A translucent window floated before Shun Aoyama's eyes like a ghostly report card written by a god with questionable grading standards.
Strength. Agility. Mana.
Numbers.
Cold, impersonal numbers.
He blinked, trying to make sense of them while the knights herded the students down the long corridor. Their polished armor gleamed beneath chandeliers shaped like inverted constellations. Each footstep echoed with disciplined finality.
Synchronization: 21% — Initial Sync.
Status: …something?
What did that even mean?
The hallway stretched endlessly, lined with towering pillars and crimson tapestries depicting ancient wars and crowned figures holding blazing swords toward a dark horizon. The air smelled faintly of incense and metal—like a cathedral built by warriors.
Shun glanced sideways at his classmates.
Panic rippled through them like wind through dry grass. Some whispered frantically. Others stared at their floating status windows as if staring harder might unlock hidden subtitles.
A few mentioned faint voices in their heads—systems speaking to them in calm, mechanical tones.
He had one too.
But it didn't answer clearly.
I don't get it.
He exhaled slowly.
Alright. If I don't take the lead, nobody will.
"Everyone—follow me," he called out, forcing steadiness into his voice even as his stomach twisted like knotted rope. "We stick together, keep calm, and figure this out as we go."
Several nodded immediately.
A few rolled their eyes.
A girl with short black hair and glasses sliding down her nose swallowed nervously. "We… we can really trust you?"
"Better than panicking," Shun muttered with a shrug that tried very hard to look casual.
Next to him, Kaito Yagami crossed his arms. Sandy blonde hair. Confident smirk. The kind of boy who looked like he had rehearsed cool expressions in the mirror.
"Fine," Kaito said, "but if we die, it's on you."
He said it lightly, but the flicker of relief in his blue eyes betrayed him. Leadership was heavy. It was easier when someone else carried it.
And then—
There was Noa.
Walking calmly as though this entire palace were a museum exhibit. His dark aura pressed against the edges of Shun's perception, like standing too close to a cliff at night.
Even the system window flickered uncertainly around him.
Great. One weirdo we can't read.
The knights led them past suits of armor polished to mirror sheen. Past stained-glass windows casting fractured rainbows onto marble floors. Past banners embroidered with golden sigils.
Beside Shun, Souka Tanaka tugged repeatedly at her hood, long brown hair hiding half her face. She stared at the ground, as if eye contact with this world might solidify it into permanence.
Riku Valan, tall and muscular, scanned every corner with suspicion. His fists clenched reflexively, already imagining battles that hadn't begun.
Shun tightened his jaw.
He didn't understand mana.
He didn't understand synchronization.
He didn't understand why a divine being thought teenagers were a reasonable military investment.
But if he was going to survive—
He had to think faster than everyone else.
"Stick close!" he called out again. "We go as one. No one splits off."
This time, fewer eye-rolls.
More nods.
Fear made leaders.
And somewhere behind him, he felt Noa's gaze—quiet, unreadable.
That guy's not ordinary.
---
They were led into the grand hall.
The doors opened with a slow groan, as if even wood respected the authority within.
The knights' armored footsteps echoed against marble, heavy and deliberate. Each step reminded them of their position.
Or rather—
How low it was.
Shun noticed something else.
The red-haired knight—Darius—and the blonde boy, Aoyama—no, wait, that was himself—he corrected his own thoughts with a faint internal grimace. Even in crisis, his mind made awkward commentary.
Darius and Aoyama—Shun—both kept glancing toward Noa.
Not curious.
Not cautious.
Suspicious.
The hell? What did I do?
The hall unfolded before them like a throne room pulled from myth.
At its far end, elevated above all, sat King Manus upon a throne carved from dark stone veined with gold. Authority draped him like a cloak so thick the air itself seemed to bow.
Elear stood nearby, staff resting calmly against the ground, like a scholar who had already calculated the outcome of this entire play.
Soldiers lined the walls.
Unmoving.
Silent.
Breathing as one organism.
Darius halted the students at the center and moved to stand beside the king.
Noa could feel it.
The awe.
Some classmates stared upward at pillars that stretched like the trunks of ancient trees. Others gaped at the ceiling painted with constellations and winged figures.
The room was not merely architecture.
It was psychological warfare.
"I suppose you have organized your thoughts," the king said calmly.
"If so, we will now begin the rank assessment of you all."
Darius leaned slightly toward the king.
"Assess them quickly with the machine we brought from Zalmath." Manus remembered Darious' words.
So there really is something off about this group…
Mr. Nahori stepped forward and knelt stiffly.
"Your Majesty," he asked carefully, "what do you mean by that?"
"We will be collecting information on your abilities," the king replied evenly. "Afterward, you will be divided into appropriate roles for training."
Confusion rippled.
Then acceptance.
It happened frighteningly fast.
See our powers?
Noa's throat tightened.
What if it shows I don't have a system like the others?
A bad feeling crept up his spine like cold fingers.
"This device," Elear said, gesturing toward a towering crystal set upon a pedestal, "is capable of reading even your Essence Fragments. You are the first people to use it within our kingdom."
Just when it couldn't get any worse.
Knights closed ranks around them.
No gaps.
No exits.
The only option was to follow the rhythm imposed upon them…
…and hope for a miracle.
But miracles don't happen like that.
...
One by one, they were called forward.
Hands touched crystal.
Names appeared in glowing script.
