They entered the hall together, the wide space already bustling with recruits moving back and forth in loose groups. Conversations overlapped into a constant hum, boots scraping against the polished floor, chairs shifting, nervous laughter mixing with low whispers.
The air felt heavier than before.
Like the calm before something important.
Thomas checked his phone as they walked.
"I think it's almost time for the training to start," he said, eyes fixed on the screen.
Almost immediately—
The speakers crackled overhead.
"All recruits, please prepare. Training will begin shortly."
Gideon's eyes widened. He turned sharply toward Thomas.
"Wow… can you see the future or something?"
Thomas laughed awkwardly. "Haha, not really. I just like to keep track of the time."
"Whatever, guys," Michael said calmly. "Let's just listen and get ready for whatever they've prepared."
"Yeah, sure," Gideon replied.
Their chatter faded as a figure stepped onto the stage.
A familiar one.
"Hello. My name is Warren," the man announced, his voice firm and steady. "I am a Guardian here in the Southern Riftguard. Right now, I will explain the training you will be undergoing while you are here."
The hall slowly quieted.
"First, today you will undergo theory lessons and will be separated based on the ranks you received. After that, we will begin the top recruit tournament—both within ranks and overall. Tomorrow we will complete the tournament, then begin practical training and assign your actual ranks."
A ripple of whispers spread like wildfire.
"Huh…?"
"Actual ranks?"
"What does he mean…?"
Warren's eyes sharpened slightly.
"Right. You weren't told this before. The ranks you currently have are only your recruit ranks. Your actual rank may be lower… or, if you prove yourself stronger, it may remain the same or even be higher. So don't start thinking you're already B or C rank just because of what you were temporarily assigned."
Silence followed.
Excitement mixed with dread.
So nothing was guaranteed.
"That is all. Move to the elevator with your assigned rank written on it."
He stepped off the stage.
"Well… guess we aren't going to be together for this," Gideon said, scratching the back of his head.
"Don't worry," Michael said, voice steady but encouraging. "We'll still meet. So let's do well… and win the tournaments."
Gideon grinned. "Yeah. Let's ace this."
They split up.
Behind the platform—
"Wow… there sure are a lot of them this year," Warren muttered. "The records say this generation has the highest numbers we've seen recently."
"There are," Lucy replied calmly. "So we'll use the grand hall for theory lessons. And remember to be strict with them so they actually understand."
"So how are we handling the lessons again?" the man beside them asked.
"Good question, Greg," Lucy said. "Smith was supposed to teach the A ranks. I'll teach the B ranks. Warren handles C. You take D."
She paused briefly.
"But since Smith isn't here… I'll handle A and B together."
"Got it," Warren said. "We'll be off now.
""Haa…" Lucy let out a long, tired sigh.
That Smith…
He had dumped everything on her so casually, like it was nothing.
'I'll be around once in a while,' he said… and then he just disappears.
Her eyebrow twitched slightly.
Really? Once in a while?
The image of his lazy grin flashed in her mind and irritation bubbled up in her chest.
Unbelievable.
For a moment, she felt like marching off and dragging him back by the collar.
But she stopped herself.
Lucy rubbed her temple slowly.
"No… calm down," she muttered under her breath.
Getting angry wouldn't fix anything.
This recruitment mattered.
If something went wrong, it would reflect on all of them — not just Smith.
I should control myself and let this recruitment go well.
She exhaled softly and straightened her posture, forcing her expression back into its usual composed calm.
Professional. Focused. Reliable.
Meanwhile, inside the grand hall—
The doors slid open with a low mechanical hum.
Michael stepped in.
"…Whoa."
The space was enormous.
Rows upon rows of seats stretched upward like a small stadium. The back rows were elevated higher than the front, forming a slanted structure so everyone could see the podium clearly. The ceiling lights reflected faintly off the polished floor, giving the entire place a sharp, official atmosphere.
It didn't feel like a classroom.
It felt like a military briefing hall.
This place is massive…
He walked down the aisle, the faint echo of his footsteps swallowed by the chatter of recruits already seated.
