The dawn over the continent did not rise with the gentle warmth of a normal sun. Instead, it broke across the sky in automated, pulsing waves of amber light, regulated by the atmospheric stabilization grids of the HIDDEN MALIQUN COMPLETE EDUCATIONAL BOARD.
Spanning across an entire geographical sector, the institution was a colossal citadel of hyper-dense steel, glowing data arrays, and floating tactical simulation arenas. This was the unchallenged apex of global education. Millions of applicants from royal bloodlines, industrial empires, and cosmic factions bled, sweated, and spent fortunes just to fail the entrance exams. To even stand within these halls meant you were a certified anomaly.
But to study within the All Category—mastering all six complex branches of cosmic strategy, spatial engineering, molecular chemistry, and high-tier combat geometry simultaneously—was a feat reserved for only a handful of entities in history.
For years, Team THUNDER had occupied that absolute peak. Their names were hard-coded into the institution's historical leaderboards.
Yet, as the heavy automatic blast doors of the Central Corridor slid open, the atmosphere inside the academy was not filled with praise. It was thick with a tense, whispering friction.
"Look, it's them. Team Thunder."
"They're back from the Maliqun estate... but did you hear the data feeds? Their ranking isn't absolute anymore."
"Yeah... Freak broke their simulation records yesterday. In all six categories."
Thunder marched through the corridor, his heavy combat boots sparking with residual static electricity. His jaw was clenched, his blue eyes flashing with dangerous lightning. Beside him, Mark walked with his hands behind his back, his upgraded cybernetic visor completely dark, though his internal processing unit was running at maximum capacity, analyzing the whispered data. Ninten brought up the rear, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, his signature cool, tension-free smirk firmly in place despite the glaring eyes of thousands of students.
"They're talking about the new guy again," Ninten remarked, letting out a short, amused chuckle. "He's really living rent-free in everyone's data networks, isn't he, pharmacy boy?"
"His metrics are mathematically anomalous," Mark replied coldly, his audio synthesizer dropping into a flat, superior pitch. "Arsh-AL-Qur-Haque Freak originates from the deepest, lowest-class socio-economic quadrant of the outer sectors. By all standard probability matrices, his cellular development should be baseline. Yet, his hard work and latent potential have forced a 0.003% variance in the board's historical grading script. He is currently tracking 1.2% higher than us in theoretical spatial mechanics."
"I don't care about his spreadsheets," Thunder snapped, stopping dead in his tracks as they reached the grand central pavilion. The air pressure around him spiked violently, cracking the polished stone floor beneath his feet. "Next month is the CESC Exam. The parameters are boundless. No member limits, no weapon restrictions. If this 'Freak' thinks his hard work can outpace the raw velocity of a Maliqun heir, I will personally ground his entire system into dust."
"Too much ego, Captain," a smooth, ancient voice echoed from the shadows of the pavilion pillars.
THE ARRIVAL OF THE ELDERS
Stepping into the light were the three 1028-year-old icons. Lucky, the Qadirun Maliqun of War, stood in his immaculate military stance, his presence alone shifting the gravitational center of the room. Beside him, Bucky, the Animan master, flexed his claws, a wild, predatory grin on his face. Behind them, Lady Mistriefe walked with absolute elegance, her eyes instantly locking onto Gic, who immediately stepped forward, bowed with flawless, chivalrous grace, and offered a respectful greeting that made her smile warmly.
But the warmth vanished instantly as Lucky stepped forward, slamming his massive fist into the palm of his hand, creating a sonic boom that silenced the entire corridor.
"You stand in the greatest academy on earth, yet you carry yourselves like petulant children fighting over a playground title," Lucky roared, his eyes scanning Team Thunder with absolute authority. "You have zero teamwork! Mark wants to play chess with his brothers' lives, Thunder wants to blind everyone with his own light, and Ninten is treating a global crisis like a casual speedrun! If you face the CESC Exam with this mindset, an Animan master utilizing basic Samvarbnamoy Prani combinations will eliminate your entire squad in a single frame!"
Lucky waved his hand, and the pavilion's spatial geometry warped, locking the doors and trapping Team Thunder within an isolated, high-density training matrix.
