The sharp slap of Master Zhi's palm against the table instantly cut through the murmurs that had filled the air after Zuko's introduction. The echo resounded through the hall like thunder, imposing absolute silence.
"Enough chatter. This is your first day, and there will be no exceptions. Before any of you believe you are fit to bear the Nation's banner, you will be tested in all areas to know your true capabilities. We begin with examinations."
A faint murmur rose from the rows, accompanied by a few groans, but the steely look in the Master's eyes was enough to silence any protest. No one dared to reply.
The following hours dragged on like an ordeal for Ryojiro. The exams seemed designed to break anyone's spirit: detailed history questions, complex math exercises, logic problems, and composition tests — all without leniency. The tension made him sweat, but he still pushed himself to answer every question as precisely as possible.
Though he lacked confidence in his firebending, he had some hope in the academic subjects. His older brother, aware of the expectations that would inevitably fall upon him, had given him private lessons on more than one occasion. Moreover, Ryojiro always tried to listen and learn from every conversation held at home, especially when his father and brother spoke of military tactics or the Nation's situation. More than once, he had stayed up late, replaying those talks in his mind, trying to grasp and absorb every last detail.
When the exams finally ended, a collective sigh escaped the students. Stifled complaints could be heard — children whispering that it was far too much for kids barely five years old. Once again, Master Zhi's mere presence was enough to quiet them.
The Master waited until all eyes were on him, then spoke in the same firm tone as before:
"Stand. You will leave in order and in silence. Your next instructor awaits you in the main courtyard."
The benches rattled in unison as the students rose, forming lines that quickly moved toward the door. Ryojiro stood with his bag firmly in hand, and as he passed directly in front of Master Zhi, he felt the man's gaze fixed upon him. For an instant, he thought the Master was evaluating him — searching for flaws in his posture, in his step, in his attitude. Nervously, he straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and quickened his pace, determined not to show weakness.
........................…
The fresh air of the main courtyard contrasted sharply with the suffocating confinement of the classroom. The children filed out, guided by the tense silence still hanging over them. Another instructor awaited them there — a burly man with bare arms and skin weathered by years of training, his voice like the roar of fire.
"I am Master Ren. Today I will measure your physical condition. It does not matter how brilliant you think you are in the classroom: if your body is weak, your mind and your fire will be useless."
The courtyard, broad and rectangular, was marked with white lines on the ground, along with wooden climbing frames, ropes, and bars. At the Master's signal, the tests began.
First came short sprints, testing each child's speed. The pounding of small feet kicked up clouds of dust, and heavy breaths mixed with cries of effort. Some, like Hatsuro, ran with power impressive for their age, propelling themselves forward in strong, steady strides. Zuko, serious and focused, maintained a consistent rhythm, displaying remarkable endurance.
Ryojiro ran with determination. His legs were light, but he soon noticed he lacked the explosive power of his classmates. He always finished in the middle of the group: not the fastest, but never last.
Then came the strength and endurance tests — push-ups, squats, rope climbs, and bar holds. Hatsuro once again stood out, completing each exercise with an almost arrogant ease, as if he enjoyed showing his superiority. Zuko kept pace, showing a steady resolve that earned him looks of respect.
Ryojiro, on the other hand, struggled to keep up. His arms trembled as he climbed the rope, and though he made it halfway, his hands slipped from sweat, and he fell backward onto the ground. He stood up, face flushed, brushed off the dirt without complaint, and tried again. He didn't reach the top, but his stubbornness drew a barely perceptible nod of approval from Master Ren.
By the end of the trials, the results were clear. Hatsuro had excelled above all others physically, closely followed by Zuko. Most of the children ranked in the middle, some panting to the point of tears. Ryojiro ended up among them: average, hard-working, but unremarkable.
To him, however, "average" was no comfort. While the others caught their breath, he silently promised himself that one day his body would be as strong as his will.
Barely had the children recovered when Master Ren's voice boomed again:
"Now we'll see how well you can use your body in combat. No fire. No weapons. Only you and your fists. Raw strength is not enough; I want agility, discipline, and control."
The children looked at each other — some nervous, others excited by the chance to prove themselves. The Master organized quick bouts, pairing them off under his sharp gaze. The clashes began: clumsy shoves, poorly aimed punches, and awkward dodges that often ended with both rolling on the ground.
