Upon entering the academy building, I was instantly struck by the seamless blend of majesty and order—polished marble floors reflecting the soft morning light from the ceiling windows, towering columns decorated with intricate banners, and the distant hum of voices resonating through the arched corridors.
Following the flow of the crowd, we passed through a series of open archways leading into a wide courtyard. The air here felt calmer and more refreshing, scented faintly with blossoming flowers and towering trees. The walls of the building wrapped around the entire area, circling it like a tranquil interior sanctuary within the academy.
At the far end of the courtyard, a massive raised platform stood underneath a canopy of blue silk, its polished surface gleaming under the morning sun. The academy's crest—a decorated emblem of a five-pointed star over an open book—was engraved at its center, bordered by a wreath of golden laurels.
As we walked towards the platform, rows of cushioned chairs spread out in front of it, neatly divided into sections for students, guardians, and faculty, all positioned to face the stage.
"I suppose this is where we parted ways," Mr. Bellum declared as he turned toward the seats for the faculty members.
Father nodded, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Yeah, I'll see myself on the guardian seats."
"I'll bring Herta to the student seats first," Mother offered with a gentle smile, her hand lightly guiding me forward.
Both Mr. Bellum and my father paced in opposite directions, while my mother and I continued straight ahead.
We wove through the wide aisle between the rows of chairs. The other children were already settling in—some chatting anxiously, others sitting stiffly in silence, their gaze darting toward the platform as if waiting for something monumental. I caught various glances aimed my way, curiosity mingled with whispers I could barely hear.
Mother slowed her pace once we got to a section near the front, where the seats were much smaller, evidently made for younger students. I took a seat on a vacant one close to the aisle, giving me a clear view of the platform and the crowd.
"Stay here and wait until the event starts," Mother muttered, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. For a moment, her gaze lingered—soft but searching, as if weighing implicit thoughts—before she gave me a small nod and stepped away towards the guardian section.
As I turned my attention back to the stage and waited, I felt the prickling awareness of being watched. Glancing to my right, I found a brown-haired boy with round glasses and prominent buck teeth unblinkingly staring at me.
"Can I help you?" I asked, unsettled by his intent gaze.
With sudden enthusiasm, he held up a golden, crescent-shaped thing.
"Would you like a banana?" he asked excitedly.
"..."
I could only blink at him, temporarily robbed of words. Against all odds, I found myself taking the fruit without thinking. I hadn't anticipated that something so mundane from my old world would end up in here.
Intrigued, I peeled the skin off and noticed how ripe and fresh the interior was. Taking a small bite, its flavor was just as sweet as the ones from my old world.
"Tasty, right?" he stated while producing another banana from his pocket, as though a never-ending supply hid there.
Not wanting to be rude, I asked for his identity. "What's your name?"
"Me? I'm George Simian," he responded while munching on the fruit. "How about you?"
"Herta Wissenschaft," I answered, trying to keep a straight face despite his weirdness.
"Wissenschaft? That sounds familiar," he said before widening his eyes. "Hold on, are you the one who invented the device called a blender?"
"Well, I recall designing the blueprint and selling it to an artisan, so yeah," I confirmed, careful not to sound arrogant in front of him.
Hearing that, George's face lit up and he seized my hand in unrestrained delight. "Marvelous! Because of that invention, my family's fruit business has flourished!"
Due to the outburst, I noticed several students and guardians glancing our way—some were curious, others wore faintly sour expressions.
Sensing the disturbance, I quickly turned to George and covered his mouth.
"Hey, could you keep it down? Everyone is staring at—"
"—Attention!"
Suddenly, a loud voice rang out, and a bunch of knights marched towards the stage. Flanked in the middle, two familiar individuals can be seen standing firm. The first was Princess Lucia Nasca, and the other was Prince Rudra Nasca.
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Lucia, the princess, stepped forward with a composed grace, cleared her throat to command attention, and began to speak.
"Welcome, dear students and honored guardians," she greeted gently. "Thank you for coming to Nasca Academia. Today marks the beginning of your journey as the first class of prodigies in this academy's history."
