The Academy didn't waste time.
By the time I reached the training hall, half the first-year class was already lined up. Some looked nervous. Some excited. A few were pretending they didn't care, but their shifting feet gave them away.
I took a place near the back. Not hiding—just avoiding the cluster of hyperactive students in the front.
The instructor from yesterday, the tired-looking one, stood beside a large pillar covered in faint runic lines. The whole thing buzzed softly with mana.
He clapped his hands once.
"Alright. The Mana Capacity Test is simple. Stand on the platform, channel your mana, and let the Runic Pillar measure your reserves and flow stability."
Simple.
Which meant easy to mess up if people overthought it.
I kept my breathing even.
The first student approached. He placed his hands on the pillar, closed his eyes… and the runes lit up a pale yellow.
"Low C-class," the instructor said. "Next."
The kid looked disappointed but also relieved it was over.
One by one, students went up.
Some got blues.
Some greens.
A couple even managed a bright orange—high B-class.
The pillar hummed differently for each person, almost like it was reacting to their personalities. Or maybe I was reading too much into it.
When my turn came, I stepped forward.
No one stared. Good.
I placed both palms on the surface. It was warmer than I expected, almost like holding onto breathing stone.
"Channel mana," the instructor said.
I exhaled and let my energy flow.
Not too fast.
Not too slow.
Just steady.
The runes flickered… paused… then glowed a muted white-gray.
Somewhere between C and B.
Not impressive.
Not embarrassing.
A few students glanced over, curious. I stepped away without looking at anyone.
The instructor nodded. "Mid C-class capacity, but with stable control. That's more important than raw volume."
Good.
That meant my disguise as a perfectly average student was working.
But as I turned to rejoin the group, the pillar did something strange.
The runes shimmered again—just for a second—like they were recalibrating. A soft vibration pulsed through the floor, and a faint outline of spatial distortion rippled across the pillar's surface.
No one else reacted.
Either they didn't notice, or they assumed it was normal.
The instructor glanced at the pillar, frowning.
Just a moment.
Then his expression reset.
"Next!" he barked.
I walked back into the line, pretending nothing happened.
Inside, I was already dissecting it.
Did it sense the fragment of spatial resonance I awakened during the trial? Or is it reacting to the Rift energy still stuck in my system?
Whatever it was, it didn't draw attention. That was what mattered.
The rest of the test proceeded without incident. Students whispered about rankings, argued about who scored highest, bragged about future potential.
I didn't join in.
Capacity wasn't my goal.
Strength wasn't immediate.
Progress would come slowly, steadily—because that was the only way it ever stuck.
When the session ended, the instructor dismissed us with a bored wave.
"Those with B-class or higher will receive invitations for accelerated combat classes. Everyone else—go to Foundation Training tomorrow."
Foundation Training.
Beginner's training.
It didn't bother me. I needed fundamentals anyway.
As I walked out of the hall, the pillar hummed behind me again—softly, almost a whisper—like it was trying to get my attention.
I didn't turn back.
Let the Academy think I'm ordinary.
Let the students think I'm average.
That was the safest way forward.
But deep down, I knew that pillar didn't misfire.
It sensed something.
Something the Academy wasn't ready to see—
and something I needed to understand before anyone else did.