For the first time in his new life, Kael woke up feeling genuinely refreshed.
The usual cloud of fatigue was gone, replaced by a surprising clarity.
His body felt lighter.
His mind sharper.
Even the dim morning light filtering through the narrow window seemed less oppressive than usual.
For once, he actually looked forward to the day.
He had a purpose now.
Small. Vague. Completely overwhelming when he thought about it too hard.
But a purpose nonetheless.
He sat up slowly, stretching his arms above his head, and—
Ding.
The golden screen materialized in front of his face, glowing cheerfully.
[Daily Subtask: Wear your uniform jacket inside-out for 24 hours.]
[Penalty for Failure: All food will taste like wet cardboard for 48 hours.]
[Time Remaining: 17hrs 59min.]
"..."
Kael stared at it.
Then at his jacket, folded neatly on the chair beside his bed.
Then back at the screen.
"...You've got to be kidding me."
The screen blinked innocently.
Kael sighed in defeat, dragging himself out of bed.
He grabbed the jacket, flipped it inside-out with exaggerated reluctance, and pulled it on.
The seams were rough against his skin. The lining—meant to stay hidden—was a dull, faded gray instead of the crisp black exterior. The crest on the chest was now backward, barely visible as a faint imprint.
He looked ridiculous.
"Perfect," he muttered. "Just perfect."
From across the room, Theo glanced up from where he was fastening his own uniform, his expression unreadable behind his glasses.
"...Is there a reason your jacket is inside-out?"
Kael didn't even look at him. "Don't ask."
"I'm asking."
"It's complicated."
"It looks like you got dressed in the dark."
Kael shot him a flat look. "Do you want me to explain, or do you want to keep judging?"
Theo adjusted his glasses, the faintest hint of amusement flickering across his face. "I'm simply curious why you've chosen to attend the second part of the exam looking like you've given up on life."
"Maybe I have."
"I see." Theo said, his tone perfectly neutral. "Well, good luck with that."
Kael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Can we just go?"
"Of course."
◆ ◆ ◆
They made it halfway across the main courtyard before someone stopped them.
"You there! Cadet!"
Kael stopped.
A staff member—middle-aged, stern-faced, wearing the academy's administrative robes—was striding toward him with the kind of purposeful intensity that promised nothing good.
"Yes?" Kael asked blankly.
The man stopped in front of him, eyes narrowing as he took in Kael's appearance.
"Your uniform is inside-out."
"...Yes."
"That is unacceptable." The man's voice was clipped, authoritative. "Academy dress code is to be maintained at all times. Fix it. Now."
Kael opened his mouth to respond—though he had no idea what he was going to say—when Theo stepped forward smoothly, positioning himself slightly between Kael and the staff member.
"Excuse me," Theo said, his tone polite but firm. "May I ask which specific regulation prohibits wearing the uniform inside-out?"
The staff member blinked, caught off-guard. "What?"
"The dress code," Theo continued calmly, adjusting his glasses. "Section Four, Subsection B states that cadets must wear the issued uniform during academy hours. It does not specify orientation."
The man's jaw twitched. "Don't be ridiculous—"
"Additionally," Theo interrupted, his voice still perfectly even, "Section Seven, Subsection A allows for personal modifications to uniforms as long as the academy crest remains visible and the uniform is worn in full."
He gestured toward Kael's chest, where the backward crest was still faintly visible through the fabric.
"As you can see, both conditions are met."
Silence.
The staff member stared at Theo, his face reddening slightly.
"This is clearly not the intent of the rule—"
"Intent is not the same as enforcement," Theo said smoothly. "Unless there's a written amendment I'm unaware of?"
The man opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Then, with a frustrated huff, he turned on his heel and walked away, muttering something under his breath about "smart-mouthed first-years."
Kael watched him go, then glanced at Theo.
"...Did you just lawyer your way out of a dress code violation?"
"Yes."
"Cool?"
Theo adjusted his glasses. "You're welcome."
They continued walking.
Kael glanced down at his inside-out jacket, shaking his head.
'I hate this system so much.'
◆ ◆ ◆
Today was Test Day 2, and all the candidates were gathered in a vast arena.
It was massive—easily twice the size of the combat grounds from yesterday—with an open design surrounded by tiered stone seating that could hold thousands of spectators. Multiple raised platforms were scattered across the field, each one marked with glowing runes.
The atmosphere was thick with tension.
Students clustered in nervous groups, whispering anxiously, checking weapons, casting glances at potential opponents.
Kael stood near the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, his inside-out jacket drawing more than a few confused stares.
He ignored them.
Duels.
The realization had settled over him the moment he saw the arena layout.
'My day just keeps getting better doesn't it?' he thought, a familiar irritation creeping back despite his earlier optimism. 'Just when I was starting to feel hopeful.'
He had absolutely zero combat experience.
No training. No techniques. No idea what he was doing.
This was going to be a disaster.
The air suddenly shimmered with energy—a sight they were getting used to by now.
A golden glyph spiraled into existence above the grounds, massive and intricate, and from its center, Vice Headmaster Revek's projection materialized once more.
He towered over the arena like a silent, imposing god, his luminous eyes sweeping across the gathered students.
"Candidates of the 179th Generation."
His voice echoed across the field, cold and utterly even.
"Welcome to Test Two."
Silence fell instantly.
"Today, you will demonstrate your ability to handle live combat. The structure is simple: duels."
He gestured, and several of the raised platforms lit up, their runes glowing brighter.
"You will be paired randomly. Victory is determined by incapacitation, surrender, or an official call from the overseer."
