Every year around this time, students across Amestris City faced the same choice—risk everything on the Martial Arts Exam, or accept an ordinary future.
Some dreamed big, driven by pride or desperation. Others signed up just to prove they had the courage. Most failed.
And that was exactly why the homeroom teacher insisted that every student collect their registration forms in person—to discourage impulsive decisions that could drag down the school's pass rate.
So when Riven stood before his desk, calm and steady, it immediately put him on edge.
"Teacher," Riven said evenly, "I'm not wasting anyone's time. I'm taking the martial arts exam this year."
The teacher frowned, setting down his pen. Riven's tone wasn't arrogant, but the quiet certainty in it irritated him. He'd seen too many students ruin their prospects chasing unrealistic dreams.
"Your beast taming isn't even First Rank, Level One," he said, voice hardening. "How exactly do you plan to register? Tell you what—if your beast taming reaches First Rank, Level One, I'll let you apply. Until then, don't waste my time."
He turned away, expecting that to end the conversation.
After all, everyone knew Riven's natal beast was nothing but an ordinary insect—weak, common, utterly worthless. It could never reach the first rank, not even with years of training.
But when Riven said nothing, only lifting one hand slightly, the air shimmered.
A flash of icy blue light filled the room.
An ice serpent materialized before them, scales glittering like frost under moonlight.
The teacher froze mid-motion, his expression shifting from boredom to disbelief.
And as the frost serpent coiled gracefully on the tiled floor, a faint gleam rippled across Riven's eyes—a window only she could see.
[Race]: Frost Serpent (stunted due to low master soul resonance)
[Attribute]: Ice
[Level]: Tier 1 – Level 2
[Stage]: Infancy
[Ability]: None
[Status]: Weak
[Evolution Path]: Divine Dragon evolution – strengthens draconic bloodline;
Next evolution: Frost Dragon. Required material: Low-grade Frost Spirit Crystal. Evolution Potential: Rank Nine.
Riven's pulse quickened as he read the glowing lines of text.
Rank Nine potential.
In the beast-taming world, that was unheard of. A beast with ninth-rank potential could sell for a fortune so vast that even noble families fought wars over them.
If anyone saw what he saw right now, they'd lose their mind.
But Riven knew better.
This was the power of her innate skill—Divine Sight.
A transcendent ability that allowed her to see through a spirit beast's hidden potential—its attributes, its weaknesses, and even its optimal path of evolution.
For most beast tamers, improving a beast's bloodline was nearly impossible. The odds of evolution were abysmal—one in a thousand, if not worse.
But with Divine Sight, Riven could see how. he could guide his beast's growth step by step toward its true form.
He had tested it days ago, refining his Frost Serpent through small adjustments—feeding it frost-aligned energy stones, synchronizing his soul aura during meditation, using his newfound insight to strengthen their bond.
The results spoke for themselves.
In only three days, the once-feeble creature had broken through the barrier to Tier 1, Level 2.
If not for this, he wouldn't have been standing here today.
The teacher's eyes narrowed, disbelief and calculation flickering behind them. "This… is your tamed beast?"
Riven nodded silently.
For a moment, he said nothing. He had personally evaluated that serpent before—back when it was a worthless hatchling barely clinging to life. Yet now… its aura had changed.
Still, he couldn't bring himself to believe it meant anything.
"Well," he said after a pause, forcing a dry laugh, "you've… made some progress. But Riven, listen to me carefully. Taking the martial arts exam isn't just about having a beast at First Rank. The training, the pressure—you'll be crushed out there."
He gestured toward the table. "Focus on your academics. You can still go to a normal university, get a decent job. A comfortable life isn't a failure."
Riven's gaze didn't waver.
"I appreciate your concern, Teacher," he said quietly, "but I've made up my mind."
The teacher sighed, shaking his head. "You're as stubborn as ever. Fine. The registration form's on the desk. If you're so determined, take it."
Seeing that Riven didn't immediately move, he allowed himself a faint, smug smile.
