Monday morning greeted me with deceptive serenity—sunlight spilling through the curtains, a cool breeze brushing against my skin, and for a fleeting moment, peace. The kind that made you want to believe everything was normal.
Then reality kicked in.
With a groan, I rolled out of bed and stumbled toward the shower. The water jolted me awake, washing away the haze of sleep but not the unease simmering beneath. After a light breakfast, I checked the time on my terminal—7:04 AM.
According to the notice that had arrived the previous night, we were to report to the auditorium by 7:30 sharp.
When I arrived, the vast room was already half-filled with students. Conversations hushed as the clock struck the half-hour. The doors sealed automatically with a low hiss, and the principal appeared on the elevated platform.
Principal Nile Vale—a man whose calm presence somehow commanded attention. It was only the second time we'd seen him since the entrance ceremony, but the weight he carried in the room was unmistakable.
"Congratulations on officially becoming students of Arcadia Institute," he began, his voice steady, resonant. "You've survived the opening trials, endured the first wave of training, and proven that you can adapt. But this—" he paused, eyes sweeping across the hall, "—is not the end of your initiation. Starting today, you face a new challenge: the Exhibition Assessment."
A ripple of whispers passed through the crowd.
"This will test not just your abilities," he continued, "but your composure, adaptability, and understanding of your limits. Consider it your midterm—a measure of how far you've come, and how much further you have to go."
He lifted a hand, and the holo-display behind him shifted to show two distinct sections: Individual Duels and Obstacle Course.
"The assessment will be divided into two parts. The first—a duel tournament. Each match will be between students of similar ranking. The victor will either claim their opponent's rank or retain their own. The matches will begin Thursday and continue through Saturday."
A low murmur spread through the hall again.
"The second portion," Principal Vale said, his tone sharpening, "is the Obstacle Course. Ten kilometers of shifting terrain, mana traps, and illusion fields. You must complete it in under fifteen minutes to qualify. You may attempt it multiple times until next Monday—but fail to qualify, and you'll lose your advancement privileges for the next cycle."
His eyes lingered briefly on the audience—long enough to remind everyone of the stakes. Then, with characteristic restraint, he concluded:
"Train well. Prove yourselves worthy of the paths you've chosen."
The display dimmed, and the principal vanished in a shimmer of light.
No lectures, no excuses—just the assessment week ahead.
Back in my room, I leaned back in my chair, replaying his words. Obstacle Course… illusion traps… ten kilometers.
In the novel, that had been just a background event. Something the protagonist—Rowen—had breezed through with his unique skill that allowed him to perceive mana flow. I hadn't thought it would ever affect me.
But now? It was staring me in the face.
And honestly, I wasn't complaining. I was stronger now, more focused. My goal wasn't just to finish—it was to excel.
Under ten minutes—that was the mark Rowen had to reach in the game to earn that skill. The Nova Academy's obstacle course might've been different, but it was inspired by the Verdant Maze, just like Arcadia's. The reward was a movement skill, one that sharpened reflexes and boosted speed with every motion.
Even without his skill unique skill, I could do it.
All I needed was another way to see through illusions.
With that in mind, I grabbed my stuff and headed for the one place that always had answers—the library.
The familiar scent of parchment and ink greeted me as I entered. I began with my routine, shelving the backlog of returned books from the previous day. On the third floor, I caught sight of a familiar figure sorting through a stack of tomes.
"Keep up the good work," Lina said, not looking up immediately.
"I intend to," I replied with a small grin, setting a few books into place beside her.
When I came back down later, she was already organizing another cart. Her hair caught the afternoon light filtering through the glass dome, faint embers glinting in the strands—echoes of the ash that seemed to follow her everywhere.
Seizing the moment, I asked, "Got any advice for the assessments?"
She looked up, curious. "Which one? The tournament or the course?"
"Both," I said.
Lina thought for a moment before answering. "For the duels—expand your elemental repertoire or refine your weapon techniques. Don't rely solely on your tricks; balance offense and mobility. And for the obstacle course…" Her lips curved slightly. "Try not to get lost."
"That's reassuring," I muttered dryly.
She laughed quietly, then added, "You'll be given a Spirit Stone—it helps you distinguish real from false projections. Just don't lose it."
"Is that the only way to see through them?" I asked.
"Not quite," she said, eyes narrowing slightly, assessing me. "There's another—Mana Sense. It lets you perceive mana directly, even the distortions illusions create. But…" she trailed off, her tone softening, "it's not easy to master. Most first-years can't."
Her gaze lingered for a moment. "But you're not most first-years. With your control, you might actually manage it."
That quiet confidence from her—subtle, almost offhand—hit harder than I expected.
She handed me two books: Mana Perception and Flow Dynamics and Advanced Light Manipulation.
"Here," she said. "If anyone can learn to see the unseen, it's you."
"Thanks," I said sincerely.
She gave a small smile, faint but genuine. "Just don't burn yourself out before the assessment."
As she turned away, the faint trail of ash and warmth lingered in her wake—a contrast to the cold determination forming in my chest.
Later that evening, I sat at my desk, the books open before me. Diagrams of mana threads, elemental matrices, and sensory pathways filled the pages.
Perception through resonance, one section read. By aligning your internal flow with ambient mana, one can detect distortion patterns invisible to the naked eye.
So that was the key. Not just seeing with eyes—but with essence.
I drew in a slow breath, letting my mana flow, extending it outward like feelers through the air. Faint ripples came back—a chair, the wall, the quiet hum of the dorm's mana lamps.
It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.
The countdown to the Exhibition had begun.
And this time, I intended to stand out—not as a background character, but as someone the story could no longer ignore.