"He who talks too much errs often. Let your words be few, yet weighty.".... Friedrich Nietzsche
As soon as that meeting ended, I left the hall and headed to my classroom, my mind replaying what had just happened. A light headache throbbed at my temples, and the words of that intimidating teacher still echoed in my mind as if they had yet to find silence. The corridor was almost empty, and only the sound of my footsteps echoed with each step.
When I reached the door, I paused for a few seconds to catch my breath. I pushed it slowly, and all eyes turned toward me as I entered. Some raised an eyebrow in surprise, while others continued their conversation as if nothing had happened.
I settled at the lone empty table by the window. Cold air seeped in through a small crack, brushing my face and bringing back a hint of calm. I took out my notebook, trying to focus, but my thoughts kept returning to the sentence that teacher had spoken loudly and sharply at the end of that meeting:
"You must be like them, and challenge yourselves before you challenge the academy."
What did he mean? Who were these people? A mix of anxiety and curiosity stirred in my chest, driving me to uncover the truth.
Suddenly, one of the monitors entered, his heavy shoes clanging against the silent classroom floor. He carried a large wooden box in his arms, as if he were holding a secret that had emerged from the depths of a forgotten time. He placed the box carefully on the teacher's desk, he threw us a fleeting glance.… and left without a word, leaving behind an air heavy with anticipation.
Moments later, the teacher entered. Her skin was as white as paper, her short blonde hair shimmering under the classroom lights, and her dark eyes were steady and deep, like polished black olives that revealed nothing. She stood in silence, observing each of our faces, as if measuring something we could not comprehend.
"I am Teacher Julien," she said. "I will be supervising you over the next three years.
But… there is a truth between us that you must hear:
Despite the enthusiasm I see in you, most likely your first year… or at best, the beginning of your second… will mark a farewell between us.
For in the last twenty years, no one has come close to reaching what the Black Generation achieved… a generation whose name is still whispered to this day."
A heavy silence fell over the classroom, like the void before a storm. Some students exchanged glances; others froze, as if an invisible weight pressed on their chests. Shock painted their faces, and breaths were held.
Suddenly, a voice pierced the stillness.
A tall, dark-skinned young man with thick afro hair and amber eyes gleaming with unwavering confidence stood up. He raised his chin slightly and said in a deep, confident voice:
"Excuse me, Teacher. My name is Jack Budifscherman, from the noble Budifscherman family. I came here to become the next king of Hinar… not to listen to legendary tales about a generation that disappeared twenty years ago."
His words sparked a brief chaos in the classroom—whispers, muffled laughter, astonishment, soft objections—but it lasted only moments before silence returned, heavier than before, as if the entire room awaited the teacher's response.
Teacher Julien turned slowly toward him, studying his face… then approached step by step. She stopped at his desk, leaned slightly, and placed her hand on the tabletop with chilling composure. A subtle smile appeared on her lips… but it was not friendly.
It was pure mockery.
Her voice low but audible to all, she said:
"Very well… we shall see, son of the noble Budifscherman family."
A shiver ran through the classroom.
She reached for the wooden box and opened it with a faint creak, like the moan of something ancient awakening from slumber. She began removing smartwatches one by one, placing them carefully on each desk, as if assembling pieces of a dangerous puzzle.
Once she finished distributing them, she stood straight and said, with an unyielding voice:
"Wear them… now."
We put the watches on quickly—perhaps faster than she anticipated. There was a hidden anger in her tone, a sharpness she could not conceal, as if Budifscherman's words had struck an old wound or challenged something untouchable. He thought he had shown courage… but to all of us, it seemed sheer recklessness.
As soon as the watch wrapped around my wrist, it vibrated slightly and its screen glowed with a pale blue light. Then—without warning—my image appeared on it, clear as if someone had been watching me for ages. My name appeared… my family name… and a huge number in bright white:
200+ points.
I froze.
The same scene repeated at every desk: students' faces appeared on their watches, their names flashing, their points forming before our eyes. Some gasped quietly, some swallowed nervously, and some tried to hide their anxiety behind a weak, forced smile.
