[ January 22nd, 2088 (Thursday, Morning) ] - [Sector 13's Multipurpose Stadium > Sector 13's Time Square > Sector 13-05 > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ]
Thursday morning came fast.
January 22nd, 2088.
The snow outside the stadium had been shoveled into ugly grey piles, but the cold still bit hard enough to make people curse under their breath. Heat lamps flickered above the market parking section, casting orange warmth over the crowd like artificial sunlight.
And just like yesterday, the Ripley-Mobile had returned.
Mom and Aunt Alura were already in full business mode—folding tables unfolded, kettle steaming, trays of pastries lined neatly beside mini pizzas and sausage buns. The smell of butter, dough, and roasted meat drifted into the air like bait for hungry civilians.
"Maison Bella Cafe," Mom announced proudly, tapping the blackboard menu with chalk. "Profession Day Special. Come, come."
Alura, bundled in her jacket, was already bullying customers into buying extras.
"You want one bun? Buy two. Your kid looks like he's starving."
"That kid is mine," a mother protested.
"Exactly," Alura replied. "That's why you should buy three."
Mom glared. "Alura."
Alura grinned innocently. "What? I'm being supportive."
Sophie and Daisy helped set up the booth for a few minutes, but soon enough, the three siblings were forced to leave the warmth behind.
Because today wasn't about sprinting.
Today was about surviving paper.
=
=====
=
Inside the stadium's academic wing, Niero, Sophie, and Daisy were guided into a massive examination hall.
It wasn't fancy.
It was sterile.
A long rectangular room lined with rows of desks, harsh white ceiling lights, and an old analog clock mounted above the front wall.
The ticking was loud enough to be annoying.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
It felt less like a test hall and more like an interrogation chamber disguised as a classroom.
Around fifty candidates filled the room—boys and girls, all in their assigned seating arrangements.
Some looked calm.
Some looked terrified.
Some already had that hollow-eyed expression of someone who knew they were about to fail.
At the front, an invigilator Andy stood like a statue.
But what made the room truly unsettling were the five human-like Andies slowly patrolling the aisles.
They moved like silent predators.
No conversation.
No emotion.
Just cold mechanical observation.
Their synthetic eyes scanned hands, desks, papers, and pockets—waiting for anyone to slip up.
Waiting for someone to cheat.
Waiting for an excuse.
A metallic voice echoed through the room.
"TEST SET 02 COMMENCING. DURATION: FOUR HOURS.
TOPICS WILL BE ADMINISTERED IN FOUR SEGMENTS.
UNFAIR CONDUCT WILL RESULT IN DISQUALIFICATION."
Papers slid out from a distribution tray like factory output.
Candidates received their exam booklet.
The cover page was stamped in bold black letters:
BLOOM DOMINION – PROFESSION DAY
ACADEMIC EVALUATION / WRITING EXAM
CANDIDATE NUMBER REQUIRED ON ALL PAGES
Niero wrote calmly:
157 – Niero Ripley
Sophie and Daisy did the same.
Daisy's handwriting was slightly shaky.
Sophie's was clean and confident.
Niero's was sharp and neat, almost too perfect.
The first section began.
-
1) Strategy Logic
A series of battlefield puzzles, probability problems, and resource allocation scenarios.
Some candidates visibly panicked the moment they saw the questions.
One boy stared at the page like it was written in ancient alien language.
Niero, however, almost felt insulted.
This wasn't hard.
It was basic.
He could already feel Vuldyr whispering in the back of his mind, amused.
But Niero kept his expression neutral.
He answered with controlled precision, making sure his answers were correct—but not too perfect, remembering Mom's warning.
-
2) Decision-Making
Hypothetical moral dilemmas and high-pressure command choices.
"Do you save the civilians or secure the objective?"
"Do you abandon injured soldiers to ensure mission success?"
"Do you sacrifice one to save ten?"
Questions designed to reveal personality.
To expose weakness.
To expose arrogance.
Niero answered carefully, balancing logic and humanity.
He could feel it.
This wasn't about intelligence.
This was about profiling.
-
3) Situational Response
This part was almost like military roleplay.
Short scenarios with limited information, forcing candidates to write what they would do within seconds.
A lot of candidates hesitated too long.
Some wrote too little.
Some wrote way too much.
One girl two rows ahead of Niero started quietly crying halfway through.
The Andy behind her stopped and watched her silently for ten full seconds, like it was recording her breakdown for future evaluation.
She forced herself to continue.
-
4) Ethics & Morals
The final section was the most uncomfortable.
Questions about loyalty.
Questions about obedience.
Questions about the Radiant Empress.
Questions about what a citizen "owes" the Bloom Dominion.
It wasn't a normal ethics test.
It was a loyalty filter disguised as philosophy.
Even Sophie's eyes narrowed slightly while reading.
Daisy swallowed hard.
Niero's jaw tightened.
But he wrote his answers anyway—carefully phrased, safe, rational.
Not rebellious.
Not submissive.
Just… acceptable.
=
Throughout the four-hour exam, the ticking clock never stopped.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
And the five Andies continued their slow pacing.
Occasionally, one would stop behind a candidate.
Watching.
Listening.
Waiting.
Then continue walking again.
At least three candidates were dragged out before the exam ended.
One boy had a cheat sheet hidden in his sock.
One girl tried to use a contact-lens HUD.
One candidate had some kind of ArkNet implant that was feeding him answer prompts.
All of them were caught.
No shouting.
No arguing.
Just quiet mechanical restraint and the sound of their shoes scraping against the floor as they were removed.
The rest of the room pretended not to notice.
But everyone felt it.
Everyone understood:
This wasn't just an exam.
It was a test of whether you were worthy to be molded into Dominion property.
And when the final hour ended, the invigilator Andy's voice rang out once more.
"TIME. PENS DOWN. SUBMIT ALL MATERIALS."
The room exhaled as one.
And the second day of Profession Day ended… with silence, exhaustion, and the creeping dread of what Test Set 03 might bring.
=
=====
=
[ January 22nd, 2088 (Thursday, Afternoon) ] - [Sector 13's Multipurpose Stadium > Sector 13's Time Square > Sector 13-05 > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ]
By afternoon, the exam hall finally released its victims.
Sophie and Daisy walked out of the stadium like two freshly resurrected corpses—eyes dull, shoulders slumped, faces drained of all life. Their winter jackets were zipped up, but it didn't matter. The cold outside almost felt kinder than the four-hour mental torture they just survived.
Daisy looked like she was one question away from crying.
Sophie looked like she wanted to commit murder—politely.
When they finally reached the Ripley-Mobile booth, Aunt Alura spotted them first.
She leaned against the minivan door with a smug grin, sipping a warm drink like she had been waiting for this exact moment.
"Oooooh," Alura teased. "Look at that. The Sororitae candidates have returned from the realm of suffering."
Sophie didn't even respond.
She just stared at Alura like she was deciding whether punching an adult counted as "unfair conduct."
Daisy groaned and leaned against the table. "I hate writing exams…"
Mom immediately switched into mother-mode, handing them both a paper cup of warm cocoa.
"There, there," Mom said, trying not to laugh. "At least thank the Radiant Empress you weren't born in Mega-Ark City 04."
Sophie blinked weakly. "Why?"
Mom gave a dramatic sigh, like she was about to tell a horror story.
"The Gaokao," she said, voice solemn. "Neo-Daxia's national exam system. I heard kids there study until their souls leave their bodies."
Alura nodded with fake seriousness. "Some don't come back."
Niero, standing nearby with a pastry bag in hand, casually added, "I heard some of them go bald from stress."
Daisy's head snapped toward him like a predator locking onto prey.
Sophie slowly turned too.
Both sisters' eyes narrowed.
"…Of course," Sophie said in a dead, bitter tone. "Our brainiac brother says it like it's trivia."
Daisy pointed at him accusingly. "You're gonna say it was easy, aren't you?"
Niero shrugged. "I mean… it wasn't that bad."
Both girls looked like they were ready to strangle him with his own bib number.
Alura burst out laughing while Mom covered her mouth, shoulders shaking.
But Niero's smile faded slightly.
Because even though the test was manageable… he knew the truth.
The written exam wasn't difficult because it tested intelligence.
It was difficult because it tested obedience.
And while Sophie and Daisy were exhausted from writing answers…
Niero was exhausted from carefully burying the part of himself that wanted to write:
This whole system is a cage.
He'd answered correctly.
But more importantly—
He'd answered safely.
=
=====
=
[ January 23rd, 2088 (Friday, Morning) ] - [Sector 13's Multipurpose Stadium > Sector 13's Time Square > Sector 13-05 > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ]
On Friday morning—January 23rd, 2088—the stadium felt different.
Not louder. Not more crowded.
Just… heavier.
