01-02-2345, Celestial Era – 18:34
Timer Countdown: T+02:00
The corridors of the academy buzzed as usual, filled with students who had just finished their educational programs, each holding a digital tablet in their right hand.
The male students wore long-sleeved white uniforms paired with matching white trousers according to academy standards, while a few distinguished students were allowed to wear a white blazer as an accessory. The female students, on the other hand, wore long-sleeved white blouses with knee-length skirts, their legs wrapped neatly in white leggings.
All of them clustered into their own social circles — formed by friendship, influence, and popularity. It was an unspoken rule within the Astral Academy, the institution founded by the Astral Foundation.
"Has anyone seen that useless guy?" one student asked sharply.
The voice came from a group that wasn't just popular — it was the most popular. They were the top of the social hierarchy at Astral Academy: the elite group led by the most admired pilot student of their generation.
"Corvus, right? Yeah, that weirdo," said another student loudly. "He had the nerve to humiliate our entire year — especially our White Flame group! Charlos Russal is furious about it!"
The young man speaking was Charlos Russal, twenty years old, leader of the White Flame faction and son of a high-ranking executive at Russal Auto, one of the Astral Foundation's automotive subsidiaries.
"Don't be ridiculous," said a girl beside him in a stern tone. "You're not going to mess with him again, are you? We've got a dinner meeting with our sponsors tonight."
That girl was Kiana Lintirus, a strikingly beautiful eighteen-year-old with long, silvery-gray hair flowing down her back, accented by a black headband. Her soft pastel-blue eyes flashed sharply, silencing everyone in the group with a single glance.
"Of course I know that," Charlos replied seriously. "Besides, that freak's being expelled anyway. Mr. Cornius already said his scholarship is a financial burden. This academy is meant for the talented and the wealthy — not for trash like him."
"Don't be so harsh," Kiana said worriedly. "Watch your words, or we'll have to make another 'donation' to smooth things over later."
At that moment, the door at the end of the corridor slid open, revealing two military personnel standing at attention.
And behind them entered the founder of the Astral Foundation himself — Asterius. Clad in a spotless white uniform, his commanding gaze silenced every conversation in the hall.
"When class hours are over, that means classrooms are empty," Asterius said coldly.
He took a few steps forward, followed by a young man with disheveled black hair and gray eyes — Revan Corvus. His expression was tired, almost lifeless, though he now wore a fresh uniform, identical to the other male students, with the addition of a black oversized jacket hanging loosely over his shoulders.
"Hah, barely got here and already getting scolded," Revan muttered dully.
"Of course," Asterius replied. "You've been certified as a Master-Class Mechanical Engineer. That puts you at a high rank within our organization."
Revan's lack of enthusiasm clashed with Asterius's firm demeanor as they walked toward the classroom at the end of the hall.
"Wait—why is that weirdo still here?" Kiana suddenly demanded, her tone sharp.
The question made both Asterius and Revan stop at the doorway. Asterius turned his gaze toward her.
"Oh? You know him?" Asterius asked evenly.
"Of course I do," Kiana replied coldly. "He's the disgrace of our entire class. Dear Mr. Asterius, that boy's just a normal human — he should be taking servant classes. It's obvious that servants exist to obey perfect beings like us."
Asterius was silent. Revan looked directly at her, his gray eyes narrowing.
"I'm not your servant, witch," he said flatly.
"Witch?" Kiana snapped. "Watch your mouth, you freak! Take that back — I've had enough of this nonsense. I've lived longer than you — hundreds of years, in fact — through different bodies!"
"Sorry," Revan said calmly. "Then I'll call you a walking fossil instead."
The corridor went dead silent. Even Asterius's eyes widened slightly.
"'Walking fossil'… wait, that's going too far," Asterius said seriously. "Do you realize she's been in cryosleep for 220 years? She was part of the first expedition."
Revan's eyes narrowed. "So, she's the one who started the bullying — and I'm the one getting lectured? What's next, no adults here to stop this? Or should I just give the 'salute' instead?"