It was like the beginning of… something unknown. Something we had yet to be told.
And Teacher Julien?
She stood there, silently watching us, as if waiting for the moment when the truth behind these points would be revealed.
After ensuring that all of us had worn our watches, she paused, looked us in the eyes, and spoke in a cold, piercing voice:
"You have heard the Eighth Law… mentioned by Teacher Jeff in the meeting hall… but I will repeat it, for I know some of you were not paying attention, and others… were lost in another world."
(She glanced at the girls with a small smile, as if she knew all their unspoken thoughts.)
Then she recited the Eighth Law as if by heart, every word heavy, like a stone dropping into our hearts:
The Eighth Law – The Royal Academy of Kings and Queens:
*"In the Academy of Kings and Queens, a student is neither given an identity… nor a name. Instead, a watch is attached to their wrist.
A watch unlike any other.
Within it, their points… their life… their future are stored.
It records every minute of their day, every absence, every mistake no matter how small.
The watch is the student's heart… as long as it beats with points, they exist.
Once the counter drops… their end approaches… slowly, like death creeping forward.
Any attempt to tamper with the watch—hacking, disabling, altering its numbers, or even forcibly removing it—is considered a grave betrayal of the Academy.
Those caught meddling with it will have their watch confiscated immediately… and will be taken to a dark corridor leading to the 'De-Identification Room'.
There… the last remaining point will be taken from them… and their connection to the Academy severed as if their shadow were ripped away.
They will be officially declared: 'Identity Lost'.
They are expelled from the Academy that very night.
All family ties are cut.
Their name is struck from the inheritance records.
They are left outside the walls, pursued by the gaze of shame… for the rest of their life.
The watch is not just a device…
It is your life within the Academy.
And anyone who tries to deceive it…
Has chosen a path of no return."*
Silence fell over the classroom like a black wall, heavier than ever. Every student looked at their wrist, at the watch, at the numbers shimmering before them—beams of life or a sentence of death.
Each of our faces reflected shock and fear; some gripped their wrists unconsciously, as if the watch itself tried to pull them inward, into a world without mercy.
And Teacher Julien? She remained at the front, eyes sharp, a cold smile lingering on her lips, seemingly enjoying the sight of each of us discovering the weight of the law.
Amid the heavy silence, a soft but audacious voice rose:
Natalie Lorenzo, a petite girl with doll-like features, curly hair framing her face, and wide green eyes gleaming with unasked questions, raised her hand slightly:
"Teacher Julien… Teacher Jeff told us in the meeting hall that the challenges would either earn us points or deduct them. My question is… are the challenges here like the ones we see on television or entertainment platforms?"
Julien smiled coldly. Her dark eyes pierced the entire room, as if seeing all our secrets. She replied in a calm but authoritative voice:
"Fools… truly… to compare silly TV games with the challenges conducted here! Do you really believe the next king… is chosen through meaningless contests?
A king… is forged from blood… from decisions… from the moment everyone else is afraid but him.
There is no place here for the superficial… no place for the weak… here… the worthy are tested."
Suddenly, the bell rang, slicing through the silence like an arrow.
Julien's sharp, commanding voice said:
"Alright… you have fifteen minutes before morning lessons resume. You may rest a little."
Silence persisted, heavy with fear. Being ready and eager for challenges was one thing… but being here and hearing about the hell students lived through was entirely different, sending shivers down the spine.
Then a boy rose from his seat. Medium height, wavy dark blonde hair falling to his shoulders in a "bob" cut, moving confidently as if his presence alone radiated courage amidst the tension:
"Alright… let's forget about this fierce teacher. Let's get to know each other, as we will spend three years of our lives together. I'll start: I am Kevin Hartis, son of the Hartis family, owners of the Hartis Hotel Group. Pleasure to meet you all."
