The office was very quiet.
The curtains were drawn, leaving only a narrow slit. Light cut through the gap, falling onto the floor as a pale strip. The air carried a faint scent of paper, mixed with the lingering coldness of metal instruments. The central air system hummed at a low frequency, its sound absorbed by the walls, leaving only a subtle vibration.
Seven stood in front of the desk.
Eighteen years old.
One hundred eighty centimeters tall.
His shoulders were straight. His collarbones were defined, but not overly prominent. Training had shaped his muscles evenly—no exaggerated bulk, only a tightened, fitted structure. The fabric followed the curve of his back, narrowing slightly at the waist. When his arms rested naturally, a faint shadow formed along his triceps under the light.
Seventy-four kilograms.
His physique had stabilized. His frame had filled out—no longer the thinness of youth, but not yet the full peak of adulthood. When he stood, his center of gravity was steady. His feet were placed just within shoulder width. His knees relaxed, but not slack. His breathing was even, without excess movement.
Green sat behind the desk.
Documents were stacked across the surface. The edges of data sheets curled slightly. A fountain pen lay across a folder.
Green glanced up at Seven.
"What is it this time?"
His tone was calm. No impatience, no anticipation. Just a routine question.
Seven spoke.
"The graduation exam is coming soon. But I don't want to graduate that quickly."
His voice was steady. Not loud.
Green tapped the desk lightly with his finger.
"So you want to repeat a year?"
Seven shook his head. A minimal movement.
"That wouldn't feel the same. I'm thinking of establishing a special class. Something like a seventh grade."
The air paused for a second.
Green leaned forward slightly.
"Seventh grade?"
Seven nodded.
"Yes."
Light slid across the side of his face, casting a short shadow along the bridge of his nose.
Green gave a small smile.
"That does sound like your style. What would it involve?"
Seven did not take long to answer.
"The seventh grade would consist of fewer than ten people. Those who already qualify for graduation can apply. The main purpose is to assist lower-grade students in ability training, helping them develop more stable control."
His words were clean. No extra explanation.
Only the low hum of the air system filled the office.
Green looked at him. His gaze moved from Seven's shoulders to his arms, then back to his face.
"It does sound reasonable. But we'll need enough data to negotiate with the administration."
As he spoke, he pushed aside a stack of documents.
"Let's split the work. I'll compile the data from your assisted training over the past year."
He paused.
"And the students will need to sign—to prove they actually need a seventh grade."
Seven nodded.
No more words.
—
At the entrance of the academic building.
The afternoon light was brighter than in the office. The ground reflected a slightly harsh white glare. Wind blew in from the end of the corridor, carrying the dry scent of the training field.
Seven stood by the entrance.
A table.
A signature book.
The pages were clean, edges neat. The cover slightly stiff.
His arms hung naturally at his sides.
People flowed out of the building, splitting to either side.
Some glanced at the table, then quickly looked away. Some slowed down, but didn't approach.
The sound of shoes brushing the ground came in fragments. Conversations were hushed.
Seven did not move.
His posture remained steady.
Sunlight fell across his shoulders, the fabric faintly reflecting it.
Minutes passed.
The first page of the signature book remained blank.
North and 77 walked out from the stairwell.
North spotted Seven first.
"Seven, what are you doing?"
Seven looked at him.
"Collecting signatures."
77 glanced at the table, then back at Seven.
"If you just stand here, who's going to know?"
Seven remained silent.
North looked around, then walked to the notice board. He tore off a scrap sheet, picked up a pen, and wrote a few words.
"Seventh Grade Agreement Signatures."
The handwriting was simple and direct.
He taped it to the front of the table.
The wind lifted a corner of the paper.
North pressed it down again with tape.
Seven still stood there.
Number 21 stepped out from the crowd.
He stopped at the table, glanced at the sign, then at Seven.
No questions.
He opened the book.
Wrote his number.
The pen scratched clearly across the page.
Number 57 stepped forward next.
His fingers rested on the page for a moment.
Then he signed.
Number 68 came last.
After signing, he looked up at the surrounding people.
"Sign it."
His tone was casual.
The crowd began to slow.
Some approached.
Some asked quietly.
"What is it?"
"Seventh grade."
"What for?"
"Assisted training."
The voices were low, but they spread.
More people stepped forward.
Lines of handwriting appeared one after another.
The sound of pages turning became frequent.
People gathered around the table.
Shoulders brushed lightly.
Some stood behind, trying to see.
The wind stirred the pages slightly.
Seven's breathing remained steady.
He simply stood there.
No explanation.
No persuasion.
The sunlight shifted above, shadows stretching longer.
The book turned to the second page.
Then the third.
Then the fourth.
There was no noise. Just continuous movement.
The numbers increased.
Page after page filled.
—
Principal's office.
The door closed slowly.
The room was larger than before.
Old photographs hung on the walls. Curtains half-drawn.
The principal sat in the center.
Bald at the top, with a ring of thick white hair around it, like a pale forest. His cheeks were slightly flushed. His build was heavy. His white coat was buttoned neatly.
He looked up.
"Sit."
Seven and Green sat down.
The principal began speaking.
At a steady pace.
His voice was full.
He spoke about systems. About arrangements. About risks.
Time passed.
The water cup on the table was lifted, then set down.
The light outside dimmed.
The air grew warmer.
The principal continued.
Seven sat upright.
His back rested against the chair, but did not relax.
His hands rested on his knees.