Asterius tilted his head slightly, his cold expression tightening. "A salute? Go on then — let's see what you mean."
Revan raised his right hand, fingers pressed together, ready to lift it — but Asterius swiftly grabbed his wrist before he could complete the motion.
"Don't," Asterius said sharply. "We are not that outlawed organization — not the 'N' group erased from history. Don't even joke about it." His voice dropped an octave. "So, she's not your friend, then?"
"Of course not," Revan answered calmly.
Asterius released his grip. The silence that followed was broken only by the hiss of an opening door at the end of the hall. A man in a gray formal uniform entered — silver hair combed neatly back, face hardened by discipline.
"Asterius," the man spoke with authority, "we've received the data. The Codex system suffered corruption — it'll need direct access repairs. And what's this noise about?"
"Just a minor incident," Asterius replied evenly, though his tone was heavy. "Bullying — from our 'perfect creations' against an unmodified human."
The silver-haired man's eyes narrowed. "As a co-founder of the International Astral Gear Federation, I guarantee that such behavior won't be tolerated under my supervision — especially under the honorable Steiner family's oversight."
At that name, Kiana froze. Her confident posture faltered as both Asterius and the silver-haired man turned their firm gazes toward her.
"Wait," she stammered, "you're the Asterius? The one who developed the first Astral Gear prototype?"
"That's right," Asterius replied flatly. "And this man beside me," he gestured toward the newcomer, "is Steiner — another founder. Now, tell me, young Lintirus. What's your problem with Revan?"
Kiana straightened, her lips tightening. "He doesn't belong here. In the future, I refuse to share the same stage with someone so… ordinary. Especially if it risks my reputation among the Avalon Team members."
Asterius's expression hardened. "Enough. You'll be competing in the same Astral Gear Grand Prix regardless."
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "That's impossible. The regulations prohibit adding new pilots to the Grand Prix roster."
Steiner exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. "He's right. The pilot lineup was sealed weeks ago."
Asterius shook his head. "No. He won't be competing under the Avalon Team. Revan Corvus will join the World Institution Cup Division — an independent unit under my authorization."
The hallway erupted in whispers. The World Institution Cup — the division where experimental pilots and custom Gears were tested under real combat conditions. It was where legends were either made… or erased.
Kiana's face went pale. "You can't be serious," she said sharply. "That division's for elites trained since birth. You're putting him there? A normal human with no genetic modifications?"
Revan sighed, rubbing his neck. "You talk like I asked for this. I just wanted to graduate in peace."
Steiner turned toward him. "Whether you wanted it or not, you're involved now. Your creation — the Astral Gear called Scarecrow — is drawing too much attention."
Revan blinked. "So it's about Scarecrow again…"
"Yes," Asterius replied gravely. "That machine of yours wasn't just a student project. It broke the limits of current Astral Gear technology. You assembled it with parts from multiple generations of Gear models — something not even our best engineers could stabilize. And somehow, it works."
"That's because I didn't overthink it," Revan said simply. "I just built it to move the way I wanted."
Asterius and Steiner exchanged looks — half disbelief, half intrigue.
"You used scavenged frames, hybrid drive cores, and unstable Astral conduits," Asterius muttered. "By every logical measure, that Gear should've melted down the moment it powered on."
"Well," Revan said, smirking faintly, "maybe logic's just scared of me."
Kiana crossed her arms tightly, muttering under her breath. "He's insufferable."
Asterius turned toward her again. "Perhaps. But he's also the only one here who managed to create an Astral Gear by hand — without any consultation or genetic synchronization."
He paused, his voice firm and resonant through the corridor.
"Revan Corvus," he declared, "from this moment forward, you are officially registered as a pilot of the Astral Foundation under my personal supervision. You'll represent the human baseline — and prove that perfection isn't a birthright."
The students stared in stunned silence as Revan looked around, then sighed again.
"Great," he muttered. "Guess I'm everyone's science experiment now."