The room was quiet again.
Just me, my pillow, my bed, and a pair of invisible glasses silently judging my life choices.
I stared at the ceiling and did the only thing I could actually do right now.
Thinking.
"Alright," I muttered. "Let's get organized."
Nova didn't interrupt.
That alone felt ominous.
First—my situation.
I was alive.
Barely.
Stronger than before, sure, but still nowhere near safe. The kind of strength that only lets you die slightly slower.
I had an Iron Warrior class holding my body together.
A Soul Assassin subclass I hadn't properly tested yet.
A sentient truth lens that answered questions selectively and judged me constantly.
Zero usable Soul Power.
One forbidden skill I was pretending didn't exist.
And hovering over all of it—
A future that would turn hostile the moment I made one wrong decision.
Because there was also a mission I couldn't dodge.
Protect the Chosen.
Not mentor him.
Not guide him.
Not turn him into some polished weapon of destiny.
Just make sure he lived long enough to become whatever the world insisted he had to be.
I exhaled.
Second—the Chosen himself.
Based on what Soul One said…
"…He's ordinary," I murmured.
Nova hummed.
[Correct.]
"Not secretly noble. Not backed by some ancient bloodline. No hidden clan pulling strings in the background."
[Correct.]
"So he starts at the bottom," I continued, rubbing my temple. "No resources. No connections. Probably not even decent initial training."
Nova didn't argue.
[That assumption is statistically accurate.]
That narrowed things down.
Someone like that couldn't grow alone. Power didn't work that way. Power needed infrastructure.
Resources.
Training.
Protection.
Information.
But someone like that would want freedom first.
Not loyalty.
Not contracts.
Not lifelong obligations disguised as opportunity.
Which meant a lot of paths were dead on arrival.
First, the Noble families?
I almost laughed.
Even if they took him in, it wouldn't be about nurturing talent. It would be about ownership. Every favor recorded. Every achievement claimed. Every failure punished.
And the moment you became valuable—
You stopped being free.
Second, the national military wasn't much better.
Stable income. Decent resources. Predictable growth.
Too predictable.
You didn't rise because you were talented. You rose because you were useful, obedient, and politically convenient.
Linear. Rigid. Suffocating.
Third, Sects?
I grimaced.
Ideology.
Doctrine.
"Correct paths."
"Inherited wisdom."
Invisible chains wrapped in pretty words.
Fourth, Guilds may be a viable option, but they may pretend to be different, but they weren't.
They talked about meritocracy, but connections still mattered. Sponsorships still snowballed. Without Reputation, you don't get good quests or fair payments. A nobody stayed a nobody far longer than they should.
Strings everywhere.
Everywhere except—
I froze.
Then, slowly, I smiled.
"…There is one place."
Nova stayed silent.
I let the thought settle, sharpen, become real.
"A place that claims neutrality," I said quietly. "That feeds on chaos instead of order. That thrives on talent crashing into talent."
My fingers tightened against the sheets.
"The Sage's Vision Academy."
Nova was quiet for half a second.
Then—
[…At least you have some brain.]
I snorted. "High praise."
Sage's Vision Academy.
The continent's most elegant headache.
No bloodline preference.
No noble privilege.
No national allegiance.
They didn't care who your parents were.
They cared about performance.
Adaptability.
Growth curve.
If you were talented, you stayed.
If you weren't, you washed out.
Simple.
Cruel.
Fair.
More importantly—
It was chaos.
Prodigies everywhere.
Egos colliding daily.
Multiple factions watching from the shadows.
Enough noise to drown out destiny itself.
Exactly the kind of place the Chosen would thrive in.
Even if he didn't seek it out, the Academy would notice him eventually. They always did. They were tangled with every major power on the continent whether they wanted it or not.
I breathed out slowly.
"If I were fate," I muttered, "that's where I'd throw him."
Nova finally spoke.
[It is the optimal neutral ground.]
"Neutral," I repeated. "That's the key."
No forced allegiance.
No permanent leash.
The Academy had controlled combat zones, dungeon access programs, high-level instructors, rare archives, and—most importantly—legal permission to be strange.
If he displayed cheat-level talent? Genius.
If he progressed unnaturally fast? Prodigy.
If anomalies clustered around him? Just another exceptional student.
Destiny, hidden in plain sight.
I sat up straighter.
"So," I said quietly, "I join the Academy."
[Yes.]
"And I stay close enough to observe," I continued, "but far enough to stay irrelevant."
[Correct.]
"And when the Chosen finally appears—either as a student or as an anomaly magnet—"
I paused.
Not because I didn't know the plan.
But because I knew the cost.
"I act only when I have to," I finished. "From the background."
[Yes.]
I lay back again, staring at the ceiling.
Joining the Academy meant attention.
Competition.
National Politics.
Family expectations.
It meant stepping closer to the very spotlight I'd spent my life avoiding.
But it was the only way.
I closed my eyes.
"…I really hate plans that make sense," I muttered.
Nova said nothing.
Which somehow felt like agreement.