Numbers followed.
Gasps. Murmurs.
There were impressive results—Aoyama, of course. Aoi. Hana.
Praise floated through the hall like sweet smoke.
Seventy-five percent were already done.
Then—
It was Noa's turn.
His steps were unhurried.
But heavy.
If the worst happens, I'll escape through the windows.
He measured distance.
Angle.
Guard positions.
…No. With this many skilled knights, that's impossible.
These weren't common soldiers.
Knights were warriors even nobles feared.
He hesitated.
Then placed his hand on the crystal.
[Name: Shinra Noa]
[Race: Human]
[Age: 17]
[Affiliation: Otherworlder]
[Titles: ---]
[Essence Fragment: ???]
[Synchronization: ???]
[Attributes]
Strength: 9Agility: 10Endurance: 8Mana: 7Intelligence: 7Authority: ???Existence: ???
[Skills]
— Locked —
W-why the hell isn't it sho—
CLING!
A blade flashed.
Instinct overtook thought.
Noa ripped the crystal from its pedestal and smashed it against the incoming sword.
Crack.
The crystal shattered in a burst of light and fragments.
The blade's path shifted—barely.
Steel kissed flesh.
Pain tore through his arm as the edge sliced his elbow. Blood splattered across marble like spilled ink on sacred parchment.
He stumbled back.
Looked up.
Darius stood before him.
"Why don't you have the god's gift?" the knight demanded, voice colder than drawn steel. "You must be an evil fiend."
What the hell are you talking about?
"I don't know," Noa snapped. "Don't ask me. I didn't receive one."
Someone screamed.
Noa's gaze flicked toward the king.
He wasn't surprised.
So that's it.
It's a setup.
"What is this?" Mr. Nahori shouted, voice shaking.
"Nahori," Elear said calmly, "when you arrived here, you received a gift from our god, did you not?"
He turned to Noa.
"This boy did not."
Silence descended.
Heavy.
Final.
A god does not make mistakes.
Which meant—
This boy is an enemy of the god.
***
40 Minutes Earlier
[Warning! Danger to host detected]
Huh?
Shun looked toward Noa as his skill activated—[Threat Detection].
As I thought… he's not normal.
If danger was detected, did that mean I was going to be killed?
…It's not responding?
Others said their systems answered clearly.
Is mine different?
"Um… excuse me," Shun said aloud, forcing politeness into his voice. "Can I go to the bathroom?"
"You want to go now, Aoyama?" a soldier asked.
"Haha—yes!"
The laugh came out slightly too bright.
...
Two soldiers escorted him down the corridor.
Then he stopped.
"I need to speak to His Majesty," he said. "It's urgent."
They exchanged glances.
"…Follow."
***
Present
"Even your friends understand you are dangerous," Darius whispered near Noa's ear.
What…?
Noa scanned the room.
Some faces held terror.
Some confusion.
Others—
Relief.
Aoi's eyes trembled.
Aoyama smiled faintly.
"Don't you remember how we felt talking to him?" someone whispered.
"His eyes…"
"It all makes sense now, doesn't it?"
They spoke softly.
The meaning roared.
They hadn't bullied him because they were afraid.
And fear bruises pride.
Especially the pride of those used to control.
Now—
They had an excuse.
There's no law here.
It's kill or be killed.
The ones who didn't understand stayed silent.
Too scared.
"What are you talking about? He's your classmate!" Mr. Nahori shouted.
"Teacher," Aoyama said calmly, "he's dangerous. When I used my skill Threat Detection—which you all saw—it confirmed it. And now we know why."
"He doesn't have a gift from god."
Have they gone mad?-Nahori was in disbelief.
So you sold me out.
I'm evil because your panel says I'm dangerous?
Because I didn't get what you did?
Shouldn't you feel bad for me?
SWOOSH!
Noa seized a soldier's sword and blocked Darius's strike.
Crack.
The blade fractured.
One more hit and it's done.
He needed to escape.
Then—
Darius was forced back.
A man in black leapt between them, clashing steel against steel. Brown hair. Dark eyes. A scout.
Noa didn't question salvation.
He ran toward the window.
A soldier intercepted.
The blade descended.
He saw it clearly.
His body couldn't fully evade.
He blocked.
Khuek—
Blood spilled again.
Pain flared white-hot.
Though not as devastating as Darius's strike, it was enough.
His body was strong.
Not perfect.
Left—no, right—
CLANG!
He was still standing.
Still fighting.
Around them, soldiers clashed with black-clad figures, chaos erupting like a storm ripping through ceremony.
He turned back toward his opponent.
---
Steel rang through the hall.
Students stared in disbelief.
That boy—Noa—was fighting a trained soldier.
Bleeding.
Unrefined.
Yet holding his ground.
Even though they came here at the same time, he is stronger than any of them.
Clang.
The soldier faltered.
I've trained for years… yet he's holding on this long?
…What is this guy?
Their eyes met.
Black sclera.
Purple irises.
Rage burned—not wild.
Focused.
Lost in his own thoughts, the soldier lunged.
Swoosh!
The blade cut air.
It never hit.
A trap? Have I underestimated him?
Confused, the soldier looked down.
Noa was crouched low.
His cracked sword poised perfectly at the soldier's neck.
He tilted his head slightly upward.
A twisted smile formed.
"Let's meet in hell, shall we."
Plsh—