May 29th, 2047 — Arkenridge City, 7:24 AM
The bus rattled down the long road out of Arkenridge, windows fogged by the morning chill. Students whispered in small groups,some muttered in low voices, others buried their faces in books.
Near the back—third seat from the end—he sat alone.
Silent. Still. Watching.
Not bored. Not tired. Just… aware.
His name was Code. Sixteen. Black hair shifting in the breeze from a cracked window. No social media. No hobbies worth noting. No friends on the bus.
To everyone else, he was ordinary.
Too ordinary.
And that was perfect. That's exactly how he wanted it.
He gazed out the window as the city skyline faded behind mist, hills rolling forward like frozen waves. For a moment, an image flashed in his mind—a man grabbing a child harshly by the collar. Code didn't flinch. He simply adjusted the tie on his white shirt.
Then, golden eyes scanned the bus. Calm. Unreadable. Watching. Analyzing.
Humans... The so-called higher species. Scientists label them advanced, but in truth, they follow patterns. They fit into types. Always have.
His eyes narrowed slightly as his thoughts began to flow:
The Wise. Thinkers. Seekers of truth. Driven by logic.
Plato once called them the rational class—the ones meant to lead.
The Brave. Doers. The ones who act. Who stand up.
In Plato's "Republic," they were the spirit of the soul. Warriors with discipline and justice in their blood.
The Masses. The Desirers. Most people. Living for wealth, comfort, pleasure.
They produce. They consume. They follow.
And then... Nietzsche's view:
The Herd. The crowd. Always following, afraid to stand out. Holding back greatness to stay safe.
The Creators. Rare. The ones who break rules and make new ones. Artists. Leaders. Rebels.
The Overman. Übermensch. The ideal. Beyond fear, beyond rules. Living by their own strength.
Fitting yourself into one of these categories helps you understand yourself... but once you do, are you ready to accept what that really means?
Code's eyes drifted across the bus—students chatting, others sleeping, some quiet like him. He caught his own reflection in the glass. Golden eyes stared back.
Then he closed them… and let the world fade.
---
The road grew silent. Dry. Heavy.
Students stirred nervously. Whispers spread.
Code, still asleep, didn't notice.
A girl's voice broke through. "Guys… what is that ahead of us?"
Every head turned forward.
A wall loomed. Enormous. Solid like a mountain face, jagged and cracked, streaked with dirt and moss. Its top vanished into the sky. It pressed against the horizon like the end of the world.
The bus didn't stop.
Students panicked.
"We're gonna crash!" a girl screamed.
"Why isn't the bus stopping?!"
"I don't wanna die yet! I'm still too young!"
Chaos exploded. The bus roared forward. But the driver's seat—empty. The bus was driving itself.
A boy with sharp black hair stood, adjusting his tie. His eyes burned with determination.
"We can't just sit here! We have to stop this bus!"
"Ken, what are you gonna do?!"
Ken glared. "Crybaby Caden. Just shut up and let me handle this."
He lunged for the wheel, straining to turn it. Nothing. The bus only sped up.
"Ken! Look out!" a girl shouted.
The wall swallowed their vision.
The students shielded their faces, bracing for death.
Impact.
Or… not.
Silence.
Slowly, students lowered their hands. Laughter, nervous and relieved, broke out. They were still alive.
Ken whipped around, staring through the back window. The wall was still there, looming. Yet somehow… they had passed right through it.
Before he could speak, a voice trembled: "What… is that?"
They turned forward.
And froze.
The Academy.
Ordinis Academy towered like a steel-stone fortress. Towers clawed at the sky, black-iron gates and watchtowers ringed its walls. Glass panels gleamed coldly under daylight. It looked less like a school—more like a citadel built to crush whoever entered.
The bus hissed to a stop.
Students sighed in relief, gathering their bags and filing out.
Code stirred, eyes opening slowly. "We've arrived already…" He grabbed his bag and stepped down.
He paused. Stared at the looming structure.
So this is Ordinis Academy.
A place built on intellect, discipline, and silent war.
Or so they said.
The wind pulled at his black coat, its golden crest glinting faintly.
"…I finally made it," he muttered. "Ordinis Academy… what do you have to offer?"
---
The courtyard teemed with life.
Students poured from sleek black buses, laughter echoing, shoes tapping against polished stone.
Code slipped through the crowd like a shadow. Calm. Unnoticed. Present, yet unseen.
"This place smells like ambition," he murmured.
A crackle buzzed from speakers hidden above the archway.
"Attention, first-years. Report to the main hall for orientation. Do not wander."
The crowd moved. Code didn't rush. He watched.
Students laughing too loud—trying to mask fear.
A loner glancing around nervously.
Two girls whispering, eyes darting like knives.
Someone bumped into him. A tall, broad-shouldered senior.
"Watch it," the guy snapped.
