The inner courtyard of Best Academy buzzed with restrained tension.
First-years gathered in small clusters, whispering, shifting, and occasionally
glancing at the crystal board hovering above the center plaza. The examination
had ended, but its aftermath was far from over.
Atelion walked among them, calm, measured, and deliberately unassuming. His
aura was contained, his mana circulating quietly beneath the surface, just
enough to hint at his control without drawing unnecessary attention.
Whispers followed him.
"Did you see how he completed the gauntlet?"
"Third-circle spell compression without chanting… and perfect accuracy."
"He's dual-path. That's impossible for a first-year."
Atelion ignored them. His focus was not on their awe or envy, but on
observing—gauging potential, testing reactions, predicting paths. Everything
mattered.
From the highest balcony, Vice Headmaster Arkhavel appeared, his presence
alone commanding silence. Aura and mana layered subtly around him, a reminder
of why he was the academy's enforcer of rules and expectations.
"First-years," he began, voice amplified magically across the courtyard,
"your entrance examination has concluded. Your performance has been recorded,
analyzed, and reviewed by the examination council."
All eyes shifted toward him.
"Results will be published shortly, along with your class placements.
First-Year Representative selection will also follow. Until then, you are free
to proceed to the waiting halls."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the courtyard. Excitement. Anxiety.
Calculation.
Atelion walked to one side, observing reactions without revealing anything.
His duel-path mastery made him visible yet subtle, an edge
that only a few could sense.
Outside the official halls, among the students waiting for rankings, a boy
approached Atelion. Robes marked him as a first-year mage, posture taut, aura
sharp and contained. His dark eyes glimmered with irritation and curiosity.
"You're Atelion," the boy said bluntly. "I saw your spell efficiency. You
didn't even follow standard protocol for the practical exam."
Atelion's gaze met his, calm, neutral. "I did what was necessary."
The boy's jaw clenched. "Necessary or not, you beat me. I ranked second."
Atelion inclined his head slightly. "Then you have a reason to improve."
The boy studied him, eyes narrowing. Then, with a muttered, "Good. You'll
make a proper rival," he turned and left.
Atelion noted the name in passing: Caelum, first thread of
rivalry established.
High in the academy's spired observation towers, the Student Council watched
silently. The president's expression was unreadable, aura restrained, yet the
intensity of his gaze was unmistakable. Beside him, the vice-president analyzed
the students' subtle aura fluctuations, noting anomalies.
"He's exceptional," the president said quietly. "Dual-path first-year… not
seen in a century."
The vice-president nodded. "We'll have to see how he handles First Class.
That's where influence and politics begin."
The council's whispers carried weight. Every decision, every observation,
would ripple through the academy.
As students dispersed, rumors already began to spread.
The swordsmen discussed his speed and control
over aura.
The mages murmured about his precision and
efficiency in spellcasting.
Upperclassmen whispered quietly in their halls,
curious and wary.
And beyond the academy walls, in the shadows of the city, movements stirred.
The assassin and mage who would become his allies watched from afar, drawn
toward him by fate and circumstance.
Atelion himself remained silent, walking with measured steps, letting the
whispers swirl around him. His thoughts were precise:
Representative. First Class. Dual-path exception. Visibility
increases—but control remains mine. No one knows the full extent yet.
The next step was clear. Observation, preparation, and subtle influence.
And soon, the academy itself would feel the effect of his presence.