And they even gave us training uniforms…
He glanced down at himself.
A fitted black jacket, buttons aligned neatly along one side. Thin white lines traced the collar and edges, clean and sharp. Paired with black jeans, the whole thing gave off a disciplined, combat-ready look.
It wasn't flashy.
But it felt… professional.
Feels like we already work here.
He slid into a seat in the middle row.
Right… I have to focus on this lesson.
No distractions.
No unnecessary trouble.
Just observe and prepare.
"Hi there. Michael, right?"
Michael blinked and turned his head.
A boy sat beside him — reddish-brown hair, black eyes, relaxed smile. Friendly at first glance.
"Oh, hello. Yes, my name is Michael, and you are—"
Before Michael could look at his name tag, the boy spoke.
"My name is Adrian. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too," Michael replied calmly.
"So," Adrian leaned back casually, "how do you think the training will be?"
"I think it might be tough," Michael said. "Considering they're going to reduce the ranks."
"Yeah… that's true," Adrian nodded. Then his smile deepened slightly. "And you might need someone by your side. So why don't you and I help each other out sometimes?"
"…Haa."
He finally said it.
Michael kept his expression neutral, but his thoughts sharpened instantly.
To be honest… before he came, he was already watching me from afar.
That stare.
Too obvious.
Too deliberate.
Even now—
He could feel it.
Several pairs of eyes.
Not casual glances.
But measuring.
Weighing.
Like predators sizing up prey.
This is most likely to lure me into a trap… so I can become one of his lackeys.
He had seen them before.
The group Adrian hung around.
They didn't act like friends.
More like thugs.
He remembered one of them being pushed around, mocked, forced to laugh along while they called him "friend."
Either way… I never planned to accept it.
"Sorry," Michael said politely. "But I don't think I would need much help, so don't worry."
Adrian paused.
For a split second, genuine surprise flashed across his face.
Then—
The smile returned.
Smooth.
Practiced.
"Okay," he said lightly. "But the training might be dangerous. You never know when accidents or unexpected things might happen."
Michael's eyes narrowed slightly.
That's a threat, isn't it?
The stares around him sharpened.
The air felt heavier.
"Sorry," Michael repeated calmly. "But I'll be okay. So like I said, there's no need to worry."
"Hahaha…"
Adrian let out a soft laugh.
He stood.
But this time, the friendliness was gone.
He looked down at Michael, voice colder.
"I hope you don't come to regret that decision."
Then he walked away.
Michael didn't look back.
"Don't worry," he muttered quietly. "I won't."
He turned to the recruits on his other side.
They looked uneasy.
Almost scared.
"What is wrong?" Michael asked.
"Huh? Do you not know who that is?" one of them whispered.
"I don't. Who was he?"
"That guy…" the boy swallowed. "He's a noble."
"…A noble, huh."
Michael leaned back slightly.
That explains his confidence.
Nobles were powerful families placed in charge of certain areas within the Kingdom of Solmere.
A century and a half ago, by order of the king, nobles weren't allowed to live openly as nobles or reveal their status before turning eighteen. If they did, their nobility would be stripped away.
It was meant to prevent arrogance.
To stop wicked, spoiled heirs from being born without understanding common people.
So they were forced to live as ordinary citizens.
To struggle.
To learn.
Because of this, most families hid the truth from their children entirely until they turned eighteen—especially since kids couldn't keep secrets.
But that wasn't all.
The Riftguard had implemented a powerful technique tied to noble family names.
Anyone who falsely claimed a noble name would immediately suffer consequences.
Instantly.
No trial.
No warning.
To avoid that risk, noble families created fake commoner surnames for their children.
Only the truly powerful houses—and the royal family—used protection on those false names too.
A lot of people I know might actually be nobles…
The only unknown was—
How strong they really were.
And when their identities would be revealed.
Michael's gaze hardened slightly.
But I won't let him get me just because he's a noble.
And besides—
The Riftguard was immune to noble influence.
So if Adrian wanted to act, it would likely be outside… or through connections inside.
Either way—
It's just another challenge for me.