The Grand Hall had never been this loud.
Max stood in the press of bodies, surrounded by three hundred students whose collective anxiety was almost tangible. The air buzzed with speculation, nervous laughter, whispered predictions. Everyone knew what was coming. Everyone had spent the last twelve hours obsessing over their performance, calculating their chances, hoping they'd done enough.
Max just wanted it over with.
He'd barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind had raced—replaying the exam, analyzing his gains, planning his next moves. The System had changed everything. Four levels from a single test. Three new skills. A new talent. He was already stronger than he'd been after six months in his first timeline.
But standing here, surrounded by hopeful faces who had no idea what was coming for them, Max felt the weight of it all pressing down.
Six years. That's all they had.
"Think they'll call names alphabetically?"
Max glanced to his side. A human boy—couldn't have been more than fifteen—was fidgeting with his uniform collar. His hands were shaking.
"Probably by class," Max said. "Epsilon to Alpha."
The boy's face fell. "Oh. Right. So... the bottom first."
"It's not about bottom or top," Max said, though he knew that was a lie. "Every class has a purpose."
The boy didn't look convinced. He drifted away into the crowd, swallowed by the sea of uniforms.
Max exhaled slowly, letting his gaze sweep the hall. The same vaulted ceilings, the same banners, the same stone walls. Yesterday, this place had been filled with excitement and hope. Today, it would sort them into winners and losers.
His eyes found Beck almost immediately.
The prophesied hero was near the back again, leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed. He looked even more bored than he had yesterday, if that was possible. A small cluster of students had gathered near him—not quite approaching, but definitely orbiting, stealing glances and whispering.
Beck seemed oblivious to all of it.
Max's jaw tightened.
You're going to get Alpha. You always do. And you won't even appreciate it.
"ATTENTION!"
The voice cut through the noise like a blade. Every conversation died instantly.
Headmaster Sebas Ross stood on the raised platform at the front of the hall, hands clasped behind his back, his steel-gray hair gleaming in the light streaming through the high windows. His presence alone commanded absolute silence.
"Your entrance examination results have been compiled and verified," he said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the massive space. "Your placements are final. There will be no appeals, no exceptions, no special considerations. You have been sorted according to your demonstrated abilities, and that is where you will begin your journey at Fey Academy."
A ripple of tension passed through the crowd.
Sebas raised one hand, and a shimmering display materialized above him—the same five symbols from yesterday. Epsilon, Delta, Gamma, Beta, Alpha. Arranged in ascending order, each one glowing faintly.
"We will begin with Epsilon Class," Sebas continued. "When your name is called, proceed to the left wing. Your class instructor will be waiting."
The Epsilon symbol pulsed.
Sebas began reading names.
Max watched students peel away from the crowd, their faces ranging from resigned to devastated. Epsilon was the class nobody wanted. It meant you'd barely qualified. It meant limited resources, basic training, and a constant uphill battle to prove you belonged.
In his first life, Max had pitied them. Now, he just felt tired. Most of these students would never see real combat. They'd graduate, take safe jobs, live normal lives. They were the lucky ones, even if they didn't know it yet.
The list continued. Twenty names. Thirty. Forty.
By the time Sebas moved to Delta Class, a visible gap had opened in the hall. The remaining students pressed closer together, as if proximity could protect them from being called.
Delta was called. Fifty more names. Fifty more students peeling away, their shoulders slumped.
Then Gamma.
Max's hands curled into fists at his sides. In his first life, this was where he'd landed. Gamma. The respectable middle. He'd been proud of it. Had told himself it was proof that hard work mattered, that you didn't need to be special to succeed.
He'd been wrong.
The names kept coming. Max recognized a few—students who'd fought near him during the exam. Competent. Skilled. But not exceptional.
The Gamma list ended.
Nearly two hundred students had been sorted. The crowd was noticeably thinner now. Maybe a hundred remained, pressed together in anxious clusters.
"Beta Class," Sebas announced.
The silver symbol pulsed.
More names. Max spotted Kira moving toward the right wing, her expression somewhere between relieved and disappointed. She'd made Beta. That was good. Better than Gamma. But not Alpha.
She caught his eye as she passed and flashed him a quick thumbs-up. Max nodded back.
Beta continued. Twenty-five names. Thirty. Thirty-five.
And then Sebas paused.
