After nearly three exhausting hours, everyone finally gathered inside the Initiate Rank classroom.
People dragged themselves inside.
Some walked normally, though their faces were pale.
Others limped.
A few leaned on friends just to stay upright.
Despite that, no one complained. We had already learned that this place didn't reward weakness.
At the front of the room stood a middle-aged instructor. He had short gray hair, a firm stance, and eyes that missed nothing.
His uniform was different from ours—older, worn, but clearly superior. He waited patiently until everyone settled down.
His gaze swept across the room.
"Is everyone here?" he asked.
A few instructors near the doors nodded.
"Yes, Instructor."
"Good," he said simply.
He placed one hand on the table in front of him.
"We shall begin," he continued.
"This is your first class as Initiate and Adept rankers."
The room grew quiet.
"You will introduce yourselves," the instructor said. "Your name, your ambition, and your combat role."
Some people stiffened.
Others straightened their backs proudly.
"The order will begin with the topper of the Initiate and Adept ranks," the instructor added.
Immediately, all eyes turned toward the front row.
A tall young man stood up confidently.
He had short dark hair, broad shoulders, and a confident smile. His posture was straight.
"I am Manas," he said loudly. "My dream is to become an S-rank hero of the nation."
He raised his hand upward, as if reaching for the sky.
"I am a combat fighter."
The room burst into applause.
Claps echoed loudly. Some people whistled. Others nodded in approval.
"An S-ranker…"
"That's ambitious."
"No wonder he's the topper."
Manas sat down, clearly pleased.
Next, a familiar figure stood up.
Mingkong.
She simply stood straight, her sword-user's posture calm and composed.
"I am Mingkong," she said clearly. "I am a swordsman."
Her eyes swept briefly across the room.
"My dream," she continued, "is to protect the people from demons."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then—
"YEAHHH!"
"AMAZING!"
"AS EXPECTED!"
The room erupted.
Some stood up while clapping. Others shouted her name. Even the instructor allowed a faint nod.
She sat down quietly, unaffected by the attention.
(She hasn't changed…) I thought. (Still the same words.)
The third topper stood next.
He was lean, calm, with glasses resting on his nose.
"I am Goketsu," he said politely. "I am a mage."
He adjusted his glasses slightly.
"My dream is to support the King and the people of the land with my magic."
Applause followed—less explosive than Mingkong's, but respectful.
And so it continued.
One by one, people stood.
"I am Ravel, a healer. I want to save lives."
"I am Doran, a tank. I will protect my comrades."
"I am Kyra, a mage. I want power."
Each introduction revealed a little more about this batch.
Dreamers. Fighters. Idealists.
As names were called, I noticed a pattern.
Combat fighters and swordsmen dominated the front rows.
Mages filled the middle.
Tanks and healers sat toward the back.
(Just like the structure of the fortress.)
My legs still hurt when the instructor's voice finally reached me.
"Tatsuki."
The room quieted slightly.
I stood up slowly.
"I am Tatsuki," I said. "Rank 265."
I paused for a brief moment.
"I am a combat fighter."
A few murmurs spread.
"Combat fighter?"
"But he's listed as a mage…"
"Strange…"
I didn't care.
"My dream," I continued calmly, "is to survive."
For a second—
Silence.
Then laughter broke out.
"Hahaha—what kind of dream is that?"
"Survive?"
"That's pathetic!"
"He came all this way just to survive?"
Even some instructors raised their eyebrows.
I remained standing, expression unchanged.
I had said exactly what I meant.
(Survival is harder than heroism.)
(And far more honest.)
The instructor raised his hand, silencing the room.
"That's enough," he said.
I sat down.
My heart wasn't racing.
I didn't feel embarrassed.
If anything, I felt clear.
(Five years…)
(If I survive five years, everything changes.)
The instructor walked a few steps forward.
"Listen carefully," he said. "There are two sections for Initiate and Adept rankers."
He gestured toward the board behind him.
"This is Section A—170 students."
He pointed to the other side.
"And this is Section B—189 students."
A low murmur spread through the room.
"Sections are assigned based on current evaluation," the instructor continued. "Performance may allow transfers later."
His eyes sharpened.
"But do not misunderstand."
"Being in Section A does not mean safety."
"Being in Section B does not mean weakness."
He turned toward us.
"Only one thing matters here."
"Results."
The word echoed in the room.
I leaned back slightly, ignoring the pain in my muscles.
(This is only the start.)
Around me, people whispered, dreamed, and judged.
And somewhere nearby—
(How could someone with overwhelming strength be ranked last?)
(Why is he hiding his power?)
Mingkong sat quietly in her seat, her eyes drifting toward the last row of the classroom.
Toward Tatsuki.
He looked exhausted like everyone else—sweat-stained uniform, shoulders slightly slumped, breathing slow and controlled. But that was exactly what disturbed her.
(That calm…)
(That emptiness in his eyes…)
She remembered it too clearly.
That same expression had existed five years later—right before everything collapsed.
(He's pretending.)
(No… hiding.)
Her fingers curled slowly.
(But why hide now?)
Before she could think further, the final introduction ended. The instructor dismissed the class with a short nod, and the tension that had been building for hours finally loosened.
Introducing names had taken nearly two full hours.
By the time it ended, everyone was drained—not just physically, but mentally.
Then—
GOONG!
GOONG!
The deep bell echoed through the fortress, vibrating through walls.
"It's lunch time!" someone shouted.
Relief spread instantly.
Benches scraped backward. People stood up with groans, stretching sore limbs. Some leaned on desks for balance, others laughed weakly as if relieved they had survived another trial.
I stood up slowly.
As I walked out of the classroom, sunlight hit my face, and I breathed out quietly.
Still alive, I thought.
That was enough—for now.
That's when I noticed Rion.
He was already outside, rubbing the back of his neck, looking tired but smiling as usual. When he spotted me, his face brightened, and he walked toward me quickly.
"Oh! Tatsuki!" he said. "You're Section A, right?"
"Yes," I replied with a nod.
Rion let out a low whistle.
"Wow… that's impressive," he said honestly. "Section A is mostly high-ranked initiates and near-adepts."
I glanced at him. "What section are you in?"
(though i already knew his secretion, i asked)
"Section B," he said with a shrug, though there was no bitterness in his voice. "Guess I still have a long way to go."
He smiled again.
"But hey," he added, clapping my shoulder lightly, "we're still here. That's what matters."
I nodded.
Across the courtyard, Mingkong stepped out of the classroom as well.
Her eyes met mine—just for a brief moment.
Then she looked away.