The hallway never fully recovered after Octave's defeat.
The smoke thinned. The heat faded. Students straightened their uniforms and tried to look unaffected.
But the silence had changed.
Before, it was nervous.
Now, it was obedient.
No one shifted too quickly. No one whispered above a breath. Even accidental magic flickers disappeared.
Fear had settled into structure.
Fifith clapped once.
The sound cut clean through the corridor.
"Physical capability test begins now. Stay where you are. Move only when I call your name."
No motivational speech.
No reassurance.
Just command.
Students nodded instinctively, like we had all signed some invisible contract to survive the next ten minutes.
"Talia State."
A girl with short black hair and pale hands stepped forward. Her back was too straight.
The metal door opened.
She disappeared inside.
It sealed shut.
The wait stretched long enough to make everyone imagine the worst.
Then—
A huge screen descended from the ceiling.
[Talia State — 80 Stat Points]
[Grade: Advanced]
A wave of whispering moved through the crowd.
Eighty was good.
Respectable.
Not terrifying.
You could live with eighty.
The screen vanished.
Then—
"Dreyden Stella."
My name didn't echo loudly.
It didn't need to.
Every nerve in my body reacted anyway.
I stepped forward, feeling hundreds of eyes following me. Not curious—evaluating.
Inside the chamber, the air felt cooler.
More controlled.
In the center stood a stone pedestal. A glowing handprint shimmered at its surface.
Fifith didn't even look at me.
"Place your hand on the panel."
I swallowed and pressed my palm down.
The stone vibrated.
Bzzzt—
Energy traveled up my arm like cold lightning.
It traced my channels, my core, my circulation.
For a split second I wondered if it could see through everything.
Not just stats.
My thoughts.
My fear.
Then the screen behind us lit up.
[Dreyden Stella — 100 Stat Points]
[Grade: Elite]
The air stalled.
Not silence.
Suspension.
Someone outside whispered, "What…?"
I didn't move.
One hundred meant perfect base distribution.
It meant balanced genetics.
It meant potential.
Fifith slowly lifted his head.
His eyes locked onto my name.
Not my score.
My name.
"You," he said evenly. "Are you related to John Stella?"
There it was.
The real test.
John Stella.
Top-ranked esper. Clan head. Public icon.
The man who erased Dreyden at ten years old.
My throat tightened.
"No."
The word felt sharp.
True enough.
He studied me too long.
Calculating resemblance.
Height. Bone structure. Posture.
I forced myself not to shrink.
Eventually, he grunted and pulled a lever.
A portal of swirling white light opened behind him.
"Go through."
No praise.
No acknowledgment of Elite grade.
Of course not.
This wasn't admiration.
It was suspicion.
I stepped forward.
And walked into the light.
The world dissolved like pages being ripped from a book.
Sound returned first.
"Huh? One arrived early."
"Lucky kid. First one gets clean parameters."
When vision settled, I stood in a larger chamber. More controlled. More official.
Two exam proctors faced me.
An older man with tired eyes.
And a woman with bright pink hair and a kind smile that felt almost deliberate.
"Welcome to the Triangle, Dreyden," she said warmly. "You've passed the first stage. You're in the Elite Testing Area."
That word hit differently now.
Elite.
Potential.
Expectation.
The older proctor gestured toward a reinforced sandbag.
"Skill display. Full output. Show us what you can do."
This wasn't about control.
This was about impression.
I walked toward the bag.
My palm tingled.
Fire Fists.
Never used.
My Strength was twelve.
Toughness fifteen.
Magic Energy thirty.
Enough.
Probably.
I closed my eyes.
I replayed Octave's circulation pattern in my mind.
Core → shoulder → forearm → compression → ignition.
It wasn't the flames that mattered.
It was the flow.
I breathed in.
Pulled energy.
It surged too fast.
FWOOM—
Fire erupted around my arm violently.
Too aggressive.
Too eager.
Pain lanced up to my elbow.
My skin screamed heat.
"Damn—"
I forced compression.
Forced shape.
Held it together instead of letting it explode outward.
Swing.
BANG.
The sandbag snapped backward so hard the entire stand skidded across reinforced flooring.
The room vibrated.
Silence followed.
The digital readout beside the bag flickered rapidly.
Numbers climbing.
Faster.
Higher.
It stabilized at:
165,983
That number meant nothing to me.
But the proctors' faces changed instantly.
Shock.
The older man blinked twice like the system had glitched.
The pink-haired examiner straightened slowly.
"That's… unusually high."
My arm gave out.
I dropped to one knee, smoke rising faintly from my sleeve.
Fire Fists at my current control was reckless.
I'd over-pulled.
"Relax," the pink-haired woman said, kneeling beside me.
Green light enveloped her palm.
"It's called Short Time," she explained gently. "Small localized rewind."
Heat unwound.
Skin restored.
Pain evaporated like it had never existed.
I stared at my forearm.
"…Thank you."
She smiled faintly.
"You're supposed to tell me your skill now."
I stood carefully.
"Am I?"
She studied me for a second longer than necessary.
Then she laughed softly. "No. But most students do."
I said nothing.
The older proctor marked something on his tablet.
"Assignment confirmed. Class A1."
The words landed heavier than the numbers.
Class A1.
Main cast territory.
Hero proximity.
Predators at the top of the hierarchy.
"Proceed to uniform fitting."
I walked through the side door.
The changing room was quiet.
I slid on the gray uniform—gold stripe thick across the chest.
The digital badge activated immediately.
Dreyden — 165,983 pts
It looped like a headline.
I stared at the reflection.
The face looking back at me was sharp.
Controlled.
Not scared.
Which was odd.
Because I was.
The door opened.
A red-haired boy stepped in, casual energy radiating off him.
"Yo. Liam Strayford. Class B."
He extended a hand confidently.
I took it.
"Dreyden. Class A."
His eyes drifted to my badge.
"Bro. That's insane."
I shrugged. "Got lucky."
He laughed. "Luck doesn't hit numbers like that."
Before I could respond, the door opened again.
Dhara Silvius entered.
White hair.
Perfect posture.
The kind of calm that wasn't insecurity—it was entitlement earned early.
She didn't glance at either of us.
Didn't need to.
Behind her came Riven Dogers, uniform folded over his arm, eyes sharp but friendly.
Liam waved. Dhara ignored him completely.
Riven offered a polite nod.
That temperature drop in the room?
Real.
Hierarchy had presence here.
You could feel it.
Moments later the proctor returned.
"Students. Line up."
We obeyed.
Because at some point during that test—
We had stopped being applicants.
The door ahead slid open.
Bright corridor beyond.
Structured.
Waiting.
I stepped forward with the others.
Once we crossed that threshold—
We weren't guests.
We were part of the machine.
And machines didn't care how brave you felt.
Only how useful you were.
I adjusted my sleeve subtly.
Class A1.
Let's see how long I last.