The hall went silent.
The headmaster's gaze swept across the remaining students—maybe fifty now, all tense, all barely breathing.
"Alpha Class," Sebas said, and the gold symbol blazed brilliant above him. "The elite of your generation. Twenty-five students demonstrated exceptional ability during the entrance examination. These individuals will receive advanced training, priority access to academy resources, and the responsibility that comes with being the best."
Max's heart hammered against his ribs.
"When your name is called," Sebas continued, "proceed to the central wing. Professor Vael will escort you to your facilities."
He began reading.
"Seria Windwhisper."
Max's attention snapped to the crowd. An elven girl moved forward—tall, slender, with long silver hair pulled back into a practical braid. She walked with fluid grace, her expression calm and composed.
Seria. The archer. The woman who would die defending the left flank while Beck slept under a tree somewhere.
Max's chest tightened.
"Draven Crossblade."
A human boy strode forward, chin high, armor gleaming. Noble bearing, expensive equipment, and an expression that screamed entitlement. Max didn't recognize him from his first timeline—had probably died early in the war.
More names. An elven boy. Two demihuman girls. A human wearing glasses who looked terrified despite making Alpha.
"Yuna Swiftpaw."
A demihuman with fox ears and a sleek tail moved through the crowd with predatory grace. Her golden eyes swept the hall, cataloging everything, before she joined the others.
Max watched her go. Sharp. Observant. Dangerous.
More names. The Alpha group was growing. Twenty students now. Twenty-one. Twenty-two.
"Beck Aristar."
Of course.
Beck pushed off his pillar and ambled toward the central wing like he was heading to lunch, not receiving one of the highest honors the academy could bestow. Students parted for him automatically. A few whispered as he passed—"that's the hero," "the Blessing," "I heard he solo'd a B-rank in the exam."
Beck just yawned.
Max's nails bit into his palms.
"Maximilion Keath."
The words hit him like a physical force.
For a moment, Max couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. His name. Called for Alpha. He'd done it.
And then he realized—the hall was silent. Too silent.
He looked around. Students were staring. Confused. Some were frowning, clearly trying to place him. Others were whispering to their neighbors.
"Who?"
"Never heard of him."
"Isn't he the one who killed the Treant?"
"Nah, that was a team effort. He probably got carried."
Max forced his legs to move. He walked forward, keeping his expression neutral, ignoring the stares and whispers. It didn't matter what they thought. He'd earned this. He'd earned it with six years of hell and a second chance he planned to use.
He joined the Alpha group near the central wing entrance. Seria glanced at him briefly, then looked away. Draven's gaze lingered longer, his expression calculating and vaguely hostile.
Beck noticed him and grinned. "Max! See, I told you!"
Max didn't respond.
Two more names were called. Twenty-five total.
And then Sebas lowered the list.
"These are your placements," he said, his voice carrying absolute finality. "Your classes begin tomorrow at dawn. Instructors will provide detailed schedules. Dormitory assignments are posted outside your respective wings. You are dismissed."
The hall erupted in noise—celebration, disappointment, arguments already starting about who deserved what.
Max ignored it all.
A figure appeared at the central wing entrance—a tall man with broad shoulders and a severe expression. His left arm ended at the elbow, replaced by a gleaming prosthetic made of silver metal and glowing blue runes. He wore academy instructor robes, but underneath, Max could see scarred skin and the bearing of someone who'd fought in real wars.
"Alpha Class," the man said, his voice cutting through the noise. "Follow me."
The twenty-five students filed through the entrance. Max went last, casting one final glance back at the Grand Hall.
Hundreds of students, all sorted. All walking different paths.
In his first timeline, this moment had felt like triumph.
Now, it just felt like the starting line.
---
The Alpha Wing was a different world.
Where the main academy buildings were communal and functional, this was exclusive. Vaulted corridors lined with portraits of legendary graduates. Massive training halls with enchanted equipment. Libraries filled with restricted texts. And everywhere, the subtle hum of high-density mana that made the air itself feel sharper.
Professor Vael led them through the wing in silence, his prosthetic arm clicking softly with each step. The students followed, most trying to hide their awe and failing.
They emerged into a large common room—comfortable seating, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking private training grounds, and a massive fireplace that crackled with blue flame.
Vael turned to face them, his expression hard.
"Sit."
