The Class F dormitory stood at the farthest edge of the Ironcrest complex, nearly pressed against the outer stone wall facing the monster territories. The building wasn’t ruined, nor was it decrepit, but it was clearly different from the towering Class A dorms with their stone balconies and stained-glass windows. Here, the walls were plain, the floors simple wood, and the corridors quiet—like a place intentionally forgotten.
There were no banners of pride.No emblems of honor.Only a small wooden plaque that read: Class F.
Rian stood in front of his classroom door before finally pushing it open.
Four people were already inside.
A girl with blazing red hair sat on top of a desk with her legs crossed, idly playing with a small fireball in her palm as if holding back emotions she refused to fully release. In the corner, a large-built young man stood with his back against the wall, arms folded, his expression as flat and solid as stone. A silver-haired girl offered a gentle smile from a seat near the window, though her fingers gripped the edge of her sleeve a little too tightly. And in the back row, a wolf-eared beastkin stared at the ceiling with a sharp, bored gaze.
None of them looked like “failures.”
Just… misplaced.
The red-haired girl glanced at Rian from her perch.
“Observer, right?”
Rian nodded slightly.
“You’re the one who lost because you were too slow.”
“I remember.”
The beastkin let out a low chuckle without looking away from the ceiling.
“Good. At least he’s aware.”
The large young man finally spoke, his voice low and steady.
“Name.”
“Rian.”
“Dax.”
He pointed briefly to himself, then nodded toward the others.
“Mira.”“Lyra.”“Kael.”
There were no warm greetings. No welcoming smiles. They were like people who had failed too many times to waste energy on hope.
A few minutes later, the door opened again and a gray-haired man in a long coat entered without unnecessary expression. His gaze was sharp—like someone more accustomed to battlefields than classrooms.
“I am Instructor Varren. You are Class F. Do not expect special treatment just because you’re at the bottom.”
He walked slowly in front of them, assessing each one without hiding his cold demeanor.
“You were placed here because the system judged you insufficient.”
He stopped.
“Your task is to prove the system wrong. Or prove that it’s right.”
There was no heroic motivation. No promise of glory.
Only the option to survive.
Their first training session began that very afternoon at the Training Field. There was no lengthy warm-up, no gentle explanation. Instructor Varren simply deployed a basic simulation: the team against three moving magic constructs programmed to attack without fixed patterns.
Mira immediately launched a large fireball that nearly hit Dax.
“Watch it!”
“I know!”
Dax blocked one construct’s strike with a wooden sword, but his step was a fraction too late. Kael charged too quickly, pursuing one target without noticing the other two shifting from the sides. Lyra tried to assist and ended up stumbling, hesitating over who to prioritize.
Rian stood half a step behind, his heart pounding—not from fear, but because he could see everything at once. The constructs’ movement patterns. Dax’s reaction timing. The shift in Mira’s breathing before her magic flared larger than intended. The way Kael always leaned slightly to the right when attacking.
Cracks.
Too many cracks.
One construct slammed Kael to the ground. Another swept Dax’s legs out from under him. Within minutes, the simulation ended in overwhelming defeat.
Instructor Varren didn’t look surprised.
“A mess.”
Mira growled under her breath.
“We just started.”
“And you’ve already nearly injured your own team.”
The silence tightened. Kael rose with a faint grin.
“If you want safety, enroll in Class A. Down here, we just survive.”
Lyra lowered her head slightly.
“Sorry… I wasn’t fast enough.”
Rian stared at the training ground still humming with residual magic. He knew exactly where they had gone wrong. He knew how to fix it. But the words felt heavy in his throat. Who was he to direct them? He had lost the most basic duel that morning.
Instructor Varren looked at them one by one.
“Again.”
The second simulation began.
And once more—it fell apart.
This time Dax went down first. Mira lost control for a split second. Kael fought alone. Lyra ran out of stamina faster than she should have.
Rian exhaled quietly.
If he stayed silent, nothing would change.
The third construct moved toward Lyra, its attack angle exposed on the left.
Rian stepped forward.
“Dax, hold it for three seconds.”
Dax glanced back, uncertain.
“Now.”
He moved, blocking the construct’s strike exactly when Rian predicted.
“Mira, small release. Not full.”
“What?”
“Now.”
A more controlled burst of fire struck the construct’s joint instead of its main body.
“Kael, left. It’s blind on that side.”
Kael grinned and spun fast, striking precisely at the opening Rian had seen from the start.
“Lyra, half only. Not everything.”
Lyra nodded, transferring only part of Dax’s injury without collapsing herself.
In less than a minute, the three magic constructs were destroyed.
The field fell silent.
Instructor Varren looked at Rian longer than the others.
“You see patterns.”
Rian didn’t answer.
Mira lowered her guard, narrowing her eyes at him.
“You could’ve said that from the beginning.”
Rian looked away.
“You wouldn’t have listened.”
Kael chuckled softly.
“Maybe now we will.”
Dax looked at the shattered construct at his feet, then back at Rian.
“Again.”
There were no cheers. No celebration. Only a quiet acknowledgment that something had shifted.
They weren’t strong.They weren’t synchronized.
But for the first time, Class F did not move as five separate individuals.
They moved as one team.
As the sun began to sink behind Ironcrest’s stone walls, Rian unconsciously looked up at the sky. Thin clouds drifted slowly. There were no signs of danger. No cracking sound.
Yet far—very far above—he felt something shift.
Like a faint pressure behind glass.
Like a world waiting for the right moment to fracture again.
And for some reason, he felt as if that world… was staring back at him.