The guys voice was a rhythmic drone, a weaponized boredom that had been hammering at my skull for the past two hours. Seriously, doesn't his throat hurt? I'd blocked out most of his "promising future" speech halfway through the first hour. It's a miracle anyone stayed awake. Now we will only take the top 500 the rest thank you for applying. Why make the 500 people who failed sit through a two-hour lecture on a future they aren't even invited to? That's how you birth supervillains.
Finally, the "good stuff" arrived. The giant hologram flickered to life, casting a cold blue glow over the remaining candidates.
"If you do not receive a notification on your device, please stand and follow the guards to the exit," the guy commanded.
I glanced at my screen. [Status: Passed]. No rank, no details. Just a simple green checkmark. A bit dramatic, but I guess they liked the suspense. I watched as half the room shuffled out—some wearing masks of stoic acceptance, others looking like they wanted to burn the building down.
"Now," the voice boomed again, clearly loving the sound of its own resonance. "The rankings."
He dragged it out, showing 400 to 500, then 100 to 400, then 11 to 49. I tapped my fingers on my knee. Get on with it.
"And now... the Top Ten."
The Top Ten
1 .Lucien Moonstar
2.Tkos Van Gold
3.Tamari Crimson
4.Xander Mygave
5.Damien Hunt
6.Amil Cover
7.Scarlet Ivy
8.Hope Sierra
9.Adam Wilson
10.Emma Roswel
"Now except number one who was the last person standing most of your rankings were determined by overall performance, not just points," the guy explained, his eyes lingering on the front row. "The Top Ten will receive private living quarters. As for the Top Three... your reward will be a surprise. Class 1 has a set curriculum; everyone else may choose their electives. You are dismissed."
Finally.
I didn't stick around for the small talk. I followed the GPS route to my new "living space" and stopped dead. It wasn't a dorm; it was a mansion. A full-blown, noble-tier estate with a staff to clean and chefs to cook. It even had a specialized training wing with high-intensity gravity seals. But most importantly? The bed. I flopped onto it, letting out a breath I'd been holding since the exam started. Yeah, I can definitely get used to this.
I sat up to inspect the rewards box sitting on the mahogany desk.
The Library Token: Access to any technique in the archives. I wasn't a technique hoarder, but it was a hell of a bargaining chip for the future.
Phoenix Tears: A shimmering vial of liquid fire. Whether it was a brand name or the real deal, it promised to cleanse my body and spike my stats. I'd save that for a post-workout recovery.
The Amulet: A piece of jewelry that hummed with power, boosting mana output by a clean 20% increasing attack power.
The Uniform: Gold, black, and white. Bold but I can make it work.
I spent the next few hours in the gravity room, pushing my body until my muscles screamed, then showered and geared up.
I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, adjusting the gold trim on the white blazer. With the black trousers and crisp white shirt, the look was lethal. "I make this shit look good," I muttered to my reflection.
Walking into the classroom, I immediately scanned the room. I bypassed the empty rows and claimed a window seat—prime "Main Character" territory.
The gang filtered in shortly after. Amil walked in, his face still twisted in a scowl. Seriously, let it go, man. Tamari gave me a short, respectful nod. I just raised an eyebrow. I didn't need a "suitor problem" on top of everything else; that woman looked like she brought nothing but trouble. Damien looked like he wanted to apologize or challenge me—I couldn't tell which—before shaking his head and moving to the back.
Tkos, of course, took the window seat directly in front of me. The guy practically radiated "Protagonist Halo." We sat in a heavy, expectant silence until a graceful woman stepped into the room. She was our homeroom teacher, apparently. She meticulously checked our seating, marked her register, and walked out without so much as a "Hello." Rude.
The silence lasted only a heartbeat.
"Hello, my little sheep!" a booming, boisterous voice roared from the hallway.
Oh, hell no, I thought, sinking lower into my seat. Here we go.