"Aaahhh.."
Seven groaned, stretching his aching arms. No. Instead, his whole body ached as he stirred awake.
It was not the kind of dull soreness that came after a good night's sleep, but the exhaustion of barely surviving yesterday's event.
Then came the sterile scent of herbs and potions.
'A clinic?'
Seven exhaled.
'Right. I… fainted…'
That last surge of mana pressure had pushed him to the edge, but in return…
He clenched his hand, summoning a faint wisp of pure brown aura around his fingers.
His control had improved.
Well, it was bound to happen after doing his best to coat his body using aura yesterday.
'No pain, no ga—'
Creak.
The door swung open and interrupted his thoughts. Seconds later, a man in medical robes stepped inside while holding a small tray.
"You're awake?"
Seven stiffened, as his mind immediately snapped to attention.
The first and second exams were supposed to be conducted simultaneously. If he was still here—
'System. Date.'
[Date: 3rd Day of the Seventh Season, Year 776.]
His heart skipped a beat.
"Relax."
The doctor must've caught his look because he let out a light chuckle.
"You still have half an hour before the next test."
Seven exhaled slowly.
'Half an hour...'
That was barely enough time to recover, but it was better than waking up when it was already over.
The doctor set down a plate of peeled apples on the bedside table before walking over to a nearby cabinet.
After rummaging through the drawers, he pulled out a small vial of shimmering green liquid and tossed it toward Seven.
Seven caught it reflexively.
"Drink that."
The doctor turned towards the door.
"I'll be on my way. Others still need treatment."
With that, he left.
Seven glanced down at the vial in his hand.
[Aura Recovery Potion - x1]
He uncorked the bottle and drank the entire thing in one go.
Gulp.
A faint warmth spread through his body, soothing the heaviness in his limbs.
It wasn't enough for a full recovery, but he already felt less like a half-dead corpse.
Sigh.
He placed the empty vial on the desk before reaching for the plate of apples.
Munch.
Spit.
Seven gagged and immediately turned his head to the side, barely stopping himself from coughing.
"Fudge… why the hell is this bitter?"
He stared at the apple slice.
'Was it poisoned?'
'No…'
'The doctor wouldn't go that far.'
'Then… are apples just bad in this world?'
***
Step.
Cylinth déi Silverio's boots clicked against the cold marble floors of the academy halls.
Irritated.
The faculty meeting had been a pain in the ass—no. Worse.
It had been a stage for a bunch of senile old bastards to vent their complaints.
Despite being the Vice Headmaster, she was surrounded by Magnus Havin's people.
The faculty.
The board.
The senior professors.
They were all loyal dogs of the Headmaster.
And, of course, they had wasted no time telling her exactly how much they disapproved of her little "test" earlier.
She smirked at the memory.
Dismissal?
Cylinth stopped in the hallway and let out a laugh—sharp, loud, and utterly mocking.
…Or maybe just a crazed laughter.
"Crappy old geezers… HA! HA! HA!"
'Who the hell did they think they were scaring?'
After all, she was confident that not even Magnus Havin, the Headmaster, could kick her out.
At least, not while she was still breathing.
SLAM!
As she pushed the door of her office open, her amused expression vanished the moment she stepped inside.
Mana surged from her body, and a black glow flickered through the room.
Tap.
She clicked her fingers once.
Melt.
A small, almost invisible needle of ice aimed directly at her throat melted instantly.
A drop of water hit the floor.
Then another.
Then an entire bucket's worth of liquid followed.
Cylinth sighed.
"Not today. I'm already pissed as it is."
"..."
Silence.
But the figure seated in her chair didn't reply.
Instead, without hesitation, they flicked their wrist.
A storm of ice needles shot toward her.
Snap.
Cylinth vanished.
In the next instant, she was behind the figure, her hand threatening to slice toward their temple like a dagger.
But before she could land the hit—
The figure melted.
A pool of magma slithered across the floor, flowing toward the doorway before solidifying back into human form.
Then, more ice needles.
More magma blades.
This time, Cylinth didn't move.
She didn't even blink.
Stab.
Stab.
Stab.
Not a single needle hit her.
Because she already knew that they wouldn't dare kill her.
Her black eyes narrowed.
"Kneel."
A heavy force pressed down on the room.
"Uearghh…"
The cloaked figure dropped to the floor, groaning.
The weight of her command was absolute.
"Apologize."
Silence.
The pressure intensified.
"Last chance. Apologize."
"I'm sorry…!"
Cylinth raised a brow.
"...Master! I'm sorry, Master!"
Sigh.
She exhaled, releasing the hold on them. The figure gasped and their shoulders trembled as they sucked in deep breaths.
A few moments passed before she spoke again.
"Thanks."
She looked at the letter above her desk that the figure delivered.
"You may go."
The figure hesitated, ut they dissolved into thin air right after.
Cylinth stood there for a moment and rubbed her temple.
'A crappy disciple and a crappier day.'
Sigh.
She shifted her focus behind her to check the damage of her disciple's magic, only to freeze.
The needles.
They hadn't just pierced the walls randomly.
Instead, they had hit a very specific set of documents.
The registration forms of the current applicants.
Each one was marked with an 'X.'
And one of them…
One of them belonged to Seven.
Cylinth stared at the form, her frustration building all over again.
"Crappy brat…"
Then, shaking her head, she yanked open her drawer and pulled out a paper-wrapped object.
She unwrapped it with all the exhaustion of a woman who had long given up on this world.
A Matsa-a flavored Sevyaki.
Munch!
She took a bite.
At least this wasn't a disappointment.
***
Step.
Seven moved swiftly across the open field. Though his feet pressed against the solid ground, his mind still felt a little hazy.
Step. Step.
He picked up his pace.
He had dozed off for more than half an hour, and the second test was about to start.
Even after drinking the potion, his body still hadn't fully recovered.
Step.
As he got closer, the sight of two distinct groups standing on the field caught his eye.
Half stood on the left.
Half stood on the right.
A clear division.
Seven narrowed his eyes. It wasn't hard to figure out the reason.
The left wing was for mages.
The right wing was for swordsmen.
It was an expected process. Every applicant was placed according to their combat specialty, ensuring that those of similar disciplines were grouped together.
But before he could step forward, two figures suddenly blocked his path.
Professors.
Dressed in the academy's formal robes, each of them held a notebook—most likely a simplified applicant list containing names, numbers, and talents.
They weren't just standing there. They were checking each applicant before letting them pass.
One of them, an older man with sharp eyes, glanced up.
"Number?"
Seven blinked.
"Oh, right."
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small metal tag and pinned it onto his chest.
"Number 777."
The professor nodded and flipped through the pages.
Seven stood still as he watched the divided groups.
Again, this was a simple procedure.
If the list labeled him a swordsman, he would be sent to the right.
If it labeled him a mage, he would be sent to the left.
But then—
The professor's brows knitted together. His expression twisted into one of clear confusion as his finger hovered over the page.
He exchanged a look with his colleague, who also checked the notebook, flipping through multiple times as if the words on the page would change if he looked at them enough.
Finally, the first professor scowled, muttering under his breath.
"What the hell is 'unpredictable' supposed to mean?"
Seven grinned.
"My talent."