By the time Scarlett joined the queue, only three people remained.
That alone told her everything she needed to know.
This was the third registration batch, the last chance granted to those who had missed or failed earlier examinations. The hopeful crowd from the morning had long thinned out. What remained were either the latecomers, the stubborn, or the desperate.
Scarlett stood quietly at the back, her completed registration form held neatly between her fingers.
She took the opportunity to observe.
The waiting room itself appeared… ordinary.
Too ordinary.
Rows of dark-grey lounge chairs lined the walls, their surfaces smooth and pristine, clearly manufactured from some sort of self-repairing composite. A full-wall display dominated one side of the room, currently broadcasting a live combat tournament. The floor was polished stone infused with faintly glowing threads of mana circuitry—functional, understated, efficient.
No windows.
No clocks.
No unnecessary decorations.
Yet something about the space unsettled her.
There was no sound coming from the test room.
None at all.
Scarlett distinctly remembered that when she first entered, a woman—no, a monster of a woman—had called the previous candidate in.
The image lingered vividly in her mind.
The examiner was enormous.
Not tall alone, but wide—shoulders like reinforced steel beams, arms packed with corded muscle that strained even against her tailored suit. Her neck was thick, her jaw sharp, and her posture screamed controlled violence.
Scarlett had almost laughed when she first saw her.
In her old world, there had been a word for people built like that.
Steroids.
She'd seen bodybuilders before, sure—but this was different. This wasn't artificial inflation. This was cultivated mass, refined power compressed into human form. Like someone had taken the concept of "strength" and forced it into flesh until it obeyed.
A female hulk.
Just… fair-skinned, impeccably dressed, and terrifyingly calm.
The examiner had called the next person in.
And that had been nearly forty—maybe forty-five—minutes ago.
Scarlett frowned slightly.
Does it really take that long?
She shifted her gaze, noticing the small hovering cameras stationed unobtrusively in each corner of the room. They were sleek, black, and silent, their lenses occasionally flashing faint blue as they adjusted focus.
Surveillance.
Monitoring.
Recording.
She exhaled and relaxed.
Whatever. I'll just wait.
Her attention drifted back to the massive screen.
And then—
Her breath caught.
The tournament playing was unlike anything she had ever seen.
The production quality alone was absurd—multiple angles, slow-motion replays, real-time mana readouts scrolling beside the fighters. The arena itself looked like a hybrid between a coliseum and a high-tech battlefield, layered with defensive formations that flared whenever attacks struck too close to the audience barriers.
On-screen, two women stood facing each other.
Both were dressed as nuns.
But not in any way Scarlett recognized.
They wore long black tops split high at the sides, exposing tight leather combat pants beneath. Their boots were reinforced, high-heeled yet clearly designed for combat, with mana conduits running along the soles. Their heads were covered in traditional black-and-white scarves—but tailored, sharp, stylized.
Sexy.
Deadly.
The camera zoomed in, briefly displaying their portraits and names on either side of the screen.
Scarlett barely glanced at them.
Her eyes were fixed on their stances.
The way they breathed.
The way the air around them subtly distorted.
These weren't novices.
A resonant dong echoed.
The match began.
One of the nuns moved first.
Scarlett's eyes widened.
Water and wood.
She could feel it even through the screen—the cool, layered flow of water mana braided seamlessly with the steady vitality of wood. The nun spread her hands wide, green light bursting outward.
"Thorn Cage!"
From the ground, from the air, from nothing at all—plants erupted.
Vines twisted and thickened at impossible speeds, weaving together into a living cage. Thorns bristled, sharp and venomous, each one humming with mana.
Scarlett leaned forward unconsciously.
That control…
But the other nun didn't retreat.
She charged.
Straight forward.
Her movement was sharp, efficient—low stance, arms angled back.
Like a ninja run, Scarlett thought absently.
Flames ignited in her hands, condensing into twin blades of fire so dense they burned white at the edges.
She slashed.
Once.
Twice.
The half-formed cage was severed mid-growth, vines screaming as they were incinerated.
"Fire Inferno!"
Heat rippled across the arena. The temperature spike was visible on the broadcast's side display, numbers climbing rapidly.
But the wood-and-water nun smiled.
Softly.
Almost kindly.
"Rain Domain."
The world seemed to drop.
Pressure descended—thick, heavy, suffocating. The charging nun slammed into the ground as if gravity itself had betrayed her. Her flames sputtered and died.
Above them, clouds formed.
Fast.
Too fast.
As if time had been fast-forwarded.
Rain fell.
Not drizzle.
Not storm.
A deluge.
Each drop hit like a pellet, infused with corrosive mana. Steam rose where the rain struck flesh. Smoke curled upward as the grounded nun twitched, paralyzed.
Scarlett's lips parted.
Her eyes burned.
The camera zoomed in.
The fallen nun's exposed hands—once flushed with heat—were turning green.
Rapidly.
"…Poison," Scarlett whispered.
The realization hit her chest like a hammer.
This wasn't flashy power.
This was lethal efficiency.
The screen flashed.
ARIEL WINS
Thunder rolled theatrically as the victor hovered midair, rain cascading around her like a crown. The crowd in the broadcast roared.
Scarlett didn't hear them.
Her heart was pounding too loudly.
So this is it, she thought.
This is strength.
Not brute force alone.
Not talent alone.
Control. Strategy. Domain suppression. Elemental synergy.
This world didn't care how kind you were.
It didn't care how smart you were.
It cared about one thing.
Power.
She leaned back slowly, exhaling through her nose.
I need this.
Not want.
Need.
Because without it—
She would die.
And dying wasn't an option she was willing to entertain.
"…Are you coming up," a voice cut in sharply, "or are you here to watch TV?"
Scarlett blinked.
Once.
Twice.
She turned her head with mechanical slowness.
The female hulk stood beside her.
Up close, the woman was even more overwhelming. Her presence alone pressed down like a physical force, dense and unyielding. The faint aura leaking from her body made Scarlett's skin prickle.
Scarlett stared at her.
For a full two seconds.
Then her mind caught up.
"Oh," she said calmly, rising to her feet. "Yes. I'm next. Apologies."
Her voice was steady.
Too steady.
As if she hadn't just been mentally dragged through a revelation about her own mortality.
She straightened her clothes, smoothed her form, and stepped forward with composed, measured steps.
The examiner watched her approach, one thick brow lifting slightly.
She snorted.
"Tch. Newbies."
Scarlett didn't react.
If anything, the corners of her lips curved just a fraction.
Newbie or not, she thought, I'll survive.
And as she crossed the threshold into the examination room—
She understood something clearly for the first time since transmigrating.
This world would not bend for her.
So she would carve her place in it instead.