A beat of silence.
"Note: elimination will not be enforced in this trial. However, if you run, yield without cause, or fail to act, you forfeit your candidacy."
His gaze seemed to pierce through every single person standing below.
"We do not require perfection. Only proof of ability."
With that final pronouncement, the glyph dissolved.
And across the arena, multiple floating screens flared to life, displaying matchups in glowing golden text.
Kael's gaze landed on one immediately.
[ROUND ONE: ARENA FIVE]
KAEL DARVEN vs. JARIK RENDEL
Kael blinked.
"Already?"
Theo, standing beside him, glanced at the screen and murmured, "Hmm. House of Rendel."
Kael turned to him. "You know him?"
"Not personally." Theo adjusted his glasses, his tone thoughtful. "House Rendel. Minor nobles from the City of Draymoor. They've been making a name for themselves lately—pushing for higher titles, securing trade contracts, buying influence."
He paused, his gaze sharp.
"Getting their children into the academy is a must for them. It's a matter of prestige. Which means Jarik Rendel has likely been training for this his entire life."
Kael exhaled slowly. "Perfect. My luck just keeps getting better and better."
Theo glanced at him. "I'm assuming you don't have much combat experience?"
"No, you're wrong." Kael scratched the back of his neck. "I have no combat experience whatsoever."
Theo was silent for a moment.
Then, in his usual flat tone: "You'll figure it out."
"Inspiring. Thanks."
"They did say you don't have to win to pass."
"Right. Just 'proof of ability.'" Kael sighed. "Whatever that means."
He started walking toward Arena Five, his boots scuffing against the stone.
◆ ◆ ◆
Arena Five was one of the smaller platforms, but it still felt vast when you were standing on it.
The stone surface was smooth, worn by countless duels over the years. Glowing runes marked the boundaries—step outside, and you forfeited.
Kael stood near the center, hands in his pockets, his inside-out jacket fluttering slightly in the breeze.
On the opposite end of the arena, his opponent waited.
Jarik Rendel.
He was tall—easily six feet—and powerfully built, with broad shoulders and a frame that spoke of years of disciplined training. His dark hair was pulled back neatly, revealing sharp, focused eyes.
His sword was already drawn, polished to a brilliant gleam, held with the easy confidence of someone who'd spent half his life wielding it.
He studied Kael with sharp intensity, his gaze sweeping over him from head to toe—assessing, calculating, measuring.
Kael could almost feel the analysis happening.
Posture: poor. Stance: nonexistent. Weapon: not even drawn yet.
Threat level: minimal.
The instructor—a stern-faced woman with graying hair—stepped forward, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the watching crowd.
"Combatants, ready yourselves!"
Kael slowly pulled his hands out of his pockets and reached for the training sword at his side. It felt heavy in his grip.
Awkward.
He held it like someone holding a broom.
Jarik's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
The instructor raised her hand.
"Begin!"
Her voice boomed across the arena.
And then—
Nothing.
Unlike the other arenas, where students immediately lunged at each other with desperate aggression, Arena Five remained still.
Kael didn't move.
Jarik didn't move.
They just stood there, watching each other.
Kael tightened his grip on the sword, his mind doing a short analysis.
'I might have no idea of what I'm doing, but that doesn't mean I'm just going to roll over and lose.'
Jarik's voice cut through the silence, clear and measured.
"You were one of the students who destroyed a training dummy yesterday, weren't you?"
Kael blinked, caught off-guard. "...Yes?"
Jarik nodded, a flicker of approval in his eyes.
"Then it would be my honor to have you as an opponent."
He finished with a respectful bow—not mocking, not condescending, just genuine—his sword still held ready.
Kael stared at him, unsure how to respond.
'Is this guy serious?'
Before he could process the strange declaration, Jarik moved.
One moment he was standing across the arena.
The next, he was gone.
Fast—
Kael's thought barely had time to form before Jarik reappeared directly in front of him, his blade already mid-swing, aiming low for Kael's ribs with a clean, practiced strike.
Instinct took over.
Kael's body moved before his mind could catch up—twisting sideways, his sword sweeping upward in a clumsy, desperate arc to intercept the blow.
Their blades met with a sharp clang.
The impact jarred Kael's arms, sending vibrations up to his shoulders.
But he held.
Jarik's eyes widened slightly—surprise flickering across his face—before he disengaged, stepping back smoothly.
Kael exhaled sharply, his heart pounding.
Okay.
'So I can track his movements.'
Even though Jarik was fast—incredibly fast—Kael found that when he focused, he could follow him. See the shifts in weight and try to anticipate the angle of attack.
Their agility was... similar?
Jarik studied him for a moment, then smiled—sharp, competitive.
"Not bad."
And he moved again.
This time, Kael was ready.
Jarik closed the distance in a blur, his sword arcing toward Kael's left side.
Kael shifted his weight, bringing his blade down to parry—
Clang!
The strike was deflected.
But then—
Thud.
A devastating force slammed into Kael's right ribs.
His vision blurred.
The world tilted.
And the next thing he knew, he was airborne, tumbling across the stone platform before crashing to the ground in a heap.
Pain exploded through his side.
He gasped, the wind knocked out of him, his vision swimming.
'What the—'
He forced himself to look up.
Jarik stood where Kael had been a moment ago, his sword still raised, his other hand glowing faintly with residual mana.
While Kael had been focused on the sword, Jarik had channeled mana into his fist and struck him with a mana-enhanced blow.
'Fucking bastard.'