The sky parted as the fleet slowed.
And then ,
They saw it.
A wall.
No… not just a wall.
A frozen titan.
A massive structure of pure ice stretched endlessly across the horizon, carved with a warrior's emblem so large it felt like it was watching them back. The symbol radiated something ancient, something unyielding, like the North itself had a will.
Inside the cars, silence fell.
"…What is that…" someone whispered.
Grenzabell leaned forward slightly, eyes hidden behind his dark lenses, but even he couldn't hide the stillness in his body.
Then ,
Victoria moved.
She leapt from the top of the flying car, landing cleanly onto the frozen ground below, her figure looking almost insignificant against the sheer scale of the gate.
But her presence said otherwise.
She stepped forward, right hand slowly tightening.
Blue Fallless energy began to gather.
Condense.
Sharpen.
The air around her hand distorted slightly as the energy compressed into something dense and violent.
No wasted motion.
She drove her fist forward.
A single punch.
It struck the center of the emblem.
The impact cracked the silence.
A deep, echoing sound rippled through the ice like thunder trapped beneath the surface. Fractures spread outward, glowing faintly before ,
The gate shifted.
Slowly.
Massively.
It didn't open fully.
Just enough.
A narrow gap formed within something impossibly large.
Enough for entry.
Above, the engines roared again.
One by one, the flying cars aligned and began passing through the opening, slipping into the unknown beyond.
Inside, students pressed against windows, eyes wide.
Shock.
Disbelief.
Grenzabell didn't speak.
But even he felt it.
This wasn't an academy exam anymore.
This was something else entirely.
Light.
At the far end of the narrow passage, it shimmered like something unreal, a thin line of gold cutting through endless ice.
Then—
The cars broke through.
Sunlight exploded across the glass, flooding everything in warmth so sudden it felt like stepping into another world entirely. Snow glare turned to brilliance, the sky opening wide above them, blue and endless.
Inside the cars, murmurs rose.
"…This is the North?"
"No way…"
"It's beautiful…"
The cold, silent titan behind them vanished as the scene ahead unfolded.
A sky filled with movement.
Thousands of flying cars hovered and crossed paths in organized chaos, their engines humming like a living city in the air. Below, a massive coastal port stretched endlessly, waves crashing against reinforced docks, telegram lines buzzing overhead, signals flashing between towers.
And life—
Loud.
Wild.
Unrestrained.
Bars spilled laughter into the streets, people drunk and alive, shouting, singing, surviving. No order. No restraint. Just existence at its loudest.
Then—
The sea.
And on it…
A monster.
A ship so large it looked like it carried its own gravity, easily the size of a small town, its hull carved with history, its sails towering like monuments against the wind.
Students pressed closer to the glass.
Stunned.
Speechless.
Grenzabell leaned forward, then suddenly burst into laughter.
"Hohohoho!"
His voice cut through the awe.
"Things here are really like the books!"
He pointed toward the sea, excitement breaking through everything else.
"We got pirates !"
The cars didn't slow.
They pushed deeper into the North, revealing a land that refused to fit into one image.
Golden fields stretched endlessly below, waves of wheat and rice bending under the wind like the earth itself was breathing. Herds of cows moved in slow rhythm, alongside strange animals with thick fur and curved horns, all living under a sky too wide to belong to any single nation.
Grenzabell pressed slightly closer to the glass.
"…So this is the Wild Zone," he murmured.
In another car, Dawncer leaned forward, eyes locked onto a massive telegraphic screen floating between buildings.
A fight.
No ,
A spectacle.
The screen flashed stats.
60 wins. 3 losses.
The name hit like thunder.
Kingslay Kovangrovos.
The man stood in the ring, muscles carved like stone, veins alive under his skin as he flexed slightly, acknowledging the roaring crowd.
Dawncer's group erupted.
"No way , that's him!"
"Look at those arms!"
"He's insane!"
They leaned in like fanboys witnessing something sacred.
Dawncer grinned.
"…That's what strength looks like."
The fleet descended.
A skyscraper rose ahead, cutting into the sky like a blade. Massive. Polished. Untouchable.
The cars aligned.
Stopped.
Doors opened.
Students stepped out.
And instantly ,
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
Hundreds of reporters surged forward, cameras clicking endlessly, voices shouting over each other, questions thrown like weapons.
