The steady scratch of a quill echoed faintly in the faculty room. Stacks of exam papers were piled high across the desk, each sheet brimming with scribbled answers, half-erased calculations, and the occasional blot of ink. Professor Argois sat hunched forward, spectacles balanced low on his nose, carefully marking through each one with practiced precision.
His expression remained composed… until one paper caught his eye. His hand stilled. The name at the top stared back at him in neat, almost hesitant handwriting.
"Dean… Mayfest," he whispered under his breath.
His brows furrowed as he read through the responses. Something didn't add up. How did a commoner boy… answer these questions?
Before his thoughts could spiral further, a gentle voice cut in.
"Argois. You look troubled."
He glanced up. Standing by the doorway was a woman with ashen-brown hair tied into a neat bun, her hazel eyes calm and soft. She wore the dignified faculty robes of Arcadia Academy, but embroidered upon her chest gleamed a royal insignia, marking her rank.
Argois' stern features softened instantly. "Professor Trieh Ovrveil," he greeted warmly, rising to his feet. "One of our esteemed Elders. Always a pleasure."
Trish inclined her head with a faint smile. "And you, Argois. Still working late, I see?" She nodded toward the mountain of papers on his desk.
"Yes," he admitted with a sigh, tapping the current exam with his quill. "Grading. A taxing year already, as you know."
Trish approached, resting her hands lightly behind her back. "Tell me, then—how are our newest students faring?"
At that, Argois straightened, pride flickering in his eyes as he began to list them. "Promising, as expected. The Third Princess of Yuraveil, Rumia Von Yuraveil, demonstrates exceptional mastery of shadow magic. Hector Van Unnova—though only fifteen—shows the brilliance of an emperor-in-waiting. His command of magical theory is… humbling, even to us."
He turned another page, speaking with equal reverence. "And of course, Edwin Lockbane. The chosen successor of the White Mage's Tower. His grasp of formulas is second to none."
Trish's lips curved with quiet amusement. "Quite the prestigious batch indeed. This year's entrance exam was… challenging, to put it mildly. Assigning seats and questions for children of such families must have been no small task."
"True enough," Argois chuckled dryly. "We made certain the exam was not easily conquered. This year, I even introduced new structures to the questions."
He flipped back to the beginning of Dean's paper, his expression hardening. "The first three questions in particular were designed to separate the truly exceptional from the rest."
Trish leaned closer. "Ah. The Flexibility test, the Creative Test, and the final judgment question?"
Argois nodded. "Yes. The first was designed to test composure under pressure—whether one could choose to skip or struggle. The second forced students into unfamiliar ground, demanding solutions beyond the textbooks. And the third… well, even the prodigies often fail it. Over eleven hundred students left them blank this year."
Trish chuckled softly. "Not surprising."
"Of the top one hundred who dared to attempt them, nearly all failed," Argois continued. "Only three succeeded."
Trish arched a brow. "Three?"
"Hayden Break," Argois listed. "As expected from a prodigy of the Great Houses of Nebula. Then… Yang, the commoner girl admitted personally by the Principal. Her potential is undeniable."
He paused. His hand tightened on the paper. "…And lastly. Dean Mayfest."
Trish blinked at the name. "That boy? The one with the low admission scores?"
Argois' gaze darkened. "Precisely. Hayden and Yang—yes, I trust their results. But Mayfest? A child with no mana, scraping by with the lowest entrance evaluation I've seen in years. For him to answer all three questions…" He trailed off, lips pressed thin.
Trish regarded him for a moment, her eyes softening with faint amusement. "So that's why you wear such a sour face. One student's answers refuse to make sense."
He hesitated, then gave a small nod. "…You're perceptive as always, Elder."
Trish leaned over slightly, scanning Dean's paper. Her expression wavered between curiosity and disbelief. "Hmph. To be fair, I would've struggled with some of these myself. You're certain this is no error?"
"I graded it thrice and even had professor Isen check for any signs of cheating," Argois said firmly.
"And do you think this boy is a hidden genius?" she asked, tone half-playful, half-serious.
Argois exhaled, conflicted. "That… I cannot say."
Trish gave a soft hum, then straightened. "Perhaps it's coincidence. Or perhaps the Fate is at play here. Either way, I wouldn't lose too much sleep over it." With that, she turned, robes swaying as she departed the room.
Silence returned, broken only by the faint creak of parchment. Argois looked down once more at Dean's exam, then to the slip of paper tucked beside it.
A letter of recommendation. The Principal's signature gleamed at the bottom, granting Mayfest special admission—not for mana, for he had none—but for his skill with a single common ability: [Evade].
Argois rubbed at his temple, muttering bitterly, "The Principal's favorites… always peculiar ones."
Yet, despite himself, a faint smile tugged at his lips. He stared at the boy's name written across the page.
"No mana… surrounded by prodigies. With only [Evade] to his name."
He set the quill down, folding his hands together.
"…We'll see soon enough whether you're a coincidence, Mayfest. Or something far rarer."