The Imperial Academy did not wake gently.
It stirred like a beast stretching its limbs—slow at first, then all at once.
From the moment dawn broke, the air filled with movement. Footsteps echoed along marble corridors. Mana lamps dimmed as sunlight replaced them. Bells rang from the central spire, their deep tones rolling across the grounds like a declaration rather than a call.
I stood by the dormitory window, watching it all unfold.
From this height, the academy resembled a city within a city. Towering halls dedicated to magic theory. Wide courtyards where sword practitioners gathered even before instructors arrived. Residential wings divided by rank, lineage, and department—subtle segregation disguised as tradition.
Power had architecture here.
And hierarchy.
Lots of it.
I adjusted my coat and exhaled slowly.
So this is where the story truly begins.
▣ Morning Assembly
The first official gathering took place in the Grand Convergence Hall, a structure so vast it made even the capital's council chambers seem modest. Rows upon rows of stone seats descended toward a circular platform at the center, etched with ancient sigils that pulsed faintly with authority.
Students filtered in by house, by department, by reputation.
You could tell who mattered without asking.
They walked surrounded by space.
Heirs of dukes and marquises claimed entire rows without resistance. Their entourages followed a step behind, conversations muted, posture respectful. Even the commoners who'd earned entry through talent alone unconsciously adjusted their pace when passing them.
And then there were those like me.
Extras.
We filled the gaps.
I chose a seat near the middle rows—not too visible, not too hidden. A place where someone could be seen if searched for, but ignored if not.
As I sat, the system flickered faintly.
" EXISTENCE MASK — STABLE "
" ATTENTION LEVEL: LOW "
Good.
The hall quieted as instructors entered.
At the forefront walked a man whose presence alone pressed against the room. Tall, broad-shouldered, hair streaked with silver, eyes sharp enough to cut steel.
Head Instructor Varion Crestfall.
A name that carried weight in both the novel and the world.
A Sword Grandmaster.
A war hero.
One of the few individuals capable of killing major characters in the original plot.
When he stepped onto the platform, silence fell completely.
"Welcome," he said, voice calm yet resonant. "You stand within the Imperial Academy. Some of you believe this is the beginning of greatness. Others believe it is confirmation of your superiority."
His gaze swept across the hall.
"You are all wrong."
A ripple of unease passed through the students.
"This academy exists for one reason only," Crestfall continued. "To determine who is worthy to remain standing when the world turns hostile."
His eyes lingered for a fraction of a second longer than necessary—right in my direction.
Not recognition.
Assessment.
I felt it then. A subtle pressure, like a blade grazing past my skin without touching.
Sharp, I thought calmly.
If he focused on me directly, the mask would hold—but only just.
Fortunately, his gaze moved on.
"From today onward," he said, "your names mean nothing. Your bloodlines mean nothing. Your past achievements mean nothing."
A pause.
"What you demonstrate here… will decide everything."
The assembly ended shortly after, dismissed into departmental schedules.
The beast had finished stretching.
Now it hunted.
▣ The Academy's Unspoken Rules
By midday, patterns emerged.
The academy functioned less like a school and more like a miniature empire.
Every interaction followed invisible rules:
Do not challenge higher-ranked nobles publicly.
Do not outperform your station without reason.
Do not reveal your full hand unless prepared for consequences.
Violating these rules didn't result in punishment.
It resulted in isolation.
I observed quietly as students navigated this invisible battlefield.
A talented commoner demonstrated too much sword skill in the morning class—by afternoon, he was "accidentally" assigned to clean a training hall alone.
A minor noble tried to ingratiate himself with a ducal heir—his greeting went unanswered, his existence dismissed.
Power here was not just about strength.
It was about placement.
And placement was decided collectively.
I walked the corridors alone, hands in pockets, posture relaxed.
Some students glanced at me.
Most didn't.
Exactly as planned.
▣ The First Probe
It happened during the afternoon sword theory session.
