Zian was the protagonist of this world. His name should have been called. He should have been the one walking toward the stage, bearing the weight of countless judging gazes.
But he wasn't. And that was when Ruvian realized, he couldn't find him. His head snapped toward the sea of students.
'Where is that bastard?'
His eyes darted from face to face, scanning the rows of uniforms, but there was no sign of Zian Herga anywhere.
A chill spread down his spine.
The worst possible outcome—the one possibility he had never considered, slammed into him like a physical force.
'Shit. Don't tell me that he doesn't exist…'
The thought sent a surge of panic through him, cold and suffocating. This was a familiar scenario, something he had once read in another novel—a world where the protagonist was missing, erased, or had never been born at all.
But that wasn't supposed to happen here. Yet, it had. Ruvian forced himself to breathe, his mind racing. He had to stay calm.
'What has changed? Was this some kind of deviation? A result of my own presence?'
Around him, the celebration continued. The nobles basked in Julian's triumph, the hierarchy restored to its rightful order. But Ruvian sat in silence, the lone, unmoving figure in a sea of joy. Because while they all saw a victory, he saw a catastrophe.
"As expected of House Rozenberg. Was there ever any doubt?"
"I heard he's a genius—an elite among elites. This year's competition was never even close."
Murmurs rippled through the hall, a chorus of admiration and certainty.
'Elite my ass… This is the worst possible outcome.'
Ruvian clenched his fists, forcing himself to remain composed. The academy was supposed to be shifting, slowly breaking free from the chains of status and bloodline.
Zian Herga's presence should have been the catalyst for that change, proving that power and talent were not dictated by noble birth.
But now, his absence hung heavy.
And in his place, Julian Rozenberg stood as the representative.
The implications were devastating. With Julian at the top, the academy would never embrace true meritocracy. Strength would remain synonymous with status. Power would continue to rest in the hands of nobility.
And worse, Dilora would see to it that it stayed that way. She had always believed that strength dictated hierarchy.
Zian's presence should have challenged her belief, forcing her to acknowledge a world beyond bloodline superiority. But now, with him erased from the picture, Julian's authority would become absolute.
And it wouldn't stop there. Other key figures—characters who, in the original course of events, would have sided with Zian, would now fall under Julian's influence instead.
Ruvian's carefully crafted plan was unraveling before his eyes. And the entire academy was already rallying behind him. Ruvian focused on the young man with crimson eyes, who now walked toward the stage.
Julian Rozenberg.
The weight of thousands of gazes bore down on him, yet he carried himself with effortless grace. Unlike what should have been, a lone commoner standing in defiance of the academy's rigid hierarchy, Julian was nobility through and through.
His uniform bore the crest of House Rozenberg, its embroidered silver trim glinting under the grand chandeliers. His every step was measured, refined, exuding the natural confidence of one born to rule.
Ruvian felt his stomach twist.
Julian climbed the steps, his movements smooth and unhurried, the picture of aristocratic poise. Every motion was admired, praised, celebrated.
And worst of all, welcomed.
The highest admission score of this year's enrollment batch. No one questioned it or doubted it.
Ruvian could see it in their faces—pride, approval, and for some, smug satisfaction. The balance of power remained untouched.
Nobility still reigned supreme.
The Chancellor regarded Julian with a nod, stepping aside as he took his place at the podium.
This was now his moment.
A deep breath.
Then, Julian spoke:
"I am honored to stand here today..." His voice was smooth. Not a trace of uncertainty marred his tone.
"Though this result may not be surprising to some, I do not take it for granted."
His gaze swept over the hall, meeting those who watched him with admiration, respect, and unfaltering loyalty. Julian did not need to win them over. They were already his.
"Velthia Academy has long been the cradle of the exceptional. A place where the most elite minds and talents gather, not just to prove themselves, but to lead. Strength, wisdom, and bloodline have shaped the history of this academy. And I intend to uphold that legacy."