First class of prodigies, huh? I wonder if that means we're impressive... or if this was her way of flattering students during their enrollment. Still, she is trying to put on a show.
"Here at Nasca Academia," Lucia declared, her voice carrying across the courtyard, "we have three fundamental principles."
She then looked at the prince, giving him a nod. Rudra nodded back and stepped forward.
"The first principle is our mission," he declared, "and it is to nurture brilliance and integrity in every student, aiming to cultivate not just knowledge, but strong qualities."
Lucia walked forward, her gaze sweeping the crowd. "The second principle is our vision, and it is to shape leaders who will guide this nation with wisdom and compassion."
"And to guide us on that path, we uphold four core values," Rudra continued, raising his hand towards us. "Curiosity, to keep your minds ever searching. Collaboration, to remind everyone that greatness is rarely achieved alone. Courage, to face tough challenges without fear. And lastly, contribution, to use your gift for the betterment of all."
The crowd absorbed the words of the royal siblings with various degrees of enthusiasm and awe. Some faces glowed with inspired hope, others wore expressions of skepticism or quiet ambition. For me, I would rather be neutral and give their speech the benefit of the doubt.
"Not feeling the royal charm?" George asked, leaning towards me.
Without looking away from the stage, I replied dryly, "Charm fades faster than promises."
"You're such a tough audience," he remarked with a light chuckle, clearly amused. "But I can't say you're wrong."
Taking my gaze off the platform, I glanced at George. "I observe, not judge."
"Sure," he conceded, though the glint in his eye pointed he didn't quite believe me. "Let's see if they can back their words with action."
With that, I allowed the conversation to fade and returned my focus to the platform, the royal siblings' words still echoing faintly in my mind.
Rudra's face softened, his gaze settling on the assembled students. "Let us learn, grow, and unite—not just classmates, but future comrades in arms that will transform the destiny of our nation and beyond."
His words sound idealistic and naive, but they're somewhat genuine.
"Remember, this academy is not just a place for learning, it is an abode where friendships are forged and dreams take flight," Lucia continued, her voice mild but clear. "Allow us to support one another, so we may all rise together."
Hers, on the other hand, sounds warm and sincere, but a bit too hopeful.
Afterward, Lucia gave everyone a slight, encouraging smile before turning to join her brother, who was already stepping down the platform.
As they moved away, the princess glanced in my direction again. The second gaze remained longer, as though she were weighing something intangible. Moments later, she kept walking as if nothing had happened.
I pondered silently what her gaze meant. If she looks at me the third time, will something bad happen? Would it mark me for something crucial... or for a challenge I hadn't yet expected?
"Hey, did you see that? The princess looked this way," George pointed out. "Do you think she is gazing at me?"
"Huh? Sure," I answered, dodging the question.
The ceremony goes on, but my mind was already weaving possibilities, calculating risks and opportunities hidden beneath the polished surface of this event.
This is getting more interesting.
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After the royal siblings left the platform, a tall, broad-shouldered man strode confidently onto the stage. His chestnut hair, streaked with dignified silver strands, caught the sunlight, and a neatly groomed beard framed his jaw. Sharp hazel eyes swept across the gathering students and guardian, steady and calm, radiating with serene authority.
Adjusting the cuffs of his dark navy coat, he stopped at the center of the stage and began to speak with a voice carrying easily over the courtyard without strain.
"Welcome, everyone. My name is Harald Punch, and I'll be the principal of this academy."
Hmm, that name sounds familiar. Where had I heard it before? Ah, wait. I remembered seeing it when I read the academy invitation letter.
"Today I'm here to split you students into classes so that you can all commence your journey in fair numbers," Harald continued, his voice both formal and measured. "But before we could begin allocating the classes, there is an important process that needed to be completed."
A faint ripple of curiosity passed through the crowd, wondering what this mysterious process could be. Harald gestured to the side, and a group of distinguished-looking figures in elegant attire ascended the stage. Each carried an ornate post topped with a crystal ball, its polished surface glistening in the light.
