The waiting hall was a grand chamber of white marble and towering columns, its vaulted ceiling painted with frescoes of ancient Magic Knights battling dragons and demons. Sunlight streamed through enormous stained-glass windows, casting fragments of blue and gold across the crowded floor. Hundreds of candidates filled the space—nobles in their house colors, commoners in their best clothes, all of them carrying grimoires and dreams and the quiet desperation of those who knew that only a fraction of them would leave this building as Magic Knights.
I stood near one of the pillars, my back against the cool stone, watching the crowd with the detached precision of a predator surveying a herd. The wheel rotated silently behind my head, invisible to most but drawing occasional glances from the sharper-eyed mages in the room. Yuno had positioned himself a few feet away, his four-leaf grimoire floating conspicuously at his hip, his expression the same stoic mask he always wore. Asta was somewhere in the crowd, his voice occasionally rising above the general murmur like a foghorn in a library.
And the attention had already begun.
It started with the girls. Yuno attracted the young ones—teenage noble daughters and commoner girls alike, their eyes drawn to his tall frame, his dark hair, his amber eyes, and the quiet, brooding intensity that seemed to make adolescent hearts flutter. They whispered to each other behind gloved hands, giggling and blushing and stealing glances. One of them, a petite blonde in a lavender dress, worked up the courage to approach him.
"Excuse me," she said, her voice trembling with nervous excitement. "You're the one with the four-leaf grimoire, right? That's... that's amazing. My name is—"
"Not interested," Yuno said, without looking at her.
The girl's face crumpled. She retreated to her friends, who immediately began consoling her with the usual platitudes. Yuno hadn't even blinked. The entire exchange had taken less than five seconds.
I allowed the mask to produce a faint, amused smile. "You could at least pretend to be polite."
"Why?"
"Because social connections are useful. You never know when you might need an ally."
"I have Asta." Yuno paused, then added, almost reluctantly, "And you, I suppose."
"I'm touched." The words came out with the appropriate level of dry humor, but inside the void, nothing stirred. I wasn't touched. I wasn't anything. The mask was just running its programmed responses.
My own attention came from a different demographic entirely.
I noticed it first when I caught a noblewoman staring at me from across the hall. She was older—mid-thirties, perhaps, with the kind of refined beauty that came from a lifetime of wealth and careful maintenance. Her dress was expensive silk, her jewelry was real gold, and her wedding ring was conspicuously absent. She met my eyes and smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of painted lips that communicated interest with the subtlety of a battering ram.
I looked away, but more stares had already found me. A merchant's wife, plump and pretty, fanning herself rapidly. A stern-faced woman in military uniform, her grey-streaked hair pulled back in a severe bun, her eyes lingering on my shoulders with an expression that was unmistakably appreciative. A trio of mature women in the noble section, their heads bent together, their whispers carrying fragments of conversation—"look at those muscles" and "do you think he's really only fifteen" and "my husband wouldn't need to know."
The mask maintained its pleasant neutrality. Inside, I was cataloguing the phenomenon with clinical detachment. Older women were attracted to me. Younger girls, the ones who swooned over Yuno's dark, pretty features, barely gave me a second glance. But their mothers, their aunts, their older sisters—those were the ones whose gazes followed me across the room. It was, I supposed, a logical response. My body was that of a fully grown warrior, not a teenage boy. The emotional maturity that came with age—or the illusion of it, in my case—would naturally appeal to women who had outgrown the appeal of adolescent romance.
Useful data. The mask could weaponize charm as easily as it weaponized warmth. If older women in positions of power found me appealing, that was leverage. Leverage was power. Power was survival.
I filed the observation away and returned my attention to the crowd.
Asta's voice had risen to a new pitch of distress. "GET OFF ME! Why are there so many?! What do you WANT?!"
