"Congrats on taking first place in the written exam, Amon."
The familiar, melodious voice cut through the courtyard's chatter. Turning around, Amon and Seraphina found Jeanne Nova gliding toward them, effortlessly drawing the eyes of everyone nearby.
Jeanne's attire was a dramatic, fantasy-inspired ensemble that looked more suited to a royal banquet than to a stressful examination hall. She wore a rich, deep burgundy over-robe layered with flowing black sheer panels that trailed elegantly behind her.
Beneath the heavy fabric, a contrasting cream-colored dress peeked out at the hemline. The entire robe was meticulously adorned with intricate white floral embroidery that cascaded down her long, dramatic sleeves. Her striking black hair was styled in a sharp, modern fusion of a jellyfish cut and a long wolf tail, and a pair of white heels accented with sharp crimson flourishes completed the look.
"It was the only logical outcome, Jeanne," Amon shrugged casually, offering her a relaxed smile. "But more importantly, you look less like an applicant and more like you're heading to a high-society afterparty. You definitely stand out—but you look gorgeous."
"Aw, are you flirting with me?" Jeanne tilted her head, her sapphire eyes gleaming with pure mischief. "Besides, this entire entrance exam is nothing more than a royal formality for someone like me. I simply figured I should dress for the occasion~"
"Well, look at that. We're in the same boat." Amon chuckled, leaning back. "We really are two of a kind, aren't we?"
"Then just tell me that you love me already, Amon~ Stop being so roundabout~" A teasing, razor-thin grin spread across her lips as she leaned in slightly.
"You sound awfully eager to hear those sacred words from a 'good boy' like me," Amon shot back, his tone matching her playful cadence note for note.
"You two... seem awfully close," Seraphina murmured, her voice small and hesitant. She looked down at her feet, clearly embarrassed by the high-voltage banter flying between them.
"Well, we are close, though perhaps not in the way you're imagining, Seraphina." Jeanne turned her gaze toward the other girl, her expression shifting. Suddenly, she let out a musical laugh. "Wait... are you perhaps jealous?~"
"N-No! It's not like that at all..." Seraphina stammered, her anxiety spiking as a faint, betraying blush crept up her cheeks.
"I'd call that 'naive,' Jeanne, not jealous," Amon interjected, a faint, knowing smile etched on his lips. "She's an easy-going, good soul—completely unlike the two of us. It's only natural she'd get flustered by your antics."
"Your sense of humour is almost as tragic as your fashion sense, Amon." Jeanne shot him a playful, prideful look, crossing her arms over her burgundy robes. "What I was doing just now is called 'satire.'"
"Oh? I assumed you didn't understand the concept of human nature, so I thought I'd help you out by explaining Seraphina's reaction." Amon wore a look of mock puzzlement, but his tone made it clear the remark was a sharp jab right back at her.
"Oh my, I never imagined you were quite smart enough to comprehend human nature, let alone lecture me on it, Amon~" Jeanne's face shifted into an expression of mock amazement, her tone dripping with saccharine condescension.
Seraphina's chest tightened as the atmosphere between the two suddenly soured. The air grew heavy, thick enough to crush stone, as Amon and Jeanne began silently exerting an overwhelming pressure against one another. The invisible clash of their auras rippled outward, sending a shiver through the courtyard that made nearby applicants stumble.
"Um... Amon... Jeanne… it's getting a little difficult to breathe..." Seraphina managed to get out, her voice strained and thin.
"My, my, we certainly have some enthusiastic candidates this year!"
A voice drifted down from above. Looking up, the crowd saw Victoria Jackson, the Headmistress, hovering effortlessly in the sky above the courtyard. Her black gown billowed around her like a shadow against the sun.
"Mr Crown, Miss Nova," she said, turning her serene gaze toward the two. A faint, knowing smile played on her lips. "I would appreciate it if you both settled your differences and focused your energy on the entrance exam instead."
At the sound of her voice, the crushing weight in the air evaporated instantly. Amon and Jeanne withdrew their pressures, the courtyard returning to a deceptive calm.
. . .
