A full month passed in what felt like a blur.
By the time the day of the tournament arrived, Evan was sitting cross-legged on his bed, spine straight, palms resting lightly on his knees. The familiar sensation of surrounding aether flowed gently into his body, circulating according to the refinement art engraved into his memory. His breathing was steady, controlled, and far calmer than it had been a month ago.
When he finally opened his eyes, sunlight was already filtering through the window.
The first thing Evan did—almost out of habit—was summon his panel.
It expanded silently in front of him, displaying information that had once seemed unreal, but now felt firmly a part of his life.
[Name: Evan Windback][Affinity: Wind – High][Affinity: Stars – ???][Passive Abilities: Stardom, Star Refiner][Aether Refined: 541]
Evan stared at the final number for a long moment.
Five hundred and forty-one.
A month ago, he had refined barely twenty units and felt proud of himself. Now, he had added five hundred and twenty-one units in just one month. At this pace, he would reach Tier 1 in another month—something that normally took many students half a year or more.
"It really is unfair," Evan murmured softly.
All of it was thanks to Star Refiner. While others could only refine a few hours a day without exhausting themselves, Evan refined every single night, supported by the stars themselves. His progress wasn't explosive—but it was relentless.
Today, however, was not a day for cultivation.
Today was the tournament.
All first-year students were required to be present at their assigned training grounds exactly at 5 PM. The instructors had made it clear—being late was not an option.
Evan turned and kicked the lower bunk lightly.
"Wake up."
A groan came from below. Fred rolled over, hugging his pillow tighter.
"No… Christine just said yes…" he mumbled.
Evan froze for a second before his face darkened. "Wake up right now."
He kicked harder.
Fred jolted upright, eyes bloodshot, hair sticking out in all directions. "Do you know what you just did?! I was this close!"
"Dreaming nonsense again," Evan said flatly. "Get up."
Fred glared at him for a moment, then sighed dramatically. "You're heartless."
Despite his complaints, Fred climbed down and began getting ready. Soon, the two of them headed straight for breakfast.
The cafeteria was louder than usual.
Normally, mornings were filled with drowsy silence and half-asleep students. Today was different. The air buzzed with excitement, tension, and nervous chatter. Groups of students sat together, voices overlapping as they discussed one thing—and one thing only.
The tournament.
"How much have you refined?""I heard someone in Class A already crossed six hundred!""They say the instructors will be watching personally.""Ranking matters—merits matter!"
The clatter of trays and utensils mixed with animated voices. Everyone was measuring themselves against everyone else, trying to guess where they stood.
Fred walked with his chest puffed out, clearly enjoying the atmosphere. As they sat down with their food, he leaned closer to Evan.
"I refined four hundred and eighty," Fred said smugly.
Evan raised an eyebrow. "Not bad."
Fred smirked wider. "And you?"
"Five hundred forty-one," Evan replied calmly.
Fred nearly choked. "What?!"
Evan shrugged. "I lost on the first day, remember? I just worked harder after that."
Fred stared at him for a long second, then clicked his tongue. "Tch. I knew it. You're secretly crazy."
Fred accepted the explanation easily. To him, Evan was just someone who had pushed himself harder over time. The truth—that Evan had refined nearly every night under the stars—remained hidden.
As they continued eating, a familiar voice reached Evan's ears.
"Well, if it isn't you."
Evan looked up.
Chris stood nearby, tray in hand, surrounded by a small group of students. He looked healthier than before, his posture straighter, eyes sharper. There was confidence in his stance—confidence born from progress.
"I heard you've been doing pretty well," Chris continued, eyes flicking briefly toward Fred before returning to Evan. "So have I."
Fred frowned slightly. He didn't like the way Chris spoke—as if Evan owed him attention.
"Then we'll see who's better today," Evan replied evenly.
Chris's lips curved into a smile, but there was no warmth in it. "Exactly."
The tension between them was subtle, but unmistakable.
Chris disliked Evan—not just because of jealousy from the exam results, but because of Austin. Meanwhile, Evan hadn't forgotten how Chris's loose tongue had contributed to his family discovering the truth about the Broken Sword Academy examination.
Neither of them said more. The challenge was clear.
They would settle it in the tournament.
Elsewhere, at the entrance of the academy, a man stood quietly.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with the natural authority of someone long accustomed to command. His name was Dean Arcturus Vale, the head of Broken Sword Academy.
An aircraft descended smoothly onto the landing platform nearby. As it came to a halt, the hatch opened, and an old man stepped out.
Despite his age, his presence was overwhelming. His eyes were sharp, his aura deep and unfathomable.
"Still standing tall, Arcturus," the old man said casually.
"And you're still wandering into danger," the dean replied with a faint smile.
The old man chuckled. "Tier 4 dungeons aren't that dangerous anymore."
Anyone overhearing would have been shocked by how casually he spoke.
The two men greeted each other like equals.
The old man's name was Eldric Nightfall—a name spoken with reverence in certain circles, though his true identity remained unknown to most.
They walked together toward the dean's office, exchanging stories.
"I cleared two Tier 4 dungeons recently," Eldric said offhandedly. "Messy places."
Arcturus raised an eyebrow. "You make it sound easy."
"For me, it is."
Soon, the topic shifted.
"I heard your first-year tournament is today," Eldric said.
Arcturus nodded. "Yes. I thought you might like to watch."
Eldric smiled faintly. "Then I'll stay."
Far away, Evan finished his breakfast, unaware that eyes far more powerful than he could imagine would soon be watching.
The tournament was about to begin.