December, 3025.
The morning air in City Sector-3-72 was unnaturally crisp. A thousand years of Alliance technology had scrubbed the atmosphere clean; there was no smog, no scent of burning fuel, and no heavy pollution. Instead, the air tasted of sterile ozone and the faint, metallic hum of the planetary energy grid. Even in a Tier-3 city, the sky was a perfect, artificial blue, though the towering gray blocks of the residential Quadrant-9 still cast long, cold shadows over the common folk.
Inside High School #104, located in the eastern area of the city, the atmosphere in Classroom 4-B was heavy with envy and despair.
"Did you hear about Jax Arion from Class 1?" a boy in the back row whispered, leaning toward his friend. "He didn't even come to school today."
"Why? Did he give up?"
"Give up? Are you kidding?" The boy scoffed. "Scouts from the Astra Academy came yesterday. He hit Planetary Rank 8 last week. They signed him on the spot. An Advanced Contract. Full scholarship, housing in the capital, the works. He doesn't even have to take the written exam."
"Rank 8..." the friend groaned, slumping in his chair. "He's from the same block as us! How is it fair? We eat the same nutrient paste, breathe the same air, but his genes just... work better."
"That's talent," the boy whispered back. "Aptitude makes you a king. Even in a dump like Tier-3, if you're a genius, the Federation finds you. The rest of us? We're just background noise."
At the front of the room, the class teacher, Mr. Justin Dron, adjusted his glasses. He knew exactly what they were discussing. The Advanced Contract system was ruthless—it skimmed the cream off the top before the exam even started, leaving the "Ordinary" students to fight for the scraps.
He tapped his pointer against the podium, a sharp clack that silenced the room.
"Class," Mr. Justin began, his voice stern. "Envy will not improve your genetic compatibility. Jax Arion received a contract because his aptitude allowed him to reach Rank 8 effortlessly. For the rest of you, the path is harder, but it is not closed."
He tapped a button, and two glowing icons appeared in the air.
"There are two paths left for those without contracts. The first is the Warrior Path. You absorb cosmic energy, evolve, and become a weapon of the Federation. You will explore the deep cosmos and eventually, at the Star Rank, fly through the vacuum itself. Or," he paused, "you fail, and you remain on this planet as a laborer."
"For those whose combat compatibility is low," he continued, "there is the Scholar Path. Become a researcher. If your academic scores are high enough, the Federation will provide enough resources for you to reach at least Planetary Rank 8—provided you are worth the investment."
"And do not think raw stats will save you," Mr. Justin added, his eyes scanning the room. "The final stage involves the Virtual Battle Realm. It will test your combat reflexes and adaptability. You cannot increase your Rank inside the simulation—your genes won't evolve there—but it is the only place you can learn to kill without dying."
Behind Kali, the whispering resumed.
"Virtual Realm? Please," a student muttered. "Did you see the news from the Tier-1 Cities? The 'First Batch' descendants aren't just Rank 8. There are hundreds of Rank 9s. And two heirs... two seventeen-year-olds... just broke through to Star Rank 1."
"Star Rank?" The other student sounded horrified. "They can already survive in space? We're struggling to lift rocks, and they're becoming gods."
"Exactly. Even if that white-haired crazy in front of us reaches Rank 7, he's just an insect compared to them."
Kali sat near the window, his 5'11" frame lean and wiry. His shock-white hair shimmered slightly, a physical side-effect of his relentless cultivation. He heard the gossip. Jax Arion had talent. The Tier-1 heirs had god-like genes.
Kali looked at his own hands, calloused and scarred. He didn't have a surname like Arion or a legacy like the First Batch. He was just Kali. He didn't have an Advanced Contract waiting for him. He had to claw his way up every single inch of the cliff.
"Hey," a low whisper came from the desk next to him.
Kali's eyes shifted to Rian Doster. His chubby best friend was trying to hide a snack under his desk while keeping one eye on the teacher.
"Did you hear that? Star Rank," Rian muttered, looking genuinely spooked. "Maybe we should just give up the punching bag, Kali. My legs already hurt thinking about the combat test."
Kali finally turned his head, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. "You have talent too, Rian. You calculate the calories in those energy nuts to the fourth decimal point."
"Survival, man! That's survival," Rian whispered back. "But seriously... Rank 7? That's the minimum for a Top 10 Academy. You're at Rank 5. Three months to bridge a two-rank gap without crystals and without genius genes? That's not a hurdle, man. That's a mountain."
"Keep it down," a sharp, cool voice whispered from the row in front of them.
Lana Kross didn't turn around, but her back was perfectly straight. As the undisputed "Goddess" of High School #104 and a Rank 6 warrior, her word carried weight. "The instructor is monitoring the neural-links in the hall. Don't lose points before the exam."
"That is all for today," Mr. Justin Dron announced. "Class dismissed. Those participating in the physical trials, report to the West Wing."
As the room erupted into chatter, Kali stood up.
"Cafeteria?" Rian asked hopefully.
"Heavy gravity dojo," Kali said, his eyes hardening. "I'm going to attempt 5x Earth gravity today. Talent might get them a contract, but pressure is the only thing that works for me."
Rian's eyes widened. "Five times? At Rank 5? Kali, that's suicide! Your internal organs will burst!"
"It's the only way to reach the Stars," Kali replied, walking out. He didn't look back. The world was unfair—geniuses rose like stars while he had to climb with lead weights attached to his ankles. But he had ninety days to reach his goal.