Ignatia Vermillion took a deep breath.
Finally.
The other Sun Empire heirs were making their way through the crowd of students—late, as usual, and looking entirely too casual about it.
The first was Michael Aurelian—jet-black hair that caught the light like polished obsidian, striking golden eyes that marked him as a member of House Aurelian, the wealthiest of all twelve ducal houses. He wore the academy uniform with expensive modifications: silver cufflinks, a tailored fit that probably cost more than most families earned in a year, and an embroidered handkerchief peeking from his breast pocket.
Beside him walked a girl who was his complete opposite in almost every way.
Suzzy Goldmeadow was... round. There was no polite way to put it. She wore a modified version of the academy uniform—a pink dress variant that billowed around her pleasantly plump frame. Her blonde hair was tied up in twin buns, and her blue eyes sparkled with perpetual good humor.
She was also currently eating a cupcake.
Ignatia stepped forward, blocking their path.
"Where," she said, her voice cold and clipped, "is Darius?"
Michael gulped.
"Hey, ah, well—" He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Apparently he's got something to do with the Talent Advancement Program. He'll join us after the Class Selection Hunt."
"So that's your excuse for being late?" Ignatia's mismatched eyes—ruby red and sapphire blue—narrowed dangerously. "Both of you think it's acceptable to arrive after the Crown Prince is already seated?"
"Wow, he's here?" Suzzy asked through a mouthful of cupcake. "I haven't seen Prince Agni once in my entire life!"
"I'm sorry," Michael said quickly, his golden eyes darting away. "Things happen, you know... scheduling conflicts, airship delays, administrative mix-ups—"
"Pathetic."
The word cut through his excuses like a blade.
Michael flinched.
Ignatia turned her sharp gaze to Suzzy. "And you?"
Suzzy swallowed her bite of cupcake and smiled—a soft, genuine smile that somehow made her look even more innocent.
"Ah, I was busy stacking up on calories for the practical exam," she said cheerfully. "Can't fight monsters on an empty stomach, you know?"
Ignatia sighed.
These worthless insects can't even arrive on time.
Out loud, she said, "Follow me. And don't embarrass yourselves further."
The three of them made their way toward the section reserved for Sun Empire nobility—prime seating, front and center, specifically designated for the heirs of the twelve ducal houses.
As they walked, Ignatia's hand brushed against one of the seats.
Fresh-made.
The cushion was new. Custom. High-quality fabric enchanted to regulate temperature and provide lumbar support. The armrests were carved wood inlaid with gold filigree. Even the footrest was adjustable.
She knew why.
The academy was neutral. It didn't provide different seating for nobles versus commoners. Everyone was supposed to sit in the same standard-issue chairs—a symbol of equality within these walls.
But neutrality also meant the Academy couldn't say anything about what students chose to bring with them.
So the nobles brought comfort. Convenience. Power
Royalty arrived with custom furniture, magical artifacts, personal servants, and enough gold to buy small kingdoms. They brought centuries of accumulated advantages wrapped in silk and sealed with family crests.
And what did commoners bring?
Books passed down from parents who'd saved for years to afford them. Maybe an old sword that had seen three generations of use. Dreams of survival. Hope for a better quality of life. The desperate wish that their children might climb just one rung higher on society's ladder.
They could never match a noble's prestige, Ignatia reflected coldly. All they can do is crawl and survive and reproduce. That's all they're worth.
The nobles sitting together formed a closed circle—an exclusive club that commoners could observe from the outside but never truly join. Bloodlines, connections, inherited power... these things created walls that talent alone couldn't breach.
The difference between those born to rule and those born to serve them.
Stop.
The thoughts vanished, locked away behind iron discipline.
When they reached the heirs' section, the seating arrangement became clear.
Prince Agni sat in the center—eyes closed, mouth slightly open, already asleep.
Beside him, Lyralei Valen maintained her perfect posture, hands folded in her lap, expression serene.
The picture of a future queen.
Michael and Suzzy exchanged glances.
Lyralei turned toward them, a soft smile on her face—the kind of smile that looked pleasant but carried an edge beneath it.
"It must have been important work that delayed you," she said sweetly. "I'd love to hear about it, if you're willing to share?"
Michael opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Trap. That's definitely a trap.
"And where is Darius?" Lyralei continued, her smile not wavering. "I was hoping to greet all the heirs together."
Ignatia ignored the question entirely and walked past them to take her own seat.
Michael was left standing awkwardly with Suzzy.
He swallowed. "Ah, Darius is—he's in the Talent Advancement Program, and—"
"And you?" Lyralei's gaze shifted to him specifically.
"I was, ah... busy with—"
"Skip it," Lyralei said, waving her hand dismissively. "You were busy with your toys and investments. I understand."
Michael's face flushed.
"Just don't mess up in the exam," Lyralei continued, her tone light but firm. "We have a lot of face to recover after certain... unfortunate entrances. S-rank in both combat and written exams should be the bare minimum for ducal heirs."
