The assembly hall fell silent as Headmistress Veyra's voice echoed through the space.
"Before we begin, let me make one thing clear." Her eyes swept across the thousands of students. "This academy does not police your personal lives. You want to fuck? Fuck. You want to date? Date. You want to kiss in the corridors where everyone can see? Go ahead. We're not your parents. You could just enjoy your lives as it goes."
A few students laughed nervously. Others exchanged glances.
"What we care about is growth. Strength. Results. What you do in your free time is your business—as long as it doesn't interfere with training or missions." She paused. "That said, if your little romantic dramas or plays start causing problems between students, we'll solve those problems. Permanently."
The message was clear.
Nova sat in his seat, barely listening.
His mind kept drifting back to Oakhaven. To Eliza.
She probably thinks I'm dead, he realized. Or worse—that I forgot about her.
He hadn't forgotten. Couldn't forget. Eliza was the only mother he'd ever known, the only constant in a life defined by loss.
"I miss her," he murmured.
Beside him, Tomas glanced over. "Miss who?"
"No one."
But the ache remained.
The orientation droned on.
Class structures. Mission requirements. Merit points. The ranking system. Nova absorbed the information mechanically, filing it away for later use.
SECOND YEAR STRUCTURE
Classes: S, A, B, C, D, E (based on evaluation)
Monthly Missions: Minimum one per month. Higher rank = better missions = more merit points.
Merit Points: Currency for techniques, resources, equipment, private training.
Missions Types:
Bandit elimination
Monster/beast hunting
Dungeon clearing (F to C rank)
Rescue operations
Escort duties
Reconnaissance
Ranking Benefits:
Class S: 500 merit points/month + private instructors
Class A: 300 merit points/month + advanced technique access
Class B: 200 merit points/month + standard technique access
Class C: 100 merit points/month + basic technique access
Class D: 50 merit points/month + limited access
Class E: 25 merit points/month + remedial training
"Questions?" Headmistress Veyra asked.
A student near the front raised his hand. "What about conflicts between students? Fighting?"
Veyra smiled. "Conflicts are inevitable. Fighting is allowed—in designated areas. Outside those areas, unapproved combat results in penalties. Severe penalties." She leaned forward. "That said, accidents happen. Students die sometimes. If you're weak enough to get killed, you probably weren't going to make it anyway."
Orientation ended at noon.
Students flooded out of the assembly hall, splitting into groups based on class assignments. Nova found himself walking toward the Class C dormitory block alone—until a familiar voice stopped him.
"Nova!"
Priscilla ran toward him, her face lit with relief. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.
"Class D," she muttered. "They put me in fucking Class D."
He held her, letting her vent. "It's temporary."
"You don't know that."
"I know you. You'll climb."
She pulled back, looking up at him with wet eyes. "Promise?"
"Promise."
She kissed him then—right there in the corridor, surrounded by hundreds of students. Some glanced over. Some whistled. A few made crude comments.
Nova didn't care.
When they finally separated, Priscilla laughed shakily. "I needed that."
"I noticed."
"Shut up." But she was smiling now. "Come on. Walk me to my dorm. These fucking Class D quarters are probably terrible, and I need moral support."
They walked through the floating city together.
The secret realm was even more beautiful in daylight—if you could call it daylight. The violet-gold sky shifted constantly, clouds of pure energy drifting past like lazy rivers. Floating gardens bloomed with impossible colors. Waterfalls rose instead of fell.
"This place is insane," Priscilla said. "But beautiful."
"Agreed."
A couple passed them—two second-years, locked in an embrace so intense they'd stopped walking entirely. Their hands roamed freely. Their lips never separated. Other students stepped around them like it was normal.
Priscilla stared. "Is that... allowed?"
"Apparently."
"Fuck." She looked at Nova with new interest. "So we could just... anywhere?"
"We could."
A slow smile spread across her face. "Good to know."
They reached the Class D dormitory—a massive structure, but noticeably less polished than the Class C block. The windows were smaller. The walls plainer. Even the floating garden nearby looked neglected.