"Before you can even think about matching Arsh-AL-Qur-Haque, you must master the absolute anatomy of the power running through your cells," Lucky commanded. "Behold the primary matrix."
With a sudden flare of his internal energy, Lucky extended his hand. Instantly, 27 distinct, glowing atomic sparks materialized in a perfect, blinding orbit around his palm. The sheer density of the display made the air inside the matrix burn.
"Sakti!" Lucky shouted, the sparks illuminating the brothers' shocked faces. "The cellular atomic core of all universal power. 27 distinct types exist in the archives—from Thermal and Liquid to Electro-Magnetics, Abyss, Space, and Time! Every single element has a hard-coded frequency."
Lucky's gaze darkened as he pointed to a completely empty, warped void within the circular orbit.
"And yet... there is an elusive, mythical 28th type of Sakti. To this very day, the greatest scientists, researchers, and planetary minds of the Hidden Board have spent centuries trying to isolate its atomic signature. They cannot. It remains the ultimate unknown variable of the cosmic grid. And if you cannot even handle the baseline 27, you will never survive what comes next."
THE JABBARIN BARRIER
Bucky stepped forward, his fur bristling as his predatory aura expanded across the floor. "Lucky's talking about the base meta. But you boys are Walid Maliquns. You think you're gods because you carry the bloodline. But let me tell you a secret that will break your little pride."
Bucky bared his fangs, pointing directly at Thunder's chest.
"There are 10 legendary, cataclysmic arts known as the Maliqun Power Attacks—the Weapons Lord, the Power Armour, the Attack Limitless, the Operative World! The peak of your heritage. But only Jabbarin Maliquns can actively deploy them! The Ashim Maliquns can tap into them through their boundless nature... but you, the Qadirun Maliquns, cannot. Even after 1028 years of unbroken victories, Lucky and I cannot fully unlock them. We are trying every single day, but the system restriction is absolute."
Lucky stepped up, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying vibration. "My duty is to push your existing limits to their absolute Jabbarin Limit. If you do not master the synchronization of your Abha, your Urja, and your classes right now, you won't just lose to Freak. You will disgrace the entire lineage before the global media networks."
Mistriefe stepped in front of them, her face suddenly twisting into an incredibly cringe, hilariously exaggerated funny expression, blinking her eyes dramatically at Ninten and Mark.
"Soooo," she teased, her voice dripping with a playful, dramatic pout as she blinked rhythmically. "Are the little princes going to cry and fail their big exam? Or are you actually going to learn how to play together in the sandbox without breaking your toys?"
The sheer, cringe intensity of her funny face made Team Thunder instantly uneasy, a sweatdrop appearing behind Ninten's cool smile as Mark's visor glitched in sheer awkwardness.
But Thunder did not flinch. He stepped to the front of the formation, his heavy iron boots slamming into the floor as a massive surge of blue lightning enveloped his entire body. His eyes burned with an unbroken, ironclad willpower.
"We won't fail, Ma'am," Thunder declared, his voice carrying the absolute authority of a true Captain. "Tell the academy to clear the leaderboards. Team Thunder is about to rewrite the entire system."
THE SILENT OBSERVER
High above the isolated training matrix, standing on a translucent viewing platform that overlooked the central pavilion, a lone figure stood in the shadows.
He didn't wear the luxurious, high-tech biometric armor of the Maliqun heirs. He wore a simple, faded, and heavily patched academic uniform standard for the lowest-class scholarship students. His hands were calloused from years of manual labor, and his posture was completely still, unbothered by the massive gravity fields radiating from the pavilion below.
It was Arsh-AL-Qur-Haque Freak.
His sharp, intense eyes watched Team Thunder's energy outputs stabilize under Lucky's pressure. He didn't look afraid. He didn't look arrogant. He simply pulled out a worn, electronic notebook, his fingers typing in a new line of data as a faint, incredibly dense aura of raw, unyielding Iman and hard-earned power flickered around his skin.
"The Qadirun Maliquns are finally accelerating," Freak murmured to himself, his voice calm, steady, and carrying the weight of someone who had crawled out of the abyss through sheer force of will. "Good. Let's see if their bloodline can survive the metagame I've prepared for next month."
Turning on his heel, the low-class genius vanished into the dark corridors of the academy, leaving the air behind him vibrating with an ominous, impending storm.