She turned to Suzzy, who had already plopped down in the seat beside Lyralei and was pulling out another cupcake from a seemingly endless supply.
"You know," Suzzy said brightly, "I've been working on this new recipe—butter cream with honey-lavender infusion. Want to try?"
"I'd love to hear about it," Lyralei said, and suddenly her smile was genuine.
The two women began chatting about baking techniques and flavor profiles.
Michael stood there, forgotten.
"Wow," he muttered to himself. "Is every noble ignoring us because of Prince Agni's entrance?"
Then, louder: "I swear I saw the Elf Princess talking to Prince Cassius earlier—"
Three pairs of eyes snapped toward him.
Lyralei. Ignatia. Suzzy.
All staring.
Michael's face turned bright red.
"I mean—what I wanted to say is—I'm sorry."
He shut up.
Suzzy snickered into her cupcake.
Ignatia sat in her designated seat, apart from the others, her posture perfect and her expression neutral.
Michael Aurelian, she thought, watching him from the corner of her eye. Sole heir, like me.
And just as disappointing.
What else would you expect from a man?
A voice spoke from directly behind her.
Quiet. Cold. Familiar.
"Why didn't you melt her face off?"
Ignatia's eyes sharpened, but she didn't turn around.
"Are you listening to yourself?" she whispered back. "You want me to pick a fight with the daughter of the Grand Duke—in front of the Crown Prince—during the academy's opening ceremony?"
A pause.
"Then why don't you do it yourself next time, if it's such a great idea?"
"Coward," the voice responded with cruel satisfaction.
"Did we select you to get humiliated like this? Either fulfill your duties or step aside for someone who will."
Ignatia's eyes closed, her hands clenching into fists in her lap. "Shut up," she whispered through gritted teeth.
Meanwhile, in the seat beside Lyralei, Agni's mouth was open.
Drool was forming a small wet spot on his shirt collar.
Lyralei's eye twitched.
"Get up, Agni."
No response.
She reached over and smacked his right thigh.
Hard.
"GAH—!"
Agni's eyes flew open, nearly popping out of his skull. He sat bolt upright, hands flying to his leg, hissing in pain.
"What the hell—!"
"Good morning," Lyralei said with a bright, cheerful smile. "We have to attend the Class Selection Hunt now. Let's get going."
Agni groaned, rubbing his thigh.
"Alright," he muttered. "What a pain. Literally."
He blinked, still half-asleep, and looked around blearily.
"So... what's it about? Do we draw a lottery or something?"
"No," Lyralei said, her smile tightening. "There's a practical test. Combat. And then a written exam afterward."
"Great," Agni said flatly. "Just... great."
He glanced around the hall and noticed several professors glaring at him.
"What's up with them?" he asked.
"They're looking forward to this," Lyralei said dryly. "Evaluating students is their favorite thing."
"Uh-huh. So where do we go for this test?"
"They're teleporting us from the orientation hall itself. Mass teleportation array."
Agni blinked. "Wait, seriously?"
"You skipped everything," Lyralei said, exasperated. "So just focus on killing as many monsters as possible. Stronger ones are worth more points. We both need to get into S-Class, which requires at least one thousand points."
"One thousand—?"
"Don't do anything worse than your entrance," Lyralei added. "Please. For both our sakes."
On stage, Professor Marcus clapped his hands once.
The sound echoed through the hall, amplified by magic.
"Everyone, prepare yourselves!" his voice boomed. "The Class Selection Hunt begins in three... two..."
"Wait—how many points did you say—?!"
"One."
The world twisted.
Light. Darkness. The sensation of falling and flying simultaneously.
Then—
Thud.
Three hundred students vanished from the Grand Assembly Hall.
In the sudden silence that followed the mass teleportation, Professor Marcus stood alone on the stage and sighed heavily.
"What a batch of students this year," he muttered, shaking his head.
Professor Vincent Gearwright materialized beside him, his mechanical augmentations whirring softly. "Indeed. Though I suspect they'll be... memorable."
Professor Lydia Starweaver. "A generation of successors! These batches are always so amazing to watch." Her long elf ears twitched with excitement as she spoke.
"Lazy and arrogant as well," Professor Helena Brewmaster added with characteristic bluntness, her arms crossed as she surveyed the empty hall.
Professor Gareth Ironforge's fist glowed with suppressed magical energy as he grinned fiercely. "Come then! Let's see how these younglings handle real combat!"
"Please don't end up killing any students," Professor Sylvia sighed, though her tone suggested this was a recurring concern.
Professor Whisper Nightshade materialized from the shadows, her vampire heritage making her movements unnaturally fluid. "If they can't clear this basic test," she murmured, "it will only get more difficult from here."
The assembled faculty made their way to the Monitoring Control Room, a chamber filled with Scrying Crystals and magical displays that would let them observe every moment of the test.