Code met his gaze. Silent. Golden eyes unblinking.
Then he walked away. Not out of fear—because it wasn't worth the energy.
---
The main hall swallowed the students whole.
Ceilings arched high, chandeliers glowed, banners draped the walls. It felt less like a school… more like the seat of a regime.
First-years lined up in rows. All wearing the same uniform. None truly the same.
Code lingered at the back, hands in his coat pockets. Calm. Detached.
The click of heels echoed across the hall.
The room froze.
A voice carried through the speakers—sharp, cold.
"Welcome to Ordinis Academy. Today, I will be assessing you."
No greetings. No applause. Just silence.
"This is not a place for dreams. This is a place for results."
Whispers slithered through the crowd.
"You are not equals. Some of you may rise. Others will not."
The voice grew sharper. "Your dorms, meals, privileges—all depend on performance. Fall behind… and you'll find out what that means."
Eyes darted. Fear spread.
Code's golden eyes didn't move. If anything, he looked bored.
Same system. Different uniform.
"Your entrance exams are complete. Now, rankings will decide your place."
A chime rang.
A massive screen flickered alive. Names and provisional rankings filled the air.
[Initial Assessment: Provisional Class Rankings]
1. Kiryuu Alen – Class A
2. Elise Thornhart – Class A
3. Nero Velden – Class B
4. Arlen Voss – Class C
5. Code – Class D
Students gasped. Murmurs swirled.
"Class D? For real?"
"Who even is that guy?"
"He looks like he doesn't care."
But Code stood silent. Expressionless.
Eyes half-lidded. Detached.
Rankings are just numbers.
And numbers… can be rewritten.
"Class D? Seriously?"
"Look at his name… Code. Who even names their kid Code?"
Whispers spread like wildfire through the hall. Eyes darted, lips curled, and every word carried the same mocking edge.
Then—
BZZZT.
The digital screen above buzzed to life. Rows of names shifted, clean and sharp, forming perfect columns under bold headers. The murmurs died instantly.
The voice from the speakers cut through the silence, calm but cold:
"This academy does not simply sort students into classes. It sorts them into ranks… within the Pyramid."
The word hung heavy in the air.
A ripple of confusion spread through the crowd.
The voice continued, steady and precise.
"Look at the screen."
The giant screen flickered again—this time revealing a glowing pyramid, tiered from bottom to top. Four words burned across it:
Grents. Servitors. Aspirants. Perfects.
"Grents…?" someone whispered, unsure if they had misheard.
"For those of you still struggling to understand," the voice replied, almost mocking, "you'll know soon enough. When your classes begin."
A hand shot up near the center. "What does the pyramid ranking actually affect?"
The answer was immediate.
"Everything that matters. Your schedules. Project groups. Library access. And of course… your social standing at Ordinis."
A collective murmur swept the room. For some, excitement. For others, dread.
"I believe that concludes the orientation," the voice said smoothly. "Proceed to your floors. Elevators are marked. Class D—down to the bottom. Class C, B, and A—rise accordingly. Your instructors will handle the rest."
The crowd stirred to life. Students broke apart into groups, moving toward the elevators.
Code stood still for a moment, then he moved. Calm steps. No rush.
He pressed the button. Ding. The elevator slid open. He stepped in alone.
The doors shut.
When they opened again, Code found himself on the fifth floor.
The floor for the Grents.
His boots echoed against the marble floor—thunk, thunk—carrying through a hallway that felt almost sterile. Bright lights hummed overhead. Security cameras turned slowly, watching. Digital signs flickered, showing schedules, rules, numbers.
It was clean. Cold. Clinical.
Empty.
Because this floor was meant for the bottom. For the Grents.
The pyramid was clear now:
5th floor – Grents.
4th floor – Servitors.
3rd floor – Aspirants.
2nd floor – Perfects.
1st floor – …unknown.
Code didn't pause. He kept walking, hands in pockets, until he reached a door at the far end.
Above it glowed black text:
Class 1-D.
He tilted his head slightly.
"D-Class… of course."
The door slid open with a hiss.
Inside—rows of desks, sunlight bleeding through tall windows, the faint sting of cleaning chemicals still in the air. Students were scattered around—some whispering, some yawning, some already looking dead inside.
No one looked happy to be there.
Code walked in quietly, unnoticed by most, and moved to the very back. By the window. Always the window.
The glass was fogged slightly with the morning chill—just like the bus earlier.
He slid into his seat, dropping his bag silently to the floor. Resting his chin on one hand, he glanced around the room.
"So this is the Grent class of the fifth floor, huh."
He didn't say it aloud. Just thought it.
His golden eyes narrowed—not in anger, not in disdain. Something colder.
The detached curiosity of a predator watching a herd.
Because here, in Class D… survival wouldn't be about fitting in.
It would be about standing above.
And the first lesson… was about to begin.
---
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