Crownspire Academy.
A monument of glass, stone, and ambition. From a distance it resembled a crown rising out of the city, its jagged spires piercing the sky as though to declare that the world itself bowed beneath it. Politicians whispered of it. Monarchs respected it. Corporations quietly feared it. For Crownspire was no ordinary school. It was the crucible where rulers were forged, the cradle where the next kings, presidents, and tycoons of the globe were born.
Its students did not simply learn—they conquered. Every hallway was a parliament, every classroom a battlefield, every whispered rumor a sharpened blade. To fail here was not merely to fall behind; it was to be forgotten.
And at the gates of this world-shaping academy, a single family name was already carved into its foundations.
Veyra.
Cassian Veyra had once walked these halls, a storm in human form. He was not only a business magnate who controlled multinational empires, but a man trained in the discipline of martial perfection. His reputation was one of steel: unbending, unshakable, a master who could wrestle power from any room he entered.
Beside him in legacy stood Selene Veyra, his wife. Where Cassian was steel, Selene was silk—deceptively soft, endlessly pliable, but suffocating when wrapped around the throat. She was a legend in corporate warfare, a woman who could sell false promises as truth and walk away with kingdoms signed into her palm. Even now, multinational boards whispered her name with equal fear and reverence.
Together they held shares in Titan Global, the largest conglomerate the world had ever known. But their greatest investment… was their son.
Adrian Veyra.
From the moment he could walk, his father had drilled him in martial forms, striking discipline into his bones until each motion was efficient, sharp, and absolute. From the moment he could speak, his mother had guided his tongue, teaching him how to twist words, how to smile at a lie until it felt like truth, how to bend another's will without raising his voice.
Cassian forged his son's body into a weapon. Selene honed his mind into a blade. Together they carved into him a single command:
"We conquered this place in our time. Now, Adrian… it is yours to claim. If you cannot, you are unworthy of our name."
And so he stood now at the gates of Crownspire Academy, the shadow of titans behind him, and the weight of the future pressing upon his shoulders.
The Crown Trial was infamous across the globe. Its legend was simple: perfection is impossible.
It was not an exam of questions, but of survival. Logic puzzles where every answer was a trap, business negotiations staged against actors trained to deceive, psychological dilemmas that forced morality against ambition, endurance courses designed to break even soldiers. Scores above ninety were whispered about as miracles. To achieve perfection? The world believed it a myth.
Inside the examination hall, hundreds of prodigies from every corner of the earth bent over their stations. The son of a president, the daughter of a media empire, a crown prince whose kingdom stretched across oceans. They sweated, scribbled, cursed under their breath.
Adrian did none of these.
He sat with perfect posture, pen gliding across paper without hesitation. His expression was calm, unreadable, his red eyes scanning each challenge as though it were a puzzle already solved. Where others hesitated, he did not. Where others doubted, he smiled faintly.
The hours passed. One by one, students stumbled out, pale and defeated. Some swore, others wept. Adrian walked silently past them when his turn ended, unbothered.
And when the results were revealed on the towering holo-pillar at the academy's plaza, silence rippled like a storm had stilled the air.
Adrian Veyra – 100/100.
Gasps tore through the crowd. A perfect score. Impossible. Myths reborn into reality.
Then—another gasp. Another name flashed.
Elara Duskborne – 100/100.
And then another.
Kael Richter – 100/100.
Three perfect scores. The academy had never seen such a phenomenon in its entire history.
The murmurs began at once, a storm of envy, suspicion, awe.
"Three? How—?"
"The Veyra boy? Of course, with parents like that…"
"No, Duskborne is royalty. This was fated."
"Richter controls half the world's media. Who's to say he didn't cheat?"
Adrian listened to none of it. His eyes lingered only on the pillar a moment longer, then slid away, cold and detached. Perfection meant nothing to him. It was only the first stone in a long climb.
By tradition, perfect scorers were placed immediately into Class X, the apex where the academy's true rulers waited. But when the lists were published…
Adrian's name appeared under Class A.
A deliberate move. A test. A leash.
The world might believe it a clerical choice, but Adrian understood at once. The academy was baiting him. Or worse—stacking the board to watch him struggle.
For the first time that day, his lips curled upward. Not a smile.A blade. So they want me to climb. Then I'll climb. And I'll bury everyone who tries to chain me down.
Orientation began. Class A gathered in their chamber—a marble hall that looked more suited to parliament than students. The room buzzed with excitement, fear, and envy. All eyes shifted toward Adrian as he entered. Some curious, some admiring, others sharp with hostility.
One voice cut above the rest. Loud, mocking, desperate to be heard.
"Well, well… the great Adrian Veyra."
A tall boy stepped forward, gold signet ring glinting on his finger. His family crest burned on his blazer: the Rinehart line, mid-tier magnates infamous for their arrogance. He was already smirking.
"A perfect score, and they dump you in Class A with the rest of us? Maybe it wasn't skill. Maybe it was just your parents buying the system. What's the matter? Couldn't stand with the real elites?"
The room hushed. Dozens of eyes flicked between the challenger and Adrian, hungry for spectacle.
Adrian said nothing.
He turned his head slowly, gaze locking onto the boy. His eyes, once calm, narrowed—emotionless, unreadable, like a predator studying prey.
The challenger's smirk faltered.
Adrian didn't move, didn't speak. He simply stared, unblinking, his silence heavier than any insult. It was the stare of someone who had already calculated a thousand ways to dismantle the boy's life, and chosen not to bother.
The arrogance drained from the challenger's face. His throat bobbed. He looked away first.
A murmur spread through the class—fear, awe, confusion. Adrian lowered his gaze again, as if the boy had never existed.
The message was clear: words were unnecessary. His silence was louder than thunder.
Far above, in the glass chamber of the Student Council, nine figures sat around a table shaped like a crown. These were not ordinary students. They were the top of Class X, the ruling council, each one a prodigy who had scored above ninety in the Crown Trial.
At their head sat Lucius Draemond, a fourth-year with eyes as cold as steel, President of the Council. His file on Adrian Veyra lay open in his hands.
"Three perfect scores," one councilor muttered. "Unprecedented."
"The Veyra boy," another sneered. "If he's anything like his parents, he'll be trouble."
"Perhaps we should recruit him before he grows too dangerous."
"Or perhaps we crush him now."
Lucius listened, then closed the file with a quiet snap.
"Let him climb," he said, voice smooth as glass. "Let him struggle. The higher he rises, the harder he'll fall. And if Adrian Veyra wishes to rule Crownspire…"
His eyes gleamed.
"…then he will have to take it from us."