Atticus stood before the mirror, examining his reflection clad in the Class Seraph uniform.
The outfit was a sleek black, accentuated with intricate golden linings.
It was a striking design, both refined and menacing, with an aura that felt combative and aggressive in its detail, complete with the insignia of the Aurelian Academy.
His gaze shifted to his features.
I think I underestimated what the Primal Essence has done to me.
Certainly, he was more handsome now than he had been before—but not in a way that felt unnatural or overly exaggerated, his appearance had attained an almost unnerving balance, as if it adhered to some kind of golden ratio.
And then, there was his overall presence.
For some reason, he exuded an antagonistic energy.
His hunter like eyes, disheveled dark hair, and the sharp lines of his face seemed to amplify the effect.
Most striking were his pupils: a shattered crimson pattern, fragmented and chaotic, unlike the smooth circular form they once held, despite their eerie appearance, his vision remained entirely unaffected.
My first day, huh?
He glanced at his RuneVox, a slim, multifunctional device designed exclusively for use within the Aurelian Academy, compact and elegant, it could seamlessly transform into a functional ID when needed.
────────────────
Name: Atticus
Age: 16
Class Seraph
Rank (1st Year): 14th
Core Rank: Peak Green
────────────────
Atticus gazed at the expensive door of Aerith Castle as it scanned the ID, unlocking with a faint hum before opening smoothly.
With serene composure, he walked to his designated room, aware of the questioning gazes from the many students around him, their uniforms varied, showcasing the diversity of the Academy's ranks.
Class Crimson clad in maroon,
Class Basilisk clad in brown,
Class Arcanum clad in navy blue.
Their eyes lingered on him, drawn to the striking black uniform that marked him as a member of Class Seraph, the elite, gifted class.
Yet, they could sense his core rank, he was only at Peak Green.
Why, then, was he wearing that uniform?
No one, however, dared to stop and question him.
The plausible explanation that he must be part of the supreme families.
But wasn't this tarnishing the reputation of the most prestigious academy?
Is that Kaori?
Atticus's gaze fell on Kaori, who was surrounded by her friends.
When she noticed him looking in her direction, her expression shifted to one of shock.
With a faint smile, Atticus lifted his hand in an easy, casual wave.
Instantly, her friends froze, their astonished gazes darting between him and Kaori, their confusion palpable.
Kaori hesitated before raising her hand, returning the wave with obvious reluctance.
Her friends, however, shattered the moment's awkward tension, erupting into a flurry of excited squeals. Questions poured out in rapid succession, their curiosity bubbling over as they bombarded Kaori, barely able to contain their delight.
Oops. Sorry, Kaori. I hope you can forgive me.
Without waiting to witness the fallout, he turned and made his way to the room.
***
In the hierarchy of realms, each ranking had its own corresponding sub-realms.
Transcended, with its sub-realm, Ascended.
Ethereal, with its sub-realm, Luminary.
Crowned, with its sub-realm, Empyrean.
Standing in the doorway was Instructor Nicholas, a grandmaster swordsman and an Empyrean individual.
An instructor who had spent decades teaching in the Academy's esteemed Class Seraph, he bore the dignified appearance of an aged butler, yet his imposing, muscular physique hinted at the extraordinary power he possessed.
"Atticus."
"Yes, Instructor Nicholas."
"Follow."
Atticus trailed behind Nicholas as the instructor opened the doorway, leading them toward the center of the room.
He felt the heavy pressure of the atmosphere, yet remained calm, exuding an air of serenity.
Internally, however, he was barely containing his excitement, a faint smile tugging at the edges of his mind.
As he face the crowd before him, he couldn't help but feel as if he had stepped into the presence of divine creations.
They were among the most stunning individuals he had ever seen, princes and princesses, as if meticulously crafted by a fastidious and dramatic deity, molded to meet its exacting standards.
Wait… What?! Is that my character creation?
Before he transmigrated, he had been in the middle of creating a character.
It had distinctly androgynous features: not due to any peculiar preference of his, but because its slim build suited a dexterity focused user.
He had chosen dual swords, however, he hadn't selected the character's gender before blacking out.
Oh, it's a male. He's wearing pants.
But wait, isn't this where the cliché comes in? Like, in some stories, it turns out the character was really female all along or something…
No, no, I should probably stop letting my imagination run wild.
Or should I just ask outright?
Wait… its name isn't going to turn out to be Juicefart, right?!
"This will be your new peer—Atticus." Instructor Nicholas announced.
"Peak Green, seriously? What happened to the prestigious Aurelian Academy, the one that prided itself on accepting only the most exceptional prodigies? Did I miss an important update?"
Kenn, a kishin prince.
"Fool, look at his energy. It's the purest I've ever seen."
Montmogery, she was the younger sister of Ahith, the Monster Mage, and a princess of the Cressimid Empire.
"So what? I could crush thousands like him without even lifting a finger. No, all of us could, right, Xev?"
The dragon prince gave a subtle nod.
Montgomery didn't speak as she accepted it.
She felt she could easily stomp him, but why was he even accepted here? Wasn't his presence tarnishing the name of Class Seraph? And who had vouched for him?
A wave of disappointment settled over her.
She had expected something more intriguing, but the so called primal essence and the one wielding it seemed weak.
Perhaps the historians had overstated its significance, glorifying it beyond reason. Unlike her elder sister, who had an obsessive love for history, Montmogery found little enjoyment in deciphering the past.
Her interest waned rapidly.
Montmogery glanced at Sinclair, the Saintness, clearly unimpressed.
She figured Sinclair was likely just impatient for the lecture to commence.
"Instructor Nicholas, who vouched for him?"
Lazare Chastain, a prince of Shucuria Dynasty, a sword saint.
"It was the Headmaster."
"I see."
Lazare shrugged, his interest fading entirely.
Some appeared bored, others glanced on with indifference, and a few simply didn't care.
Intructor Nicholas asked, "Do you have anything to say, Atticus?"
Atticus maintained a calm demeanor and an unperturbed expression, as though none of the words directed at him had any effect. They didn't bother him because they were entirely factual.
"Heh. Anything, huh? Interesting."
Atticus' smile twisted, distorting his previously calm demeanor, which shifted into antagonistic as all eyes turned toward him.