"Wait — that Ironhart?"
"Him? Fourth? I must be reading it wrong."
"No seriously- is that actually him?"
The screen was still glowing with his name on it and the crowd had completely lost its mind.
Lucas stood where he was and let it happen. People craning their necks, pointing, leaning into each other with wide eyes. A few actually stepped forward like they needed to close the distance to believe it. The noise built on itself, confusion becoming shock becoming something louder and messier, spreading outward from where he stood like he was the center of something he hadn't planned.
He crossed his arms.
A slow smile came to his face.
'Nailed it,' he thought, watching the chaos. 'Absolute aura farming. Peak.'
[Lamest and cringiest person in the entire world.]
His eye twitched slightly. 'Shut up.' He kept his face composed.
"This is a mistake!" a cadet near the front shouted, loud enough to cut through everything. Lucas didn't know the guy. Didn't recognize him at all. "Someone like him placing fourth? That makes zero sense! I want a re-evaluation!"
"Same!" another voice immediately. "He doesn't even have any real skills! How does someone like that rank above everyone here? This isn't legitimate!"
And then it spread the way these things always do, one voice becomes two becomes ten becomes a wave, and suddenly the whole crowd was restless, people glaring at the screen, glaring at Lucas, turning toward Beatrice with that specific energy of a group that has decided it has been wronged.
"Recheck everything!"
"This is unfair!"
"Re-evaluate the results!"
Lucas listened to all of it. His smile faded. His jaw tightened.
His fists closed at his sides.
'These people,' he thought, watching them. 'Same as always. The moment it doesn't go the way they expected, it has to be wrong. Can't be that I earned it. Has to be a mistake.'
He didn't say anything. He just stood there and took it, expression flat, and underneath that flatness was something very quiet and very cold.
Then —
"Silence."
Beatrice didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
The word landed on the crowd like a hand pressing down on water. Everything just stopped. Voices cut off mid-sentence. The cadet who had been shouting about re-evaluation closed his mouth like he'd forgotten how to open it.
Her golden eyes moved across the crowd slowly. Nobody spoke.
"The results," she said, "are accurate. Every calculation. Every point. No errors." She let that sit. "Cadet Lucas Ironhart earned the fourth rank through his performance in the examination." Another pause — shorter this time, sharp. "There will be no re-evaluation."
That was it. No argument. No room for one.
The crowd stayed quiet. Not convinced — Lucas could see that clearly, the looks still there, the doubt and the jealousy sitting in people's eyes like they'd just been told to put them in their pockets for now. But they were quiet. Which was enough.
Beatrice moved on without another word. Names kept appearing on the screen. Rankings continued down through the list, each one landing with its own small reaction from the crowd until finally the last position appeared and faded and it was done.
The top twenty were called forward.
Lucas walked with the group through the main gates of Sylvas Magic Academy, and the moment he stepped inside he stopped keeping his expression neutral because there was just — a lot to look at.
Training grounds that stretched wide and open, marked out in neat arenas with equipment he didn't recognize.
Lecture halls that looked more like something built for a royal family than students. A library in the distance that seemed to pull light toward it somehow, the kind of building that makes you feel slightly underdressed just by existing near it. Dormitories that looked more like noble residences than anywhere students were supposed to sleep.
Older cadets moving between all of it- second years, third years with a composure that made the new entrants look exactly like what they were.
Lucas let out a quiet breath through his nose.
'This place is genuinely on another level.'
He kept walking.
Word came through not long after: the top five rankers were to report to the headmaster's office.
Lucas found himself in a waiting room that was nicer than any room he'd been in since waking up in this body. Soft couches, polished wood, the kind of quiet that expensive furniture creates. He sank into one of the seats and pulled up his status while the others settled around him.
______________________
[Level: 8]
[Health: 100]
[Mana: 55]
[Strength: 28]
[Agility: 23]
[Defense: 25]
[Stamina: 31]
[Unallocated Stat: 4]
[Magic: Not awakened yet]
[Skills: Mana Perception]
[Weapon: Whisperfang]
______________________
He closed the screen.
The room was quiet in the heavy way rooms get when people who don't know each other are all trying to figure out whether they should be the first to speak.
Lucas looked around at the others without turning his head too much.
Sylvia sat straight-backed at the far end of the couch, eyes forward, giving off the very clear energy of someone who did not come here to make friends. Nova was a few seats away, leaning back casually with his arms crossed, that easy confidence from the courtyard still on him but quieter now, more internal. Gideon, fifth rank, he'd seen the name on the screen was sitting forward slightly with brown hair falling across his forehead, turning a small object over in his hands like he needed something to do with them.
Celia broke first.
"Umm, hello, everyone." She smiled, slightly forced, the smile of someone who is committing to cheerfulness and hoping it's contagious. "It's nice to meet you all. I'm Celia, well, obviously you already know that." A small laugh. "I'm just looking forward to getting along with everyone."
The tension eased maybe ten percent.
Gideon nodded, grateful someone had gone first. "Gideon. Gideon Nightshade. Fifth rank." He scratched the back of his head. "Lowest one here, I guess." Not self-pitying- just honest, like he'd already made peace with it. "Hope we can all get along."
Sylvia said, "Myself. Sylvia."
And then looked away.
Celia opened her mouth like she was going to try to continue that, then seemed to decide against it.
Lucas shifted forward slightly, about to add his name-
"Hey. You." The tone stopped him.
He looked up.
Nova was standing.
The casual thing was completely gone. He was looking at Lucas directly, no warmth in it, something behind his eyes that hadn't been there in the courtyard with the waves and the easy grin. Colder than that. More specific.
"Are you Lucas Ironhart?"
The room changed.
It was subtle but everyone felt it, Celia going still, Gideon's hands stopping on the object he'd been turning over, Sylvia's eyes sliding sideways just slightly. Outside the doorway, which had been open this whole time, a few cadets passing by in the corridor slowed down. Heads turning.
Whispers reaching in from outside:
"Is that Nova Frostvale in there?"
"And that's the Ironhart kid, right?"
"I heard the Frostvales and Ironharts have history..."
"Are they actually about to—"
"Uh- hey, everyone." Gideon raised both hands slightly. "We literally just sat down. Can we maybe—"
Lucas stood up.
Not fast. Not aggressive. Just steady. He straightened to his full height, met Nova's eyes, and held them without looking away.
His fingers were loose at his side. Ready, if they needed to be, but not reaching for anything yet.
He let the question sit in the air for a second. Let the whispers from the doorway keep going. Let the room stay exactly as heavy as it was.
Then he said, quietly and clearly —
"What if I say I am Lucas Ironhart?"