The first day of the academy, or rather, tomorrow, would mark the grand commencement ceremony.
I was currently housed in the lavish Ophelia dorms, the residence reserved exclusively for first-year students who carried titles, noble blood, or an absurd level of talent. That last category, unfortunately, included me.
At this very moment, I stood before my door, staring at it as though it were some ancient, enchanted gateway. It wasn't. It just needed me to stop calculating and start moving.
I'd already run through seventeen different conversation scenarios in my head. None of them ended particularly well.
Taking a breath, I stepped through.
The reason for my tactical analysis soon made itself clear. As I made my way toward the lounge, I found them all gathered there, lounging like apex predators who'd never questioned their place at the top of the food chain.
The seven broken geniuses. The ones who treated the rest of the world like a mildly interesting side quest.
A red-haired boy was the first to notice me. He strolled over, hands in his pockets, his relaxed posture completely at odds with the sheer presence he radiated. He wore nothing but a t-shirt and shorts, yet he carried himself like royalty on vacation.
"Oh, so you're Rank 8, huh?" His grin was lazy, but his golden eyes were sharp enough to cut glass.
Ian Viserion. Prince of the South. Rank 5. Draconic bloodline strong enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him from three feet away.
I'd read about him, naturally. But seeing him in person was like the difference between reading about fire and standing next to a furnace.
"Nice to meet you," he said, extending a hand.
I took it without the bow. A calculated risk—too much deference would mark me as weak, but I wasn't stupid enough to be disrespectful either. "Arthur Nightingale."
"Nightingale?" Ian tilted his head, still holding my hand as he glanced toward the far side of the room. "Hey, Cecilia, is that a noble family in the Empire?"
A girl lounging on the sofa barely spared me a glance. She was scrolling through her phone, her crimson eyes flickering to me for exactly one second before dismissing me entirely.
"No," she said flatly. Then, without missing a beat: "And don't talk to me, lizard boy."
Ian sighed, releasing my hand. "You're always so harsh, Cecilia."
"She was always too mean," another voice added, this one smooth and confident.
I turned, and immediately understood why this boy was the protagonist of an entire world's worth of stories.
Lucifer Windward moved with the casual certainty of someone who'd never doubted his place at the center of the universe. Golden hair that somehow managed to catch light that wasn't there, and verdant eyes that seemed to see straight through to whatever truth you were trying to hide.
The youngest White-ranker in recorded history. The walking focal point around which kingdoms would rise and fall.
"Nice to meet you, Arthur," he said, offering his hand.
I took it, meeting his gaze directly. "Likewise."
No stumbling over titles or honorifics. He'd appreciate directness more than groveling, and I wasn't about to start this relationship by positioning myself as beneath him. Even if, technically, I was.
"Just Lucifer is fine," he confirmed, tilting his head slightly as he studied me with the kind of attention that suggested he was filing away details for later use.
Smart. I was doing the same thing.
I forced myself to look away before the staring contest turned into something neither of us intended, scanning the rest of the room with the systematic attention of someone cataloging potential allies and threats.
Across the room, two others—Ren and Jin—were deep in conversation, their expressions serious. Meanwhile, on the sofa, another pair sat in deliberate silence.
Seraphina, the half-elf princess of Mount Hua Sect, sat beside Cecilia with the kind of distance that suggested they tolerated each other at best. She hadn't spoken a word since I'd entered, but the moment I'd stepped through the door, her ears had twitched. Now she turned to look at me, ice-blue eyes conducting their own assessment.
"Arthur, is it?" Her voice was soft, but it carried weight—like hearing an avalanche from a safe distance.
"Yes," I responded, keeping my tone neutral.
She was stunning in the way that made you understand why wars were fought over elves in the past. Silver hair that moved like liquid mercury, features so perfectly balanced they looked architectural. The novels hadn't been exaggerating when they'd described elven beauty as almost painful to witness.
My gaze shifted to another girl seated near Lucifer.
Rachel Creighton.
Princess of the Northern Continent. Future Saintess. Long blonde hair, and deep blue eyes that held a glimmer of gold in their depths like captured starlight. While Seraphina's beauty was ethereal and untouchable, Rachel's had a warmth to it that made her seem almost approachable.
Almost.
She raised a hand in greeting, and when she spoke, I felt it immediately.
"Nice to meet someone who isn't drowning in their own titles."
There was something about Rachel's voice that always affected everyone—a musical quality that somehow resonated at precisely the right frequency to bypass all rational thought. It took genuine effort to keep my expression neutral and my response coherent.
