Morning light slipped through the window, painting thin golden lines across the room. The sound of a sharp alarm cut through the silence.
Ashan stirred, his brows tightening slightly before his hand reached out and silenced the device. He sat up on the bed, exhaling slowly as the remnants of sleep faded from his mind.
As his consciousness fully returned, memories from the previous night surfaced one by one.
The moonlit clearing.
Narasha's hesitant smile.
The warmth of her hand.
And finally, her lips.
A faint smile formed on Ashan's face. Without realizing it, his fingers brushed against his own lips, as if confirming the memory was real.
The sensation lingered vividly in his thoughts.
"…She isn't mad at me, right?" he muttered to himself.
The thought made him chuckle quietly. If anything, she hadn't pushed him away. That alone was answer enough.
Ashan stood, washed up, and changed into his outfit. Once ready, he stepped out into the hallway, the academy already alive with early-morning movement.
Footsteps echoed as students passed by in groups, some yawning, others chatting excitedly about the first day of classes.
That was when he spotted Nevil walking toward him.
"Good morning, Ashan," Nevil greeted with an easy smile. "Heading to class?"
Ashan nodded. "Yeah. But first, I need to pick up Narasha. I promised I'd guide her to her class."
Nevil raised an eyebrow knowingly. "I figured as much. Must be annoying that you two aren't in the same class."
Ashan let out a small sigh. "Can't be helped. She's studying as a psychic, and I'm assigned to the battle mage division."
Nevil paused for a second, then tilted his head. "By the way… you disappeared with her in the middle of the dance last night. No warning or anything."
Ashan scratched the back of his head. "She wasn't comfortable with the atmosphere. So I took her out. Sorry for not saying anything."
Before Nevil could respond, a combat fighter jogged up to them, clearly in a hurry.
"Hey, Nevil. Aren't you coming?" the man asked. "First-years need to be early."
Nevil nodded, then turned back to Ashan. "Guess that's my cue. Don't be late."
Ashan waved lightly. "I won't."
They parted ways, and Ashan headed toward Narasha's room. He stopped in front of the door and knocked twice.
"Narasha, it's me. Are you ready?"
A moment later, the door opened.
Narasha stepped out, already prepared. Her posture was straight, her appearance neat, and her silver hair was tied back cleanly. Yet Ashan immediately noticed something subtle, her cheeks were slightly flushed.
"Shall we go?" he asked. "I'll take you to your class."
She nodded quietly.
As they walked, Ashan glanced at her again and smirked faintly.
"…Why are you smiling?" Narasha asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Nothing," Ashan replied casually. "Just admiring how beautiful you look in the morning."
Her steps halted for half a second.
"Tch… idiot," she muttered, turning her face away. "Are we going or not?"
Ashan laughed softly. "Alright, alright. Let's go."
They walked side by side, the morning breeze brushing past them. When they reached her classroom, Narasha paused.
The room beyond the open door was already crowded, rows of desks filled with students, quiet chatter weaving through the air. The space felt alive, packed with presence and expectation.
"…Thanks," she said quietly.
Ashan smiled. "Anytime."
She nodded once more and went inside.
Ashan turned and headed toward the training grounds.
The moment he arrived, his eyes widened slightly.
Combat fighters, battle mages, assassins, and tankers were already lined up in organized rows. Elves stood among them with calm expressions, while beast people loomed taller than most, their presence impossible to ignore.
"…That's a lot of people," Ashan muttered. "What kind of madness are they planning?"
He joined the formation.
Minutes later, a familiar pressure filled the air.
Aren stepped forward.
The chatter died instantly.
"Attention," Aren said calmly, his voice carrying effortlessly. "Today is your first official day here. I'll be direct. If you expected sword techniques or spell training, I apologize in advance."
A few disappointed murmurs spread through the ranks.
"For the next few days," Aren continued, "you will undergo physical conditioning. Based on your performance, you will be categorized. Those who excel will advance early. Those who don't will train until they're ready."
He gestured toward the massive track surrounding the academy.
"Today's task is simple. Running."
A device was raised in his hand.
"You'll be given a band. It will measure distance. After completing one kilometer, it will signal you."
Some students nodded confidently. Others looked uneasy.
"D-rankers: four kilometers.
C-rankers: five
B-rankers: eight
A-rankers: eleven
S-rankers: fifteen."
Aren's gaze sharpened.
"Mana usage is strictly forbidden. No enhancement. No skills. Physical ability only. Anyone caught cheating will start over."
A collective gasp rose from the crowd.
"No mana?!"
"This is insane…"
"We'll die!"
Ashan exhaled quietly.
"They really aren't easing us in," he thought. "Fine by me."
He smirked slightly.
"I'll just run nine kilometers. No point wasting few extra days."
Nearby, the S-rankers had entirely different reactions.
Roswayn stretched her arms overhead, excitement shining in her eyes.
"This sounds fun."
She turned toward Magnar, Rowan, and Morevan.
"How about it? Sixteen kilometers. First one to finish wins."
Rowan smirked. "You read my mind."
Magnar nodded thoughtfully. "Why don't we include the elves and beast people? Two of them are S-rankers too."
Rowan tilted his head. "And how exactly do you plan to invite them?"
Magnar cracked his knuckles. "I'll handle it."
He walked toward the representatives.
Among the elves stood Elarith, a high elf warrior. Half of her silver-gray hair was braided neatly, the rest flowing freely down her back, catching the light with a faint sheen. A necklace bearing a tiny carved branch rested against her chest.
Her limbs were clad in light, practical armor shaped to allow effortless movement, marked with subtle elven patterns that spoke of both tradition and battle. Her posture was straight and unyielding, every line of her body disciplined yet graceful.
Beside her stood Luphar, representative of the beast people. His muscular frame towered over many tattoos running along his arms. Two axes rested on his back. His short brown hair framed a pair of feline ears, and his glowing cat-like pupils shimmered with excitement.
Magnar approached confidently.
"Are you Luphar?" he asked, extending a hand.
Luphar grinned, revealing slightly elongated canine teeth. "That's me."
They shook hands firmly.
"I have a proposal," Magnar said. "How about the S-rankers—humans, elves, and beast people, race together?"
Luphar's grin widened.
"…Now that sounds interesting."