Good. he was hesitating. Maybe he'd realized how foolish this was.
But before he could exhale in relief, Riven's hand moved—swift as lightning.
Swish.
The form vanished from the desk.
And before the teacher could even react, Riven had turned and walked out, the paper held firmly in his grasp.
"Riven!" he snapped, slamming his palm on the desk. "You—!"
The door clicked shut before he could finish.
Outside, the hallway buzzed with faint voices. A few students glanced up as Riven passed, whispering, curious.
Further ahead, at the end of the corridor, a familiar cluster of figures waited.
Oscar Lidi.
And his entourage.
Oscar leaned casually against the wall, a grin tugging at his lips. "Well, well. Look who's back. So, Riven—where's your registration form?"
"Didn't you say you were going to sign up?" sneered one of his lackeys. "What happened? The teacher chase you out?"
Elira, standing nearby, frowned sharply. "What's it to you whether he signs up or not?"
Oscar smirked, ignoring her. "Relax, Elara. We're just curious. It's not every day someone delusional enough to challenge the exam walks past us."
He tilted his head. "Come on, Riven. Don't be shy. Show us the form."
Riven stopped. His face was unreadable. Then, slowly, she reached behind his back and pulled out a crisp sheet of paper.
The Martial Arts Exam Registration Form.
For a heartbeat, nobody spoke.
The smirk slid from Oscar's face.
The form fluttered slightly in the breeze as Riven held it up, and the silence in the hall deepened. His lackeys exchanged uneasy looks.
"You… actually got it?" one of them muttered.
Oscar's jaw tightened. That shouldn't have been possible. The homeroom teacher guarded that form like his life depended on it. There was no way Riven had been allowed to sign up.
And yet—there it was.
Real. Official.
Riven's eyes met his, calm and unwavering. "You were saying something earlier about a handstand run around the playground?"
Oscar's expression darkened, but his voice came out forcedly light. "Ha. You must've misheard. I said if you passed the exam, not just signed up for it."
"Pretty sure you didn't specify," Riven said mildly.
"You didn't even make a proper bet!" one of the underlings interjected quickly. "So it doesn't count!"
Oscar nodded hastily, regaining some composure. "Exactly. Besides, even if you take the exam, what then? You'll fail. Nothing will change."
Riven smiled faintly. "We'll see."
That quiet confidence unsettled them more than any shouting could have.
Elira stepped forward, glaring at Oscar. "Enough. You've embarrassed yourselves enough for one day."
"Stay out of it, Elira," Oscar snapped, his pride stinging. "We're just having a little fun."
"Fun?" she echoed. "Mocking someone for trying to change their life?"
Her voice was sharp as ice. "Grow up."
Oscar's face twisted, but before he could reply, Riven spoke again.
"It's fine, Elira. Let them talk." he folded the registration form neatly and tucked it into his bag. "Their opinions won't matter after the results come out."
Oscar let out a dry laugh, though it lacked conviction. "Sure, keep dreaming. When you fail, don't come crying to anyone."
Riven walked past him without a word.
For a brief second, their shoulders brushed. The faint chill radiating from his Frost Serpent's aura seemed to linger in the air between them.
Oscar's smugness faltered. He turned to watch her leave, his hands clenching at his sides.
"Boss," one of his followers muttered, "he really signed up."
Oscar said nothing. His gaze stayed locked on the door Riven disappeared through.
"We'll see how long her confidence lasts," he muttered finally, voice low and sharp.
Outside, the afternoon sun spilled over the campus courtyard, casting long shadows across the stone walkways.
Riven stopped beneath the shade of an ancient oak, the faint hum of his Frost Serpent resonating at her wrist.
A pale blue sigil flickered in his vision—the mark of the Divine Sight pulsing faintly, as if responding to her resolve.
She exhaled softly.
"I won't fail," he whispered. "Not this time."
The wind picked up, carrying away the last echoes of laughter from the building behind him.
And somewhere, deep within his soul, the Divine Sight glowed brighter—whispering of destinies yet to be awakened.