The morning the entrance exam began, Asterwyn felt like it had taken a single deep breath and refused to let it go.
The city was awake earlier than usual. The streets leading toward the academy district filled with students from every corner of the continent—some dressed in clean uniforms from noble tutors, others wearing worn traveler coats and carrying nothing but a bag and stubborn eyes.
People spoke louder than necessary.
Some laughed too much.
Some didn't speak at all.
But everyone kept glancing in the same direction.
Toward the academy tower.
It rose above the city like a promise and a threat carved into stone—too tall, too clean, too certain. The kind of place that didn't care where you came from, only whether you were worth keeping.
Cael walked with the crowd, his steps steady.
He didn't feel confident.
He felt focused.
There was a difference.
He adjusted the strap of his simple bag and ignored the subtle stares that came his way. His clothes were plain. His build was still too slim. He didn't look like a prodigy.
Which was fine.
In this world, looking harmless was sometimes safer.
Before the academy gates came fully into view, Cael paused in a quiet corner of the street, away from the flow of students. He took one slow breath and whispered softly.
"Status."
The familiar blue window unfolded in front of him.
[STATUS WINDOW]
Name: Cael Thornwood
Race: Human
Age: 16
Level: 3
Class: None
Title(s): Grove Survivor
HP: 53 / 57
MP: 22 / 22
Stamina: 34 / 34
Strength: 4
Agility: 5
Endurance: 4
Magic Power: 1
Perception: 7
Luck: 1
Control: 2
Unique System: Irregular Growth System (Active)
Bonded Relic: Seed of Irregular Growth (31% Bonded)
Technique(s): Mana Circulation — Inner Loop (Basic)
Skills:
Instinct Step (Common | Lv.1 | EXP 9%)
Talents:
Survivor's Flow (Rare | Lv.1)
Active Quest(s):
Enter S-Class (Academy Entrance Phase)
Cael stared at the numbers.
They were still low compared to what he remembered top students should have.
But compared to the weak body he'd woken up in?
This was progress.
Real progress.
Endurance 4 meant he wouldn't collapse after one sprint.
Control 2 meant he could circulate mana more smoothly, waste less energy, recover faster.
And most importantly…
He wasn't going into the academy empty anymore.
Cael dismissed the window and stepped back into the crowd.
The academy gates were massive up close—tall enough that even grown men looked small beneath them. The stone was polished, carved with magic inscriptions that glowed faintly when students walked past. Guards and academy staff stood in neat lines, checking identification tokens and issuing entry slips.
Cael kept his head down and moved forward when the line advanced.
When it was his turn, a staff member glanced over him quickly, stamped his slip, and pointed toward the inner hall.
"Entrance Trial Hall. Theory Division first," the man said, bored. "Follow the signs."
Cael nodded and walked through.
The academy interior was colder than outside, not from temperature but presence. The halls were wide, clean, and filled with the kind of silence that came from authority. Even the air felt disciplined, as if noise itself was discouraged.
Students gathered in large groups—some wearing family crests, some whispering with confidence, others pale with nerves.
Cael didn't join any group.
He found the sign for Theory Division and followed it.
The examination hall was enormous.
Rows and rows of desks filled the room, each separated enough that even looking at another paper would be obvious. At the front, several instructors stood behind a raised platform, robes crisp, expressions sharp.
One of them spoke, voice carrying effortlessly.
"Theory Exam will determine your fundamental understanding of the world you wish to survive in."
A pause.
Then, colder:
"Those who lack knowledge die faster. This academy does not train fools."
Ink and paper were distributed.
When Cael's test sheet landed on his desk, he didn't rush.
He simply turned it over.
And the moment he read the first question, something inside him settled.
I know this.
Not because he was a genius.
Because he'd lived through it—again and again—behind a screen.
Because he had memorized routes, lore, mechanics, and hidden systems out of obsession and survival.
Because Elaris wasn't a new world to him.
It was a world he had studied the way poor people studied hunger.
The questions started simple:
1) Explain the difference between mana conduction and mana compression.
2) Identify the three primary types of monster cores and their elemental instability patterns.
3) What is the safest method to neutralize a basic curse imprint without damaging the host's mana flow?
Cael's pen moved smoothly.
He didn't hesitate.
He didn't think too long.
The answers poured out cleanly, almost like copying something from memory.