I pushed off the pillar and made my way through the crowd toward the source of the commotion. Yuno followed without a word. We found Asta near the center of the hall, flailing his arms like a windmill while a swarm of small, dark-feathered birds circled his head. Anti-magic birds—the carrion feeders of the magical world, drawn to those with low mana like moths to a flame. They weren't dangerous, just annoying, but the sight of a candidate being mobbed by them was apparently very entertaining to the nobles nearby.
"Look at him," sneered a young man in a Silver Eagles aspirant's uniform, his grimoire floating smugly beside him. "The birds can smell his weakness. What's your mana stage, commoner? Eight? Nine? How did you even get a grimoire with mana that pathetic?"
"I have mana!" Asta shouted, still flailing. "I just... I don't have very much! But I make up for it with—HEY, THAT ONE TRIED TO NEST IN MY HAIR!"
The laughter that followed was cruel and dismissive, the sound of privileged children who had never known a day of genuine struggle mocking someone whose only crime was being born without the one thing this world valued. Yuno's expression darkened. His mana stirred, a faint breeze rippling through the hall, but I placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't," I said quietly. "He needs to fight his own battles. Intervention from you will only make them mock him more."
Yuno's jaw tightened, but he nodded. He understood. Asta's journey was his own, and being rescued by his talented rival would only reinforce the perception that he was weak.
Asta, meanwhile, had given up on shooing the birds and was attempting to physically escape them. He ducked and weaved through the crowd, the anti-magic birds following him in a chattering black cloud, and in his desperate flight, he crashed directly into someone.
The impact was solid. Asta bounced off and landed on his backside, the anti-magic birds scattering in a panic. The person he'd hit didn't move. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man , his dark hair tousled, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. His grimoire—a thick, dark tome—was strapped to his belt, and his presence radiated the kind of casual, overwhelming power that made the air around him feel heavier.
Yami Sukehiro. Captain of the Black Bulls. The man I'd been planning to seek out for over a year, standing ten feet away from me with a cigarette and a bemused expression.
My mind went cold. Not with fear—the locks wouldn't allow fear—but with the sharp, crystalline focus of a predator identifying its primary target. Yami was the key to my next evolution. His ki sensing technique would amplify my combat effectiveness beyond anything I could achieve through solitary training. His Mana Zone would give my adaptation a template to work from, a phenomenon to observe and overcome. And his squad, the Black Bulls, was the one place in this kingdom where a magical anomaly like me could thrive without questions.
I needed to join the Black Bulls. I needed Yami to notice me, to find me interesting, to want me on his team. And that meant I needed a persona—a version of myself that would appeal to his particular sensibilities.
Yami respected strength. He respected loyalty. He had a soft spot for underdogs and weirdos, and he had a deep, instinctive disdain for anyone who bullied the weak. He was also perceptive enough to see through a mask that was too perfectly crafted. If I presented myself as a polished, charming, nothing-is-wrong-with-me candidate, he'd smell the deception. I needed to be a little rough. A little intense. A little strange. But also someone he could trust to watch his back.
The older brother archetype. Protective. Blunt. Willing to throw himself between danger and the people he'd decided to protect. Asta was the perfect focal point for that persona—he was short, loud, universally underestimated, and impossible to dislike. If I positioned myself as Asta's defender, his gruff older brother figure, Yami would see me as someone with the right instincts. He might even see a reflection of his own dynamic with his squad in the way I handled the boy.
The mask shifted. The warm smile faded into something sharper, more guarded. The gentle giant became the watchful protector, the older sibling who didn't smile much but would throw a punch for anyone who threatened his family.
I started walking toward Asta and Yami.
"Hey, kid," Yami was saying, his voice a lazy drawl. He had Asta by the head, his large hand gripping the boy's skull like a basketball. "Do you want to die? Huh?"
"Let go of my head!" Asta squirmed, but Yami's grip was like iron. "Who are you anyway?! Some kind of weird older guy who hangs around exam halls?!"
"Weird older guy?" Yami's eyebrow twitched. "You really wanna die huh!, pipsqueak. hmm? you've got some interesting muscles for a magicless runt. What do you do, lift rocks all day?"
