It was the final day of class.
While the rest of the students chatted, laughed, and made the most of their last moments together, Om walked alone—unbothered, lost in thought.
His gaze was lowered, his mind occupied.
"I'm too weak for close combat. If I want to stand a chance in trials, I need something long-range… something with a wide area of effect. Maybe a grimoire, a staff… or a magic-enhancing accessory. A catalyst that lets me fight without getting close."
As he reached the school gate, he noticed a large crowd blocking the exit.
But Om wasn't in a hurry—and Raj wasn't there to pick him up this time. So he quietly veered off toward a bench under a large tree and sat down.
Looking up at the sky, he began thinking ahead.
"Ten days. That's all I've got. I need a plan."
After several minutes of frustration, one idea surfaced.
"Maybe… I should study the candidates who've made it into C.U.I. in past years. If I can't rely on brute strength, maybe I can learn from patterns, tactics, behaviors."
"I doubt I'll rank high… maybe not even make Rathi class. But if I can understand how others made it, I might find another way."
"I'll ask Mr. Narad tonight."
"Hey Om! Come here!"
A voice called from the crowd near the gate.
Om turned and saw a hand waving from the center of the crowd.
As he approached, he saw Raj, leaning casually on the passenger seat of a luxury car. Behind the wheel sat Narad, looking like he had just stepped out of a royal delegation.
"Show-off." Om muttered.
He didn't bother greeting them. Instead, he turned around to walk the other way.
Raj blinked, surprised. "He ignored me…?"
But Narad's lips curled into a faint smile. "Interesting."
"Raj, get in," Narad said.
Raj waved goodbye to the crowd and hopped into the car.
Narad drove slowly until they were parallel with Om.
"Master Om, hop in. We've come to pick you up," Narad called out.
Om raised an eyebrow. "Was the show necessary?"
Narad chuckled. "The other cars didn't suit my taste. And Bhanu's busy."
Om got in with a sigh, and the car pulled away.
On the way home, Raj turned to Narad. "Why do you always call Om 'Master Om' and not me?"
Narad grinned. "I have my reasons."
Then, smirking, he added, "Maybe you should start calling him Master too."
He laughed heartily. Om frowned. "Just Om is fine."
Later, back at the residence…
Raj stretched his arms and exclaimed, "Finally. Home."
But Narad's voice cut through the air, sharp and cold.
"This is not your home," he said, eyes narrowed. "This is a facility."
Raj froze.
A chill ran down his spine. Sweat formed on his forehead. His breath caught.
Om looked at Narad, puzzled by the sudden change in tone.
"Why do you say that?" he asked softly.
Narad didn't meet his eyes. "You'll understand... once you receive your inheritance."
Then, as abruptly as it came, the tension vanished.
Narad turned and walked away.
Raj exhaled, finally able to breathe again. He turned to Om, shaken. "What the hell was that about?"
Om had no answer.
But Narad, walking ahead, thought to himself, "This kid… has a strong mind."
That evening…
Around a long table filled with lavish dishes and surrounded by attentive staff, Om, Raj, Narad, and his secretary Sara sat down for dinner.
Raj ate like a man starved for a decade.
"I'll have this, that, and that too!" he shouted, reaching for every dish.
Sara giggled.
Raj turned to Om, smirking. "Hey kid, do you think I have a shot with her?"
Om replied with a perfectly straight face, "Not in a million years."
Laughter erupted across the room. Even Narad chuckled while hiding his smile with a napkin.
After dinner, as the table was being cleared, Om looked at Narad, who was drying his hands with a towel.
"Mr. Narad," Om began, "I want to ask something."
Narad looked at him. "Go ahead, Master Om."
Raj flinched slightly—Om had told him not to use that title.
Narad smiled apologetically. "Ah, right. Just Om. Sorry—I'll need time to adjust."
Om continued, his voice steady but curious.
"My grandfather knew I'm not suited for combat. My physique is weak. He also knew white fruits are expensive. So why did he waste one on me—the last quota?"
The room went silent.
Even Sara and Raj looked at Narad, waiting for his answer.
Narad stared at Om for a moment, then spoke gently.
"Don't belittle yourself, Om."
He leaned back and began to explain.
"Do you know how the 50 candidates are selected for inheritance?"
Om shook his head. "No."
Narad folded his arms.
"Since our nation has no Inheritor Association or Federation of its own—and our Forbidden Zone is managed by another country—the W.I.A. sends only 50 white fruits here. Those are handed over to the school."
"And how are the recipients decided?"
"Five individuals—usually from respected families, teachers, or national figures—are tasked with evaluating the students and creating a ranked list."
Om frowned. "Then why me?"
Narad looked him in the eye. "Your grandfather didn't recommend you."
"...What?"
"You were ranked 51st. But Ronnie's elder brother—who was 50th—chose to withdraw. That left one vacant spot."
"And I just… got it?"
Narad nodded. "Almost. Most of the committee opposed giving it to you."
"Then who—?"
"Ronnie's father. Mr. Kashyapa. He stood alone in your defense. He had a personal conversation with your grandfather. After that, both men agreed."
"They proposed that only the last fruit be given to you. And that they would personally pay for it."
Raj raised his hand. "Wait—if they wanted Om to join, couldn't they have just let him enroll like me?"
Narad turned to him with a stern look. "Mr. Raj, you really should work on your memory."
Raj shrank a little.
"I've told you before—white fruits are rare. Even when they appear, acquiring one is nearly impossible."
"The demand for them is higher than for some top-grade accessories. And unlike basic inheritance attempts, this was a quota. A precious one."
Om stood abruptly, slamming both palms on the table.
"Then why did Lord Kashyapa support me? My relationship with Ronnie is terrible!"
Narad looked at Om for a long moment.
Then he said with a mysterious smile,
"That… is something only your grandfather and Lord Kashyapa truly know."