The final day of selections had arrived.
The Golden Scale Academy buzzed with activity, its halls filled with participants from across the region. Voices echoed off the ancient stone walls, bouncing between pillars and fading into the high ceilings.
Footsteps pounded against marble floors, a continuous rhythm of urgency and nerves. Somewhere in the distance, a crowd was already gathering, their excitement bleeding through the walls like a coming storm.
A blonde-haired boy walked alone through the corridors.
His name is Jr. Steven.
His eyes were covered by a white blindfold, the fabric clean but worn, tied carefully behind his head. He moved slowly, deliberately, one hand brushing against the wall to guide him.
His steps were cautious, measured, each one placed with the care of someone who had learned the hard way that the ground was not always where he expected it to be.
To most, he was just the blind boy. The weak one. The easy target.