A girl smiled gently, yet firmly, as if fully aware of what awaited them here. Her wheat-colored skin, light blue eyes like a clear morning sky, and dark brown long hair tied in a ponytail moved lightly with her steps:
"With Kevin, we should introduce ourselves… to strengthen our class bond against the others. I am Karen Bloodblack, daughter of Viscount Min Bloodblack. Truly pleased to meet you all."
A young man rose from his seat and extended his hand forward with unmistakable confidence. His short black hair gleamed under the sunlight, and his deep green eyes sparkled with a calm assurance that drew attention effortlessly. His voice carried across the classroom, filling the space with the weight of his presence:
— Hello, I'm Federico Freeman, and I'm sure you've all heard of the Freeman family, owners of the car company "Free Car." It's a pleasure to meet you all.
He sat down quietly, leaving behind a lingering impression, as if every eye followed him until he disappeared from sight, his image etched into the memory of everyone in the room.
Then, from her seat at the first desk near the classroom door, Isabella von Klister lifted her head with unwavering poise. Her long brown hair cascaded like silk over her shoulders, and her bright blue eyes radiated balance and confidence. She spoke with a steady, clear voice, carrying weight even in her serene composure:
— I am Isabella von Klister, daughter of the noble von Klister family, which owns most of the banks in Eastern Europe, to be your support as I become the future queen of our beloved kingdom.
Beside her, Maria Rose sat with quiet dignity, a gentle smile gracing her lips. Her long blonde hair framed her serene green eyes, and her voice, soft yet commanding, carried an undeniable presence. She spoke with grace and calm:
— I am Maria Rose, the sole heiress of the Rose family, proprietors of perfumes and cosmetics, and I am destined to become the great queen of this land.
Suddenly, Nathan Dillin rose with a swift motion that drew every eye to him. His short brown hair framed hazel eyes brimming with strength and determination. He spoke firmly, leaving no room for doubt:
— I am Nathan Dillin, son of the Dillin family, owners of a global investment company. Remember this: do not stand in my way, or I will destroy you all.
Silence spread throughout the classroom. The rest of the students represented the pinnacle of noble and wealthy families. Some moved with absolute confidence, carrying themselves as if the world would bend to their will, while others remained calm and reserved, blending into the background. A few exuded an aura so strong that no one dared approach them, as if the academy's rules did not apply. On each wrist gleamed a watch—a silent keeper of an entire life, every tick marking not only time but destiny itself, making each moment in the room feel heavy with unspoken significance.
Finally, Marilyn von Stein stood lightly, placed her right hand on her chest, and bowed with perfect discipline:
"I am Marilyn von Stein… simply the maid of my lady."
She turned to her mistress, Lila Di Stefano.
Lila rose slowly from her chair, red hair blazing like fire with each breeze, her reddish-brown eyes glowing like embers, lips cherry-colored, pale skin glowing under dim light. Hands on the desk, head held high, her voice filled the room:
"I am Lila Di Stefano… daughter of Leo Di Stefano, ruler of the South and one of Hinar's four ministers. Pleased to meet you all."
Applause erupted, echoing like a grand theater.
Kevin Hartis smiled enthusiastically:
"Alright, my friend… your turn! Introduce yourself!"
I stood, voice calm:
"My name is Dan Reith. Pleased to meet you."
I sat immediately. The girl who was sitting in front of me, Isabella von Klister…" raised an eyebrow in surprise:
"Just that? What about your family? We want to know more!"
I gave a silent glance, then said clearly for all to hear:
"I told you my name… that's all you need to know."
Suddenly, a hand gripped my shirt tightly. Nathan Dillin, eyes ablaze with anger, stepped closer:
"I shared my name and my great family… so tell me about yours, or I'll hit you!"
Kevin tried to intervene, voice raised:
"Calm down, Nathan!"
Then, abruptly, a loud shrill sound erupted—a sharp whistle from Nathan's watch filled my ears, rattling my bones. The camera captured the shock on everyone's faces.
Nathan froze, stared at his watch, and read the notification:
"5 points deducted for violent behavior toward a classmate."
His points dropped to 195+ in full view of everyone.
He stormed out of the classroom, Kevin following to calm him, shouting angrily:
"You'll pay for this… you jerk!"