Ryojiro watched, heart pounding. It wasn't his first fight — his brother had trained him occasionally — but never with such seriousness. When he finally heard his name, he swallowed hard and stepped into the circle of hardened dirt. His opponent was a sturdy boy, broad-armed for his age, eyes glinting with the urge to prove his strength.
"Begin."
The Master's voice fell like thunder, and the other boy lunged immediately with a direct punch. Ryojiro reacted quickly, twisting his body and narrowly dodging. The air brushed his cheek. Another strike came, and again he evaded, moving lightly and fluidly. His breathing synced with each motion; his reflexes let him read the direction of every attack.
But when it came time to respond, his fist barely cut through the air. He threw punches, yes, but they lacked the intent to connect. His body seemed built for evasion, not for striking. Again and again, his opponent lunged while he slipped aside skillfully — yet his counters fell short, lacking either power or reach.
The others began to murmur. Some were impressed by how quick he was; others laughed that, despite his agility, he couldn't land a single hit.
Finally, Master Ren raised his hand, halting the exchange. His gaze fixed on Ryojiro.
"Exceptional agility. But evasion alone doesn't win battles. If you don't learn to strike, you'll only ever be prey for someone more determined."
The words weighed on him — not mocking, but stern and absolute. Ryojiro stepped back from the circle, heart hammering, biting his lip. He knew the Master was right: something within him held him back, as though he lacked the instinct to deliver the finishing blow.
The rest of the matches showed sharp contrasts. Hatsuro, Admiral Takao's son, dominated his opponent brutally, knocking him down within seconds and earning open praise from the Master. Zuko, meanwhile, displayed balance — fast on his feet, and unlike Ryojiro, his strikes were precise. He didn't need excess; every move seemed calculated, efficient, and decisive.
By the time the matches ended, the children were flushed and sweaty, their clothes caked with dust. Master Ren scanned them one by one, weighing their abilities in silence before ordering them to line up for the next test.
His voice rose once more, commanding stillness:
"Now, those who can bend fire, step forward. This test is not about calm or grace. Here you will show fury, aggression, and power. The fire of our Nation is not gentle — it is raw, relentless strength. I want flames that strike, that destroy, that reflect your contained rage. Those who cannot command it… will be left behind."
The nonbenders sat aside, watching wide-eyed — a mix of curiosity and fear.
The young firebenders stepped toward the wooden targets set three meters away. The command was simple: attack with force, burn and break, prove that fire was the extension of their will and strength.
Ryojiro inhaled deeply and focused his energy. At first, only a faint thread of flame flickered from his hands before vanishing into smoke. He tried again, but the fire stayed weak, too frail to reach the targets. Frustration burned within him; his anger refused to take form as flame.
Hatsuro, Admiral Takao's son, did what he could. His fire was neat, controlled — yet only average compared to the others. His burst hit the target but didn't topple it, enough to show competence, not excellence.
When Zuko's turn came, the courtyard fell silent. His eyes reflected fierce concentration and a trace of restrained anger. He exhaled slowly, then unleashed his fire — a searing, powerful blast that struck the target and left it blackened and smoldering. Thick columns of smoke rose, the ferocity of the flame embodying the Nation's combative style.
Zuko allowed himself a faint smile at the sight of his handiwork.
Yet a whisper rippled through the crowd:
"With his lineage, I expected something more impressive…"
Zuko frowned, pride stung. The weight of being Prince Ozai's son pressed heavily on him. Still, he said nothing, letting his fire speak for him while the Masters exchanged looks, silently assessing the strength and intensity of each student.
After several minutes, the instructors announced that, since it was their first day, the students would have an hour to eat. Later, they would return to the classroom for evaluations. The news brought a murmur of relief and quiet excitement among the children — though Ryojiro barely felt it; his stomach growled loudly, reminding him he hadn't eaten in hours.
The dining hall was nearly empty, vast and quiet compared to its usual bustle. Only the new students occupied it; the Academy's strict schedule kept everyone else away. Each child approached the long metal trays where the food was neatly arranged and appetizing. The scent of roasted meat, hot soup, and fresh bread filled the air, making Ryojiro's hunger all the sharper. His eyes lit up at the sight — though exhausted, he felt a small comfort knowing he could finally eat.