"These are the academy's experimental gauging spheres," Harald declared, motioning toward the devices. "With them, we will evaluate each student's existence value."
Existence value. I've read about that in a book from my family's library. From what I know, it is the measurement of energy contained within the body and soul of an individual or object.
"By measuring the student's existence value," Harald explained, "it allows the school board to place these children in classes best suited to their expertise. This provides fair and balanced opportunities for everyone."
In other words, it's his polite way of saying we're about to be sorted and labeled according to how much power or potential we have.
The school board arranged the devices across the stage. A few gossiped among themselves as they worked, but their efficiency left no doubt that this was a well-planned procedure.
Harald took a step back, allowing his gaze to sweep over the courtyard.
"Now, please form an orderly line, students," he instructed, signaling to the individuals beside him. "Our board members will guide all of you through the process."
Chairs scraped lightly against the courtyard's stone floor as students started lining up down the aisles. While watching the formation occurring, I felt someone brush against my shoulder, so I turned to see George nudging me.
"Come on, let's move before the line gets too long," he urged excitedly.
Sighing in resignation, I complied. "Alright, fine."
I rose from my chair and followed him toward the forming queue. We were about to reach the back when a tall boy suddenly veered to the side, cutting in front of us without hesitation.
"Hey!" George shouted, his voice sharpened. "Get back in line like everyone else."
The tall boy stopped, turning his head slowly. His eyes swept over George with a lazy, almost mocking disinterest before narrowing into a glare.
"Know your place," he asserted, his tone low and dismissive.
Offended by the tall boy's comment, George curled his fist and squared his shoulders, feeling the mood between them heating quickly. As he was just about to step forward, I grabbed his shoulder firmly.
George turned to me, confused. "Why did you stop me?"
"He's not worth the trouble," I proclaimed logically.
The tall boy's gaze slid to me, eyes furrowing as he confronted me. "What did you just say?"
A few nearby students paused to watch. As the weight of their attention hung over us, I took a deep breath and calmly met his gaze, preparing to de-escalate the situation.
"I said you're not worth the trouble," I repeated firmly.
The boy raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "What if I say otherwise?"
"Then you'll end up proving my point," I retort calmly. "Because anyone who insists on turning nothing into a fight usually causes an embarrassing scene in front of everyone."
He knitted his brows in annoyance before glancing around, seeing the students staring in our direction. He then flicked his gaze towards the guardians' seats, where indeed, several pairs of eyes were fixed on us.
"Do you want that?" I asked carefully. "Making a scene under your guardians' watch?"
Gritting his teeth, he shook his head. "No..."
"Good, now get back in line," I instructed with a reasonable tone.
The tall boy clicked his tongue but stepped down without further protest, slipping to the spot at the far end. The surrounding whispers soon died down, and the line began to move again.
"That was amazing," George whispered. "How were you so calm?"
I shrugged coolly. "I'm used to dealing with stubborn people."
The tense air slowly dissipated, replaced once again by the faint hum of conversation as the students advanced toward the stage.
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By the time we were almost at the front, the line had been moving at a steady pace. Each of the students walked onto the stage, approached one of the crystal balls, and put their hand against its glossy surface, causing the device to glow a certain color.
After watching enough turns, I began to notice a clear pattern—the crystal ball displayed five distinct colors, including green, blue, purple, red, and gold. From the way the board members quietly recorded each result, I could assume these hues represented a ranking system based on a person's existence value.
Most students so far had received green or blue. Some managed to obtain purple, while only a rare few reached red. Gold, the rarest I've noticed so far, occurred sparingly—among those earning it were Ruan Ling's daughter, the royal siblings, and a few children I don't know.
Eventually, George was called next. He strolled forward with a visible enthusiasm on his face, placing his hand against the crystal ball. Moments later, the device lit up purple immediately.
"I suppose that makes me solidly average," he muttered with a wry, self-deprecating smile as he stepped off the platform.