Out of the hundreds of thousands of applicants who had sat for the written portion, a mere four hundred remained.
The rest were systematically cut from the roster, their dreams shattered as they were ordered to vacate the academy grounds immediately. Yet, the culling was far from over. In the phase to come, more than half of those remaining survivors would be ruthlessly weeded out.
The second phase of the entrance exam was a straight trial by combat: a duel against a senior of R.S. Advanced Academy.
On paper, the conditions of the match were simple. An applicant merely had to survive in the arena against their upperclassman for three minutes to secure a passing grade. It sounded easy enough—generous, even.
But that was the deception. The seniors were under strict, explicit orders from the faculty not to hold back. They were expected to utilise their entire combat arsenal, limited only by a safety cap restricting them to A-Rank spells and skills to keep the applicants from being instantly vaporised.
Yet, even with that handicap in place, bridging the massive gap in real-world combat experience made lasting those three minutes a nigh-impossible feat.
Amon walked into the centre of the arena, finding himself paired against an upperclassman who looked every bit the part of an elite combatant.
She was a tall, imposing senior with cascading, sky-blue hair that shimmered under the arena's heavy artificial lighting. Her deep blue eyes held a sharp, unblinking focus, calculating Amon's every movement.
Her statuesque, well-endowed figure was perfectly framed by the prestigious R.S. Advanced Academy uniform: a crisp white long-sleeved button-up shirt beneath flowing black robes adorned with a golden dragon insignia. A neatly knotted golden tie rested against her chest, while her full-length black skirt flowed down to her ankles, catching slightly on her glossy white heels as she shifted into a combat stance.
As the countdown hit zero, the senior exuded a suffocating wave of quiet intensity. She wasn't a talker; she was an executioner. Without a word, she unleashed her Personal Magic: Puppets.
In a distortion of the surrounding air, massive, intricate marionettes materialised out of nothingness, suspended by thin, shimmering threads of pure magium. Her Personal Magic allowed her to forge any construct she desired—ranging from heavily armoured close-quarters juggernauts to agile, long-range elemental mages and lethal snipers.
On paper, puppetry might have seemed like a passive, back-line magic type, but the moment the trial began, she completely shattered that misconception. She went on an absolute, overwhelming offensive.
A vanguard of blade-wielding marionettes lunged at Amon to lock him in place, while her long-range constructs rained down a coordinated barrage of tracking spells and high-velocity arcane projectiles from the flanks.
Yet, despite her ruthless, textbook coordination, Amon looked like he was merely taking a casual stroll.
With his arms loosely at his sides, he moved with terrifying economy. A slight tilt of his head left an arcane sniper round grazing empty air. A casual flick of his wrist shattered a juggernaut's vanguard blade.
He dismantled her wave of marionettes effortlessly, parrying her high-level magic spells with such absolute perfection that it looked less like a life-or-death exam and more like a master correcting a novice's clumsy form.
"I must admit, Senior," Amon said, his tone carrying a note of genuine curiosity as he strolled directly toward her.
He paid absolutely no mind to the lethal crossfire converging on his position. Long-range arcane projectiles and blade strikes violently imploded inches away from his skin, neutralised by a localised field of compressed gravity that flattened her spells before they could even brush his clothes.
"Puppetry is an exceptionally versatile Personal Magic to possess, but it lacks the definitive impact I imagined it would have," Amon remarked, casually tilting his blindfolded head toward a nearby marionette that was currently imploding under his gravity field. "Is it perhaps due to the A-Rank safety restriction? Are your constructs lacking their true, unbridled output?"
"You talk entirely too much," the senior finally spoke. Her voice was flat, her expression remaining impressively unwavering and composed even though her entire offensive arsenal was being systematically nullified. "I assumed the written exam's top scorer would be as cold and aloof as the Student Council President. Clearly, you're just infinitely more annoying."
"Why, thank you." Amon offered a flawless, theatrical mock bow, his voice dripping with saccharine charm. He straightened his posture and casually pointed his wand directly at her heart.
"Limiter Off."
