The sealed notice felt heavier than it should have.
Evan stood quietly in the courtyard of the Jade estate, the early morning light washing over the stone tiles as he turned the academy's insignia over in his hand. The emblem of the Broken Sword Academy was etched with sharp, decisive lines—neither overly ornate nor plain, carrying an unmistakable sense of authority. It was the kind of symbol that did not need embellishment to command respect.
He already knew how the notice had found him.
For an institution like the Broken Sword Academy, locating a successful candidate was effortless. A single inquiry to the city lord's office was more than enough. Every awakened individual, every examination result, every registered residence—nothing escaped official records. Privacy was a luxury reserved for the powerful.
Evan broke the seal.
His eyes moved slowly across the contents, absorbing every word with care. This was not a letter meant to impress or inspire. It was concise, formal, and absolute.
He had been officially admitted.
The notice stated clearly that all successful candidates were to report for enrollment in early July, at the academy grounds. Transport would be arranged collectively via academy-designated airships, departing from each major city at the end of June.
Evan paused.
Just yesterday, it had been May.
His awakening—his birthday—had passed barely a day ago. Time felt strange now, as if the moment he awakened, the world had begun moving faster, dragging him along whether he was ready or not.
The calendar system in this world mirrored his previous one almost exactly. Twelve months. Familiar names. Familiar rhythms. Yet despite the similarity, Evan could not shake the feeling that his life here had always been moving toward this single point.
June end.
That meant barely over a month.
He reread the section regarding academy regulations, his brows knitting slightly.
All personal credits are prohibited upon entry. Upon arrival, all carried items will be inspected and temporarily confiscated. Only academy-approved resources may be retained.
Evan exhaled softly.
So it was true.
Money, in the outside world, solved many problems. Inside the academy, it meant nothing. Merit points replaced currency, and influence had to be earned rather than bought. For some, this rule was a shackle. For others, it was liberation.
For Evan, it was both.
He folded the notice carefully and slipped it away, already shifting into preparation mode. There was not much he could bring with him—no hidden wealth, no stockpiled items—but preparation did not always mean possessions.
What he needed was information.
And there was only one person he could turn to.
Victor Jade listened quietly as Evan explained what the notice contained.
They sat across from each other in a spacious study, shelves lined with books that smelled faintly of age and ink. Sunlight streamed in through tall windows, illuminating dust motes drifting lazily in the air. Victor's posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, assessing Evan with the same seriousness he would give to any important discussion.
"So," Victor said at last, "your journey begins."
Evan nodded. "Earlier than I expected."
"That is how it always feels," Victor replied. "No one is ever fully prepared when the academy calls."
Evan hesitated for a moment before asking, "Uncle Victor… since I've already cleared the examination, why does the academy still place so much emphasis on affinity level? Isn't passing proof enough?"
Victor leaned back slightly, fingers interlacing.
"Tell me what you think."
Evan considered his words carefully. "Part of it must be reputation. The Broken Sword Academy is one of the strongest institutions in the region. Taking only those with high affinity ensures their graduates maintain a certain standard."
Victor nodded, motioning for him to continue.
"And," Evan added, "it helps filter talent early. Only the best foundations are worth investing in long-term."
Victor's lips curved faintly. "Those are correct answers—but they are not the most important ones."
He leaned forward now, voice lowering slightly.
"High affinity is required because the academy is lethal."
Evan's expression stiffened.
"Many people outside imagine academies as training grounds—safe places where instructors guide students step by step. That illusion exists because the true nature of academy life is rarely spoken of openly."
Victor's gaze hardened. "Even with high affinity, many students fail to reach Tier 3 by graduation. Those who cannot are considered failures. Some return home broken. Some… do not return at all."
Evan remained silent.
"The academy is not a playground," Victor continued. "It is a forge. Its purpose is to create individuals capable of standing on the front lines against dungeons. Competition is constant. Pressure is relentless. Resources are scarce by design."
Victor met Evan's eyes directly.
"A weak foundation does not simply slow you down there—it kills you."
Evan felt a chill settle in his chest, but alongside it came something else.
Resolve.
"I understand," he said calmly.
Victor studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Good. With your high-tier wind affinity, you will not be at a disadvantage from the start. But remember—talent only determines how far you can go, not how far you will go."
The conversation lingered in Evan's mind long after he left the study.
That day, he spent hours in the estate's library, poring over books related to academy structure, dungeon classifications, awakened physiology, and historical cases of academy graduates. Much of the information overlapped with what he already knew, but repetition sharpened understanding.
Knowledge, even redundant knowledge, was never wasted.
He balanced his reading with physical training, pushing his newly awakened body without overstraining it. Every movement felt more controlled now, every breath more efficient. He could sense the wind around him more clearly, even without actively drawing on it.
By nightfall, exhaustion claimed him easily.
And before he knew it—
The day to leave arrived.
The farewell was… louder than Evan expected.
Austin stood before him, arms crossed, clearly trying—and failing—to look unaffected. The early morning airship departure had drawn a small crowd of families and candidates to the open grounds outside the city. Massive docking pillars rose from the earth, engraved with stabilization arrays that hummed faintly as they activated.
"You'd better not die in the first month," Austin muttered.
Evan smirked. "I was about to say the same to you—though you won't even be at the same academy."
Austin scowled. "Green Flame Palace is just as dangerous."
"I know."
There was a brief silence.
Then Austin stepped forward and pulled Evan into a rough embrace. "Get stronger," he said quietly. "Strong enough that when we meet again, you won't lose so badly."
Evan chuckled, returning the gesture. "I'll hold you to that."
They separated, neither saying what both were thinking—that this marked the end of an era. From this moment onward, their paths would diverge, shaped by different academies, different challenges.
The horn sounded.
Evan turned and walked toward the designated gathering point, his heart steady despite the weight of what lay ahead.
The airship arrived moments later.
It was enormous—sleek, metallic, its surface etched with complex runic formations that glowed softly as it descended. Wind stirred violently as it touched down, dust and loose gravel swirling through the air.
Evan stepped aboard with the other candidates, each wearing expressions ranging from excitement to barely concealed fear.
As he moved to find a seat, his eyes caught on a familiar figure standing near the boarding ramp.
A young man, tall and broad-shouldered, with a face Evan recognized instantly.
Chris.
Their gazes met.
For a brief moment, neither spoke.
Then Chris's lips curled into a thin, resentful smile.
Evan felt no surprise—only clarity.
The academy awaited.
And the past, it seemed, had followed him there.