Outside, the Maison Bella booth was running like usual. Mom and Aunt Alura sold warm pastries and hot drinks to parents who pretended they weren't anxious, to younger siblings who were excited just to be there, and to tired workers who came for the "Profession Day hype."
But inside the stadium?
Inside was where the real sorting happened.
This was the 3rd test set.
Psychological & Metatalent Evaluation.
And unlike the physical test, there was no cheering. No visible scoreboard. No competitive excitement.
Just silence.
Candidates stood in long lines like cattle waiting to be processed.
Niero, Sophie, and Daisy were separated immediately.
This time, the partition walls weren't just "for organization."
They were for control.
The boys were funneled into one lane.
The girls went into another.
No overlap. No mingling. No shared waiting benches.
Niero stood in the boys' queue, arms crossed, gym bag hanging from his shoulder.
He could feel it in the atmosphere—every boy around him was nervous.
Not "exam nervous."
Not "I might fail nervously."
But the kind of nervousness that came from knowing the evaluation wasn't about what you could do…
…it was about whether you were allowed to exist.
Some boys in front of him whispered.
Some stared at the floor.
Some kept cracking their knuckles like it could distract their brain from the fear.
Even the confident ones looked tense.
Because nobody knew what was behind those booth doors.
Nobody knew what kind of machine, what kind of test, what kind of question could ruin their lives in a single minute.
Niero's eyes narrowed slightly.
This wasn't a test.
It was an inspection.
A filter.
A trap designed to catch the wrong kind of mind…
…the wrong kind of power…
…the wrong kind of person.
And for the first time since Profession Day began—
Even Niero felt his stomach tighten.
=
The line kept moving forward, one boy at a time, like a slow mechanical conveyor belt feeding into something unseen.
Each time a candidate entered the booth, the door sealed shut behind them with a soft hydraulic hiss.
No screams came out.
No announcements.
No feedback at all.
That silence was almost worse than noise.
Niero stood a few places back now. Close enough to see the entrance clearly.
The booth structure itself was more advanced than anything in the previous tests. The outer frame was layered with dull metallic panels and faint rune-like circuitry embedded beneath translucent shielding glass. It wasn't just technological.
It was hybridized.
Mana shielding.
Psionic dampening.
Something designed to prevent observation from both outside science and inside perception.
Even Niero's instincts felt it.
A wall that didn't just block sight…
…but blocked understanding.
Then it happened.
A boy behind him snapped.
Niero heard the sudden scramble of feet.
A candidate shoved past the line, bolting toward the exit gates.
"I'm not doing this—I'm not going in there—!"
He didn't get far.
Two security personnel moved instantly.
Clean.
Efficient.
No hesitation.
The boy was tackled mid-sprint and pinned face-down on the floor as his shouting echoed through the hall.
"I SAID I DON'T WANT TO DO IT! LET ME GO!"
The sound didn't echo for long.
The guards dragged him away.
No one followed.
No one intervened.
The line barely even stopped.
It just… adjusted.
Like it had already accounted for the loss.
Vuldyr's voice entered Niero's mind calmly, almost analytical.
> ["He is non-powered. No metatalent signature detected. No anomalous energy patterns."]
A pause.
> ["The reaction is psychological collapse. Anticipatory fear response. His cognition likely generated worst-case scenarios beyond the tolerance threshold."]
Niero's eyes narrowed slightly.
"So he freaked out before even seeing anything."
> ["Correct. Fear is sufficient to degrade will stability. No external trigger required."]
That made Niero exhale slowly.
Not relief.
Just understanding.
If the booth didn't need to do anything to break people…
Then whatever was inside wasn't testing strength.
It was testing mind structure under pressure.
He glanced forward again.
The door cycled open for the next candidate.
A boy stepped in.
Door closed.
No sound.
No reaction.
Gone.
Niero's fingers tightened slightly on his strap.
Then he spoke quietly in his mind.
> "Is there anything inside I should be worried about?"
Vuldyr answered after a brief pause.
> ["Yes."]
That was all she said at first.
Then she continued.
> ["The chamber contains layered psionic and mana shielding. Even your current Stargod System output is insufficient for full external appraisal."]
Niero frowned slightly.
"So I can't scan it properly."
> ["Correct. Observation is intentionally restricted."]
A beat.
> ["This ensures controlled psychological exposure."]
That phrase lingered longer than the others.
Controlled psychological exposure.
Niero's jaw tightened.
So it wasn't just evaluation.
It was a designed experience.
Vuldyr's tone shifted slightly—more precise now.
> ["In worst-case scenario, entities with appraisal-equivalent abilities may be present. Your [Aegis Veil] will prevent extraction or leakage of Stargod data."]
A soft mental overlay followed, like a diagram forming in his awareness.
> ["It functions as energy shield, metaphysical barrier, information concealment layer, and even psionic masking via synthetic residual projection"]
Niero let out a slow breath.
"So I look normal even if I'm not."
> ["Yes. You are statistically unremarkable to external detection systems."]
That wording was almost funny.
Almost.
The next candidate stepped into the booth.
Door closed.
Silence again.
Niero's turn was getting closer.
He rolled his shoulders once, subtly.
Then he said inwardly, steadier this time:
"Showtime."
Vuldyr's presence aligned immediately, calm and precise.
> ["I am synchronized. Proceed when ready."]
The line shifted forward again.
One step closer.
Then another.
And the booth waited.
=
=====
=
Niero's boots clicked against the polished floor as he stepped into the rotating chamber.
The door behind him sealed shut with a thunk.
For a moment, he was inside a cylindrical corridor—walls lined with faint glowing strips, humming with quiet Dominion-grade machinery. Then the chamber rotated, smooth and silent, like he was being loaded into a gun barrel.
A second door aligned.
Unlocked.
And opened.
White light flooded in.
Not normal light.
It was sterile, overwhelming—like the sun was poured into a room and filtered through bleach.
Niero's eyes instantly watered.
His vision blurred.
His instincts screamed.
And in the same moment—
Vuldyr's voice snapped into his skull, sharp and urgent.
> ["PSIONIC INTRUSION DETECTED!"]
The air itself felt wrong, like something invisible had reached into his head.
Not a touch.
A probe.
A pressure against the inside of his thoughts.
Niero staggered half a step.
His breath caught.
He could feel something trying to peel him open, like fingers digging beneath his memories.
Then—
> [Aegis Veil activated.]
Not as a barrier he could see, but as a sudden internal sensation of closure.
Like a vault door slamming shut inside his mind.
The intrusive pressure hit the Veil and slid off, redirected.
And Vuldyr moved instantly.
She didn't merely block it.
She counter-built.
>["Artificial mental environment deployed."]
A sensation like reality folding.
Like his consciousness was being rerouted.
A virtual machine.
A sandbox.
A fake version of the neural framework of Niero Ripley was constructed for external eyes to inspect.
Then his eyes adjusted.
And the light stopped being blinding.
Not because it dimmed—
but because his mind accepted the room.
He stood inside a white room.
The walls are white.
The ceiling is white.
The floor is white.
But not empty.
It was furnished.
A couch.
A coffee table.
A shelf.
A cozy living-room layout…
Except every single object was bleached pale, as if someone had copied his home but forgot what color it was.
Maison Bella's warmth had been stripped away and replaced with clinical imitation.
A comforting lie.
A comforting trap.
And at the center of it—
a woman.
Seated calmly.
Waiting.
She wore a nun-like uniform: white, blue, and black robes, neat and ceremonial. A veil draped over her head and down her face.
But it didn't cover her mouth.
Only her eyes.
Her lips were curved into a gentle smile.
Warm.
Kind.
Almost motherly.
But her gaze was hidden.
Like she didn't need eyes to see him.
Her voice was soft.
Smooth.
Not commanding.
But somehow impossible to ignore.
"Candidate 157…"
She tilted her head slightly.
"…come forward, child."
Her smile widened just a fraction.
"Have a seat. I won't bite."
Niero didn't move immediately.
His muscles were tense, but he forced himself to step forward anyway.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like walking toward a predator pretending to be a saint.
His instincts didn't scream danger the way they did with monsters.
This was worse.
This was the danger of someone who could hurt you without raising her voice.
And Vuldyr's presence pressed close in his mind, quiet but alert.
She didn't need to say it.
Because Niero already felt it.
The psionic shielding.
The intrusion.
The artificial mental landscape.
The entire booth design.
All of it suddenly made sense.
This wasn't a normal evaluation.
This wasn't just psychology.
This was a spiritual interrogation.
A mind inspection disguised as mercy.
Niero swallowed.
And in his mind, he spoke to Vuldyr with controlled calm.
"…Priestess."
Vuldyr responded instantly, grim and certain.
> ["Confirmed."]
Niero's steps slowed as he approached her.
Not because he was afraid of her strength—
but because of what she was.
Mom's voice echoed in his head, like an old warning carved into memory.
=
Seerborn. Priestesses.
Bloom Dominion's "holy women."