The moment the verbal command left his lips, the senior gasped. The heavy, invisible burden of the academy's restrictive exam barrier suddenly lifted from her magium core. Her magical pathways flared to life with overwhelming power, her composed facade finally cracking to reveal a look of pure bewilderment.
"I'd prefer to fight you properly," Amon said, a sharp, dangerous grin spreading across his face. "Trading blows with a severely handicapped opponent is dreadfully boring, don't you agree, Senior?"
Bang.
Without a word of warning, a high-velocity sniper round shattered his gravity field, grazing Amon's cheek. A thin line of fresh, crimson blood welled from the cut, running down his jawline.
Using the momentary distraction, the senior vaulted backwards, her glossy heels clicking sharply against the stone as she created maximum distance between them.
"Act 1, Conquest."
She whipped her wand through the air. Instantly, a massive, dense legion of black-armoured marionettes materialised before her, their eyes glowing with a malevolent blue light. Each construct emitted a suffocating, ominous aura that warped the surrounding air.
With a collective, deafening roar, the legion charged, tearing across the arena toward Amon with blinding, terrifying speed.
The crimson line across his cheek didn't slow his smile. If anything, the sting of the graze only fed the dangerous, unpredictable energy humming beneath his blindfold.
"Now," Amon murmured, his grin widening into something distinctly, unapologetically villainous. "No one can claim I went overboard."
He snapped his wand toward the incoming tide of blue-eyed constructs.
"Gravity Death."
The world seemed to catch its breath for a single, terrifying millisecond. Then, the entire arena ceased to exist.
There was no explosive shockwave, no theatrical blast of light. Instead, an absolute, localised singularity violently imploded directly in front of him. The crushing atmospheric drop instantly flattened the reinforced arena, grinding the heavy boulders into microscopic dust.
The charging legion of marionettes, the dense aura of the senior's spell, the heavy magium threads—and the senior herself—vanished the moment the incantation left his lips.
By distorting the temporal field through an unfathomable concentration of gravitational pressure, it erased the space they occupied entirely, resetting the battlefield into a clean, empty crater.
. . .
Duel Exam's Merit Ranking: Top 10
1. Amon Von Crown
2. Jeanne Nova
3. Calisto Castellano
4. Jose Brown
5. Levine Blanc
6. Ross Thoumeax
7. Mia Wales
8. Seraphina Nightfallen
9. Christopher Genius
10. Tia Denver
"And look at you, first place again." Jeanne let out a faint, dramatic sigh, crossing her arms over her intricate burgundy robes. "Do you honestly think this is fair, Amon, considering what you actually are?" She turned her sharp sapphire eyes toward him, eyeing the small, infuriating grin playing on his lips.
"I think it's exceptionally entertaining, Jeanne," Amon replied, his tone laced with smooth amusement. "It feels utterly fantastic to dismantle the merit list without putting in a shred of real effort. It gives you a rather intoxicating sense of superiority—a feeling I am completely certain you are intimately familiar with, no?"
"Well, I certainly can't argue with that logic," Jeanne conceded with a slow, elegant nod, a matching trace of arrogance returning to her features. "But then again, why even go through this entire farce? You could have bypassed the admissions process entirely, rather than choosing to act like an uninvited raid boss gatekeeping these poor souls."
"Because I can, Jeanne," Amon shrugged casually, his expression perfectly unreadable beneath his crimson blindfold. "And really, what other reason do I need?"
"Besides, you shouldn't be pointing your finger at me, Jeanne," Amon countered, turning his head slightly as his smile turned playful. "You also received a direct letter of recommendation from the Headmistress, just like I did. Yet, here you are, tearing through the exam brackets. Aren't you playing the same uninvited raid boss role?"
"I am doing this because I want to remind the Empire what real talent actually looks like," Jeanne replied. Her sapphire eyes glinted with a sharp, dangerous edge, her playful demeanour momentarily hardening into something fiercely predatory. "Nowadays, the standards have fallen so low that even a microscopic speck of basic competence is heralded as 'genius.' It's utterly ironic, don't you think?"