Kevin called out: "Wait, Nathan, the teacher will be back in a moment!'"
I no longer need to convince myself that what's happening around me is mere coincidence.
There is a shadowed presence slipping behind the faces in class W, something not clearly seen yet unmistakably felt… like a faint silhouette drifting between the students.
Nathan Dillin, along with those who circle around him, resemble a closed ring built on one foundation: the scent of money.
Money they do not earn, but inherit.
They speak with a confidence that has no real source, moving as though the path itself was designed to part for them.
And in their eyes glimmers a subtle narcissistic shine… a gleam that says the entire world is nothing more than a flat backdrop created for them alone.
I had been watching them in long silence, a silence like slowly reading a book whose ending you already know.
And over time, I realized they are not ordinary individuals; they belong to what psychology describes as the class‑centered personality type:
the kind that measures a person's worth by the power, fame, or wealth surrounding them—never by the substance or depth within.
They treat their inherited privileges as if they were an essential part of their identity, and time after time, that quiet arrogance surfaces—impossible to hide, no matter how they try.
And I know all too well what it means to deal with people like them.
I know the trouble they can cause, how they try to cast their shadows over paths that aren't theirs to walk.
So… I began to think of a plan.
A plan they cannot hear or see—silent, precise.
Because while they believe they hold the threads of everything, I will be the one quietly rearranging those threads with patience… in ways none of them will anticipate.
All I want is to protect my own path, to keep them away from the space that belongs to me…
before they ever become an obstacle that drags me backward again.
Gradually, the classroom returned to calm. Some students began forming friendships and alliances, while I remained in my seat, thinking.
I could have raised my head and told them the truth about my family… about the fast-food restaurant…
But I did not.
Not out of fear or shame… but because revealing myself here would put me in danger, expose me to exploitation, or sabotage in the challenges.
My silence became my weapon… a veil of mystery preserving my mental and emotional protection, in a place where everything was built on power and status.
A minute later While I sat on my bench, staring intently at the clock that would decide the fate of every student in this academy, Marlene von Stein—Lila di Stefano's maid—suddenly stopped in front of me. The air around her seemed to freeze under the intensity of her gaze. In her left hand, she held a small vial, which she deliberately placed on my desk before saying sharply:
— "You… tell me, what is this?"
A brief silence followed as I thought for a moment. Alright… I'd play along. The way her hand trembled around the vial before setting it down betrayed the fury she tried to conceal—rage beyond control. There was no room for me to lose my composure now. She needed to see that I posed no threat. I relaxed my expression slightly and took a small step forward, feigning obedience and calm while observing every breath and movement she made. A simple trick… but highly effective when dealing with people who cannot control their emotions.
I stared into her eyes for a few seconds, then picked up the vial. I felt its faint chill seep through my fingers as I inspected it carefully before asking:
— "Why are you showing me a bottle of pepper spray?"
She leaned closer, her face almost brushing mine, and whispered in my ear, her voice a mix of anger and threat:
— "Because if you come within even a meter of my lady Lila at night, I will spray the entire vial into your eyes. And just so you know, it's an extremely potent version… capable of causing permanent blindness. Do you understand me, you degenerate—enemy of all women, enemy of humanity itself?"
I held her emerald-green gaze, each beam seeming to sting my face and scorch my very being, and replied cautiously:
— "Terrifying… but as I told you before, what happened was purely accidental."
Marlene gripped the vial tightly and suddenly shoved me into the chair, my back hitting it as her eyes locked onto mine, as if trying to read every nuance in my expression. In a voice calm yet formidable, she said:
— "I don't believe you, you colossal fool."
Moments later, Nathan Dellen and Kevin Hartis returned to the classroom after Nathan's anger had subsided. Before long, the teacher came back with the monitors, distributing our books and notebooks. Even in a hellish academy like this, some moments could feel almost like any ordinary school.
The class gradually returned to its usual calm, and lessons began like any normal school day. Yet the tension lingered in the air, hinting at an approaching storm of epic proportions.