The screen was dormant for exactly three seconds after activation.
Then the numbers began to populate.
4,384 names in total. 4 per group, and therefore, 1,096 groups overall.
The allocation system's logic was to balance such number of groups as equally as possible. The outliers were addressed first, meaning that they were assigned a group number lower than the rest.
Isaac watched the sequence.
Group 1 appeared immediately. Silas Fulgur was the name surfaced first, before half the cohort had registered the screen was live. Beside it, three names Isaac didn't recognize appeared as his group mates.
It appeared that the system had looked at Silas's S-rank skill, calculated that no available combination of second-years could meaningfully balance against it, and stopped trying and paired him with three groupmates with F-rank skills. Group 1 was, therefore, the algorithm's concession—the acknowledgment that some variables exceeded the framework's ability to compensate.
Across the hall, Silas read his group composition and gave a light snort. He didn't look at his groupmates. He looked at his own name at the top of the list and something in his posture settled—a pride that stemmed from his capability being validated by an external system.
"The algorithm stopped trying," Vane said, from his position two feet to Silas's left. "It assigned you three with F-rank skills and declared the equation solved."
"Smart choice," Silas said. "No extent of handicap will stop me."
Vane said nothing. He was already reading the rest of the screen.
Around the hall, the reactions were as varied as the results.
A girl near the west wall read her group number and exhaled with the specific relief of someone who had spent a week constructing disaster scenarios that hadn't materialized.
A boy beside her read his and went very still in the way of someone trying to determine whether stillness was the correct response to disappointing information he received.
Elara was across the hall with her group of friends. Isaac located her name in group number 53, and her name was the first because of her B-rank skill. He watched her find her result and react with a shrug. She seemed to be all right. He returned to the screen.
"Group… 483." Marlene muttered, having found her group number. She was holding it with the quality of someone who had predicted for a disappointing result and got exactly that.
Cassiopeia was beside her, blinking as her eyes were fixated on the names of students listed under "Group 13."
Cassiopeia Terra was the first name. It was strange, given how the leading figures of groups before and after the number 13 were the owners of a B-rank or higher skill.
"It's probably because you have not one, not two, but three C-rank skills, Cassiopeia," Marlene, noticing her reaction, suggested.
"Likely, but look. That's not what caught my attention."
So Marlene looked. Then stopped. Turned to look at Isaac who was next to them.
The name, Isaac Nameless, was listed underneath Cassiopeia Terra, in the same group. Isaac too found this.
"The pattern is off," said Cassiopeia, "He is listed second in the group 13 list. If you compare to other groups, you'd notice that the names of students of low-rank skills are listed on third or fourth slots." She was filing names down on her notebook as she spoke. "And then, the other two groupmates that the system decided for us are…"
Seren Ashveil. B-rank: [Barrier].
Tomlin Greave. C-rank: [Reinforcement].
"The system identified Isaac as strength and liability at the same time, or, the pattern that I am identifying in other groups is simply coincidental. From what I've been seeing for the past two days…" Cassiopeia turned to peek at Isaac, "I don't think this is coincidental."
Isaac, hearing this, didn't respond. He was thinking.
Seren Ashveil and Tomlin Greave. We have the names, but among these number of students in the same hall, it is impossible to locate them—whose faces we don't know—without a specific marker to gather the group.
He deduced that contrary to what the faculty said, they weren't to meet up today immediately after the group assignment. Tomorrow, in the morning, there will probably be a way to group without problem.
Then—
His thought had to pause. At the next moment, someone of third-year jumped from the balcony that he's been spectating from, earning all the second-year's attention as he landed right in the middle of the hall.
It was a sheer twelve feet of drop, and he absorbed it without particular drama or announcement. Before he landed, there was a sudden gust of wind that visibly cushioned his fall, and he landed on the main floor and adjusted his collar.
Forming a grin, he then began walking toward Silas.
"Aldric!"
Someone in the balcony—presumably another third-year—shouted.
Isaac watched the approach with the attention he gave everything worth watching.
Aldric Zephyr, the infamous apex of the third-year.
Flipping his notebook open, he wrote.
S-rank [Tempest]. The very definition of Zephyr methodology applied to a skill that wants to be omnipresent. Vaulted the rail: comfortable with aerial positioning.
Aldric stopped in front of Silas. Two centimeters taller. One step closer than most people would have chosen.
"Greetings, Fulgur," Aldric said pleasantly. "If you haven't heard of me, I am Aldric."
"Aldric Zephyr," Silas said. He hadn't moved. Hadn't stepped back. "What did you come here for? To compliment me on my group 1 placement?"
"Well, I was bored from doing nothing but watching from above. Figured that I'd get a bit more active." Aldric then rubbed his chin, humming. "Now that I think about it, my group assignment ran the same way when I was the second-year. The algorithm looks at an S-rank, determines that no available combination reaches it, and produces a number that reflects the gap rather than a balance." A brief pause. His expression twitched slightly as he stated, "Valerius was the same, I suppose."