We were seated in a semicircular lecture hall, practice swords resting against our chairs. The instructor—a stern woman with a scar running down her cheek—lectured on stance theory and mana circulation.
I listened. Not because I needed to, but because blending in required participation.
Then—
A voice cut through the lecture.
"Instructor," a young man drawled, tone polite yet unmistakably condescending. "May I ask a question?"
The speaker sat three rows ahead.
Golden hair. Tailored uniform. Crest of the Dravon Ducal House stitched proudly onto his shoulder.
Magnus Dravon.
A major supporting character in the original novel.
Talented. Arrogant. Dangerous when slighted.
The instructor nodded. "Proceed."
Magnus turned slightly in his seat, eyes sweeping the room—before landing on me.
"I was wondering," he said, smiling faintly, "how someone with such… modest recorded ability managed to produce a clean cut against a reinforced dummy yesterday."
The room went quiet.
I felt dozens of gazes shift toward me.
So that's how it begins, I thought.
Indirect. Polite. Plausible.
A probe.
The instructor frowned. "This is a theory class, Dravon."
"Of course," Magnus said smoothly. "I'm merely curious. After all, we're here to learn from one another."
His eyes never left mine.
I stood.
Slowly.
No sudden movements. No irritation.
"Luck," I said simply.
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Magnus blinked once.
"…Luck?"
"Yes," I replied calmly. "The barrier weakened at the moment I struck. Timing is part of swordsmanship."
The explanation was reasonable.
Boring.
Unimpressive.
The instructor studied me for a moment before nodding. "That is correct. External variables do influence outcomes."
Magnus's smile stiffened.
Not because he'd been contradicted.
But because he'd expected something else.
A slip.
A boast.
An opening.
Instead, he'd received mediocrity.
I sat back down.
The probe had failed.
But I could feel it—
This would not be the last.
▣ Presence Cannot Be Fully Hidden
By evening, the academy grounds glowed with mana lights, pathways illuminated by floating orbs that adjusted to foot traffic. Students gathered in courtyards, exchanging information under the guise of casual conversation.
I passed through one such gathering on my way back to the dorms.
"…Did you feel it earlier?" someone whispered.
"Feel what?"
"When that Valehart guy stood up. I don't know… something felt off."
Another scoffed. "You're imagining things. He's E-class."
"Still…"
I didn't slow my pace.
Presence could be dulled.
Not erased.
Especially not when instinct existed.
▣ The Invitation
I was halfway up the dormitory stairs when a shadow detached itself from the wall ahead.
A girl.
Tall. Composed. Dark hair tied neatly behind her back. Her uniform bore the crest of a Marquis House—not as dominant as a duke, but powerful enough to demand respect.
"Eiden Valehart," she said.
I stopped.
"Yes?"
She studied me with sharp, measuring eyes. "My lord requests your presence tomorrow evening."
I tilted my head. "Your lord?"
"Marquis Halcyon's heir," she replied. "Private audience. Refusal is… discouraged."
Ah.
So the ripples had reached higher shores.
"I see," I said after a brief pause. "I'll attend."
She nodded once, satisfied, and turned to leave.
Then she hesitated.
"…Be careful," she added quietly, without looking back.
Interesting.
I watched her disappear down the corridor.
The system chimed softly.
" ATTENTION LEVEL: RISING "
" CAUTION ADVISED "
I smiled faintly.
The academy wore many masks.
Tomorrow, I'd see which one he chose to wear.
▣ Night Reflections
Back in my room, I stood by the window again, looking out at the academy bathed in moonlight.
This place was a crucible.
Heroes were forged here.
Villains were refined.
Extras were consumed.
Unless—
They learned when to be invisible.
And when to stand.
I placed a hand over my chest, feeling the steady rhythm of a heart that beat with calm certainty.
"I won't rush," I said quietly.
"I won't shine yet."
Outside, the academy slept.
Unaware that one of its smallest shadows already understood its rules better than most of its brightest stars.