Ruvian's lips pressed as the nobles nodded in satisfaction. The academy was sending a message today, but it was not the one that should have been delivered.
Julian's final words sealed it.
"I do not seek to change the course of this institution. I will only prove why I was always meant to stand here."
A declaration of authority.
Ruvian leaned forward, fingers digging into his sleeves. His chest felt tight.
'What a damn mess!'
…
Ruvian let out a slow, measured breath. Unlike the grand halls where the highest-ranking students resided, this place was even lower than the lowest.
Velthia Academy had always prided itself on its meritocratic system. Status did not determine privilege, ability did. That was supposed to be an unshakable truth.
But things had changed.
The dormitories were still divided by admission rankings. However, with Julian Rozenberg declared as the top student, a shift would occur later.
A divide deeper than ever.
The dormitories were divided based on admission rankings, which meant one thing. He was at the bottom of the bottom.
The highest-ranked students were placed in [Celestia Hall], a symbol of prestige where only the most exceptional resided.
Meanwhile, those at the very bottom, like Ruvian, were assigned to [Obsidian Hall]—the lowest-ranked dormitory.
The moment Ruvian stepped through the entrance of Obsidian Hall, he was met with polished floors, well-maintained furnishings, and private quarters for each student, a far cry from the rundown conditions one might expect from the lowest rank.
He traced a finger along the smooth wooden railing of the staircase as he made his way to his assigned room.
The academy didn't neglect too much its students, even those at the bottom. But that didn't change the reality of hierarchy.
Reaching his door, he eyed the brass nameplate engraved with his name and ranking:
Ruvian Castelor – Rank #384
Pushing open the door, he found a neatly arranged space. A bed, a study desk, bookshelves, and even a small window overlooking the training grounds. It was more than enough.
Ruvian reached into his uniform's inner pocket, pulling out a neatly folded orientation booklet provided during registration as he sat at the edge of his bed.
[Academy: First-Year Orientation Guide]
The cover bore the academy's emblem.
He flipped it open.
The first few pages were filled with formalities. History, regulations, and the academy's guiding principles. He skimmed through until he reached the section that actually mattered.
Velthia Academy was massive, practically a city within itself. The campus was divided into key areas….
Main Academy Building – Where most lectures and theoretical classes were held.
Combat Training Grounds – For practical lessons, duels, and combat assessments.
Velthia Arena – A colosseum used for larger-scale examinations and tournaments.
Faculty Tower – Where the professors and academy staff resided.
And, of course, the four dormitory halls:
Celestia Hall (Rank #1–100)
Vermillion Hall (Rank #101–200)
Azure Hall (Rank #201–300)
Obsidian Hall (Rank #301 and below)
Velthia Academy divided first-year students into five class sections, each containing around 70–80 students.
Class A – Top-ranked, the academy's elite.
Class B – High-performing students, still exceptional.
Class C – Average ranking, competent but not outstanding.
Class D – Below average, struggling students.
Class E – The bottom ranks, barely scraping by.
Ruvian's eyes immediately dropped to the bottom of the page.
Assigned Class: [Class E]
"…Of course."
It wasn't surprising. He ranked #384 out of 400 students, meaning he was firmly placed in Class E, the lowest section. Not only would he be surrounded by the weakest students, but he'd also receive the least amount of attention from the instructors.
The academy wasn't cruel, but they weren't going to waste resources on those deemed unlikely to excel.
'At least, I won't have to deal with Julian.'
For now.
He clicked his tongue, shutting the booklet.
He stood, grabbing his uniform coat and slinging it over his shoulders. The air in the dormitory felt stifling. He needed to step outside. More than anything, he needed to think.
Velthia Academy was vast, with an intricate layout that would take time to memorize. He'd use the excuse of familiarizing himself with the grounds, but in truth, he simply needed a moment to clear his head.
And now since it comes to this, it seemed he had to execute his backup plan. And with everything already diverging from what he knew…
He had no idea what to expect.