The gentle hands of the Radiant Empress.
The ones who smiled, preached kindness, and promised salvation.
But behind the gospel…
They were manufactured.
Not born.
Not natural.
A bioengineered race made by the Empress herself—alongside the Matriarchs and the Bellatrix—designed not to conquer humanity…
but to shepherd it.
And to control it.
Niero remembered the details Mom told him with a bitterness she rarely showed.
They weren't just Mana Casters.
They were Mana Casters plus something else.
A third eye.
Psionic gifts layered into their blood and brain tissue like a built-in weapon.
Telepathy, telekinesis, clairvoyance, and precognition.
Some could track a person by thought alone.
Some could pull secrets out of a skull like pulling weeds from soil.
And then there was the part that always made Niero feel uneasy.
Their "perfection."
Hermaphroditic biology.
Feminine, androgynous forms.
Capable of impregnating.
Capable of being impregnated.
A living symbol of "wholeness," as the Dominion propaganda called it.
A "perfect vessel."
A "perfect servant."
A "perfect saint."
Niero thought it was sickening.
Not the biology itself; he is fine with it—
but the fact that it was engineered on purpose.
Like even gender was reduced into a tool.
And worst of all…
their aura.
Mom said it didn't matter how tough someone thought they were.
If their will was weak—
They'd crumble.
They'd cry.
They'd kneel.
They'd confess sins they didn't even know they carried.
Not because the Priestess demanded it.
But because her presence made them feel like they were finally forgiven.
Like being held by a mother who loved them despite everything.
A comfort so overwhelming it became psychological domination.
=
Niero exhaled through his nose.
His jaw tightened.
He refused to let himself be swallowed by that warmth.
Because he could already feel it now.
It wasn't magic in the dramatic sense.
It was subtle.
A pressure in the chest.
A soft loosening of tension.
Like the world telling him,
It's okay. You can trust her. You can rest. You can confess.
And that alone made his skin crawl.
He reached the white sofa.
Sat down.
His posture was respectful, but not submissive.
Across from him, the Priestess folded her hands gently on her lap.
Her veil still hid her eyes.
But her smile remained.
Soft.
Patient.
Like she'd waited her whole life for him to arrive.
Then she spoke.
A calm voice, warm like honey.
"Let's start, my child."
Niero leaned back into the white sofa like he owned it, legs spread casually, posture loose—too loose—as if he were deliberately trying to prove he wasn't intimidated.
Priestess Ourin sat across from him with perfect stillness.
Her veil hid her eyes, but her smile stayed gentle, almost amused.
Her voice was soft.
Warm.
Too warm.
"My name is Priestess Ourin. I am assigned to Sector 13. It is an honor to finally meet you."
That made Niero's eyebrow rise.
"…Honor?"
The Priestess tilted her head slightly, as if his confusion were cute.
Then she reached beside her and produced a thin white folder, opening it like it was a holy scripture.
"I have reviewed your academic record from St. McWeston All-Boys Junior Academy."
She flipped through it slowly, page after page.
Charts.
Scores.
Teacher remarks.
A polished history of excellence.
Niero couldn't help it.
His ego puffed up just a little.
Even in a sterile white interrogation room, it felt good seeing proof that he was, objectively, built different.
Priestess Ourin's smile widened.
"You are… exceptional. Truly."
Niero smirked.
"Yeah. I know."
She didn't laugh.
She didn't scold him.
She simply turned another page.
Then paused.
The air shifted.
Not in temperature.
In tone.
"However…"
She tapped a section of the file with her finger.
A subsection marked in neat print:
DISCIPLINARY HISTORY
Her voice remained kind, but now there was something sharper beneath it.
"Repeated physical altercations."
"Disrespect toward authority figures."
"Uncooperative conduct."
She flipped another page.
Then another.
It was more than one incident.
It was a pattern.
A record of a boy who was brilliant—
and also a problem.
Niero shrugged, utterly unfazed.
"McWeston boys don't like competition."
Priestess Ourin remained silent, letting him speak.
So he did.
Niero leaned forward slightly, expression casual, almost bored.
"Especially when some kid shows up, steals all the top scores, and—"
he gestured at his own face.
"—is unintentionally attractive."
He let the words hang there like they were an obvious fact of life.
"Girls flock around me like moths. Makes the guys there jealous."
He smirked.
"Fragile egos. Crippling masculinity. You know how it is."
The Priestess listened.
Not judging.
Not disagreeing.
Just… listening.
Then she slowly closed the folder halfway.
Her smile didn't change.
But the room felt like it tightened around him anyway.
"So in your view, Candidate 157… These incidents were not your fault."
Her voice was still gentle.
Still motherly.
But the words were a trap.
A test.
A baited hook wrapped in velvet.
And Niero could feel it—
that faint invisible pressure again.
Like the room wanted him to relax.
To confess.
To reveal what was really inside his skull.
To slip up.
To show the true nature of his spirit.
Priestess Ourin's pen moved slowly across the clipboard.
Not hurried.
Not judgmental.
Just… recording.
Like she already knew what she would write before she heard his answer.
The white room stayed quiet except for the faint scratch of ink.
Niero sat back on the sofa, legs spread in a relaxed posture that looked casual on the surface—but his eyes never fully relaxed. They tracked her. The clipboard. The pauses between her movements.
The feeling in the room wasn't pressure anymore.
It was observation.
Deep, clinical observation disguised as warmth.
Ourin tilted her head slightly.
Even with her eyes hidden beneath the veil, Niero could feel it—
Her attention locking onto him like a soft spotlight.
"I see…" she said gently.
She turned a page.
St. McWeston All-Boys Junior Academy records.
Academic excellence.
Accelerated graduation.
Disciplinary notes.
Fight reports.
Repeated behavioral incidents.
Then—
She stopped.
"You were not expelled," she said softly. "You were accelerated out."
A pause.
"That is uncommon."
Her tone wasn't accusing.
It was… curious.
Like she was comparing data that didn't fully align.
Niero shrugged slightly.
"School wanted me gone. I made it easy for them."
A simple explanation.
Too simple.
But not untrue.
Her pen tapped once against the clipboard.
Then she asked again, a little more gently this time:
"And the conflicts… they followed you often?"
Niero leaned back further.
"Yeah."
A short breath.
"They don't like competition."
His eyes narrowed slightly, memory flickering behind them.
"Especially when I don't lose."
He added, almost casually:
"And when people hate losing, they start calling you the problem instead of the result."
The Priestess didn't respond immediately.
She simply wrote.
Then came the question.
Soft.
Carefully placed.
Like a needle wrapped in silk.
"Tell me, my child… when you fight… do you enjoy it?"
For a moment, Niero didn't answer.
Not because he didn't know—
but because he was deciding how honest he was allowed to be.
His instincts flickered.
The part of him that liked clarity.
The part that liked pressure.
The part that thrived when an opponent pushed him just far enough to make everything sharpen.
But also—
Mom's voice.
Don't stand out too much.
Vuldyr's presence is quietly in the back of his mind.
And the unseen system watching even this conversation.
Finally, he spoke.
Calm.
Measured.
"I don't enjoy getting into fights."
A pause.
Then, a slight exhale.
"But I do not like not backing down."
His gaze stayed steady.
Not aggressive.
Not submissive.
Just honest in a way that refused distortion.
"If someone pushes me far enough… I'll push back harder."
A faint shrug.
"That's it."
Priestess Ourin wrote again.
This time, slower.
Longer.
Her voice softened further, almost like she was acknowledging something only she could see in the data.
"So your motivation is resistance, not pursuit."
A beat.
"You do not seek violence…"
Another pause.
"…you seek preservation of self against it."
Her pen stopped.
For the first time, she didn't immediately continue writing.
The white room felt quieter.
Not emptier.
Just more focused.
Like the conversation had narrowed into something precise.
Something important.
The question lingered in the white room like something heavier than sound.
"With your intellect… physical capability… and willpower," Priestess Ourin said softly, "what is it you are seeking in your future prospects?"
Her tone didn't change.
Still warm.
Still gentle.
But the space between her words shifted.
Niero felt it immediately.
That pressure again.
Not forceful.
Not invasive in a violent sense.
More like something testing the edges of him, brushing along the boundaries of his thoughts the way fingers might trace the surface of a locked door.
A psionic probe.
Subtle.
Patient.
Searching for cracks.
Niero kept his expression steady.
Inside, he could feel it more clearly now—like a second layer of attention trying to map him from the inside out.
If he reacted too strongly, it would become data.
If he resisted too openly, it would become a signal.
So he did neither.
He framed himself instead.
Freedom.
That was the word that surfaced first.
But raw "freedom" was too loud. Too obvious.
So he shaped it.
He let it settle into something more acceptable.
Something that sounded like ambition instead of defiance.
He leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose.
"I want space," he said carefully.
A pause.