Victoria stood at the front, calm, composed, a cigarette between her fingers as smoke curled into the air like she owned the moment.
"Line up," she ordered.
Groups formed quickly.
Grenzabell stood with his team, two boys, two girls, and him. He smiled slightly at first… then froze when he saw it.
The red carpet.
Wide.
Bright.
Exposed.
"…Nah," he muttered.
He shifted quietly, slipping into the middle of his group, using them like a shield, avoiding the cameras as much as possible.
Meanwhile, Victoria stepped forward, exhaling smoke as the flashes intensified.
"These," she said, voice smooth, confident, almost amused, "are the first years from the Middle City."
A pause.
She smiled.
"The Kingdom of Dawn."
The cameras surged.
"The first years."
Her tone carried pride… and something sharper underneath, like she was daring the world to underestimate them.
And for once ,
She enjoyed the attention.
The moment they entered the interior of the skyscraper, the noise changed.
Outside had been chaos, cameras, voices, wind, ocean air.
Inside was control.
A massive lobby stretched out like a cathedral built for competition rather than worship. Over a thousand students filled the space, all dressed in identical academy uniforms, their presence split into clusters of color-coded order.
Black. White. Red. Blue. Green.
Entire institutions separated like nations inside a single building.
Grenzabell slowed his steps.
His eyes moved across the crowd.
Then ,
He saw her.
Gravely.
Standing alone at the edge of the black-uniform group, distant even from her own category. Red eyes faint, cold, unreadable. Like she existed in a space slightly removed from everyone else.
Grenzabell instinctively took a step forward.
"Hey..."
"Grenzabell," a voice cut in.
He turned.
The black-haired girl from his group, White, stood beside him, arms crossed.
"We stay together," she said firmly. "No wandering."
He hesitated.
Around them, every student from their school stood in the same black uniform cluster. Same origin. Same selection. Same pressure.
"…Right," Grenzabell muttered.
He looked back once more.
Gravely was still there.
Alone.
Then he turned away and followed his group.
As they moved deeper into the lobby, Grenzabell's eyes drifted again, taking in the structure of the place.
Each section told a truth without saying it.
Red uniforms gathered in loud, aggressive clusters, energy sharp even in silence.
Blue groups stood calm and analytical, scanning everything.
Green groups laughed softly, relaxed but observant.
White groups remained composed, almost surgical in their stillness.
And black ,
His group.
The unknown variable.
Then it hit him.
This wasn't just an academy trip.
This was a convergence.
A competition between the strongest institutions in the entire system.
The best of the best.
And somewhere in that realization, a colder thought began forming.
He didn't even know how to properly gather Fallless energy without relying on instinct, struggle, or accident.
His thought tightened ,
"Focus," White said sharply beside him, noticing his drift.
Grenzabell blinked, pulled back into the present.
"…Yeah," he replied quietly.
But the weight of what he just understood didn't leave him.
It only settled deeper.
The announcement came abruptly.
All instructors were called upward, disappearing into the upper floors one by one. The atmosphere below shifted instantly, like a ceiling had been lifted and left the students exposed to each other.
Then the message followed.
From this point onward, student councils would manage the institutions during the examinations.
A quiet tension spread through the lobby.
And then ,
The stage at the far end of the hall lit up.
Five figures walked out.
Grenzabell straightened slightly without realizing it.
"…Who are they?" someone muttered.
The answer came quickly.
Authority.
Not teachers.
Not guards.
Something sharper.
Five student council leaders.
Each wearing a different uniform, each carrying a presence that made even the air feel more structured.
The first stepped forward.
White uniform. Clean. Almost blinding under the lights.
A man with sharp silver-blonde hair and a calm, piercing gaze.
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
"I am Silas Aethelgard," he said evenly. "Leader of the Student Council of the North's Top-Class Institution."
A pause.
His eyes scanned the crowd once, like he was reading numbers rather than people.
"This year's examination zone has been classified as a full convergence event. That means all participating institutions are no longer separated by comfort or hierarchy."
A faint shift in his tone.
"Only performance."
He took one step forward.
"Do not mistake this place for an academy extension. Inside these walls, you are not students being guided."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"You are competitors being measured."
Silence deepened.
Grenzabell felt it without understanding why.
The rules had changed.
Not announced.
Rewritten.
And something about Silas' calm voice made it clear ,
This wasn't the beginning of the exam.
It was already mid-game.
