The inside of the office was lavish and massive, as expensive paintings adorned the walls and antique furniture filled the corners.
But none of it softened the frustration brewing at the desk.
"That old geezer…!!"
A woman with jet-black hair stood up on her chair and slammed the desk, sending a stack of papers flying.
The Vice Headmaster of the Academy.
After all, the semester hadn't even started, yet her desk was already drowning in paperwork.
Grabbing one of the scattered sheets, she slowly sat down.
A list of names.
Seven missing students.
The students the Headmaster had sent after the Archduke.
Tak.
She tapped her fingers against the desk.
"Sending students who barely reached four gates and other lower gates against a peak sixth-gate…"
Tak. Tak. Tak.
"What a fucking waste of talent."
The Headmaster…
'Magnus Havin.'
…Is currently absent.
Not surprising, given that he had left the Academy grounds missing an arm—a parting gift from his brief battle with the Archduke during the meeting of high-ranking nobles.
And as if that wasn't enough, rumors around the nobles said that Magnus sacrificed his own first child as a human shield.
A pathetic display.
Now, with Magnus on leave, the burden of managing the Academy fell entirely on her.
The public wasn't in chaos… yet.
But confusion was brewing beneath the surface. Sooner or later, they'd demand answers about the fall of the Hart Duchy.
"But how should—"
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three consecutive knocks on the door as it creaked open. A staff member entered, balancing a tower of paperwork in his hands.
The Vice Headmaster looked at hih with lips pressed into a thin line.
"Vice Master, here are the student registrations."
She didn't respond.
She already knew what was in those papers. A list of rankings, names, and barely-legible scrawls of overconfident teenagers.
All these years, she never bothered with them as it was the Headmaster's responsibility.
The staff member placed the heavy stack on her desk. Then, noticing her lack of interest, he let out a small, knowing smile.
"Vice Master… This year, there are some interesting talents."
That made her pause.
'...Interesting?'
She had been here for six years, long before Magnus became headmaster. And in all that time, only one student had ever truly caught her attention.
Eden Hart.
No.
Not just the most interesting student in recent years, but the most talented student the academy ever had… if the Vice Headmaster excluded herself.
She was also a Zenith when she graduated.
Her crimson eyes locked onto the staff member.
"How interesting?"
But the man simply turned and made his way toward the door as a small smile flickered on his face.
Then, as he reached for the handle, he glanced back over his shoulder.
"As interesting as Eden Hart."
"...?!"
***
[Date: 2nd Day of the First Season, Year 776.]
The academy test field was packed with seven hundred seventy-seven applicants.
As described by the Vice Headmaster yesterday, the persons here were just hopefuls and overconfident teenagers.
Seven was one of the crowd.
Everyone here had talent, in one way or another. No one would be foolish enough to register without at least a speck of aura or mana.
Or at least, that's what Seven thought.
'Theia's Eye.'
His eyes lit up gold.
Luminous threads of energy pulsed in the bodies around him, their auras and mana circuits revealing themselves in intricate patterns.
Lately, the strain of using Theia's Eye hadn't been as harsh.
Maybe the Vitalis Pill he took every morning was finally kicking in.
Still, he had to be careful.
"Fucker. You wanna expose yourself?"
Seven blinked. Lythian's glare burned into the side of his face.
"..."
Lythian wasn't wrong.
No one could tell how many Readers were in this crowd.
But still, Seven had his reasons. He was seated at the very back. If someone turned to look, he could deactivate Theia's Eye in time.
…At least, that's what he told himself.
The real problem was the professors?
'What if one of them was a Reader?'
He hadn't thought that far ahead.
Seven clenched his jaw and locked his gaze to the system interface before him.
[Name: Margaret Thatcher]
[Name: Ogsk Hadlem]
[Name: Mirra Mary]
[Name….]
[Name..]
[Name.]
The system displayed each of the names of the applicants within his view, along with their talents and characteristics, but none of them had a gift option.
So, basically, not a single person in his view was a Reader.
But—
'The fudge…?
Seven thought as he looked at a specific applicant just three rows ahead of him, the second one from the right wing.
[Name: Owen Decathlon]
[Talent: None]
[Characteristic: None]
He checked again.
Same result.
"A troll? How does he expect to survive in this hell?"
Lythian, catching the murmur, leaned in.
"Troll?"
Seven before he could reply—not that he was planning to—the murmur of the crowd died.
A woman stepped onto the platform at the front.
Step.
Her presence alone was enough to command silence.
Her gaze swept across the applicants and then stopped.
Right on him.
'Fudge…'
Seven immediately deactivated Theia's Eye.
Did she see?
Did she know?
His heartbeat was steady, but his hands curled into fists.
He didn't dare move.
The woman's stare lingered for a moment longer before she spoke.
***
'Seven Hart…?'
The name sat on the Vice Headmaster's tongue.
'Applicant number… 777…'
She had spent the entire day flipping through stacks of registration documents yesterday.
Countless names passed through her hands—commoners, merchants, lesser nobility.
But none of them mattered. The Academy did not care for status. Even if a student bore the same surname as the king himself, it held no weight here.
And yet—
Step.
She barely noticed she had moved.
Step.
When she finally did, she was already at the center of the platform.
The other professors glanced at her, confused. The orientation hadn't even started.
There was an order to things.
An assigned professor was supposed to introduce each department before presenting her.
But here she was.
'Crap…'
She had yet to make mistakes like this.
After all, she was known for being precise, methodical, and a perfectionist.
Yet, her feet moved on their own.
Sigh.
She exhaled, forcing herself to focus. Her gaze drifted to the back of the crowd—where he was.
Even from this distance, she could see him.
'Blue eyes.'
'Brown hair…'
'Wait.'
Her sharp vision narrowed.
The number 777 was definitely pinned to his chest.
But his hair was wrong.
She knew that the youngest Hart was never seen outside the Archduke's estate. Rumors said he wasn't allowed to leave.
So one had ever gotten a good look at him.
But all Harts since the first generation had platinum hair.
Not this.
And his left eye—
For the briefest second, it was gold.
Then, in a blink, it was blue.
'A trick of the light?'
'No.'
'I saw it.'
Something wasn't right.
Her thoughts churned, but she quickly noticed the silence pressing around her.
The applicants and professors were staring.
She had been standing there—silent—for over a minute.
Her gaze flicked back to Seven.
A sharp, piercing look.
'This is your fault, mothe—.'
She sighed.
Then her expression changed.
Her mana ignited.
Like celestial bodies orbiting a sun, it swirled around her, luminous and absolute.
And then… she released it.
Boom!
The force crashed over the crowd like a tidal wave.
'Kneel.'
The applicants dropped. Some trembled. Some gasped. Some clutched their chests in shock.
But all of them knelt.
"Welcome to Evrayne, the Academy of Othrelis."
She smiled.
"I am the Vice Headmaster…"
Then, she directed her gaze towards Seven.
"Cylinth déi Silverio."