Not too fast.
Not too rehearsed.
Just enough hesitation to feel human.
"No one telling me what I can or can't become."
His eyes shifted slightly toward the white floor.
"No one is holding me down because they decided I fit somewhere already."
The probing sensation pressed a little deeper.
Still gentle.
Still smiling.
But now it was listening harder.
Niero continued, adjusting the shape of his thoughts as he spoke, like sanding down sharp edges before they could cut.
"I guess… I just want to see how far I can go on my own."
A faint shrug.
"Without someone setting the ceiling for me."
A pause.
Then, quieter:
"And if there is a ceiling…"
His gaze lifted slightly.
Not defiant.
Just steady.
"I want to know what happens when I hit it."
Inside his mind, Vuldyr remained silent—but present.
Not interrupting.
Just stabilizing the mental structure of his thoughts, ensuring nothing "leaked" through the psionic pressure.
A controlled mask.
A safe surface.
Priestess Ourin didn't respond immediately.
Her pen stayed still.
For the first time, she didn't write.
Instead, her head tilted just slightly.
As if she was no longer just recording him…
…but re-evaluating what she thought he was.
Priestess Ourin shifted slightly in her seat.
Not in discomfort, but in attention.
As if Niero had stopped being a file and had become something worth watching directly.
Her folded hands relaxed on the armrest.
Still calm.
Still smiling.
But the room felt subtly tighter.
"With your academic capability," she asked softly, "you could excel elsewhere."
Her voice remained warm, almost conversational.
"Science. Engineering. Commerce. Infrastructure governance."
A faint tilt of her head.
"Even a comfortable civilian life would not be out of reach for you."
Then, gently—almost like she was offering him an easier path without saying it outright:
"So why Marauder?"
The question landed differently this time.
Not as curiosity.
As pressure refinement.
Niero felt it immediately.
That psionic presence didn't push harder—
it went deeper.
Not forceful.
Precise.
Like a hand sliding between thoughts, trying to separate what was real intention… from what was constructed.
Vuldyr's voice cut in, low and sharp in his mind.
> ["Aegis Veil is holding."]
A pause.
> ["But she is probing for structural intent. Not surface answers."]
Then, more urgently:
> ["Redirect. Do not let her define your reasoning chain."]
Niero's jaw tightened slightly.
A headache formed behind his eyes—like pressure building where thought and intrusion overlapped.
The room's "comfort" began to feel heavier, like warmth turning into weight.
The Priestess waited.
Patient.
Still smiling.
As if she already knew the answer—but wanted to see how he would build it.
Niero stood up.
The movement broke the stillness.
Not aggressively.
Not rudely.
Just enough to reclaim space.
"I don't know."
The words came out blunt.
Honest.
Unpolished.
A brief pause.
His eyes narrowed slightly—not at her, but inward.
Searching for the shape of what he actually meant.
Then he continued.
"That's the problem."
His voice steadied.
"I can do a lot of things. I'm good at a lot of things."
A faint exhale.
"But I don't have a framework for what I'm supposed to be."
He looked toward the white room, not focusing on anything in particular.
"So I chose something that forces me to find it."
A beat.
"Trial by fire. Marauder path. Something where I can't just sit and calculate my way through everything."
His fingers curled slightly.
Not tense—controlled.
"I want to know what I actually am when I'm pushed far enough."
The psionic intrusion faltered.
Not stopped.
Not blocked.
But destabilized.
Because his answer wasn't a clean intention.
It wasn't a lie.
It wasn't a mask.
It was an uncertain structure—self-reflection without fixed edges.
And that made it harder to pin.
Priestess Ourin went still.
Her pen stopped moving entirely.
For the first time, her smile didn't change—but the air around her did.
A subtle shift.
Like she had expected resistance…
…but not this kind of cohesion inside contradiction.
She finally spoke, voice quieter now.
Still gentle.
But with something closer to genuine curiosity underneath it.
"You do not seek the Marauder path because you understand it…"
A pause.
"…but because you hope it will define you."
Her head tilted slightly.
"That is… uncommon."
Priestess Ourin blinked.
Just once.
But it was enough to show that Niero's words landed like a thrown pebble into holy water.
Her pen paused mid-stroke.
For a brief moment, the warmth on her face froze into something between confusion and offense.
"…Excuse me?" she said, voice still gentle—but tighter now.
Niero leaned back slightly, arms loose at his sides, eyes half-lidded with that teenage arrogance he weaponized like a shield.
"What?" he said. "Since we're doing deep psychological excavation here, I figured I should help."
He gestured vaguely with his hand.
"You want my motivations, my fears, my moral compass…"
Then he tilted his head.
"Do I need to tell you about my first boner too?"
He raised a finger.
"Or my irrational disgust toward pigeons?"
The last part came out almost casual, like he was ordering coffee.
For a split second, Priestess Ourin looked genuinely flustered.
Not shocked in a scandalous way—
It was more like she had never been spoken to like that by a sixteen-year-old boy in her entire career.
Her lips parted slightly, then closed.
She inhaled.
Slow.
Measured.
Like a trained professional forcibly re-entering her "priestess persona."
Then she smiled again.
It returned smoothly, like a curtain being pulled back into place.
"Candidate 157…"
Her voice remained warm and patient.
But the authority underneath it sharpened.
"You are not being interrogated."
She folded her hands neatly in her lap.
"Nor am I attempting to humiliate you."
Her head tilted just slightly.
"This is not about embarrassing personal details."
She tapped her clipboard once.
A soft tick.
"This evaluation exists to ensure that you are psychologically grounded, emotionally stable, and not a danger to yourself or others."
She paused.
"Especially given the career path you have selected."
Her smile softened again—almost maternal.
"Your humor is noted."
Then, gently:
"But you are using it as a defensive mechanism."
That last sentence struck harder than any scolding.
Not because it was harsh—
but because it was accurate.
And Niero felt it.
Not as judgment.
As a diagnosis.
Vuldyr's voice whispered inside him.
> ["She is regaining control of the interview. Stay sharp."]
Priestess Ourin paused… then, almost against her better judgment, she actually leaned forward a little.
"…Why pigeons?"
The question came so casually it almost broke the sterile atmosphere of the white room.
Niero blinked.
Then scoffed like she'd just asked him why water was wet.
"Because they're fucking disgusting."
He waved a hand with complete certainty.
"They're basically rats with wings. Disease carriers. Worm-filled. They walk around like they own the place."
He narrowed his eyes.
"And they always stare at you... like they know something."
For a moment, Priestess Ourin's smile faltered into something real.
A soft chuckle escaped her.
Not mocking.
Not fake.
Genuine amusement.
"That… is an unexpectedly passionate answer."
She jotted something down on her clipboard, the pen scratching quietly.
Then she looked back up.
"Most boys your age tremble in front of a Priestess."
Her tone remained gentle, but there was a hint of admiration behind it.
"Yet you're one of the few who remains… brave."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Even if you are somewhat abrasive."
Niero shrugged.
"Guess I'm built different."
Vuldyr muttered in his mind:
"You are testing her patience."
Priestess Ourin's pen stopped.
Her posture shifted again, more formal now.
The warmth in the room didn't disappear, but it tightened—like a blanket being pulled snug.
She flipped a page on his file.
"Now…"
Her voice smoothed out into professional calm.
"Let us speak of your metatalent."
She glanced at the holographic record beside her.
Psionic — Enhancement Type
Minor Telepathy
Minor Psychokinesis
Her covered eyes angled toward him, even if he couldn't see them.
"Explain to me, in your own words, what you are capable of."
She tapped the clipboard once.
"And more importantly…"
A pause.
"When did it first manifest?"
=
=====
=
[ January 22st, 2088 (Thursday, Afternoon) ] - [Sector 13's Highway > Sector 13-05 > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ]
Inside the moving Ripley-Mobile, the mood felt… lighter.
Like the storm had passed, but everyone still remembered the thunder.
The heater hummed softly. Snowy streets rolled by outside the windows.
Niero was sprawled across the back seat like a half-dead war casualty—head resting on Daisy's lap, legs draped over Sophie's thighs.
Pumpkin, the traitorous orange blob, had claimed the highest ground: directly on Niero's chest, purring like he paid rent.
Niero stared at the ceiling, exhausted.
"I swear… that Priestess felt like she was trying to unzip my brain."
Daisy's fingers gently brushed through his hair.
"Mine too…"
Sophie exhaled through her nose, arms crossed.
"They're not normal. It's like being stared at even when they're not looking."
Pumpkin lazily kneaded Niero's shirt like he was a warm pillow.
Niero grunted.
"This fat bastard is heavier than the Priestess aura."
Pumpkin responded by purring louder.
From the front seat, Emmy's voice came calm but sharp.
"Did you three practice your breathing technique?"
Before anyone could hesitate—
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Yes."
All three answered in perfect unison.
