Still chatting among themselves—about everyday things, small noble gossip, and the occasional ridiculous antic Cassius used to pull during his early days—they made their way to the announcent hall.
Mia mostly listened, chiming in with small chuckles or brief remarks. She didn’t add much, but it wasn’t from disinterest.
Rather, she was cautious. The mont any question turned toward her past—her upbringing, her ti with Cassius before the academy—she neatly dodged it.
Whether the question ca directly or was veiled under friendly curiosity, she always had a graceful way to steer the conversation away.
The announcent hall lood ahead, and it was... massive.
No—massive wasn’t the right word.
It was insanely huge. Almost to a ridiculous degree. But from the outside, it looked like it couldn’t possibly hold more than a few thousand students.
A grand dod structure of silvery blue stone with carved vines etched into its columns. But the mont they stepped inside—
Space bent.
The ceiling stretched impossibly high. Rows upon rows of seats spiraled upward like a colossal stadium. It was tight, compact, yet easily able to accommodate over 100,000 examinees without the slightest issue.
Mia could feel the air shimr faintly. A spatial-type ability. This place had been enhanced to warp its own dinsions.
And since they were nobles—children of prestige and power—they were escorted to the front rows.
No one had to say it aloud. Hierarchy had a scent, a rhythm. It was in the way the crowd subtly parted as they passed.
In the silent, sideways glances they received from the common examinees. Respect, envy, or curiosity—it didn’t matter.
They were seated near the very front, in the first row closest to the central stage.
The seats resembled those of the exam hall. Smooth stone benches layered in a stair-like system. The higher the seat, the higher the elevation.
Naturally, they were at the bottom tier.
The prestigious zone.
Mia sat beside Evelyn, with Celeste and Alia to her right. Still, the conversation hadn’t stopped. Cassius’s na continued to co up like a familiar thread they all clung to.
"I rember when he accidentally set the courtyard on fire," Celeste said with a dry laugh. "Trying to summon a wind spell and ended up pulling lightning instead."
Alia giggled. "And Father scolded him for hours. He had to bow for three whole days!"
Evelyn leaned in with a nostalgic grin. "He was always too smart for his own good. Rember when he tricked that old tutor into thinking we were on a royal inspection trip?"
They all laughed.
Even Mia allowed a faint chuckle to escape her lips.
But again, when Celeste tried to prod, "So Mia, what was Cassius like with you? Before the academy?"—
She dodged.
"Why don’t you guess? I think you three would know him better than anyone," she replied with a vague smile.
Celeste frowned slightly. "But surely—"
Before she could press further, the lights dimd. A soft hum filled the air as mana surged through the stone stage in front of them.
Lines of blue light crawled across the ground like glowing veins. In a single flash, a portal blood into existence at the center of the platform. A ring of swirling azure energy spiraled open.
From within stepped a man.
No. Not just any man.
He was old—his beard flowed down to his chest, pure white like untouched snow. His long hair was swept back, and his eyes... they glowed a deep, molten orange.
Not with fire, but with weight. As though he could peer straight through the masks every examinee wore.
Despite his age, he wasn’t hunched. He stood tall, back straight, posture perfect. His presence was commanding—majestic, even. His very existence pulled silence from the crowd.
Two others followed closely behind him.
One was a woman with vibrant red hair tied into a high ponytail, her green eyes sharp and calculating. Her stance scread authority, the kind born from battlefields, not bloodlines.
The other was a tall man with jet-black hair and eyes like polished sapphire. He moved with elegance—every step asured, deliberate.
None of the three carried any scrolls. No stacks of paper. No glowing crystal tablets.
’How are they going to announce the results?’ Mia wondered.
There was nothing ceremonial about it. No dramatic props. Not even a podium.
’It felt... underwhelming.’
Shouldn’t they at least have an artifact or sothing? she mused.
So glowing orb of ancient knowledge. A relic. A floating book, maybe. Sothing to symbolize the prestige of Rose Academy.
The fantasy stories she’d devoured in the library had clearly warped her expectations.
But no.
The elderly man stood at the center of the stage, hands calmly folded behind his back.
He stepped forward and spoke. His voice didn’t echo—but everyone heard him, loud and clear, as if he were standing right next to them.
