The next morning, Aiden walked beside Emilia through the gleaming corridors of the academy. Holographic signs floated in the air, guiding students to their respective classes, and drones buzzed silently, maintaining security and cleanliness. The air thrummed with mana—pure, rich, and alive. It was overwhelming for many, but for Aiden, it was just a reminder: this was the cradle of future legends.
As they entered the Class A hallway, dozens of students turned their heads.
Most weren't looking at him.
It was Emilia. Dressed in the academy's sleek black and silver uniform, her red hair shimmered under the artificial sunlight, green eyes glowing like emeralds. Her beauty wasn't just physical—it carried presence. She looked like someone destined to stand above the crowd. Whispers filled the air.
"Who's she?"
"That's Emilia, right? The rumored dual affinity?"
"Who's the guy beside her?"
Aiden chuckled under his breath. "You sure know how to steal the spotlight."
Emilia grinned. "It's not my fault I'm fabulous."
They both laughed, a familiar warmth in the midst of unfamiliar stares. Despite the pressure, it felt natural—like this was where they belonged.
As they stepped into the Class A training chamber, five other students were already gathered. Aiden's gaze swept over them—monsters, each of them.
The first was Arthur—short black hair, calm demeanor, and eyes that glinted with intelligence. He waved a hand, and a sapling sprouted from the floor. Water coiled around it as the earth shifted to nourish it. Wood, water, and earth—intertwined in perfect harmony.
Then there was Nolan, tall and muscular, flames licking the air around his fingertips. His fire was hot—not just in temperature, but in presence. You could feel it.
Cecelia, graceful and poised, stood with her arms crossed. The daughter of India's ruler, her silver hair flowed unnaturally, caught in an invisible breeze. Wind crackled faintly around her. The resemblance to the Wind Emperor was undeniable.
Momoshi, quiet and unreadable, leaned against the wall. She wore gloves, and Aiden could sense her control—poison that didn't leak, didn't taint the air. It waited. She was the daughter of the most powerful pharmaceutical magnate in the world. Fitting.
And finally, Roland. Broad-shouldered, confident, and already smirking. Steel clung to his aura—solid, sharp, unyielding. The heir to the biggest weapons manufacturing empire.
As Aiden and Emilia entered, Roland's smirk widened. "So, this is our seventh?" he asked loudly.
Aiden felt the heat of five gazes land on him.
Roland walked forward, his steps heavy. "Do you think you deserve to be here?" His voice carried no hostility—only arrogance. "A 3-star with lightning? And something… useless?" He sneered. "This is Class A, not Class Average."
Aiden felt Emilia tense beside him. She opened her mouth to respond, but he gently raised a hand, stopping her. He let out a soft sigh.
So it begins.
"I suppose I should prove I belong, then," Aiden said, his voice calm. "Why don't you show me my place?"
Gasps echoed.
Roland's eyes narrowed. "You sure about that, little lightning boy?"
Aiden smiled, unbuttoned his coat, and let it fall to the floor. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms marked by faint, pulsing veins—lines of stress, just beneath the skin. Veins that hadn't been there yesterday. One day of Resonant Fracturing and his body was already adapting. The mana flow in his body surged with efficiency.
Emilia's eyes widened. She recognized the change immediately.
Roland didn't wait.
With a roar, he charged, steel coiling around his fists. His strength was no joke—he could crush boulders barehanded if given the time to activate his mana fully. But Aiden didn't need to overpower him.
He simply sidestepped.
In one smooth motion, Aiden stepped aside and swept a leg forward. Roland's momentum carried him forward—and he went down. Hard.
Face-first.
A few chuckles echoed, but Roland was already getting up, fury burning in his eyes. "You—!"
He swung again, a steel-coated punch arcing toward Aiden's face. But Aiden moved like water. No flashy movement, no dramatic dodge. Just a shift of weight, a slight lean, and the punch missed by a hair.
Another swing. Dodged.
Another.
And another.
Roland's face turned red with frustration. The gap in skill was undeniable now. Not in mana, not in affinity—but in pure martial ability.
"Enough," Nolan's voice cut in like a blade. The flames around his hands flared for a moment. Roland froze.
"Tch," Roland scoffed, backing off and returning to his seat. "This isn't over."
"Never is," Aiden replied coolly.
A moment later, Emilia latched onto his arm, eyes sparkling. "That. Was. Awesome!"
He blinked. "You're… not mad I didn't let you handle him?"
"Nope!" She beamed. "But seriously—where did that come from? Since when do you fight like a trained assassin?"
Aiden looked away. "Here and there."
Truth was, he had been trained in America during humanity's final stand. Luna, a war veteran and former Level 8, had drilled discipline into him. Every bruise, every scar—it had paid off.
These students might have greater potential—but right now, they were all Level 1.
And he was never going to be pushed around again.