Silas looked at him with the specific attention he reserved for people worth the engagement. "Valerius, as in…" he said. Gazed at Isaac briefly stoically, before raising his head up, "Caspian Valerius."
"Our assignments are, well, essentially impossible to balance," Aldric said. "The algorithm immediately produced our groups and stopped looking for compensation." He turned his head fractionally toward the north balcony—not dramatic, not pointed, just the brief redirect of someone confirming a variable's position. Then back to Silas. "I heard that you are filing a formal duel request under the name of 'Trial,' on Isaac Nameless… and speaking of which, he is in group 13."
His eyes then narrowed. He seemed to have noticed the same pattern that Cassiopeia did.
"His name is on the second. Interesting."
The specific quality of silence that followed was not the silence of something being refuted. It was the silence of something being received and not yet processed.
"Pattern means nothing. His teammates have three C-rank skills, one B-rank, and one C-rank skills. He is still a liability," Silas said. His jaw was set in the way of someone stating a conclusion they had already reached and intended to hold.
"Algorithm is more complex than you think," Aldric said pleasantly. "They produce outputs consistent with their inputs. If the output is unexpected, it's because an input is unexpected." He looked at Silas with the direct attention of someone sharing information they found genuinely interesting. "Perhaps there is more to him than we think."
"In Nameless?" Silas snorted, pocketing his hands, "Be real."
"Well, just suggesting," said Aldric, smirking in response. He then stepped back, having lost his interest in Silas. Then he turned.
He did not go directly back to the balcony.
He changed direction after two steps—the kind of change that looked spontaneous and wasn't—and walked toward the east wall.
Isaac had registered this the moment Aldric's trajectory altered—now walking toward him with confidence. It meant that Aldric knew how he looked from the start, which, he supposed made sense, given how he is Caspian Valerius's former brother.
"Isaac Nameless. Or Isaac, whatever you prefer… well, you'd definitely prefer Isaac over Isaac Nameless, what am I saying." Aldric said as he stopped at a conversational distance, which in his case was still slightly closer than most people would have chosen. "Aldric Zephyr. You may have heard."
"I've heard," Isaac said, closing his notebook.
"I've also heard," Aldric looked at him with a genuine curiosity. "That in the yesterday's training room, Jax's stupid ass fired his [Bolt Streak] at full output." He said it the way he said most things—conversationally, as if discussing weather patterns. "That's spread further than he would have liked. The third-years have been talking about it since this morning."
Across the hall, Jax's response was visible, flinching upon hearing Aldric's comment.
The calculation did not resolve in his favor.
"I want to know how you did it," Aldric said, rather demandingly. "B-rank: [Bolt Streak] at full output, lethal. You got nothing but F-rank: [Condensation]. A wild story." He tilted his head fractionally. "I've asked three people who were in the room. None of them described the sequence specifically. So I'm asking you."
Isaac looked at him.
"Jax slipped," Isaac said. "I got lucky."
It was technically true. Jax had slipped. It was just that the slip-over wasn't a deciding factor in his successful deflection of [Bolt Streak]. He was answering Aldric's demanding question, but in half-truths.
Aldric looked at him. Isaac didn't avert.
It was the look of someone who had just received an answer that he didn't expect. His gaze moved over Isaac's face with the specific attention of someone who realized that the latter didn't contain any fear of him.
A beat passed.
"Jax slipped," Aldric repeated, testing the weight of it.
"And I got lucky," Isaac confirmed.
Another beat. Aldric, at last, revealed an amusement.
"Aren't you shrewd," he said. "You got that Valerius in you."
He looked toward the display screen briefly—Group 13 still sitting in its position with its elevated number—and then back at Isaac with an expression that was doing several things simultaneously, none of which he appeared to feel any particular need to explain.
"Seventh bell tomorrow, good luck," he said, by way of farewell, as if reminding Isaac of something Isaac might have forgotten, which they both knew he hadn't.
He turned.
And then, entirely without transition, looked toward the western entrance.
The girl of notable beauty—the owner of D-rank: [Glamour]—was still reading the display. She had found her group number and was writing it down with the mild efficiency of someone completing a task. The ambient reorganization of students around her continued its sourceless drift. She did not look up.
Aldric looked at her for exactly the length of time it took to compose a thought, then offered her a brief, entirely sincere smile—the specific smile of someone who has noticed something they find worth noticing and sees no particular reason to conceal the noticing. There was nothing aggressive in it. Nothing demanding. Just the genuine acknowledgement of one interesting variable by another, offered without expectation of return.
"Nice to meet you, lady. Name's Aldric Zephyr. Yours?"
Irine looked up.