Even Pumpkin blinked like he almost wanted to join in.
Alura snorted while driving.
"Good. Because if any of you fainted in front of those Priestesses, I'd have to drag you out like a sack of rice."
Daisy shifted, still uneasy.
"I didn't faint… but I felt like I couldn't lie."
Sophie nodded.
"Same. I wasn't even scared, but… it was like my body wanted to kneel."
Niero's jaw tightened.
He remembered that white room. The fake living room furniture. The warm voice. The pressure.
"They don't interrogate you like cops."
He muttered.
"They interrogate you like… they already know the answer, and they're just waiting to see if you'll break."
Alura glanced back through the rearview mirror.
"That's because they're not testing what you say."
She grinned.
"They're testing what you are."
Niero didn't reply.
Pumpkin's purring was steady against his ribs, like a heartbeat.
Daisy looked down at him.
"Your Priestess was pretty, though."
Niero groaned.
"Daisy, please don't start."
Sophie smirked.
"He probably tried to flirt his way out."
Niero scoffed.
"I did not flirt."
Then paused.
"…I made a pigeon joke."
Daisy blinked.
"What?"
Niero sighed like a man haunted.
"Don't ask."
Mom's voice softened, though her tone stayed firm.
"Listen to me, all of you."
Even Pumpkin's ears twitched.
"Priestesses aren't there to punish you. They're there to measure you."
A beat.
"But they will remember what they see in you."
Sophie swallowed.
Daisy hugged her arms.
Niero stared at the ceiling again, eyes half-lidded.
"Yeah…"
He muttered.
"That's the scary part."
And in his mind, Vuldyr's voice echoed quietly:
> ["You survived the probe. But you felt it. That means you are now on their radar… even if only slightly."]
Niero didn't show it.
But his fingers curled slightly against Pumpkin's fur.
Daisy pets Pumpkin, which lets out a soft little "ack" as Pumpkin's fat body shifts on Niero's chest, almost crushing his lungs like a warm orange sandbag.
Still petting him, she looked up at the front seat.
"Mom… when do we get the results?"
Alura answered first, casual as ever.
"ArkNet says one week. They'll send it straight to your emails."
Mom nodded.
"A week. So all three of you buckle up, behave yourselves, and chill until then."
Niero's eyes half-lidded, but inside his mind he was already commanding:
> "Vuldyr — set a timer. Seven days."
Vuldyr responded instantly.
> ["Acknowledged. Calendar marker established."]
Alura clapped her hands like she was announcing a national holiday.
"Alright! Since Profession Day basically wrung your souls dry—let's get Astro-Burgers."
The moment she said it—
Pumpkin's ears perked up.
His lazy eyes widened.
His whole body went into food radar mode.
Niero stared at the ceiling.
"This cat just heard the word 'burger' through pure instinct."
Sophie smirked.
"He's just hungry."
Daisy gasped.
"Pumpkin wants Astro-Cubes too!"
Pumpkin responded with a single "mrrp."
A demand.
Mom immediately frowned.
"No. That place is unhealthy. Their food is literally cube-shaped. That's unnatural."
Alura leaned forward.
"So is half the stuff you've eaten during missions."
Mom shot her a death glare.
Then, like a coordinated cult ritual, Alura started chanting:
"Astro-Cubes…"
Sophie joined in.
"Astro-Cubes…"
Daisy followed, smiling.
"Astro-Cubes!"
Even Niero, tired as hell, muttered:
"…Astro-Cubes."
Pumpkin's tail flicked like he was also chanting in his soul.
Mom groaned so hard it sounded like she was losing a war.
"…Fine."
The back seat erupted.
"YESSS!"
Mom raised one finger without looking back.
"But you're getting à la carte. No extra meal sets. No double sides. No ridiculous sugar drinks. And DEFINITELY not those overpriced kid's meal toys."
The chanting instantly flipped into protest.
All four of them—Alura, Sophie, Daisy, and Niero—went in unison:
"Boooooo."
Mom sighed.
"Boo all you want. I'm the only adult with functioning arteries."
Alura grinned.
"That's debatable."
Mom narrowed her eyes.
"Alura."
Alura immediately shut up.
…for about three seconds.
Niero just lay there, Pumpkin crushing his ribs, thinking only one thing:
Even if the Priestesses were terrifying…
Astro-Burgers sounded like salvation.
=
=====
=
[ January 29th, 2088 (Thursday, Afternoon) ] - [Sector 13's Highway > Sector 13-05 > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ]
By January 29th, the snow was still piled up along the streets of Sector 13 like dirty white walls—still there, but slowly surrendering as the days grew slightly warmer.
Maison Bella Café remained alive as ever.
The warm scent of coffee, cinnamon, and baked pastries filled the air, mixing with the constant sound of chatter, clinking cups, and the bell above the front door ringing every few minutes.
Familiar faces came and went.
Father Creed dropped by like he always did, sipping his usual drink with the calm air of a man who had seen hell and still chose kindness.
Madam Xixi waddled in with her grandson, the little boy already trying to grab sugar packets like they were treasure.
And of course, the café had its usual share of customers—
Some sweet.
Some are exhausting.
Some are outright obnoxious.
Behind the counter, Niero worked like usual—cleaning mugs, refilling syrups, wiping tables, preparing drinks.
His movements were sharp and efficient now, almost military-like.
Not just because of training…
But because if he slowed down even slightly, Mom would notice.
And if Mom noticed, she'd start asking questions.
Unfortunately, Niero had become a problem in a completely different way.
Not because of his attitude.
Not because of his fighting.
But because the moment he stepped into view—
Certain female customers started acting like the café was suddenly a zoo exhibit.
Some giggled too loudly.
Some "accidentally" leaned over the counter.
Some ordered the most complicated drinks possible just to keep him near them.
One even shamelessly said:
"Do you come with the coffee?"
Niero froze with the milk pitcher in his hand, deadpan.
Before he could even answer—
Mom's voice snapped like a whip.
"No."
The woman blinked.
Mom leaned closer, smiling politely.
But her eyes were pure violence.
"And if you talk like that again, I'll personally escort you out of my café."
The customer awkwardly laughed.
"I-I was joking…"
Mom's smile did not change.
"So was I."
A minute later, the woman was gone.
Alura, watching from the side, was nearly choking on laughter.
"Emmy… you're terrifying."
Mom didn't even look at her.
"Good."
=
Niero was mid-wipe on the counter—rag moving in steady circles—while Father Creed stood on the customer side with his usual coffee, casually asking about Profession Day like it was just another normal milestone.
Then Niero's eyes flicked sideways.
Pumpkin.
The orange menace had left his little pet mat and was waddling—not walking, waddling—toward one of the tables.
A group of young mothers sat there, chatting, laughing, sipping drinks… and with them were their small daughters, maybe six or seven years old, all bundled in winter coats.
One of the girls gasped.
"Look! Kitty!"
Pumpkin stared up at them with his big round eyes.
The girls immediately melted.
One of them slowly held out a strip of bacon from her sandwich like she was feeding a sacred animal.
Pumpkin's tail flicked.
His nose twitched.
His mouth opened.
His whole body leaned forward like destiny itself was calling him.
Niero's eyes widened.
"Oh hell no."
He moved so fast it was almost unnatural.
One moment, Pumpkin was inches away from salvation—
The next moment he was scooped up into Niero's arms like a kidnapped prince.
Pumpkin let out an offended "Mrrrow!"
The little girls pouted.
"Awwww!"
Niero didn't even apologize.
He just deadpanned while holding Pumpkin like a baby.
"Sorry. This fat bastard is on a diet."
Pumpkin's eyes narrowed in betrayal.
And then—
SMACK.
A soft orange paw slapped Niero right across the cheek.
Not hard.
But personal.
Like Pumpkin wanted him to remember this crime forever.
Niero sighed.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. You're starving. You haven't eaten in weeks. You're practically skin and bones."
Pumpkin meowed dramatically in agreement.
Niero carried him back behind the counter and placed him onto his pet mat.
Pumpkin instantly flopped down like a sack of potatoes and began purring as if he hadn't just committed assault.
Father Creed watched the whole thing with a quiet smile.
Then he asked casually:
"Have you ever figured out why the diet plan isn't working?"
Niero wiped his cheek with his sleeve, annoyed.
"Yeah. The whole family's trying. We've been controlling his food, giving him exercise…"
He glanced down at Pumpkin's round stomach.
"…but I swear this cat is getting fed outside."
Father Creed raised an eyebrow.
Niero continued.
"Probably stealing from garbage bags or getting fed by passersby. He's got that stupid 'I haven't eaten in days' meow."
Pumpkin meowed again, as if proving the point.
Niero pointed at him.
"See? That one. That's the voice of a con artist."
Pumpkin blinked innocently.
Father Creed chuckled softly into his coffee.
"So he's a sinner."