The students scrambled for seats. Max took one near the back, positioning himself where he could see everyone.
Vael waited until they were settled, then crossed his arms. His prosthetic arm gleamed.
"My name is Professor Vael Iron," he said. "Twenty years ago, I was A-Rank. I've cleared over three hundred dungeons, fought in two wars, and killed more monsters than most of you will see in your lifetimes. Five years ago, I lost this—" he raised his prosthetic "—to a Demon General during a territorial skirmish near the Blighted Wastes."
The room was dead silent.
"I tell you this," Vael continued, "not to impress you, but to establish reality. You twenty-five are the best of your generation. That means the most is expected of you. Resources, training, opportunities—you will receive what others can only dream of. In exchange, you will work harder. Fight harder. Be better."
His gaze swept across them, lingering on each face.
"Half of you will wash out by second year. Another quarter by third. By the time you graduate, maybe five of you will have actually earned the title 'elite.'" He let that sink in. "The rest will have coasted on talent and arrogance until reality caught up."
Draven shifted uncomfortably. A few other students looked offended.
Vael didn't care.
"Your curriculum begins tomorrow. Five core classes, mandatory for all students. Two electives of your choice. Physical training every morning before breakfast. Combat evaluations every Friday. And starting in two weeks, you'll have access to the mission board—real work, real danger, real consequences."
He pulled a small stack of papers from his coat and set them on a nearby table.
"Your schedules and dormitory assignments. Collect them on your way out. Dorms are single occupancy—one of your privileges. Use tonight to settle in. Tomorrow at dawn, we begin."
Vael's expression softened slightly. Just barely.
"Welcome to Alpha Class. Don't waste it."
He turned and walked out, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then chaos erupted.
Students surged toward the table, grabbing papers, comparing schedules. Conversations exploded—who got which dorm, what electives to choose, speculation about Professor Vael's history.
Max waited until the crowd thinned, then approached the table and found his schedule.
---
ALPHA CLASS CURRICULUM - YEAR 1
CORE CLASSES:
- Combat Theory & Practice (Mon/Wed/Fri, 8:00-10:00)
Instructor: Professor Vael Iron
- Mana Control & Manipulation (Tue/Thu, 8:00-10:00)
Instructor: Magister Elara Windborne
- Monster Biology & Dungeon Studies (Mon/Wed, 13:00-15:00)
Instructor: Professor Harken Cross
- Tactical Command (Tue/Thu, 13:00-15:00)
Instructor: Commander Silva Kane
- Survival & Field Medicine (Fri, 13:00-15:00)
Instructor: Dr. Yara Sol
ELECTIVES: (Select 2 by end of day)
- Advanced Swordsmanship
- Archery & Ranged Combat
- Magic Specialization
- Alchemy & Potion Crafting
- Enchanting & Artifact Studies
- Stealth & Reconnaissance
- Beast Taming & Familiar Bonding
PHYSICAL TRAINING: Daily, 6:00-7:00 (Mandatory)
DORMITORY: Room 14, East Tower
---
Max studied the schedule, his mind already working.
Combat Practice with Vael—that would be brutal but necessary. He needed to refine his technique, couldn't rely on Plunder alone.
Mana Control—useful. His Amplification talent was strong, but inefficient. Better control meant longer fights.
Monster Biology. Max almost smiled. That class would be easy. He'd lived the information they'd be teaching.
Tactical Command. Leadership training. In his first life, Max had learned tactics through necessity, watching commanders die and having to step up. Now he could learn properly.
And the electives...
Max's eyes lingered on two options.
Advanced Swordsmanship. His primary combat skill. Every level counted.
Enchanting & Artifact Studies. This was the key. Max remembered artifacts that had turned battles in the war. Divine weapons. Legendary armor. Rare items that amplified talents or granted new abilities. If he could identify them early, acquire them before they became famous...
Decision made.
Max grabbed a second paper—dormitory assignment—and headed for the exit.
"Hey."
He stopped. Turned.
Yuna stood a few feet away, her golden eyes fixed on him with unnerving intensity. Up close, Max could see she was his height, lean and athletic, with scars on her hands that spoke of real training.
"Yes?"
"You're Maximilion Keath." Not a question.
"Max."
"Max." She tilted her head slightly. "You had the highest kill count in the entrance exam. Forty-seven monsters. Three of them C-rank or higher, including that Treant."
