The academy was divided into two distinct sectors:
The magic sector.
And the non-magic sector.
Within these sectors, students were further separated into years based on their semester, and each semester divided them into three classes:
Class C, the lowest tier, was reserved for those lacking talent or motivation. Yet even the students here would outshine those in lesser academies. (Few years ago, there was a class D, but to increase the prestige of the academy that class has been removed)
Class B housed students with noticeable potential. They received diluted strength elixirs and better instruction, providing a stepping stone to greatness.
And Class A, the elite, was home to the best of the best. These students were gifted the finest elixirs and taught by instructors whose expertise was unmatched. Graduating from Class A virtually guaranteed a high-status position or a lucrative role as a guard for nobles and royalty.
George had barely scraped through the admissions test, surviving against the top non-magic prospects, but his performance, though impressive, wasn't enough to elevate him beyond Class C.
---
"Did you hear George Sterling's going to be in Class C?" a student whispered excitedly.
"I would've thought someone who survived against those top students would be placed higher," another remarked.
Rumors about George had spread like wildfire, carried by those who had witnessed his performance.
"Hey, Peyton! What's your take on this guy?" one of the students asked a tall, broad-shouldered boy sitting in the back.
Peyton Glass, who had barely passed the test himself, looked annoyed. He had made a crucial mistake during the exam, landing him in the bottom ranks. "That guy? From what I've heard, all he did was run around like a coward. Anyone can do that. It's not impressive."
His classmates nodded, disappointed by Peyton's underwhelming response. Still, the talk of George Sterling persisted.
George entered the classroom quietly, but the chatter about him was impossible to miss. They spoke his name like he was a myth, but none of them seemed to recognize him. The rumors had taken on a life of their own, and only the nine students he had fought knew what he really looked like.
He found an empty seat beside a scrawny boy hunched over a book. The kid was squinting, his face inches from the page.
"Hey, I'm Jame," the boy introduced himself, glancing up at George.
"James?" George asked.
"No, just Jame," the boy corrected, his tone suggesting he'd had this conversation many times before.
"Right…" George responded, finding it strange.
"I'm writing a report for the Rumor Club," Jame explained eagerly. "I'm gonna request the academy make it an official club."
"Ah…" George nodded, already losing interest.
Jame continued, oblivious to George's indifference. "I've heard some wild things about this new guy—apparently, he's holding back his true strength. Some say he strategically avoided fighting to keep his techniques a secret."
George's brow furrowed. 'Strategically avoided fighting? I was just trying to survive.'
"They say he used a martial art no one's ever seen before."
'That's because I didn't use any martial arts,' George thought, resisting the urge to correct him.
"He made enemies of everyone and then attacked with precision. But he only took down one of them before he got tired and surrendered. Word is, he didn't want to strain himself. I'm still investigating, but who knows what this guy could be hiding—"
Jame's rant was cut short by the entrance of their instructor, a tired-looking woman with dark circles under her eyes.
"Take your seats," she said in a flat, exhausted tone. It was clear teaching this class wasn't her favorite duty.
George sat back, relieved the conversation had ended.
"I'll be taking attendance," the instructor continued. "If you fail to attend every class without notifying us, you'll be dismissed. Let's start—Adelana?"
A girl raised her hand.
The instructor went through the names, and when she called, "George Sterling," the class fell silent.
Every eye in the room darted around, eager to see who this infamous student was.
Jame, practically vibrating with excitement, turned to George just as he raised his hand.
The instructor made a note without a second glance, but Jame stared in awe. "Cool!" he whispered, quickly scribbling something down in his notebook.
The rest of the class exchanged disappointed looks. They had expected someone more… imposing. George didn't look like the legendary figure the rumors made him out to be—he looked like an ordinary guy, maybe even weaker than most of them.
Peyton, sitting in the back, crossed his arms with a smug grin. "I knew it. He's nothing special."
But his satisfaction was short-lived as whispers continued to swirl.
"He's probably hiding his strength."
"He doesn't want attention."
"He's gotta be the strongest one here."
Peyton's grin faded. 'How is everyone here so gullible?!' He rubbed his temples, unable to comprehend how his classmates could still believe in George's supposed hidden abilities.
---
By the time class ended, George had heard enough of the nonsense being spread about him. As he made his way out, Jame tagged along, bombarding him with more theories about his "true abilities."
"Do you think you'll show your real strength in the next test?" Jame asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.
George sighed. "Sure. We'll see."
He walked away quickly, leaving Jame to jot down more notes, no doubt adding to the ever-growing legend of George Sterling.
As George exited the building, he couldn't help but shake his head. 'How did things get so out of hand?'