She met the smile with the expression she brought to most forms of attention—the mild, expected boredom of someone who had been producing this effect in every room since manifestation and had long since stopped expecting anything else. Her gaze moved from Aldric's face to the middle distance and back in the time it took to confirm this was the usual thing and required the usual response, which was no response.
"Irine."
She then returned to her notebook, doodling.
Aldric's smile briefly froze, clearly shaken by the ignorance of the 'commoner.'
"Well, see you around."
Nevertheless, he turned. He then hopped, but what followed wasn't the typical hop, but a gust of wind that flew him back on the balcony that he came from.
As Aldric retreated, Isaac now decided to address the deliberate gaze that has been on him for the last several minutes.
He looked toward the north balcony.
Caspian was standing at the railing with Seraphina beside him, both of them watching the main floor below with the composed attention they had maintained since the faculty announcement.
His eyes were on Isaac. Not scanning. Not cataloguing. Just resting on him with the specific blankness of a face that had been trained for years to produce no information about what was happening behind it.
What is the meaning of that look, Caspian?
Isaac held the look.
Aldric approached me, Isaac thought. But that's isn't the cause. Caspian's eyes, from the start to the end, has been on me all along.
Just the day before the Rite, Caspian was uninterested in him. Now, he was. It was a mismatch.
He opened the notebook and wrote it down. In the margin, wrote a question: what am I to Caspian?
He underlined them once.
Then he looked away from Caspian. Not dismissal, but simply the return of attention to the screen, to the group number. Then, left the screen as well.
He turned and moved toward the hall's exit, steady and unhurried, the way he moved through every room that contained things that wanted to use him as a variable.
"He's leaving," said Marlene to Cassiopeia, "aren't you two in the same group? Shouldn't you talk to him about it?"
"No point. We don't know what this three-day-long assessment is about, and the other two members are impossible to find in this environment." Cassiopeia shook her head, "Should the other two really wish, they can find me in my dorm—but that only applies if they are in Golden Repose as well."
As they talked, they watched Elara move through the dispersing crowd—following Isaac who left.
"That's Isaac's friend..."
As Marlene muttered, Cassiopeia looked back at the north balcony where Isaac briefly looked at a few minutes ago. She found Caspian, who had been looking at Elara until she was through the door.
"Caspian Valerius and Isaac Nameless… S-rank: [Great Deluge] and F-rank: [Condensation]."
Cassiopeia closed her notebook.
...
The corridor outside the grand hall was quieter than the hall itself. The dispersing students spread through the Academy's branches, conversations continuing in smaller configurations.
Isaac heard Elara before she reached him. He slowed by two steps without appearing to.
"Isaac!"
She fell in beside him.
For a moment neither of them spoke. The corridor ran east, toward the dormitory wings and the garden terrace beyond, the overhead lamps producing overlapping circles of amber light that compressed to dark at the edges. They walked through the first circle and into the space between the next.
"I saw. Aldric Zephyr…" Elara said. She said it the way she said things she had been holding since they happened and had finally found the right moment to put down. "That big deal came down from the balcony and walked straight to Silas and then—" She stopped. Restarted. "And then he walked straight to you."
"Yes," Isaac said.
"I was across the hall. I couldn't hear anything and barely saw that through all those students. But I still did watch the whole thing." She was quiet for a step. "He's the leading figure of the third-year. Owns S-rank: [Tempest]. He vaulted a twelve-foot rail to talk to a second-year with F-ranked skill. And everyone in the hall was watching."
"Some of them," Isaac said.
"All of them," Elara said, with the mild precision of someone correcting a factual error. "Even the ones pretending not to."
He said nothing. The corridor made a slight turn, the dormitory branch diverging left, the garden terrace continuing straight. They continued straight.
"What did he want?" she asked.
"The training room incident. He'd heard about it through the third-year network and wanted to know the mechanism."
Elara looked at him sideways. "What did you tell him?"
"That Jax slipped and I got lucky."
She paused, "Huh, is that how it went? I think I heard something else…"
"Yes," Isaac said. "He slipped after the incident."
She exhaled as she heard that—not quite a laugh, but the sound of someone who had just thought, there we go, he did it again.
"And Aldric believed you?"
"No. But he didn't ask further," Isaac said.
They continued to walk. They stopped at the terrace's edge without discussing it, the way they always stopped at the bench without discussing it.
"I got my group number," Elara said. The shift in her voice was the shift she used when transitioning from something she'd been processing to something she needed to pass along. "Group 53. Three students I don't know yet." A pause. "I'll manage."
"You will. I know that you're capable," Isaac said. He meant it in the specific way he meant the things he didn't say at length.
She accepted this without deflecting it. "I've been thinking about the assessment," she said. "What the seniors told me—entirely team-based, individual performance being irrelevant..." She looked ahead, at the garden terrace's stone. "You said the weighting sounded wrong."
"Indeed." Isaac said.
"But we still don't know what it actually is."
"No," he said. "Soon enough, we will find it out."