These scholars received several special privileges from the institute—benefits that ordinary students could only dream of.
Additional holidays scattered throughout the academic year. Leniency toward attendance. Even a guaranteed pass should they miss lessons without justification.
To most students, it sounded absurd. Almost unfair.
But such generosity was never free.
In exchange, they were expected to return something extraordinary to the institute—research results, discoveries, or breakthroughs capable of elevating the academy's prestige. Not effort. Not diligence.
Results.
What truly made the announcement unprecedented was the fact that no first-year student had ever been appointed as a research scholar before.
That alone made Kael an anomaly.
The moment Professor Aria finished explaining the privileges and conditions, whispers erupted across the classroom like sparks hitting dry grass.
"So that means he's not an idiot, right?"
"Imagine skipping classes and not getting punished… damn, I'm jealous."
"Hey, if you look closely, his face isn't bad either."
Speculation, envy, curiosity—every emotion floated through the room in low murmurs, growing louder by the second.
But I wasn't interested in any of it.
My attention never left Professor Aria.
"Silence."
The word itself was calm. Almost gentle.
Yet when she slammed her register against the podium, the sharp crack echoed through the room like a gunshot. Conversations died mid-sentence, mouths freezing halfway through words, as if someone had flipped a switch.
Aria's gaze swept across the classroom—cold, sharp, absolute—before finally settling on Kael.
"Today's theory class ends here," she said flatly.
For a second, no one reacted.
Then confusion rippled through the students like a wave.
Before anyone could ask questions, she turned on her heel.
"Everyone, follow me."
No explanations.No room for objections.
We stopped in front of a massive steel door embedded deep within the academy's inner wing. The corridor leading to it was wide, silent, and noticeably reinforced, as though whatever lay beyond was not meant for casual access.
With a single motion, Aria activated the control panel beside it.
The door slid open.
Lights flickered on.
What unfolded before us was… overwhelming.
"This is the academy's weapon repository," Aria said, her voice echoing faintly in the vast space."There's a wide selection of weapons here. Choose whatever you believe suits you best."
The room stretched far beyond my expectations—rows upon rows of weapon racks laid out with meticulous precision. Daggers, nunchucks, spears, halberds, rapiers, broadswords… and weapons I couldn't even name.
Each rack was labeled. Categorized. Perfectly maintained.
Every single weapon radiated craftsmanship.
I was left momentarily speechless.
Some blades looked ancient, their surfaces etched with faded runes that hinted at forgotten wars. Others appeared almost futuristic, their metal alloys unfamiliar, humming faintly with restrained mana. A few emitted subtle pressure, enough to make my skin prickle just from standing nearby.
I had to admit it.
It was impressive.
"I'd be very careful if I were you," Aria continued, her tone suddenly colder."If you damage any weapon present here, be prepared to compensate up to 500,000 U."
The effect was immediate.
Excited expressions froze. Smiles stiffened. Hands that had eagerly reached forward slowly withdrew. The weapons were no longer just tools—they were priceless artifacts.
"I recommend choosing a weapon compatible with your aptitude," she added."Experimentation is encouraged—but only if you can afford the consequences."
Her gaze lingered briefly before she smiled cheerfully, as if she hadn't just crushed everyone's enthusiasm.
"Before selecting a weapon, swipe your student card to register it in the database. Once you've chosen, proceed to the main practice area and wait for me there."
With that, she turned around and left, her footsteps echoing faintly as she disappeared from sight.
The moment she was gone, the room exploded with noise.
Especially from the boys.
"Damn… that was the Crimson Witch?"
"She's insanely hot!"
"I think I've fallen in love."
"Pfft. In your dreams. Someone like her wouldn't even glance at a loser like you."
"What did you say?!"
Arguments, laughter, flexing—cliques formed almost instantly. Students naturally gravitated toward those they believed were on their level.
Or above it.
I wasn't part of any of them.
And honestly? That was exactly how I wanted it.
I had no interest in flattering others or clinging to stronger students for protection. Licking someone else's boots wasn't my idea of survival.
In the Silver Spire Academy, hierarchy ruled everything.
Just like nobles and peasants in the outside world, those with high rankings were treated as elites—granted authority, respect, and opportunities. Their words carried weight.
Those at the bottom?
Expendable.
Low-rankers like me were future cannon fodder—resources meant to be thrown onto the battlefield until something broke. Usually us.
Such was my reality now, standing alone in a room full of power as the lowest-ranked student in the class.
In this academy…
Rank decided your worth.
Contrary to me, the main characters were surrounded by crowds.
Allen. Leon. Freya. Eliza. Lilith.
People swarmed around them like moths to flame, eager to associate themselves with strength and potential.
Apart from Allen, the others were already used to such attention. Their expressions remained calm, detached, as they accepted praise and flattery like a daily routine.
But Allen—
He clearly wasn't.
Unused to this level of attention, he looked completely overwhelmed. The composed demeanor that usually commanded respect cracked under pressure as he tried to politely respond to everyone at once.
He wore a stiff smile, nodding repeatedly, choosing his words carefully so as not to offend anyone.
I could almost hear his thoughts.
How do I escape this?
"Right now, he's probably thinking of a way to grab his weapon and run," I muttered.
I couldn't help but laugh quietly as I shook my head.
Such was the life of those who stood out.
Ignoring the chaos surrounding Allen, I turned toward the sword section.
I already knew what I wanted.
There was no need to hesitate.
I swiped my card without delay and retrieved a slim, elegant katana.
The leather-wrapped grip fit comfortably in my hand, as if it had been shaped for my palm alone. The blade reflected the overhead lights in a clean, cold sheen.
Swoosh.Swoosh.
"Perfect."
The balance was ideal—neither too heavy nor too light. The blade's alloy was dense and resilient, designed to endure repeated precision strikes without chipping or warping.
It suited my sword art perfectly.
Satisfied, I secured the katana at my side and left the repository without another glance.
I had what I came for.
The training grounds awaited.
.....
Aria's POV
Aria remained near the center of the weapon repository, quietly observing the students.
Patterns emerged quickly.
Most chose impulsively—drawn to size, shine, or reputation. They mistook intimidation for effectiveness.
Then Allen reached the sword racks.
Unlike the others, he didn't rush.
He tested several blades, evaluating their balance, grip, and weight with practiced ease. His movements were smooth, confident—far too refined for a first-year with no formal combat record.
Aria raised an eyebrow.
Finally, he stopped.
A high-grade longsword, its blade etched with subtle reinforcement runes.
The moment Allen wrapped his hand around the hilt, the blade released a low, resonant hum as mana flowed naturally into it.
Nearby students froze.
The weapon had responded.
Allen tested it with a few swings. His posture corrected instinctively, his footing steady, his stance textbook-perfect.
Aria allowed herself a small nod.
That was the difference.
He registered the weapon and walked away—and without realizing it, the atmosphere around him shifted.
A natural leader.
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