The classroom quieted the moment he walked in.
He was younger than anyone had expected—younger than any professor Landen had seen at any academy. He had sharp, dark hair kept close on the sides, clear-framed glasses that gave him a studious air, and a uniform so perfectly pressed it looked ceremonial. He moved to the podium without hurry and simply looked out at them.
"My name is Kael Halvek. Call me Kael. I'll be your homeroom instructor this year."
His voice was calm. Not loud—just the kind of voice that made a room go still.
"I've been a professor here for four years. In that time, I've overseen more first-year classes than I care to count."
A boy one row ahead of Landen leaned sideways and whispered to his friend.
"I heard he beat half the faculty during his entrance exams. They say he's some kind of prodigy."
"He looks like he's barely out of school himself."
That much was true. Up close, Kael looked no older than his early twenties. His face still carried the smooth features of someone who had only recently stepped into adulthood.
Landen was ecstatic at what he heard. He had come here expecting to spend months hunting for a worthy teacher, someone strong enough to actually push him. And here that person was, standing right at the front of the room.
Then a voice cut through his thoughts.
"Do you see that?"
Landen blinked. "Is that you, System?" he asked.
"Of course—who else would it be?"
Landen rubbed the side of his head. "Right—of course."
The voice in his head. Still getting used to that.
"The boy to your left," the system continued. "He's watching you."
Landen looked.
The boy beside him was practically draped across his desk, studying Landen with open curiosity. One hand rested on the hilt of a greatsword leaning against his chair—a massive thing, the kind of weapon that had no business being inside a classroom. His hair was white and spiked, his arms wrapped in bandaging from the wrist to the elbow. Pale eyes, steady and direct.
Landen turned in his seat to face him. They locked eyes; neither averted their gaze.
His first thought: Damn, this kid looks cool. Perfectly cut, spikey hair, white of all colors. Bandaged arms and this huge great sword. He's like a character straight out of a video game.
But the way the boy looked at him. Didn't fit right. He put two and two together until it finally clicked.
"Wait—" He shot upright, nearly knocking his chair back, and pointed. "You know who I am."
The white-haired boy didn't flinch. "Yeah—You're the guy from the stage. What was it—Mifaso."
Landen shook his head.
"No." Landen kept his finger leveled. "Not that. You know my real identity. I can see it in your eyes." He swept his arm toward the rest of the class. "Go on! Tell them all who I really am!"
The boy didn't blink. Slowly, he rose from his seat and stepped up onto his desk, one boot planted on the surface, his hand on the greatsword's hilt.
"It doesn't matter who you are. What matters is that I need to beat you. Strongest in the class—that title is mine."
The strongest in the class. Landen turned the phrase over in his head.
Is that how they see me?
"I see… Bold strategy," Landen said. "Going straight for the final boss."
The boy smirked.
They continued their standoff, each waiting for the other to make the first move. The room was in complete silence until someone dropped something on the floor.
Both boys threw wild punches and braced for the impact.
Their fists never landed.
Kael was simply there, standing between them, a hand wrapped around each of their wrists. No one had seen him move. There had been no sound, no blur—he was just suddenly present, calm as ever, holding them both at arm's length with no visible effort.
Landen stared at him. When did he—
"Sir, I am detecting a high-level threat," the system said.
Yeah, I'm looking at it.
"I appreciate the spirit, boys," Kael said, "but fighting in class is not allowed." His tone was pleasant. But something in the air changed—a subtle weight, a pressure that hadn't been there a moment ago, as though the room itself had grown slightly smaller.
He released their wrists and took a step back.
"Now then. If the two of you are finished establishing dominance—" The class chuckled. "—please sit down. You'll have plenty of time to play later."
Both boys lowered themselves into their seats, trading one last look before facing forward.
Kael straightened his glasses and returned to the podium.
"Now then. I can see that most of you are eager to fight. That's good—hold onto it. But first, let's talk about why you're actually here."
He began to pace, slow and measured.
"This is Aegis Vanguard Military Academy. Our institution was not built to train soldiers.
"We exist to forge champions—warriors for the World Battle Arena Association." He paused. "How many of you know what the WBAA is?"
Landen raised his hand. "Not me, sir."
"Very well." Kael clasped his hands behind his back. "The WBAA is a collection of each nation's strongest warriors. This is where nations measure power. Where reputations are built. Where legends are born. This academy exists with one goal in mind—creating elite Battle Arena champions. We only accept the strongest. And we have no interest in graduating anyone who isn't. "
"At the end of this year, only the top performers advance to the second year. That is determined by one thing—the Freshman Finals Tournament. Each homeroom will form a team of fifteen. And this year, there are currently eight freshman homerooms."
"Now look around you. There are fifty of you in this room. Do you understand what that implies?"
Many students looked confused.
But Landen and the white-haired boy exchanged looks as the same thought passed between them.
One position per role. One role per person. And he's carrying a greatsword. We both want the clash lane fighter. There's no question.
Kael sighed softly. "By the end of this semester, thirty-five of you will no longer be here."
The room erupted—not in shouting, but in the low, urgent murmur of fifty people suddenly understanding how fragile their place in this room actually was. Students looked at the people beside them differently now. Friends became competitors. Familiar faces became obstacles.
"In fact," Kael added, adjusting his glasses, "I expect more than half of you will be gone before the end of this week."
The room erupted in quiet panic.
They had all believed—reasonably, understandably—that getting through the entrance exams meant they had made it. That a seat in this classroom was secure. None of them had considered that the real test hadn't started yet.
Halvek raised a hand and the room stilled.
"You will be tested continuously throughout the semester. Your performance, your teamwork, your decision-making, and your combat ability will all be evaluated.But the first assessment is the most important." He paused. "It will determine your role on the team. If you cannot be placed into a role—for any reason—you will be expelled. Immediately."
Silence.
Landen watched as Halvek turned back toward the podium.
Landen leaned back in his chair.
Expelled. The word sat there, heavy and sharp. But it didn't land on him the way it landed on the others—he could see it in their faces, the quiet panic, the nervous glances. For Landen, it was noise. Bob had sent him here for a reason. He would get his role. He would stay. He didn't know how to picture the alternative.
Kael stepped back from the podium.
"That's enough introduction." A faint smile crossed his face. "Let's begin."