Niero snorted.
"Father, he's not a sinner."
He leaned closer, staring down at the orange beast.
"He's a damn, dirty criminal."
The cat can only reply with a lazy yet defiant "meow."
The little bell above the café door jingled.
Niero instinctively glanced up—
And froze.
Sophie and Daisy.
Both were still in their school uniforms, hair slightly messy from rushing, faces tense like they'd just walked out of something unpleasant.
Niero blinked.
"Huh?"
He leaned on the counter.
"Oi. Why are you two home so early?"
Daisy lifted her hands dramatically like the world was ending.
"We got dismissed!"
Sophie gave Father Creed a polite nod.
"Good afternoon, Father."
Daisy also waved.
"Hi Father Creed!"
Father Creed smiled warmly.
"Good afternoon, girls. That's unusual. What happened?"
Sophie hesitated, her eyes shifting like she didn't even want to say it out loud.
"There was… a weird outbreak."
Niero frowned.
"Outbreak of what?"
Daisy answered immediately.
"Hysteria."
That word hit the air heavier than it should've.
Niero's posture stiffened a little.
Father Creed's smile faded, replaced by a quiet seriousness.
"Hysteria…?"
Sophie nodded.
"Yeah. Students started freaking out. Some crying, some screaming, some laughing like… like something snapped."
Daisy hugged herself.
"One girl started yelling that she saw something in the hallway. But there was nothing."
Niero's eyes narrowed.
"Did you see anything?"
Both girls shook their heads.
Sophie exhaled.
"No. But the teachers panicked. They dismissed everyone early and said they're investigating."
Father Creed's voice lowered slightly.
"Did anyone mention fog or anything concerning?"
Sophie shook her head again.
"Nope. No fog. Nothing like that. I hope it's just some harmless rumor."
Then her expression shifted, a little hopeful.
"…But if it lasts until tomorrow, Friday might be cancelled."
Daisy grinned like she'd just found treasure.
"School day off."
Niero didn't grin.
Not fully.
Something about "mass hysteria" in a world like theirs didn't sit right.
Still, he forced himself to act normal.
He turned around and grabbed two tall cups he'd already prepared earlier—iced milk tea, one with extra pearls for Daisy.
He slid them across the counter.
"Here. Take these."
Daisy instantly lit up.
"YES!"
Sophie took hers with both hands.
"Thanks, Niero."
Niero nodded toward the back.
"Go rest first. If you're switching shifts later, don't collapse on me."
Daisy saluted with the straw.
"Yes sir!"
Sophie gave Father Creed another nod.
"See you later, Father."
Father Creed watched them go, eyes thoughtful.
Then he quietly looked back at Niero.
Father Creed leaned slightly on the counter, his coffee cup still warm between his hands.
His voice stayed calm, but there was weight behind it.
"So… any news from the Profession Office yet?"
Niero kept wiping the counter in slow circles, pretending he wasn't thinking about it every waking second.
"Not yet."
He exhaled.
"But it's been a week already. They said the results should come out this week."
Father Creed nodded.
"Then it'll come. Soon."
Niero's eyes narrowed a little.
"Unless I failed."
Father Creed raised an eyebrow.
"Why would you assume that?"
Niero shrugged, but his shoulders were tense.
"I don't know… maybe because I was kinda abrasive to the Priestess. I didn't exactly act like some obedient altar boy."
Father Creed gave a small, quiet chuckle.
"Even if you failed, you'll still receive the email. They don't just… ghost candidates."
That word barely left his mouth—
DING.
Niero's SmartCom vibrated in his pocket.
He froze.
Then slowly pulled it out.
The screen lit up.
A new notification.
FROM: BLOOM DOMINION OFFICIAL PROFESSION OFFICE
Niero stared at it like it was a grenade.
His lips parted.
"…Speak of the devil."
Father Creed's expression sharpened instantly.
"That's it?"
Niero nodded, swallowing hard.
"Yeah."
Father Creed gestured gently.
"Are you going to open it?"
Niero stared at the email again.
His thumb hovered.
Then he pulled back.
"Not yet."
He locked the screen.
"I'll open it tonight. With the family."
Father Creed didn't argue.
Instead, he simply nodded with a quiet respect, as if that was the correct way to do it.
He reached into his coat pocket and placed a few physical credits on the counter.
"For the coffee."
Niero waved a hand.
"Father, you don't—"
"I do."
Father Creed slid the credits closer, then stood up.
He put on his coat, adjusted his fedora, and gave Niero a look that was half-priest, half-soldier.
"Whatever the result is… you did what most boys don't even dare to try."
He placed a hand on Niero's shoulder briefly.
Firm. Reassuring.
"Best of luck, son."
Niero nodded stiffly.
"Thanks."
Father Creed turned and walked toward the exit.
The café bell chimed softly as the door opened.
Then again, as it closed.
And Niero was left standing behind the counter—
holding a phone that suddenly felt heavier than any weapon he'd ever lifted.
=
=====
=
[ January 29th, 2088 (Thursday, Evening) ] - [ 1st Floor - Dining/Living Room > Maison Bella Cafe > Sector 13-05 > Mega Ark-City 01: Radiant City > Earth ]
The Maison Bella Café was quiet now.
No customers. No chatter. No clinking cups. Only the soft hum of the building's heater and the faint ticking of the kitchen clock.
Upstairs, the family dining room was warmly lit, smelling faintly of pasta sauce and baked bread.
Dinner was finished.
Plates stacked.
Glasses half-empty.
But nobody moved.
Because the real meal was sitting in Niero's pocket.
His SmartCom.
Niero sat at the table with his elbows resting near the edge, fingers interlocked like he was bracing for impact. Sophie sat beside him, unusually stiff, her leg bouncing under the table. Daisy clutched her drink with both hands like it was a life raft.
Pumpkin, the fat orange tabby, slept shamelessly on the couch nearby, completely unaffected by human anxiety.
Mom sat at the head of the table, arms crossed, her face calm—but her eyes sharp, watchful.
Aunt Alura leaned back in her chair, trying to look relaxed, but her fingers tapped the table in a steady rhythm.
Then Mom spoke.
Her voice was gentle, but it carried authority.
"Alright."
She looked at all three of them.
"Before anyone opens anything… listen carefully."
Sophie and Daisy straightened like soldiers.
Niero swallowed.
Mom continued.
"Whatever those emails say… you three did your best. That's what matters."
Daisy's voice came out small.
"But what if I fail…?"
Mom's expression softened.
"Then you try again later. Or you take another path. There is no shame in it."
Sophie clenched her fist.
"I don't want to fail."
Alura scoffed quietly.
"Nobody wants to fail, princess."
She took a sip of her drink, then added more gently:
"But you'll survive it."
Mom nodded, then looked directly at Niero.
"And you."
Niero blinked.
Mom's tone turned slightly more serious.
"Don't make this about pride. Don't make it about proving anything."
Niero's jaw tightened.
He didn't respond.
Mom reached across the table and placed her hand over his.
Warm.
Steady.
"Open it."
The room went silent.
Niero slowly pulled out his SmartCom.
The screen lit up.
The email notification still sat there like a glowing omen.
BLOOM DOMINION OFFICIAL PROFESSION OFFICE
His thumb hovered over it.
For a moment, he could hear his own heartbeat.
But before he could even breathe—
Alura slapped the table like a referee firing a starting pistol.
"OPEN. IT. NOW."
Her voice had the energy of a drill sergeant and a gambling aunt combined.
Sophie and Daisy jolted like they'd been struck by lightning.
Both of them scrambled for their SmartComs at the same time, fingers fumbling, eyes wide, hearts pounding.
Click.
Tap.
Swipe.
Then—
Daisy gasped first.
Her eyes widened so much it looked like her soul almost left her body.
"WAIT—WAIT WAIT WAIT—"
Sophie leaned in.
"DAISY, WHAT IS IT?!"
Daisy's hands trembled as she read the header out loud.
Her voice cracked.
"BLOOM DOMINION OFFICIAL PROFESSION OFFICE…"
Her eyes scanned down.
Then her face lit up like someone had turned on a lamp inside her skull.
"I—I GOT ACCEPTED?!"
Everyone froze.
Mom blinked.
Alura leaned forward.
"WHAT?!"
Daisy practically screamed as she read the next lines.
"Congratulations, Candidate Daisy Ripley…
You have been selected for scholarship enrollment into…
St. Maria All-Girls Radiant Academy, Sector 04!"
Sophie let out a sharp inhale.
Then her own screen beeped.
Her eyes darted down.
Her lips parted.
And for the first time in a long time…
Sophie looked like she forgot how to act cool.
"…No way."
Her fingers trembled.
"…No way…"
Daisy grabbed her sleeve.
"SOPHIE, WHAT DOES YOURS SAY?!"
Sophie swallowed.
Then she read.
Slowly.