"Of course," Priscilla muttered. "They put the lower classes in the ugly section."
"It's temporary."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
She turned to face him, studying his expression. "You're different today. Something on your mind?"
Nova hesitated. He didn't talk about his feelings. Didn't share his weaknesses. That was how you got killed—by giving people something to use against you.
But this was Priscilla.
"I miss my mother," he said quietly.
Priscilla's expression softened. "Eliza?"
"Yes."
She reached up, touching his face. "Have you been able to contact her?"
"No. The academy doesn't allow outside communication. I don't even know if she's alive."
"She's alive." Priscilla's voice was certain. "Mothers like that don't die. They wait."
Nova wanted to believe her.
"I'll take you to meet her someday," he said. "When things settle down."
Priscilla's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really."
She kissed him again—slower this time, deeper, full of promise. When they broke apart, she was smiling brighter than he'd ever seen.
"I'm holding you to that, Nova Almond."
"I know."
That evening, Nova explored the Class C section alone.
The dormitory corridors were alive with activity—students socializing, training, coupling in open doorways. A group of boys passed him, their conversation loud and crude.
"—heard she put out for anyone with enough merit points."
"Fuck, I'd spend my whole month's allowance on that."
"Bastard, you couldn't afford her pinky finger."
Laughter. Nova ignored them.
He found the training hall—a massive space filled with students pushing their limits. The mana density here was even higher than outside, optimized for cultivation. He joined them, cycling the Iron Foundation Method until his meridians burned.
2nd Order, 2nd Rank, he thought. 34% toward 3rd. Need to move faster.
A voice interrupted his concentration.
"New meat."
Nova opened his eyes. A second-year stood over him—tall, muscular, his cultivation flickering at 2nd Order, 6th Rank. Behind him, two others watched with amusement.
"You're in my spot."
Nova glanced around. The training hall was mostly empty. Dozens of spots available.
"This is your spot," he repeated flatly.
"That's what I said. You deaf?"
Nova rose slowly, meeting the taller student's eyes. "I'm new. Forgive my ignorance. Which rule designates specific floor tiles to specific students?"
The boy's eyes narrowed. "You being smart with me?"
"I'm asking a question."
"Fucking smartass." He stepped closer, chest almost touching Nova's. "Here's how it works, new meat. I'm 6th Rank. You're what—3rd? 4th? That means I take whatever spot I want. You move. Understood?"
Nova studied him.
Then he smiled—a thin, cold, utterly without warmth smile.
"Understood."
He stepped aside.
The bully blinked, clearly expecting more resistance. Then he laughed. "Fucking coward. That's right—know your place."
He and his friends settled onto the mats, laughing about the "pathetic new meat."
Nova walked away.
But he memorized their faces. Their names would come later.
That night, in his small room, Nova sat on the cultivation mat and thought about Eliza.
He remembered her hands—rough from work, gentle when they touched his face. Her voice—warm, steady, always sure of him even when he wasn't sure of himself. Her smile—the way it lit up when he walked through the door.
I'll see you again, he promised silently. I don't know when. I don't know how. But I'll see you again.
The Moonlace seedling sat on his windowsill, grown taller in the secret realm's dense mana. Its first bud was forming—a gift from Priscilla, a piece of home in this impossible place.
He touched its leaf gently.
"Keep growing," he murmured. "We both will."
A knock at the door.
Nova rose, blade in hand—old habit. He opened it to find Priscilla standing there, flushed from running.
"Couldn't sleep," she said. "My dorm is loud and the bed is hard and I—" She stopped, looking at his face. "You okay?"
He stepped aside, letting her in.
"I'm fine."
"Liar." She crossed to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "But that's okay. You don't have to be fine all the time."
He held her, breathing in the familiar scent of soil and flowers that always clung to her.
"Stay," he said.
"Was planning on it."
They lay together in the narrow bed, her head on his chest, his arm around her shoulders. The Moonlace seedling watched from the windowsill.
Outside, the impossible sky shifted through colors that had no names.
And for the first time since arriving, Nova felt something like peace.