Seven arrived at the Ability Academy before the term began.
The academy was located outside the city, at a distance from the nearest residential area. It wasn't remote. The road leading there was still maintained, with trimmed greenery lining the sides. But from a certain point onward, traces of everyday life began to fade. Shops disappeared. Billboards vanished. Roadside information became minimal and standardized.
It felt like a deliberately created buffer zone.
The closer he got, the more regulated the road became. The pavement had been completely redone—no cracks, no temporary patches. The lines were straight, the width consistent. There were fewer signs now, not more. Directions were no longer repeated, only placed at key intersections.
Anyone who made it this far was expected to already know where they were going.
Seven kept walking without stopping.
The buildings ahead gradually came into view. Their outlines were clear, their arrangement orderly. No variation in height, no chaotic layering. The academy neither hid itself nor tried to appear imposing.
It simply existed there—like a space that had long been designated.
The main gate stood open.
There were no fences extending to the roadside, no guard posts at the entrance. The space at the entry was wide. A single white line had been drawn across the ground—straight, measured, neither easy to ignore nor unnecessarily prominent.
Beside it stood a simple signboard.
"New Student Registration →"
Nothing more. No additional instructions. No welcome message.
Seven stopped at the line for a brief moment, then stepped across.
Following the indicated direction, he entered the campus.
The ground remained perfectly even beneath his feet. Walking felt almost frictionless. The air carried no distinctive smell—neither sterile like a hospital nor industrial like a factory. It was closer to something neutral, as if it had been filtered repeatedly.
The layout was clear at a glance.
The main academic building stood slightly forward in the center—the largest structure, clean exterior, evenly spaced windows. The dormitory area lay to one side, maintaining a fixed distance, with an open space in between. The cafeteria and gymnasium were positioned on the other side, each occupying its own clearly defined zone.
Every distance between buildings felt calculated.
Not cramped. Not empty.
The field of vision remained open at all times. No obstructions blocked the main pathways. From any position, one could easily determine direction.
The first impression the academy gave was not defense.
It was order.
Seven didn't wander.
He wasn't drawn in by the surroundings, nor did he rush to explore. Instead, he followed the signs directly toward the registration office.
The administrative office was located inside a plain building.
Not tall. Clean lines. No decorative elements.
There was no nameplate at the entrance—only an embedded electronic screen displaying the current time and a single line of text:
"New Student Reception Ongoing."
Standard font. Moderate brightness. No flicker.
Seven pushed the door open.
The hinge moved smoothly, without excess sound. Inside, the lighting was evenly distributed from the ceiling, casting no harsh shadows. A faint scent of disinfectant lingered in the air—not strong, but constant, as if maintained over time.
The room was quiet.
A staff member sat behind a desk, wearing a white coat. The surface was neatly arranged with terminal devices and documents. No personal items. No decoration.
His appearance was unremarkable.
Average build. Common features. The kind of person who would disappear in a crowd.
But when he looked up at Seven, something felt off.
There were no pupils in his eyes.
Not blindness. Not emptiness. The sclera was normal. The eyes moved naturally. But the structure humans used to focus—was missing.
It looked more like something designed for function.
The staff member's gaze lingered on Seven for a second, then shifted downward to the document in his hand.
"Recommendation letter," he said.
His tone was steady. Flat.
Seven handed over the letter from the orphanage.
The staff member flipped through it quickly—not reading line by line, but scanning for structure and key information. His fingers moved rapidly across the pages before stopping.
He closed it and set it aside.
Then he looked up again.
"You can see?"
The question was natural. No probing. No emphasis. Not asking about the source—just confirming a condition.
Seven nodded.
"Yes."
"Ability?" the staff member continued. "Do you know the duration?"
Seven didn't answer immediately.
He checked his own condition before speaking.
"Not sure if it's an ability," he said. "But it lasts all day."
The staff member paused slightly.
Not surprise.
Not caution.
Interest.
"Oh—" he stretched the tone just a bit. "That's not bad."
He opened a drawer and took out a card, placing it on the desk and pushing it toward Seven.
"Student ID."
Seven picked it up.
The card was thin, rigid. Smooth surface. Clean edges. No unnecessary texture. On the front were a few lines of information, neatly arranged.
ID: X-721
Student Number: Year 1, No. 7
"This is?" Seven asked.
"X-721 is your fixed system ID," the staff member explained. "Used internally."
He paused, then added:
"But here, people usually go by student numbers. So you'd be called 'One-Seven.'"
Seven glanced at the card and nodded.
"Got it."
The staff member studied him for a brief moment. No judgment. No follow-up questions.
"Classes start in a few days," he said. "You can familiarize yourself with the campus."
"What about food and housing?" Seven asked.
The question came plainly.
"Covered," the staff member replied immediately. "Dorms and cafeteria are free."
His tone remained steady.
"But anything outside the academy requires points."
Seven went quiet for a moment.
He scratched his head casually.
"I don't have any points. What then?"
"Not a problem," the staff member said lightly. "You'll be issued some at the start."
"How do I earn more?"
That made the staff member raise an eyebrow.
"Didn't expect you to think ahead," he said.
He looked at Seven again, holding his gaze slightly longer this time.
"Training earns points. Course completion, discipline—all counted," he said. "Someone like you won't take long to pay it back."
Seven didn't respond to the comment.
He simply nodded and stored the information.
The registration process ended there.
No oath. No group photo. No welcoming ceremony.
After completing the final confirmation on the terminal, the staff member signaled that Seven could leave.
Seven put away his student ID and walked out.
The door closed behind him, sealing the disinfectant scent inside. Outside, the light spread freely again. The air moved more naturally.
He stood in front of the administrative building for a moment, looking out across the academy.
Then he started walking.
Before everything officially began—
He decided to take a look around.
To get familiar.