Evangeline did not wait for the silence to settle. She commanded it.
"Zenith isn't a sanctuary," she said, her voice drifting over the rows of students like a cold fog. "It's a filter. Every Kingdom and Empire on this map sends us their best iron. My job is to see which of you melts. If you're slag, you'll be discarded. If you're steel, you'll be forged."
She leaned forward on the podium. The ambient pressure in the room spiked. Vane felt his Rank 3 mana shield flicker involuntarily, struggling to handle the sheer weight of her presence.
"Titles don't exist here. Bloodlines don't matter. There is only your Rank and what you can do with it. If a commoner kills a Duke in a sanctioned duel, the commoner stays and the Duke goes home in a box. It's that simple."
A ripple of unease went through the noble factions in the middle rows. The commoners in the back sat up straighter.
'She's full of it,' Vane thought, watching the Headmistress with narrowed eyes. 'She talks about no titles, yet she's the one who sorted us into ranks before we even unpacked. This whole hierarchy is her design.'
Evangeline straightened up. The oppressive gravity lifted instantly, leaving the students gasping for air.
"We begin the year with the Rite of the Pillars. Traditionally, the highest-ranked students pledge the intent of the First Year class. They speak for you. They'll be expected to lead you."
The room seemed to lean forward.
"It's going to be Isaac," a boy whispered loudly two rows ahead of Vane. "It has to be. Nobody outranks the Ice Palace."
"Or the Princess," another muttered. "There's no way the Empire would let her be anything but first."
Vane glanced at the front row. Isaac Glacium was not looking at the stage. He was looking at his own hands, counting his fingers with a bored expression. He knew something the rest of the room did not.
Evangeline unrolled a scroll made of black parchment.
"The Female Representative. Special Admission Rank 3. Princess Anastasia of the Aurelian Empire."
Thunderous applause erupted from the center and right wings of the auditorium. It was disciplined and loud. The nobles were clapping for their future Empress.
Anastasia stood up. She didn't rush. She smoothed her skirt, lifted her chin, and walked toward the stairs. She radiated a soft, golden light that made every movement look effortless. She ascended the stage and stood to the right of Evangeline, looking out at the crowd with a serene expression.
Vane tapped his fingers on his knee. 'Rank 3,' he thought. 'That means Isaac is Rank 2. Which leaves one spot at the top.'
The applause died down. The anticipation in the room sharpened. Everyone turned their eyes to Isaac. The boy in the front row finally looked up from his hands. He looked amused. He turned his head slightly, scanning the back rows.
'He knows,' Vane realized. 'He got the same letter I did. He's looking for the person who actually beat him.'
Evangeline cleared her throat.
"And the Male Representative," she said. Her eyes scanned the darkness of the auditorium, locking onto the pillar where Vane sat. "Special Admission Rank 1."
The room held its breath.
"Vane."
The name hung in the air. For three seconds, there was no sound. No applause. No booing. Just absolute, confused silence. Heads turned to Isaac, waiting for him to stand up. They assumed it was a title or a middle name they hadn't heard.
Isaac didn't move. He just smiled, a small, sharp expression that looked like a crack in ice. He turned around in his seat, looking directly at Vane.
The gazes followed him. A thousand faces turned toward the back of the room. They looked past the nobles and the merchants to the shadows near the exit.
Vane felt his heart hammering. 'Great. Now every single person here wants to kill me.' He stood up. The sound of his chair scraping against the floor sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.
"Who is that?" someone whispered.
"Is he a commoner? Look at his boots. Those are standard issue."
Vane ignored them. He activated [Courtier's Mask (Grade F)]. The skill washed over him. His spine straightened. His chin lifted. The panic and the sweat disappeared, replaced by a mask of calm, polite indifference.
He walked down the aisle. It was a long walk. Every step was a battle against the pressure. He was walking past heirs who looked like they wanted to set him on fire for stealing their spot. He was walking toward a woman who had set him up as a target.
As he passed the front row, he felt a wave of cold air. Isaac was watching him. The Frost Monarch didn't look angry. He looked fascinated. He nodded, a respectful dip of the chin that sent a shockwave of confusion through the nobles.
Vane didn't nod back. He couldn't afford to look like he was seeking approval.
He climbed the stairs. The stage lights were blinding. He walked to the center and stood next to Anastasia. Up close, the Princess was even more intimidating. Her skin seemed to hum with energy. She smelled of ozone and burning flowers.
She turned to look at him. Vane expected disgust, or at least a sneer. Instead, Anastasia tilted her head. Her golden eyes swept over him, analyzing his posture and the way he held himself. She looked like someone who had just found a very strange, very sharp rock in her shoe.
"Vane," she said softly. "You don't have a family name."
"That's because I don't have one," Vane replied. His voice was amplified by the acoustics of the stage.
"And yet," she murmured, "you're standing above the Ice Palace. That's interesting."
She stepped back, giving him space. She wasn't mocking him. She was curious. She wanted to see if he would break under the weight of the moment.
Evangeline stepped between them, holding out a silver bowl filled with clear liquid.
"The Oath," she commanded. "Place your hands."
Vane and Anastasia placed their hands in the water. It was freezing.
"We pledge our mana to the ascent," Anastasia said. The ritual words came to her easily.
"We pledge our blood to the defense," Vane repeated. He had spent all night memorizing the handbook.
"We stand as the pillars of the First Year," they said together.
The water flashed blue. The Oath was sealed.
Evangeline nodded, satisfied. She stepped back to the podium.
"The Representatives will now address the class," she announced. She looked at Vane. "Rank 1. The floor is yours."
Vane looked at the crystal microphone. He looked at the thousand students who were already planning his downfall. He looked at the Professors who were dissecting his mana density with their eyes.
He had no speech. He didn't know how to talk to people who owned continents. If he opened his mouth now, he'd sound like a thug trying to play dress-up. He needed to see how it was done first. He needed to copy her.
Vane stepped back. He gestured to the podium with an open hand.
"Rank 3 before Rank 1," Vane said, his voice smooth. "Please, Princess. Show us how it's done."
The crowd murmured. They couldn't tell if he was being respectful or mocking her.
Anastasia's eyes narrowed slightly. She saw the challenge. He wasn't backing down because he was scared. He was backing down because he wanted to see her cards.
She smiled. It was a dangerous, radiant expression.
"Very well," Anastasia said. "Try to keep up, commoner."
She stepped up to the microphone. Vane stepped back into the shadows of the stage.
'Go ahead, Princess,' he thought. 'Show me exactly what I'm up against.'