Soon, the tables filled. The children moved about, speaking softly, forming quick groups. Ryojiro, anxious, scanned for a place to sit. Every spot seemed taken by small circles of friends — some already bonded through their families. Hatsuro, ever arrogant, had gathered several children around him, recounting his father, Admiral Takao's, war stories. His sweeping gestures and booming laugh filled the air, and many listened with awe.
Ryojiro considered joining them, but when he met Hatsuro's eyes, he caught a flash of disdain that stopped him cold. Sighing heavily, burdened by shyness and the invisible wall of social rank, he chose to sit alone. He settled at an empty table far from the noise and began eating quietly, focusing on each bite to distract himself from the discomfort gnawing inside. As he chewed, he watched the other groups — the laughter, the whispers, the easy camaraderie. It all felt distant, like a world he hadn't yet earned a place in.
Then he noticed Zuko, sitting a few tables away — eating alone as well. His tense posture, tight lips, and fixed gaze on his tray spoke of frustration and deep thought, as if he, too, were cut off from the rest. Ryojiro felt this was his chance to reach out. He gathered his courage, heart pounding, and stood up, ready to approach.
But just as he took the first step, Zuko finished eating, rose briskly, and headed straight back toward the classroom. Ryojiro froze, helpless. The opportunity slipped away before his eyes, leaving a bitter taste in his chest. With a resigned sigh, he returned to his seat, finished his meal in silence, and watched as the hall slowly emptied, leaving behind the echo of laughter and footsteps he could only observe from afar.
........................
When they returned to the classroom, Masters Zhi and Ren were already standing at the front — their posture firm, their expressions commanding respect. The air buzzed with anticipation. The children took their seats, some still holding bits of food, others fidgeting nervously.
Master Zhi cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention, and began in a steady, authoritative voice:
"Throughout your time at this Academy, you will be ranked. The purpose of this system is for both you and your parents to know your performance compared to others."
The children exchanged glances. Some were curious, others lit with competitiveness — even the first sparks of rivalry. The idea of being constantly measured and compared filled them with tense excitement and unease.
"This ranking will be updated every term," the Master continued, "over the seven years you will spend here. Each result will be shared with your parents. I want you to understand — there is no place for mediocrity."
Whispers rippled through the room. Some faces showed excitement or pride, others anxiety. A few smiled triumphantly; others lowered their eyes, already feeling the pressure this implied.
Once the news sank in, Master Zhi hung a large sheet on the wall listing the thirty students by rank. At the same time, Master Ren went down the rows, handing each child a personal report — their name, ranking, and detailed notes on their academic, physical, and bending performance.
Ryojiro took his sheet with trembling hands. His eyes scanned the numbers and letters, and a sharp pang of frustration struck his chest: he was twelfth out of thirty. His academic marks were among the best, but his physical condition was only average — and worst of all, his firebending was rated "severely deficient."
He clenched the paper, the frustration becoming almost tangible between his fingers. Before he could react, Master Ren tapped his desk lightly.
"Be careful with that sheet. Tomorrow you must return it with your household's seal."
Ryojiro swallowed hard, the pressure doubling: not only had he performed below expectations, but now he had to show the results to his father. His chest tightened, a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach.
At the instructor's signal, the session ended. The students stood and began whispering among themselves about their ranks. Ryojiro walked heavily, clutching the sheet like a slab of iron. He didn't want to face his father — didn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes.
As he neared the door, his gaze fell on the ranking posted on the wall. A lump formed in his throat. Hatsuro, the admiral's son, was in second place. Ryojiro knew that by lineage and expectation, he should be among the top — and seeing Hatsuro ahead reminded him how far he still had to go. The weight of competition and family honor pressed on him all at once.
Then his eyes found Zuko, listed at the very top. He remembered his father's instruction to befriend him, to form a bond that could one day prove important. But the difference in skill made him hesitate. How could he approach someone so far above him? Insecurity and fear of falling short gripped him.
With the paper clenched tightly in his hand, Ryojiro stepped out, his pace slow and heavy, fully aware that the path toward meeting both his family's and his own expectations had only just begun.