Mana conduction: external flow, spread through limbs, easier to cast but wasteful.
Mana compression: internal densification, slower but stable, required for advanced skills and core strengthening.
Monster cores: stable, volatile, fractured… patterns based on element type and region.
He wrote everything down with the calm of someone doing routine work.
Around him, other students were already sweating.
Some were flipping pages back and forth, lips moving silently.
A few stared at the ceiling like they were begging the gods for help.
Cael kept writing.
Then he reached a section labeled:
Advanced Question — Bonus Evaluation (Not Required)
Most students wouldn't touch this.
He remembered that from the game.
This question existed mostly to filter monsters from ordinary talent.
It was usually impossible for a first-year candidate unless they'd been raised under a grand mage or a royal scholar.
Cael read it once.
Then twice.
His pen stopped.
Not because he didn't know it.
Because he didn't expect them to ask it this early.
"Describe the theoretical mechanism behind 'Soul Imprint Residue' and explain why certain individuals display 'fate deviation symptoms' despite normal mana structure."
The exam hall felt quieter suddenly.
Even the students around him who hadn't read the question yet looked tense, as if they could sense something heavy on the page.
Cael's fingers tightened slightly around the pen.
This wasn't standard academy theory.
This was deeper.
Hidden.
Information the game didn't reveal until much later.
Most people wouldn't even understand the words.
But Cael knew it.
Not from the main story.
From a late-game side quest chain almost nobody cleared unless they chased the True Ending route.
Soul Imprint Residue… was what remained after someone's soul experienced events too strong to disappear cleanly.
Trauma, yes—but more than that.
The kind of residue that formed when a soul was repeatedly forced through the same suffering.
The kind that left a mark deeper than memory.
And fate deviation symptoms…
Those were what happened when a person existed outside the story the world wanted.
Irregulars.
Bugs.
People the System couldn't predict properly.
Cael's throat tightened.
For the first time since entering the hall, he slowed down.
Not because the answer was hard.
Because writing it down felt like leaving fingerprints at a crime scene.
If the wrong instructor noticed—
If anyone in the academy understood the implications—
He could become a target before he even stepped into the combat trial.
But he couldn't skip it.
Not if he wanted to be taken seriously.
Not if he wanted S-Class.
Not if he wanted to survive the next part of the entrance exam, where knowledge wasn't the only thing tested.
Cael lowered his gaze and began writing carefully.
Not everything.
Not the whole truth.
Just enough to sound like a genius student with an unusual grasp of theory.
He described Soul Imprint Residue as a lingering metaphysical echo that forms under extreme soul pressure, often triggered by repeated life-threatening experiences or powerful magic interference.
He explained fate deviation as a phenomenon where an individual's actions produce outcomes inconsistent with predicted fate patterns, usually tied to rare talents, divine anomalies, or unknown system conditions.
He avoided the word "regression."
He avoided words that felt too dangerous.
But even as he wrote, Cael felt a strange chill in his chest.
Because the question itself felt like a warning.
Like the academy wasn't just testing knowledge…
It was searching for something.
Or someone.
When he finished, he set the pen down softly and looked at the paper.
His answers were clean.
His handwriting steady.
He didn't look like he belonged among the strongest of the continent.
But on paper…
He had just proven something else.
That he understood the world better than he should.
A bell rang sharply.
"Ink down," an instructor commanded.
The sound snapped through the hall like a blade.
Cael lifted his hands slowly away from the paper.
Around him, students exhaled like they'd been holding their breath for their entire lives.
Some looked relieved.
Some looked sick.
Cael stayed quiet.
His eyes drifted toward the front, where instructors began walking between rows, collecting papers with unreadable expressions.
One of them paused near Cael's desk for just a fraction longer than necessary.
Cael didn't look up.
He kept his face calm, neutral, like a normal student.
But inside his chest, something tightened.
Not fear of failure.
Fear of being seen.
Because the theory exam wasn't the real danger.
The real danger was what came next.
Combat.
Magic.
Talent.
Power.
The world's rules made flesh.
And Cael Thornwood had six days of brutal training behind him…
and a lifetime of hidden knowledge pressing against his ribs like a second heartbeat.
He stood when instructed, joining the flow of students exiting the hall.
As he walked into the corridor, the academy's stone walls felt colder than before.
Not because of magic.
Because the game had begun.
For real.