His breathing remained steady.
Green nodded occasionally.
Documents were flipped.
Paper made soft, fragmented sounds.
Hours later.
The principal stopped.
He looked at Seven.
His gaze was gentle.
"Then the establishment of the seventh grade is approved."
He exhaled softly.
"The unsettled children will be entrusted to you. I sincerely hope they can find stability."
The room fell quiet.
Seven met his gaze.
There was no avoidance in the principal's eyes.
It did not feel like an act.
The last light from outside fell across the table.
The air settled.
Seven stood.
His movements were steady.
The door opened again.
The corridor outside was brighter.
He walked forward.
His footsteps were clear and even.
—
Cafeteria.
The news fully spread during dinner.
Steam rose in layers from the serving windows, softening the light. The air carried the damp warmth of rice and the scent of heated oil. Metal trays clinked against each other, producing crisp echoes.
Seven walked in with his tray.
His pace did not change.
His back was straight.
His athletic build was clearly outlined under the lights. His T-shirt followed his shoulders, shifting slightly with his breathing.
Someone looked up.
Their gaze paused.
Whispers followed.
"Is it really approved?"
"The principal agreed."
"Seventh grade."
"That assisted training thing."
The voices were low, but dense.
Seven sat in his usual place.
The chair legs scraped lightly.
North practically ran over.
The soup in her tray rippled.
"Seven!"
She sat down with a soft noise.
"It's really established?"
Seven nodded.
A small motion.
North's face lit up immediately.
Her eyes brightened.
"So that means—you're not graduating right away?"
Seven looked at her.
"Not for now."
North let out a breath.
Like she had been holding it all day.
"That's great."
Her smile was unrestrained.
77 sat across from them.
His chopsticks paused midair.
He looked at Seven.
"So this was really your reason?"
Seven raised his eyes.
"What."
77 frowned.
"Staying here."
The air fell quiet for a moment.
The sound of trays suddenly became clearer.
Seven lowered his gaze and continued eating.
"Just assisting training."
His tone was flat.
No explanation.
77 said nothing more.
But his gaze did not move away.
—
Saturday afternoon.
Outside the training building.
The sunlight was stronger than usual.
There were fewer people on the field.
Wind came over the outer wall, carrying distant city noise.
Seven stood in the shade.
Several lower-grade students gathered around him.
No formal structure.
Just drawn in.
He gestured for one of them to adjust position.
Clean, precise.
Steps shifted.
The ground trembled faintly.
The air rippled under the fluctuation of ability.
Seven stood three meters away.
He did not intervene.
Only observed.
"Stabilize a bit more."
His voice was low.
The student's forehead was covered in sweat.
Breathing uneven.
Gradually, the fluctuations smoothed out.
More people gathered.
Some sat on the steps.
Some leaned against the railing.
No one spoke.
They just watched.
Seven's figure stretched under the sunlight.
His shoulders sharp.
His posture steady.
Like a fixed measuring line.
North sat on the steps.
Hands braced behind her.
She watched his back.
Her smile never faded.
The wind tousled her hair.
"This is good too."
She said softly.
No one responded.
77 stood to the side.
Arms crossed.
His brow not fully relaxed.
He watched Seven correcting movements again and again.
The rhythm was steady.
No excess emotion.
77 suddenly spoke.
"What exactly do you want?"
His voice was low.
Carried away by the wind.
Seven did not respond.
Perhaps he didn't hear.
Or chose not to.
—
Sunday.
Outer social area of the academy.
Open hours.
Small tables were placed outside a street café.
Light filtered through transparent awnings.
The atmosphere was more relaxed than inside the academy.
But the topic was nearly the same.
"Seventh grade."
"Heard the slots are limited."
"Only those qualified to graduate can apply."
"Who will he choose?"
Cups touched tables softly.
Straws stirred slowly.
Someone laughed quietly.
"Maybe he just doesn't want to leave."
"Not a bad thing."
In the distance, Seven stood by the railing.
The wind lifted the edge of his clothing.
City sounds drifted in.
Traffic.
Distant conversations.
North walked up beside him.
A drink in her hand.
"Seven."
He turned his head slightly.
"Mm."
North smiled.
"That means we can train together for a long time."
Her voice was light.
But her happiness was obvious.
Seven looked ahead.
"We'll see."
North nodded.
"I'm happy anyway."
She said it directly.
No attempt to hide it.
The wind passed between them.
Sunlight flickered.
77 stood a few steps away.
He watched the scene.
His gaze darkened.
Seven's back remained straight.
Unwavering.
Like a position already decided.
77 slowly exhaled.
"Seventh grade."
He repeated quietly.
The wind continued.
The social area grew louder.
Laughter mixed together.
And Seven stood there.
Stable.
Still.
Like a line that had been redrawn.
The first weekend after the establishment of the seventh grade.
The academy's rhythm had not changed.
And yet, it had.
The cafeteria remained noisy.
The lab building remained strict.
The social area remained open.
But a new center of discussion had appeared.
Seven.
And the seventh grade.
North's smile lasted longer than usual.
77's gaze grew deeper than before.
And Seven—
He simply stood.
Breathing steady.
Eyes calm.
As if everything was only natural.
The wind passed over the walls.
Time moved forward.
Seven did not graduate.
And the academy did not stop.
Before the weekend ended, the topic still lingered.
Gradually becoming routine.
But never disappearing.
Seventh grade.
It had become reality.