Like she was afraid the words would disappear if she spoke too fast.
"Congratulations, Candidate Sophie Ripley…
You have been selected for scholarship enrollment into St. Maria All-Girls Radiant Academy…"
She stopped.
Her eyes went glassy.
Then she read the final part.
"Sororitae Potential Program – High Track."
The room exploded.
Daisy shrieked like a fire alarm.
"AAAAAAAAAA!"
Sophie didn't even try to hold back.
She jumped up so fast her chair nearly fell over.
"YES!! YES!! YES!!"
Mom stood up too.
And for a woman who usually carried herself like an elegant war machine…
She screamed like a teenage girl at a boy band concert.
"MY BABIES GOT IN!!!"
She pulled both daughters into a crushing hug.
Daisy was bouncing in her arms like a rabbit.
Sophie's face was buried against Mom's shoulder, shaking slightly.
And then Aunt Alura—
Aunt Alura jumped.
Actually jumped.
She slammed her hands together and shouted:
"THAT'S MY GIRLS!!!"
She even pointed at Sophie like she was a champion fighter.
"I KNEW YOU HAD IT IN YOU, SOPH!"
Sophie laughed and cried at the same time.
"I DID IT… I actually did it…"
Daisy was nearly hyperventilating.
"I'M GOING TO ST. MARIA!! ST. MARIA!! WE'RE GOING TO BE A SORORITAE!!"
Mom held them tighter.
"You're both going to be incredible. You hear me? Incredible."
Alura wiped at her eye and scoffed.
"Tch… don't make me cry too. I'm too hot to cry."
But her voice was shaky.
Niero sat there.
Still.
Watching the chaos unfold like he was watching a miracle happen in real time.
He felt happy.
Genuinely happy.
Because he knew how hard Sophie fought for this.
Rejected.
Over and over.
Watching other girls pass her.
Watching Daisy bloom faster than her.
And yet she kept going.
Kept training.
Kept studying.
Kept enduring.
And now she made it.
She actually made it.
Niero smiled.
But as he watched Mom and Alura jumping and cheering like teenagers…
He couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed too.
Like…
Is this my family or a sports stadium crowd?
Still…
It was a warm embarrassment.
The kind that made your chest feel full.
The kind that made you feel like maybe, just maybe…
Life wasn't always cruel.
Then Sophie finally pulled away from Mom's hug.
Her face was red, eyes wet.
She turned toward Niero.
And Daisy did too.
Both of them are still buzzing with adrenaline.
And suddenly…
They stared at him.
Like they remembered something important.
Like the room had one more bomb left to drop.
Daisy pointed at him dramatically.
"Niero…"
Sophie narrowed her eyes.
"You still haven't opened yours."
The entire room went quiet again.
Mom and Alura slowly turned.
All eyes locked onto him.
Niero blinked.
Then slowly looked down at his SmartCom.
The email was still unopened.
Waiting.
Like it had been patiently watching all the celebration…
before delivering his fate.
For a half-second, Niero didn't move.
The room had already gone loud once tonight—Daisy screaming, Sophie crying, Mom laughing—but this silence felt different. He stared at his SmartCom like it might rewrite itself if he blinked wrong.
Then he inhaled.
Slow.
Controlled.
Like stepping into a fight.
"Alright…"
Tap.
The email opened.
His eyes scanned the header first.
BLOOM DOMINION OFFICIAL PROFESSION OFFICE
Then the next line.
His pupils shifted slightly.
Then widened.
And kept widening.
For once, his brain didn't immediately try to analyze or predict or compare outcomes.
It just stopped.
Because the words were very simple.
Congratulations, Candidate Niero Ripley.
He blinked once.
Then again.
Then read faster.
You have been selected for admission into:
Gallagher-Sandoval Military Academy (Sector Allocation: MAC-01 Priority Track).
There was a short pause after that.
A very dangerous pause.
Like reality was waiting for him to catch up.
Then—
"…"
Niero slowly lowered the phone.
He stared at it.
Then his face cracked into a grin so sudden it looked almost like it hurt.
"...Hell yeah."
And then it hit him fully.
"HELL YEAH!!"
He shot up from his chair so fast it scraped back across the floor.
Sophie flinched.
Daisy screamed again.
Mom's eyes widened.
Alura immediately leaned in.
"WHAT DOES IT SAY—"
Niero didn't answer.
Because he was already moving.
He pumped his fist once.
Then twice.
Then he started pacing like he'd just won a war he'd been waiting his entire life for.
"I GOT IN— I ACTUALLY GOT IN—"
He laughed, sharp and breathless.
"Gallagher-Sandoval—that's REAL military track—"
Alura snatched the phone from his hand with zero hesitation.
"MOVE."
Niero didn't even resist.
She read.
One line.
Then another.
Then her eyebrows lifted.
Slowly.
And then she let out a loud, delighted whistle.
"Ohhh, you little menace…"
She looked at him over the screen.
"You didn't just pass."
She grinned.
"You got picked for the serious one."
That did it.
Niero threw both arms up.
"LET'S GO!"
Alura suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him once like a proud drill instructor.
"THAT'S MY NEPHEW!"
And then—
She jumped with him.
Right there in the dining room.
Mom covered her mouth, laughing so hard she nearly doubled over.
"All three of you… all three of you made it…"
Daisy was bouncing in place.
"We're ALL going to academies!!"
Sophie wiped her eyes, smiling so hard it looked like it hurt.
"We actually did it…"
However...
The room didn't lose its warmth—but it shifted.
Like a song changing key while still playing the same melody.
Mom held Niero's phone a little longer this time, eyes scanning the full admission details. The glow from the screen reflected faintly in her expression as she read further down.
Then she exhaled.
"West Port-City… Los Angeles."
Alura leaned in slightly.
"That's… outside MAC-01 territory."
Mom nodded once.
Calm. Measured.
But not entirely happy.
"He'll be under MAC-03 jurisdiction during training."
That line landed heavier than the celebration noise from moments ago.
Sophie's smile faltered first.
Daisy's came next—still there, but smaller now, like it didn't know where to sit on her face.
Niero's grin softened as he looked between them.
Mom lowered the phone.
"Gallagher-Sandoval Military Academy exists in all nine Mega-Ark Cities as well as its Ark-Cities," she said quietly. "It's one of the Dominion's main pipelines into military service and frontier operations."
She paused.
Then added, a little more honestly:
"I was hoping you'd stay in MAC-01."
That did it.
Sophie looked down.
Daisy clasped her hands together, fidgeting.
"So… we won't see him every day anymore?" Daisy asked.
Mom didn't sugarcoat it.
"No. Not physically."
Silence followed.
The kind that wasn't dramatic—just real.
Alura clicked her tongue, breaking it before it could settle too deep.
"Oh, don't start mourning like he's dead."
She pointed at Niero.
"He's going to military school, not the afterlife."
Sophie let out a small, reluctant laugh at that.
Daisy sniffed once, then nodded.
Alura continued, softer now but still firm:
"Three years sounds long when you say it like that."
She shrugged.
"But it's not goodbye. It's just… 'don't be stupid and forget us.'"
Niero huffed a quiet laugh.
Mom finally stepped closer and rested a hand on his shoulder.
"She's right."
Her grip tightened slightly.
"You're not disappearing. You're just moving forward."
She looked at all three of them.
Then added:
"And we adapt. That's what families do."
Sophie slowly straightened.
Daisy nodded harder this time.
Then Alura clapped her hands once.
"Now."
Her tone snapped back into celebration mode like flipping a switch.
"No more sad faces."
She grinned.
"We've got three successful admissions, a military academy brat, and two future Sororitae elites. Three future badasses in the house."
She pointed at the table.
"So we celebrate properly."
Mom allowed herself a small smile.
Sophie wiped her face quickly and straightened her posture again.
Daisy bounced a little.
Niero looked at them—really looked.
The warmth was still there.
Just stretched now.
Like something strong enough to survive distance.
And for the first time, the idea of leaving didn't feel like losing them.
It felt like stepping out far enough to come back with something worth showing.
=
The laughter around the table was still settling when Aunt Alura proudly set the "masterpieces" down.
Three small cakes.
Each one had a frosting portrait on top.
"Portrait" was generous.
Niero's looked like a vaguely angry potato with eyebrows.
Sophie's resembled a confident stick figure that had seen war.
Daisy's… somehow looked the happiest, which only made it more suspicious.
A beat of silence.
Then Daisy snorted.
"Why do I look like I'm made of mashed potatoes?"
Sophie leaned in.
"Why do I look like I'm about to declare war on taxes?"
Niero stared at his.
"Why do I look like I owe someone money?"
Alura placed a hand on her hip, completely unbothered.
"It's called artistic interpretation."
Mom tried very hard not to laugh and failed halfway through.
That broke it.
The table went into soft chaos—laughing, teasing, forks tapping plates, the kind of warmth that doesn't need polish to feel real.