She stepped forward, closing the distance between them until she was leaning in close. She gazed unblinkingly directly into Amon's crimson blindfold, as if her sight could pierce right through the fabric and dissect his very soul.
"Besides... someone needs to properly put you in your place," she murmured, her voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate whisper. "You act like some untouchable, textbook Gary Stu because of your childhood 'trauma'—when in reality, that entire past was nothing more than the immature, foolish behaviour of an eight-year-old child. It isn't even uncommon. You are capable of achieving things far beyond this petty playground, Amon, and yet you choose to hide behind this immature mask of an over-the-top, theatrical prodigy."
Amon remained silent. He wanted to throw a jab back at her, but the raw weight of her words locked his jaw. Every syllable was true. The gamble he had taken back then, at eight years old, was a foolish, catastrophic mistake.
He had never held any qualms about letting the guilty or the deserving die, but the casualties of that day were all good people. Because he had chosen a high-risk gamble to optimise a quest—a quest he easily could have cleared safely through standard means—those innocent lives were extinguished.
The consequence of that choice deeply scarred him, leaving a fracture of self-loathing he couldn't forgive. To survive the guilt, he had forged a coping mechanism: a carefully engineered persona. He adopted the theatrical mask of an untouchable, flawless prodigy—someone as pristine and unyielding as polished glass.
"I can't believe I actually made the merit list again..."
Seraphina walked over to the duo, her footsteps heavy with exhaustion and her face etched with profound bewilderment. Judging by the sheer disbelief in her voice, she genuinely hadn't expected to survive this far, let alone anchor herself firmly within the bracket of the merit list for a second consecutive time.
"Well, congratulations to you," Jeanne said, turning toward her. The sharp, predatory edge she had used against Amon vanished instantly, replaced by a polite, effortlessly graceful smile. "Sometimes, even when we convince ourselves that we don't deserve to be here, our raw performance proves otherwise. You earned your rank. So, cheer up!"
"Thank you..." Seraphina responded, offering a weary but grateful smile.
As the tension eased, her attention naturally shifted to Amon. She found him standing uncharacteristically still, enveloped in a heavy, contemplative silence that felt entirely distinct from his usual casual demeanour.
"Is something the matter, Amon?" she asked, her voice laced with genuine concern as she tried to read his hidden expression.
"It's nothing, Seraphina," he replied flatly, his head remaining slightly turned away, refusing to meet her gaze.
Before Seraphina could push the matter any further, the crisp, commanding voice of the Headmistress drifted down from above, instantly pulling the attention of the entire courtyard back to the sky.
"Congratulations to all the surviving entrants! You have successfully proven your worth and secured your official admission into the prestigious R.S. Advanced Academy!"
A collective sigh of relief, mixed with quiet cheers, rippled through the battered crowd. Out of the four hundred applicants who had survived the written test, a brutal culling had left a mere one hundred and sixty students standing. The first two phases had officially deemed them qualified to walk through the academy's gates as students.
However, the trial wasn't entirely over. There still remained the mysterious third phase.
"Ma'am!" a curious applicant called out from the crowd, voicing the unasked question weighing on everyone's mind. "What exactly is the third phase of the exam about if our admission is already guaranteed?"
"Good question!" Victoria, the Headmistress, replied, her voice ringing out with an enthusiastic, playful cadence. "The third phase is designed to determine this batch's official House Leaders!"
The announcement immediately sparked a fresh wave of hushed, competitive murmurs among the remaining one hundred and sixty students.
"Then why exactly market it as a phase that grants 'secret' benefits upon passing, Headmistress?" Jeanne spoke up, her clear voice effortlessly cutting through the crowd's chatter as she gazed up at Victoria with a perfectly composed, aristocratic expression.
"Because that is the absolute truth," Victoria responded, letting out an amused, melodic chuckle. "The top scorer of this final phase, specifically, will receive a very 'special' benefit directly from me."
She intentionally paused, her gaze drifting downward to lock onto Amon for a fleeting, heavy moment before she smoothly turned her attention back to the rest of the courtyard.
"As for the other high rankers, you will also receive secret benefits tailored to your performance—but you will be fully briefed on those details at a later time."