The headmaster took a moment, letting the weight of his welcome settle over the room. Then he inhaled—not dramatically, but with a shift in tone that said the easy part was over.
"Now," he said, clasping his hands behind his back, "let's talk about what you are stepping into."
A quiet ripple moved through the students.
"You are Performers. Newly awakened, newly stabilized, and newly registered under the Initiative. That means each and every one of you survived something most people in the outside world still don't even believe is real."
A few students looked down at their hands. Others stared straight ahead with stiff jaws.
The headmaster began pacing slowly across the stage.
"Narratives are not fair. They are not merciful. They do not wait for you to prepare. And they certainly do not care if you had other plans for your life."
His eyes scanned the room, and for a heartbeat they passed over Obei—sharp, studying, but not unkind.
"But you are here," he continued. "Which means you survived your first test. And we intend to ensure you survive any situations that may arise."
"And survival," the headmaster went on, "is only the floor of what we expect from you."
A few students shifted uncomfortably. The air felt tighter now it wasn't hostile, but charged, like a bowstring being drawn back.
"You are not here simply to keep breathing. You are here to learn control, Precision, Restraint, And when necessary decisive action."
He stopped pacing, turning fully toward the audience.
"Every one of you shares a similar experience, surviving a Narrative. The difference being the powers you obtained from these Narratives."
Once again he began pacing around the stage.
"Some Narratives granting you the ability to see beyond the normal scope of human understanding, other Narratives granting the usage of manipulation, or Explosive power beyond human norms. You name it and a Narrative has probably granted it."
A few students straightened as if the word itself had tugged them upright.
"Do not, make the mistake of assuming these gifts make you exceptional. They make you accountable." He added.
"The world beyond these walls still sleeps. Still argues. Still doubts the existence of what nearly killed you." He paused, letting that sink in.
"To them, you are rumors. Accidents. Medical anomalies. Ghost stories the populace refuses to acknowledge." A faint, humorless smile touched his mouth. "And we intend to keep it that way for as long as possible."
A ripple of tension swept across the auditorium there was confusion from some, resignation from others, and in a few faces, raw relief.
"This academy exists for one purpose that is stability, your stability. The world's stability. Narratives do not care about collateral damage. Humans do." His voice tightened, sharpened. "We do."
He walked to the edge of the stage, closer now, almost eye-level with the front rows.
"That is why your training will be rigorous. Your evaluations unforgiving. Your mistakes recorded, analyzed, and corrected."
He tapped two fingers lightly against the podium—almost an unspoken warning.
he said quietly. "Because none of you, get to pretend you're normal anymore."
He straightened, shoulders squaring.
"For now, accept this truth: your power is not a prize. It is a responsibility you did not ask for, but one you will be trained to uphold."
Then, with a final breath that carried all the weight of expectation:
"Welcome to the Initiative, Performers. Your Narratives may have chosen you… but what you do next is your choice."
The lights dimmed once more. And with them so did the orientation.
Stepping through the double doors, Obei was met with a sudden flood of light.
After the dim auditorium, the sunlight crashing over him forced his eyes to narrow to slits. The campus courtyard stretched out before him in quiet symmetry clean stone paths, trimmed hedges, tall glass-paneled buildings reflecting the noon glare like polished mirrors.
He exhaled slowly, letting the tension from the headmaster's speech drain from his shoulders.
So… what now? he thought.
He wandered toward a nearby bench shaded by a slender ornamental tree, its leaves rustling softly in the breeze. His bracelet hadn't chimed again. No instructions. No map. No schedule. Just silence.
Obei sat.
For the first time he wasn't given instructions on what do or where to go the campus was big. And every student passing by seemed to know exactly where they were going.
That's when raised voices snapped his attention to the walkway on his right.
At first it sounded like just another conversation. Then he caught the tone it was sharp, smug, the kind spoken by someone who had never been told no with any real weight behind it.
It came from two students that stood near a fountain a boy and a girl, both dressed in uniforms that looked somehow more expensive than everyone else's. The boy's blazer carried an embroidered crest stitched in metallic thread; the girl wore a brooch shaped like an angular phoenix, gleaming even in the shade.
Wealth, Influence, and Old power. They didn't need to say it. It clung to them like perfume.
The male heir—tall, immaculate, painfully self-satisfied leaned slightly toward the girl as if confiding a secret meant for the world to overhear.
"I'm just saying," he drawled, "those of us with pedigree should look out for each other in a place like this." His grin widened, practiced and polished. "Wouldn't want to get dragged down by the… less refined students."
A couple of nearby first-years stiffened at the comment but looked away just as quickly, unwilling to be noticed.
The girl didn't respond immediately. She stood with perfect posture, chin slightly raised, eyes surveying the courtyard with quiet calculation. She wasn't smiling—but she wasn't dismissing him either. If anything, she looked bored of the attention, but willing to entertain it.
Obei watched them from the bench, the words settling uneasily in his stomach.
Performers. Survivors of death itself… and still, people fall back on this? Wealth? Status? how disappointing he thought.
But he didn't move. He didn't speak up. Not because he agreed but because this wasn't his business. He was just another first-year trying to figure out where to go, where to be, and how not to get swallowed whole by a place built to test him.
The next moment his bracelet chimed.
POST-ORIENTATION ASSESSMENT
LOCATION: TRAINING GROUNDS
TIME: 10 MINUTES