The second figure stepped onto the stage with no hesitation.
Red uniform.
Not just red cloth, but something sharper—like the color itself had been burned into the fabric. Her presence didn't arrive quietly. It arrived loudly, like a match thrown into dry air.
Whispers spread instantly through the hall.
"…Who is she?"
"That pressure…"
"She's not normal…"
She raised her head slightly, eyes scanning the thousands below.
Then she smiled.
Not warmly.
Not kindly.
Like she was already standing on a podium that didn't exist yet.
"CONQUEST!" she shouted.
The word cracked through the hall like a command.
"WINNER'S PRIDE!"
A beat.
Then louder.
"THE MADARISTA!"
The red-uniform students behind her reacted instantly, as if the name itself pulled something awake inside them.
"CONQUEST WINNER'S PRIDE!!" they roared in unison.
The sound surged like a wave.
The girl lifted her hand.
And then ,
Her Fallless energy ignited.
Red.
Violent.
Crushing.
It poured outward in a dense, suffocating aura that pressed against the entire hall. Even students from other institutions stiffened instinctively, shoulders tightening, breath catching. Some stepped back without realizing. Others stared, frozen between fear and admiration.
She let it expand just enough to be understood.
Not uncontrolled.
Not chaotic.
Commanded.
Then she spoke again, voice steady but burning underneath.
"Madarista is not a school. It is not a system. It is not a dream."
A pause.
"It is the meaning of life."
Her gaze swept across the crowd.
"We do not aim for first place."
Her smile sharpened.
"We are first place."
The red students behind her erupted again.
"NUMBER ONE!!"
"NUMBER ONE!!"
Her voice cut through it all one final time.
"The West will win. That is not a goal. That is certainty."
And then, like she was addressing something far larger than the room itself ,
"To all of you."
A slight tilt of her head.
"I am Morganite Solari."
The moment hung.
Heavy.
Dominant.
Then a voice from behind the stage called out quickly.
"Lady Morganite, please proceed to the next segment."
She clicked her tongue lightly, irritation flickering for half a second.
"Fine."
She stepped back.
But the damage was already done.
The red section of students was no longer just present.
It was alive.
"CONQUEST WINNER'S PRIDE!!"
The chant rolled again, shaking the atmosphere, shifting the balance inside the hall.
And for the first time since arrival ,
The other institutions felt it.
This wasn't just competition.
It was declaration.
The third figure walked onto the stage without ceremony.
Green uniform.
Soft at first glance, but layered like something that could either grow… or swallow.
A girl stepped forward.
Purple hair, slightly messy as if she never fully committed to styling it. Green eyes that didn't quite know where to settle. Her presence felt… unfinished, like someone still growing into the space they were forced to occupy.
She bowed slightly.
Then spoke, voice small but sincere.
"I'm… the council president of the First Institution of the South."
A pause.
"…Nice to meet you all."
Silence followed.
Not impressed silence.
Confused silence.
From the green section below, murmurs began immediately.
"…That's it?"
"She didn't even do anything."
"She's supposed to represent us?"
"She won't even raise her voice…"
The girl on stage flinched slightly.
She lifted her hand awkwardly, pointing toward her own students.
"P-please… don't say things like that…"
But the chatter only grew louder.
Her face tightened.
"I said please stop…"
Still nothing.
A vein of frustration slowly crept into her expression.
Her calmness cracked.
Then ,
A sharp click echoed through the hall.
Loud enough to silence nearby conversations.
Everyone paused.
Even the green students.
She exhaled.
Then her tone changed.
Sharper.
Colder.
"If you're man enough," she said, eyes narrowing slightly toward her own institution, "make another sound."
The silence that followed was instant.
Absolute.
Not a single voice dared to continue.
Even the air felt heavier.
The green students looked down, visibly shaken, some swallowing hard, others avoiding her gaze entirely.
She scratched the side of her head, irritation still lingering, then turned her attention back toward the hall.
"Tch…"
Her voice returned rougher now.
"I'm Rosalinse Astra."
A beat.
Then she clicked her tongue again, as if annoyed she even had to explain herself.
Without another word, her expression softened back into something calmer , almost distant.
And just like that, she turned and walked away from the center of the stage, heading toward the other council presidents as if the moment had already lost her interest.
But the message had been delivered.
Quiet doesn't mean weak.
And everyone had just learned that the hard way.