Once he's left, one of the board members gestures at me. "Your turn, young lady."
Following their direction, I approached the measurement device.
"Now, place your hand on the crystal ball," the board member instructed clearly, "and wait till the number on the counter stops."
I pressed my palm against the sphere, and its surface flickered before displaying green, then blue, and then purple. The color began to shift faster, climbing through red until it advanced to gold. A few murmurs stirred through the crowd as the counter beside the crystal ball kept on ascending further.
"Wow, you reached the highest level, young lady," the board member commented, lifting their pen and parchment to record the result. "Can you read the number on the counter for me?"
"Umm..." I hesitated, my eyes fixed on the steadily rising digits. "It hasn't stopped yet."
"What?"
The board member frowned and leaned forward to check. The number continued climbing at an alarming pace.
6,731… 7,406… 8,912… 9,999… beep... beep...
Crack—!
Suddenly, a sharp cracking sound split the air, followed by the gasps of several students and guardians. The crystal ball in front of me now had a huge fracture running through its center, tiny motes of multicolored light leaking from the break before fading into nothing.
The courtyard fell into stupefied silence. All eyes turned toward me, the weight of their gazes pressing like a tangible force.
Oh crap, this doesn't look good.
"What's the meaning of this?!"
Just then, a sharp, irritated voice rang out from the far side of the stage. I turned to notice a familiar-looking old man in a finely tailored gray coat storming forward, his cane striking the floor with every step.
That person looked familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on where.
The nearest board member quickly straightened his body. "Vice Principal Nyul, this student's reading... it exceeded the device's maximum measurable limits and—"
"—You!" the old man shouted, pointing at me with frustrated familiarity. "You're that brat who brazenly declared the Solitary Particle Theory in front of the High Elites."
Ah, I remember now. He's one of those elites who were antagonizing me back then.
"Do you know her, Vice Principal?" the board member asked cautiously.
The old man, ignoring the member's question, aimed his cane scornfully at me. "The nerve of you to tamper with our academy's expensive device. You will pay heavily for that."
As I raised my brows in shock, Harald stepped forward to confront him.
"Let's not be rash, Nyul," he pleaded evenly. "The young lady didn't mean to break our device accidentally. Besides, it is still a beta test, so it is prone to breakage when overloaded."
The old man narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. "I demand she be tested again."
"But there are still a lot of students who need to be measured," Harald argued.
Nyul scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "I want to see this brat's result for myself."
Harald sighed, but nodded to the board members, prompting them to bring a new crystal ball and replace the broken one on the stand.
"Now, go ahead," Nyul insisted, folding his arms. "Put your hand there, and you better not do anything foolish because I am watching you."
Without any other choice, I placed my hand on the new crystal ball, and the result was pretty much identical—the color flashed rapidly from gray to gold, the counter surged to 9,999, and another sharp crack split the ball into fragments.
"There, are you satisfied with the result, Vice Principal Nyul?" I asked reasonably. "Or should I try again for the third time just to be sure?"
Nyul's face flushed with frustration before grabbing me by the shoulders. "What trick are you using, brat?! Tell me!"
As he was shaking my body violently, a few board members tried to separate us, but his grip on my shoulder was firm. Also, I could hear my parents shouting as they left their seats from the guardian's section and approached the stage.
"Hey! Let go of our daughter, you bastard!" Father cried out while climbing the platform.
Mother followed behind, her face filled with concern. "Please, don't hurt her!"
The rest of the board members blocked their path and tried to reason with them.
"You'd think your parents can save you from me?!" Nyul remarked, still shaking me. "Now, tell us, what's your secret!"
Anxious, I hesitated on what to say. Should I inform him about the living dolls? But that would ruin the prophecy Marlene was trying to uphold. What should I do?
"I—"
"Hold it!"
Before I could answer, a familiar, authoritative voice rang out from the far end of the stage.
All heads turned as Zandar One Kuwabara, the director, appeared and walked toward us with unhurried confidence.