Niero wiped a bit of frosting off his finger, still smiling.
But his expression slowly shifted.
Not sadness.
Not hesitation.
Something more serious.
He glanced toward Mom.
Then he slightly lowered his voice.
"Mom…"
Mom caught it immediately.
Her smile softened a fraction.
"Mm?"
Niero hesitated—just for a second.
Then leaned in a little closer so the sisters wouldn't catch it yet.
"Maybe it's time."
A pause.
Mom didn't ask what he meant. She already knew.
Her eyes flicked toward Sophie and Daisy—both still laughing, still unaware.
Then back to him.
Her expression tightened slightly.
Not fear.
More like someone opening a door they've kept shut for a long time.
"You're sure?"
Niero nodded once.
Not dramatic.
Not uncertain.
Just… decided.
Mom exhaled slowly through her nose.
"Alright."
She placed her hand over his for a moment on the table—steady, grounding.
"Then we tell them."
Across the table, Sophie was still complaining about her cake face.
Daisy was trying to steal frosting from Niero's plate.
Alura was already defending her "artistic vision" like it was a legal case.
And none of them noticed—
that the tone of the room had just shifted into something quieter.
Something that came right before truth.
Mom's voice rose gently over the table.
Not loud.
Not commanding.
But enough to pull attention like a hand resting on everyone's shoulder.
"Sophie. Daisy."
Both girls paused mid-bite, forks hovering.
Daisy tilted her head.
"Hm?"
Sophie straightened a little.
"Yeah, Mom?"
Mom smiled.
And for a moment, it looked completely natural—warm, familiar, the same tone she used when giving advice after a long day or patching up bruised egos.
"Come closer for a second."
They obeyed without question.
Chairs scraped softly as they shifted in.
Niero stayed where he was, watching.
Alura noticed first.
Her grin faded into something quieter, more observant.
Mom folded her hands on the table.
Then began.
"You know… family is not just something you're born into."
Daisy nodded slowly, not sure where this was going but listening.
"It's something you build," Mom continued. "Day by day. Through small things. Through arguments. Through forgiveness. Through showing up even when you're tired."
Sophie's expression softened slightly. She glanced at Daisy.
Mom kept going.
And going.
"And sometimes… people think strength is about being the fastest, or the strongest, or the smartest."
A pause.
Her eyes flicked briefly to Niero.
Then back to the girls.
"But often, strength is about staying together even when things change."
Daisy frowned a little now.
"Mom… why does this feel like a graduation speech?"
Alura coughed into her hand.
"Yeah, you're really dragging this out, Em."
Mom gave a small laugh.
But it didn't fully land.
Because she was still speaking.
Still building.
Still not arriving.
"What I mean is…"
She hesitated.
Just for a fraction too long.
"No matter where life takes you… no matter what paths you choose…"
Her fingers tightened together slightly.
Niero noticed.
Sophie noticed too now.
Her brows knitted just a bit.
"Mom?" Sophie asked more quietly.
Daisy looked between them.
The warmth at the table was still there—but it had started to stretch, like something being prepared for impact.
Mom inhaled slowly.
And kept going anyway.
"You both are growing up faster than I can keep up with," she said softly. "And I'm proud of you. So proud of you it almost scares me sometimes."
Daisy's expression softened instantly.
Sophie's posture eased a little.
Mom smiled again.
But it didn't fully reach her eyes this time.
"And Niero…"
She glanced at him again.
Longer this time.
Like anchoring herself.
"You all mean everything to me."
A beat.
Another one.
The words were beautiful.
Comforting.
But the way she was speaking them—carefully layered, gently looping, never quite landing on the "why"—made it feel like she was standing at the edge of something she hadn't stepped into yet.
Alura finally leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, watching quietly now instead of interrupting.
Daisy shifted in her seat.
"Mom… are you okay?"
That question landed differently.
Mom smiled immediately.
Too quickly.
"Of course I am."
Then she paused again.
And for the first time—
Her voice slightly softened into something more honest beneath the performance.
"I just want you to remember this moment."
Silence followed.
Niero didn't interrupt.
Sophie didn't either.
Daisy stopped moving entirely.
The silence didn't just arrive.
It dropped.
Like someone had cut the sound out of the room and forgotten to put it back.
Mom was still mid-breath, her carefully constructed speech hanging in the air like an unfinished sentence.
Sophie blinked once.
Daisy blinked twice.
Niero looked at them.
Then at Mom.
Then back at them again.
And then—
He exhaled sharply.
"Oh, for Pete's sake. Sophie. Daisy. I'M ADOPTED."
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't emotional.
It was the tone of someone tired of watching a cutscene that refuses to end.
The effect, however, was immediate.
Sophie froze completely.
Daisy's fork slipped from her fingers and clinked softly against the plate.
Then, in perfect unison:
"What."
Not a question.
A system crash.
Mom went still.
Alura slowly leaned back in her chair.
"Oh boy…"
She rubbed her temple like she'd just watched a perfectly timed disaster unfold.
"You already spilled the beans."
She glanced at Mom, then at the kids again.
"Might take some time to line those beans back up."
=
=====
=
<<<[ 2088's Tryout Test Results ]>>>
< 00. Personal Details >
> Name: Niero Ripley
> Gender: Male
> Date of Birth: 21st May 2072
> Citizenship ID: MAC01-1155-720521
> Citizenship Tier: TBA
> Prior Academic Institution: St. McWeston All-Boys High School
> Metatalent Classification: Psionic – Enhancement Type
> Main Track Interest: Bloom Dominion's Military Academy - Marauder Course
-
< 01. Physical Fitness Test >
> 100-meter sprint - 11.5 seconds (B)
> Grip strength - 55 kgf (C)
> Weight lifting - 170 kg (B)
> Jumping test - 2.5 m (C)
> Punching power test - 6000 N (A)
> Reflex / agility test - 0.21 sec (B)
> Overall Perforamance: B-rank
> Instructor Comments: "Candidate 157 demonstrates above-average overall physical condition. Notable strength output significantly exceeds baseline cadet expectations, particularly in impact-based tests. Endurance and mobility remain within high-average range, indicating balanced but unrefined athletic development. Potential for high-tier combat application if disciplined."
-
< 02. Writing Test >
> Prior Academic Results (Junior High School)
+ Mathematics: A+
+ Physics / Science: A+
+ Language & Writing: A
+ History / Civics: A-
> Overall Prior Academic Standing: A
> Academic Standing: Accelerated Student / Early Graduate (Flagged for Advanced Potential)
> Strategy Logic: A
> Invigilator Comments: "Candidate demonstrates exceptional logical structuring, predictive thinking, and resource optimization. Answers show advanced tactical modeling comparable to junior-officer training material. However, several solutions were slightly "over-efficient," suggesting a mind that naturally leans toward high-level optimization.
> Decision-Making: B+
> Invigilator Comments: "The candidate shows strong situational reasoning and prioritization skills. Displays balanced judgment between mission success and humanitarian ethics.
However, the evaluator noted a subtle pattern of risk tolerance—candidate is willing to take dangerous options if the payoff is significant."
> Situational Response: A-
> Invigilator Comments: "Candidate responds quickly, clearly, and decisively under pressure. Excellent clarity of action plans and contingency thinking.
Written answers show unusual confidence and initiative, bordering on "command instinct."
> Ethics & Morals: B
> Invigilator Comments: "The candidate expresses loyalty to the Dominion and stability of values, but answers indicate independent moral reasoning rather than blind obedience. No signs of extremist ideology, fanaticism, or anti-Empress sentiment detected. Flagged as "strong-willed personality."
> Academic Rank: A- (High Distinction)
> Academic Summary Assessment: "Candidate 157 is intellectually gifted, possesses academic capability well above standard recruitment requirements. Strategic intelligence is a clear strength. Candidate shows mature reasoning, leadership tendencies, and high adaptability. However, the candidate requires discipline training to prevent reckless decision patterns. Potential Marauder-track material."
-
< 03. Psychological and Metatalent Evaluation >
> Psychological Screening:
> Candidate 157 displays high confidence, sharp intellect, and controlled aggression. Mild defiance toward authority noted. Strong willpower and emotional restraint observed. Motivation complex but stable. No corruption indicators detected.
> Metatalent Evaluation:
> Psionic enhancement confirmed: elevated reflexes, strength output, and kinetic efficiency. Minor telepathy resistance detected. Stable aura signature, no mutation flags. Energy pattern consistent with legal Psionic-type Metatalent. Combat aptitude above average.
-
< Overall Evaluation: >
> Candidate 157 is mentally resilient, physically capable, and psychologically stable. Displays strong potential for military development. Minor attitude risk manageable through discipline training. Recommended for Military Academy admission with monitoring.
=
=====
=
<<<[ Ch 27, Part 04 - END ]>>>