"The feeling's mutual, Your Highness."
She smiled at that, the expression reaching her eyes. "Rachel's fine. We're all students here."
The future Saintess. The kind but politically astute princess. If there was anyone in this room I could hold a normal conversation with, it was probably her. Though I wasn't naive enough to think that made her any less dangerous.
"Well, we were just hanging out here," Lucifer said, his voice carrying the easy confidence of someone accustomed to having his invitations accepted. "You're welcome to join us. We don't know you yet, but we're willing to."
I blinked. That was... surprisingly reasonable. And coming from Lucifer Windward, it felt like either genuine courtesy or a very sophisticated trap.
The thing was, all of them already knew each other. Being royalty or nobility meant you met your fellow ridiculously talented peers early. Their childhoods had involved private tutors, combat training, and the occasional diplomatic incident that would shape international relations for decades.
And then there was me. The wild card. The anomaly that had somehow tested into their midst.
Still, I wasn't about to waste an opportunity to observe these walking legends up close. I took a chair from the side—not claiming space on either sofa, but positioning myself where I could see everyone clearly.
This was surreal, but it was also exactly what I'd hoped for. A chance to study them. To understand how they thought, how they moved, what made them tick.
If I was going to survive in their world, I needed to understand the rules they played by.
Lucifer took the lead naturally. "As Rank 1, I represent the male students. Rachel represents the female students as Rank 3 overall."
I nodded. I'd expected this. Rachel and Lucifer had history—childhood acquaintances who'd been positioned as natural rivals by every adult with a political agenda.
Rachel turned toward me, her expression warm but unreadable. "Anyway, Arthur, I wanted to—"
She didn't get to finish.
"Why are we letting him join us?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. I turned to find Ren Kagu pushing off from the wall, his arms folded, violet eyes fixed on me with the kind of intensity that made my survival instincts start sending urgent memos.
Lucifer's expression didn't change. "What are you saying, Ren?"
This was it. The moment I'd been calculating approaches for since I'd learned I'd be sharing space with these monsters.
Ren stepped closer until he was directly in front of me. Not beside—in front. A position that forced me to either look up at him or stand up to meet his gaze.
I stayed seated. Standing would look reactive. Defensive.
"He's a commoner," Ren said, his voice carrying the flat certainty of someone stating natural law. "And he's not at our level."
His hand came down on my shoulder, and I felt it immediately—not just the physical weight, but the careful pressure designed to test my reaction. His ocular Gift, God's Eyes, was undoubtedly analyzing every micro-expression, every tensed muscle, every sign of weakness or strength.
"Tell me, Arthur Nightingale," he said, dragging my name out like he was examining each syllable for flaws, "do you think you deserve to be in this circle?"
I met his gaze directly.
This was Ren Kagu. Heir to the First Hero's bloodline. Someone whose definition of worth was measured entirely in raw power and the will to use it. His God's Eyes could see through everything—my current strength, my potential, my limitations.
And what it saw was someone who didn't belong here. Yet.
The smart play was honesty. Partial honesty.
"I think I earned my rank," I said quietly.
Ren's grip tightened slightly. I could feel him calculating whether to push harder, whether to make an example of me in front of the others.
Before he could decide, Lucifer stood.
"Worthy?" Lucifer said, his tone calm, almost conversational. He took a single step forward, and the entire atmosphere of the room changed. The air itself seemed to grow heavier, more significant. "Ren Kagu, if it was about worthiness, then none of you deserve to be with me."
Silence fell like a guillotine blade.
Even Cecilia looked up from her phone.
Ren's grip on my shoulder held for exactly three more seconds before he released it, stepping back without breaking eye contact with Lucifer.
I'd known Lucifer was powerful. I'd read about his achievements, his impossible advancement rate, his casual dominance of every challenge placed before him. But seeing it in person was like the difference between reading about the ocean and standing in front of a tsunami.
The protagonist. The walking legend. The boy who'd reshape the world because it was easier than accepting the world as it was.
I exhaled slowly, keeping my expression neutral even as my mind filed away every detail of what I'd just witnessed.
This was the world I'd stepped into. A world where power spoke louder than bloodlines, where strength was the only currency that truly mattered, and where standing your ground could earn you respect or get you killed depending entirely on who was watching.
If I wanted more than just survival, I'd need to make sure that the next time someone questioned my place here, the answer wouldn't require anyone else to speak for me.