"I do a one hundred push-ups every morning! And a hundred sit-ups! And a hundred squats! And I run ten kilometers ever single day—"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Yami took a long drag of his cigarette, his eyes drifting away from Asta and landing on me. Specifically, on the air above my head, where the eight-spoked wheel rotated in its silent, golden cycle. His expression flickered—not shock, not fear, but the keen interest of a predator recognizing something equally dangerous. "Well, well. What's this? You compensating for something with that halo, big guy? Trying to look like an angel?"
I felt the attention of the nearby candidates shift toward me. Most of them looked confused—they couldn't see the wheel, so Yami's comment made no sense. A few of the stronger mages, the ones with Stage 5 mana and above, glanced at the space above my head and paled. Yuno, standing a few paces behind me, had gone completely still.
The moment was here. The persona was set. Time to act.
"Captain of the Black Bulls," I said, my voice flat and cold, carrying just enough edge to sound dangerous. "A captain. Bullying a candidate half your size. You should be ashamed of yourself."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Asta stopped squirming. Yuno's eyes widened. The nobles who had been laughing at Asta moments ago went pale as the reality of the situation sank in. This scruffy, cigarette-smoking man in the black kimono was a Magic Knight captain. One of the nine most powerful mages in the entire kingdom. And the giant with the unsettling grey eyes had just insulted him to his face.
Yami's grin widened. He didn't look angry. He looked entertained. "Bullying? I'm just checking out the talent. And speaking of talent—" He released Asta's head and took a step toward me, his presence pressing down on the air like a physical weight. "What's a middle-aged man like you doing at a fifteen-year-old exam? You look like you should be paying taxes and complaining about your back, not running around with a bunch of kids."
Middle-aged. I was six foot three and built like a warrior, and I looked, by any reasonable standard, nothing like a fifteen-year-old boy. The insult was accurate, which made it more effective. The mask absorbed it without reaction.
"I'm fifteen," I said, my tone unchanged. "And I'm here for the same reason as everyone else. To become a Magic Knight."
"Fifteen." Yami snorted. "Right. And I'm the Wizard King." He took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes never leaving the wheel. "That thing on your head. It's not just for show, is it? What are you, some kind of divine punishment? The universe's way of telling me I should've slept in today?"
"You'll find out during the exam."
"Confident. I like that." Yami's grin became something sharper. "But confidence doesn't mean much if you can't back it up. What's your name, giant?"
"Hasegawa Ouga."
"Ouga." He tested the name, then shrugged. "Never heard of you. But I guess that's the point of the exam, isn't it? Separating the nobodies from the somebodies." His gaze shifted back to Asta, who was rubbing his head and glaring at Yami with the impotent fury of a chihuahua facing down a wolf.
Before the confrontation could escalate further, a spatial portal shimmered into existence beside Yami, and a young man with brown hair and a perpetually worried expression stepped through. Finral Roulacase, the Black Bulls' spatial mage and resident chauffeur.
"Captain! There you are! The other captains are already assembling, and Captain Vangeance is about to start the opening ceremony, and you're down here harassing candidates again, and I really don't want to get yelled at, so please—" Finral grabbed Yami's arm and began physically pulling him toward the portal. "—come with me right now!"
"Alright, alright, I'm coming." Yami allowed himself to be dragged, but his eyes lingered on me and Asta. "Remember, you two. I'm watching."
The portal closed, and the oppressive weight of Yami's presence vanished. The hall, which had been holding its collective breath, exhaled. Conversations resumed. The candidates who had witnessed the exchange glanced at me with a new wariness—I had stood up to a captain and walked away unscathed, which either meant I was powerful or insane. Possibly both.
Asta stared at the spot where Yami had been standing, his mouth hanging open. "That was a CAPTAIN? A real captain? And I yelled at him! And he grabbed my head! And—" His face split into a massive grin. "And he said he'd be watching me! He noticed me, Ouga! A captain noticed me!"