Max kept his expression neutral. "I got lucky."
"Luck." Yuna's tail swished once. "You moved through that forest like you'd mapped it beforehand. Your engagement pattern was optimized for efficiency over spectacle. And you coordinated that Treant kill with students you'd never met before."
Max said nothing.
"That's not luck," Yuna continued. "That's experience. But you're sixteen. First year. So where did you get it?"
Six years of hell fighting a war you won't believe is coming.
"Practice," Max said. "I trained hard before coming here."
"Mm." Yuna didn't look convinced, but she let it drop. "I'm good at reading people, Max. It's my talent—Insight. I can see things others miss. And you..." She stepped closer. "You're hiding something. I don't know what. But I'm curious."
Max met her gaze steadily. "Everyone has secrets."
"True." Yuna smiled then, sharp and fox-like. "I think I'll keep an eye on you, Maximilion Keath. You're interesting."
She walked past him toward the exit, her tail swishing behind her.
Max stood there for a moment, processing.
Insight. A talent for reading people, seeing patterns, detecting lies.
That was dangerous. Yuna was smart, observant, and now she was watching him. He'd have to be careful.
But maybe... maybe that could be useful too. If she was that perceptive, she might actually listen when the time came. Might believe him when he said the world was ending.
Something to consider.
Max shook his head and headed for the dorms.
---
Room 14 was bigger than his entire house had been.
Max stood in the doorway, staring. A large bed with actual pillows. A desk with storage. A private bathroom. Windows overlooking the training grounds. And in the corner, a weapons rack and a small enchanted circle for mana training.
In his first life, he'd shared a room with three other Gamma students in cramped quarters that smelled like sweat and desperation.
This was luxury.
Max dropped his bag on the bed and moved to the window. Outside, the sun was setting, painting the training grounds in shades of gold and red. A few students were already out there, practicing forms, testing equipment.
Max pulled up his System.
---
[STATUS]
NAME: Maximilion Keath
RACE: Human
RANK: F+
LEVEL: 4/10 (78%)
TALENTS:
- Plunder (F-Rank)
- Mana Amplification (F-Rank)
- Ironbark (E-Rank)
SKILLS:
- Basic Swordsmanship (Lv. 3)
- Mana Control (Lv. 4)
- Darkvision (Lv. 1)
- Enhanced Reflexes (Lv. 1)
- Nature's Resilience (Lv. 3)
ATTRIBUTES:
- Strength: 12
- Agility: 11
- Endurance: 15
- Intelligence: 13
- Mana: 22
---
[NEW NOTIFICATION]
[WEEKLY TRAINING MISSIONS UNLOCKED]
Max blinked. That was new.
[Academy life detected. System adapting.]
[Weekly objectives will provide bonus experience and rewards.]
[WEEK 1 MISSION: Perfect Form]
- Land 100 successful strikes during Combat Practice
- Achieve "Excellent" rating from Professor Vael
- Reward: +500 EXP, Skill: Precision Strike (Lv. 1)
[Accept?]
Max stared at the notification.
The System was gamifying his training. Turning routine academy work into power-leveling opportunities.
This was insane.
This was perfect.
"Accept," Max said aloud.
[Mission accepted. Progress: 0/100 strikes.]
The display updated, adding a small counter to the corner of his vision.
Max dismissed it and turned back to the window. The sun had nearly set now. Tomorrow, classes would begin. He'd spar with other Alpha students. Learn from instructors who'd survived real combat.
And in two weeks, the mission board would open.
His path was clear. Train hard. Complete the System missions. Take dangerous quests. Kill monsters. Activate Plunder as many times as possible.
Get stronger.
Strong enough to do what Beck wouldn't.
A knock on his door broke his thoughts.
Max crossed the room and opened it.
Beck stood in the hallway, grinning. "Hey! Found your room. Mine's just down the hall—Room 9. Pretty nice, right?"
"Beck."
"Want to grab dinner? I heard the Alpha dining hall is supposed to be way better than the main one. Apparently we get actual meat instead of mystery stew."
Max looked at his friend. At the boy who would let the world burn. Who had every gift imaginable and couldn't be bothered to use them.
"Sure," Max said. "Let me grab my coat."
Because what else could he do? Beck was Beck. Trying to change him was pointless.
Max could only change himself.
And that started tomorrow.