring the absolute top five.
"Ah, looks like my prediction was spot on," Amon chuckled audibly, his arms still crossed casually. He tilted his blindfolded face slightly upward toward the floating text. "Though it's quite amusing to see Jeanne trailing right behind me."