"He noticed you because you crashed into him," Yuno said dryly.
"Same thing!"
I let the mask produce a faint smile. The protective older brother persona had made its first impression. Yami had seen me defend Asta, had seen me stand my ground against a superior, had seen me refuse to be intimidated. The seed was planted. When the exam results came in, when Yami was choosing his squad's new members, he would remember the giant with the wheel and the magicless kid he'd protected.
And he would choose us.
---
The captains arrived in a procession of power.
The hall fell silent as the nine strongest mages in the Clover Kingdom entered through the grand archway and took their seats on the raised dais at the front of the chamber. Each one radiated mana that made the air shimmer—Stage 0, or close to it, their presence a physical pressure that made the weaker candidates tremble. I catalogued them one by one, matching faces to the fragments of my past-life memories.
William Vangeance, captain of the Golden Dawn, his face hidden behind a mask of silver and blue, his presence radiating the calm, steady authority of a man who had been chosen by fate itself. Fuegoleon Vermillion, captain of the Crimson Lion Kings, a lion's mane of red hair framing a face that burned with righteous determination. Nozel Silva, captain of the Silver Eagles, his silver hair braided with jewels, his expression one of cold, aristocratic disdain. Charlotte Roselei, captain of the Blue Rose Knights, beautiful and severe, her eyes scanning the crowd with the precision of a warrior assessing potential threats. Jack the Ripper, captain of the Green Mantises, his body wrapped in bandages, his grin a slash of predatory hunger. Dorothy Unsworth, captain of the Coral Peacocks, already half-asleep in her chair, her dream magic leaking faint purple mist into the air. Kaiser Granvorka, captain of the Purple Orcas, an older man with a dignified bearing and eyes that had seen too much. Rill Boismortier, captain of the Aqua Deer, practically bouncing in his seat with the boundless creative energy of the kingdom's youngest captain.
And Yami Sukehiro, who slouched in his chair with a cigarette still burning between his fingers, his dark eyes fixed not on the crowd as a whole, but on two specific points. Asta. And me.
I met his gaze without flinching. The mask was in place. The persona was ready. The exam was about to begin.
William Vangeance rose from his seat and stepped forward to the edge of the dais. The hall's massive magical amplifiers carried his voice to every corner of the chamber.
"Candidates," he said, his voice resonant and calm. "You have come from every corner of the Clover Kingdom, from noble houses and common villages, from wealth and poverty, from privilege and obscurity. You have come with one shared dream: to become Magic Knights. To serve your kingdom. To protect its people. To prove that your magic, your will, your very existence has meaning."
He raised his hand, and his grimoire—a four-leaf clover, glowing with golden light—floated up to meet it.
"The Magic Knights Entrance Exam exists to separate the exceptional from the ordinary. Not the nobles from the commoners. Not the rich from the poor. The exceptional. Those who will risk everything to save a single life. Those who will stand against impossible odds and refuse to fall. Those who have the courage to face their own weaknesses and overcome them."
The pages of his grimoire began to turn, faster and faster, golden light building around him like a second sun.
"And so, for this year's exam... I will create the battlefield myself."
He thrust his hand toward the ceiling, and the world changed.
A tree erupted from the ground beneath our feet. Not a metaphor—a literal tree, its trunk wider than the Colosseum itself, its branches stretching toward the sky with the speed of a striking serpent. The marble floor cracked and shattered as roots the size of city streets burst through, And above us, the branches spread outward, forming a canopy that blotted out the sun and created a vast, dim arena of leaves and shadow.
"Welcome," he said, "to the exam grounds. Survive. Prove yourselves. And may the strongest among you become Magic Knights."
The captains watched from above, their expressions ranging from amusement to anticipation. Yami's eyes were still on me.
The exam had begun. And Hasegawa Ouga was ready.
( Author note: If you want more, GIVE ME POWER STONES)