I stuffed the last of my clothes into the dinsional pocket of my robe.
I moved with calm efficiency, not at all like soone who was preparing to enter a nightmarish dinsion infested with twisted abominations and eldritch horrors.
"Done packing," I nodded satisfactorily to myself.
A masterpiece of minimalist preparation.
The robe I found in the High Priest's Vault of Ishtara was truly a lifesaver. While my peers would struggle to carry around large camping bags, I'd be walking elegantly and looking pretty.
Not that I packed much, anyway.
Just two shirts, one jacket, three sets of undergarnts, so snacks, energy drinks, and a divine sword that a kid like had no business possessing. Only essentials.
I gave my room a final glance, then sighed dramatically — like I was already hosick, even though I hadn't even stepped out yet.
Shaking my head solemnly, I left my apartnt and headed down.
Once outside the building, I took a campus taxi and arrived at one of the training grounds.
The entire field was buzzing — literally.
Hundreds of Cadets were gathered in loose clusters, all dressed in the signature Academy combat vests with huge bags clinking at their backs. So even had weapons strapped and freshly polished.
A low drone of chatter filled the air, punctuated by nervous laughter and occasional screams as so overconfident Cadets idiotically tried showing off their new Cards and accidentally set things on fire. Yes, that happened more than once.
The entirety of my batch was present here — all the current first-years. Eight hundred and sothing Cadets. The full collection of future disasters.
So were hyped up.
So were pale.
So were already placing bets on who would cry first once we stepped into the Spirit Realm.
And I— well, I just wanted to know when was the earliest we could take a nap after getting there.
Hey, I was sleepy since I couldn't properly sleep the night before. Sue !
"Samael Theosbane," a voice called out as soon as I walked through the eastern gate of the field.
I turned to see a group of staff mbers holding glowing tablets. They must've been analyzing the team assignnt logs.
One of them, a woman with square glasses and the dead-eyed expression of soone fed up with her life, was looking straight at .
"Yes?" I asked.
"You've been reassigned to Squad 27," she said with a quick nod. "Check your Academy emails to get your squadmates' nas and contact info."
…Ah.
Right.
Since I left my last team — Squad 9, also known as the team of main characters — I was automatically reassigned to a new one.
I nodded, pulled out my phone, and walked away while hurriedly unblocking the Academy's account.
Sure enough, there was indeed an email about my Squad reassignnt.
I tapped it open and saw a chatroom link attachnt.
Yes, the Academy hosted private online chatrooms for Squads. Each team got one.
I never bothered logging into my last one.
But the mont I joined this chatroom, I was greeted with a flood of old ssages. Seed like my new teammates were… chronically online. And very, very chatty.
I didn't bother reading any of the chat history and was just about to ask where they were — when I noticed two mbers had already shared their live locations.
Perfect.
I shrugged and started following one of the pings.
Looking back, I really should've checked their nas first.
It would've saved a lot of embarrassnt.
But I didn't.
Following the map, I walked past Squad 3 doing synchronized warmups like they were in a military parade.
I walked past Squad 32 yelling at their ranged fighter for lighting soone's sleeve on fire.
I walked past Squad 11 — which seed to consist entirely of archers. I paused briefly. How did that team even work?
Eventually, I stopped in front of a small group sitting under the shadow of the bleachers.
Squad 27.
Four Cadets. All C-rank. Well-equipped. Laughing and chatting like they weren't about to be thrown into a godforsaken realm of unimaginable horrors.
They looked up as I approached.
And imdiately frowned.
Their laughter died.
Their smiles withered.
One of them — a tall, handso guy with violet hair and sharp eyebrows — nudged the girl next to him and muttered sothing under his breath.
She sighed.
Another one, a short girl with green hair, gold piercings, and a permanent scowl, slowly muttered in half-terror and half-annoyance, "No. No way. Why is he here?!"
I looked behind , then pointed to myself in confusion. "?"
They all stared at like I'd just asked for both their kidneys.
I blinked. "Did I… bring the wrong vibes?"
No one laughed.
Okay. Tough crowd.
"This is Squad 27, right?" I asked, trying again with a charming smile. "I got reassigned. Figured I'd co say hi before we're all traumatized in the Spirit Realm together."
The tall guy looked baffled. "S-Say hi? What the fuck do you an?! You seriously don't recognize us?"
I squinted and gave them a once-over.
The first girl — a brunette with dark eyes — had a vaguely familiar face. Kind of. Maybe. She seed like a goth.
The green-haired one's scowl rang a bell, but in a generic background character sort of way.
The tall guy looked like he gave motivational speeches in his sleep. He seed used to authority and leadership roles. But I could tell he wasn't a noble.
And the fourth mber — a quiet guy with yellowish hair — hadn't spoken a word. He was just calmly polishing a sniper rifle like this was a Sunday picnic.
"…Did I et you guys in the cafeteria or sothing?" I guessed. "Look, if I stole a plate from you, my bad. I get feral when I'm hungry."
"No," said the short girl, keeping her voice flat. "You fought us. All of us. In that open challenge you issued! How do you not rember?!"
I blinked again.
"Ohhhh," I finally realized with a clap, the mory clicking into place. "You're the guys who ganged up on … and still lost!"
The goth girl gave a look that suggested she was weighing the consequences of murder.
"Right, yes, okay! That explains the—" I waved vaguely at their collective scowls "—hostile looks you all are giving . But guys, co on. It wasn't personal. I was just defending my title."
"You mocked us!" the tall guy snapped. "In front of a live audience! You insulted our strategy, teamwork, intelligence—"
"—and then posted s about us on social dia," the dark-haired girl added coldly. "s, you bastard!"
…Okay, yes.
After that ten-on-one fight, I might've made so s.
And posted them online.
"In my defense," I said, raising a finger, "your healer couldn't even heal herself after I knocked her down. It was funny. Like, how useless could she even be, right?"
A dagger thunked into the dirt, two centiters from my boot.
I blinked at it.
It was thrown by the dark-haired girl.
I took a single step back.
No! I wasn't scared! S-Shut up!
anwhile, the green-haired girl had started sobbing in her hands. "I was that healer, you jerk…"
Ahh, co on!
"Okay, okay. Let's start over," I said with a cautious smile, taking another careful step back. "Can we all just introduce ourselves again? You know — for bonding purposes. And also so I don't accidentally trash talk another one of you in your face."
I saw their expressions shift from mildly offended to unrestrained fury in real-ti.
But before another dagger could be thrown at , the air shifted.
Literally.
A gust of cold wind swept across the field like a storm of sharp razors, slicing through conversations and pulling everyone's attention toward the central platform.
And then — she appeared.
Selene Valkryn.
Her hair, black as the sky on a starless night, flowed down her back like a river of ink. Her long gray coat billowed behind her like smoke. Her expression was unreadable — elegant yet confident, warm yet distant.
She wasn't wearing her witch hat today. No dark circles under her eyes either. She actually looked… rested. Fresh.
The entire field fell silent.
Even Squad 27 stopped plotting my 'accidental' demise.
Selene didn't address us right away.
She simply walked up the stone steps of the raised platform and stood there, letting her presence speak for itself as her gaze swept over all of us.
Then, at last, she said softly — yet her voice reached every corner of the field, "I won't waste your ti."
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