"My fellow to-be students," he began, his voice rich and serene. "I welco you to Rose Academy."
A hush settled over the hall.
Celeste raised an eyebrow and leaned toward Alia, whispering, "Welco? After three days of silence? How generous."
Alia gave her a subtle nudge to behave. Celeste rolled her eyes but said no more.
Mia, anwhile, watched the scene unfold with sharp, attentive eyes.
The elderly man’s amused voice echoed lightly through the vast hall, carrying a warmth that sohow added weight to every word.
"So of you might be thinking..." he began with a slow, knowing smile, "...that it’s odd for to be greeting you all now—after three whole days of silence."
A faint chuckle rippled through the crowd, uncertain, hesitant.
He raised a brow. "And that’s fair. Truly. But that’s how Rose Academy works. Sorry if I’ve disappointed you."
At those words, Celeste stiffened in her seat. Her back turned cold as a drop of sweat traced her spine.
’He heard ?’
Her face twitched into an awkward smile, and she tugged at her ear like a guilty child. "I-I’m sorry," she muttered under her breath, a whisper ant for no one.
But Evelyn heard.
"That’s why you shouldn’t act oversmart," she said dryly, a smug edge to her tone.
Celeste rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, beat the already down fellow. Very noble of you."
Alia sighed and gently hushed the two of them, raising her finger to her lips and motioning toward the stage. They all fell quiet.
The old man, now center stage, had both hands clasped neatly behind his back, his posture dignified.
"I suppose I should introduce myself," he said, voice even and calm. "I am your principal."
He smiled faintly, then added, "Well... so of yours, anyway."
His words were sharp, deliberately phrased. A hint of tension fluttered across the front rows. A few examinees exchanged confused glances. But no one interrupted.
He hadn’t given his na. And none of the staff ever did.
It was the way things worked at Rose Academy.
No nas. No ho addresses. Nothing personal.
Every professor, instructor, and combat specialist was assigned a number between 1 and 20,000. It was both their identification and an unspoken ranking of strength.
Their faces were public, sure. You could recognize them by sight. But nas? Never.
Mia already knew this from the books she had read. Still, deciphering it from the source gave it a strange, thrilling weight.
The principal gave a small nod and continued. "I know many of you are desperate to hear the results." His smile widened. "And I assure you, I am equally eager to reveal them."
A murmur ran through the crowd. Mia could feel the air shifting, the anticipation growing thicker.
"But before that," he said, his voice taking on a brighter, almost mischievous tone, "let just say... this year, many records have been shattered. It has been a historical year for Rose Academy."
A collective gasp swept through the crowd like a well-practiced wave. A sound you’d expect from movie theaters or overly dramatized stage plays.
It felt oddly rehearsed.
The principal paused and raised an amused brow. "I like that response," he said, chuckling softly. "Very dramatic. Almost makes feel like a celebrity."
So students laughed. A few groaned.
"But now, the question is... should I jump straight to the results? Or perhaps deliver a small speech first?"
The crowd went stiff again.
He grinned. "Nobody likes speeches. I know. But I do."
Mia blinked, slightly dazed. Her mouth hung open for a second before she muttered under her breath, ’This guy is really shaless...’
She ant it.
And yet—she didn’t hate it.
He had a strange charm. A theatrical energy that made his words feel less like a lecture and more like part of a story.
He reminded her of those eccentric ani headmasters—half genius, half clown, and one hundred percent unpredictable.
At least he’s not like the principals back on Earth... she thought with a slight grimace.
Those people had a talent for lying. They’d lure students in with the promise of "a quick word," only to hold them hostage with an hour-long speech about morals, discipline, and irrelevant life stories.
Mia still held grudges. Sharp and unforgiving.
And Arawn had never shared her tolerance.
He always slipped out of the speeches. Always had an excuse, always managed to vanish from the crowd like a ghost.
The mory made her wince.
He got beaten for that more than once by her.
And of course, he retaliated.
Her back had hurt for three days straight.
Back in the present, the principal raised his hands dramatically. "Fear not. My speech is brief. But do listen closely. For within my words lies the truth of what awaits you."
The room quieted.
Eyes turned forward.
The silence was complete now—not forced, not demanded, but earned.
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