---
The hallway was too quiet.
Each step Aster took echoed like a shout against stone. The Academy assistant guiding him said nothing, didn't even glance back. Just a stiff back and mechanical stride through the winding corridors of Valebourne's upper dormitory wing.
It felt like walking deeper into a tomb.
Aster's eyes flicked to the windows they passed—high, narrow slits letting in streaks of pale moonlight. No view. Just enough to remind him how far from the world he was. Far from home—if that word still meant anything.
Not that I had anyone to wave goodbye, he thought.
The assistant finally stopped in front of a door etched with a simple number: 713. No crest. No nameplate. No welcome.
"Your room," the assistant said, then vanished down the hall without another word.
Aster stood there a moment, staring at the door like it might attack him. His hand hovered over the handle. He took a breath. It didn't help.
You survived bloodthirsty wolves, a giant stone arena, ranking trials, and a sarcastic system with a death kink, he told himself. Open the damn door.
He did.
Inside, the room was... nothing special. A neatly made bed. A desk. A wardrobe. A small window overlooking a courtyard he couldn't see in the dark. The walls were plain stone, cold and clean.
No signs of life. No warmth. No welcome. Just silence.
Aster stepped in, dropped his pack on the bed, and stood there.
He had no idea how long he stood there.
---
Perfect! Let's keep the tone smooth and lead into Part 2 with emotional weight.
---
Aster sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, hands locked together like they might keep him from falling apart.
The silence was unbearable.
There was no one here.
No familiar faces. No voices to ground him. Just stone walls and the dull throb in his chest where all the adrenaline had finally drained out.
He'd made it in. Past the orientation. Past the trials. Past the monster. Past the rankings.
He was alive.
And utterly, completely alone.
Aster laughed. Just once. A broken, dry sound that barely left his throat.
"This is it?" he whispered. "All that—for this?"
He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. It didn't blink.
You worked your ass off, he told himself. You didn't die. You outsmarted a goddamn Warg. You're ranked seventh. You should feel proud, right? You should feel… something.
But there was just this hollow ache behind his ribs.
He wiped his eyes before he even noticed he was crying.
Not the kind of loud, ugly sobbing he used to see in dramas. Just quiet. Steady. Like a leaking faucet of grief that had nowhere else to go.
He remembered the day he got transferred here. One moment reading a stupid book in his boring, lonely apartment—then pulled away from everything. Dumped in this twisted version of a fantasy novel with real stakes and real blood.
And now… now there wasn't even anyone to tell him he did well.
Not even the system said anything this time.
Just—
Ding!
The sound made him jump.
The familiar, cruel text scrolled in front of his eyes:
> [System Notification]
Congratulations. You have survived the Entrance Exam.
As promised, here is your reward:
– Valebourne Academy: Map Unlocked.
A new quest has been assigned.
Main Quest: Graduate from Valebourne Academy
– Reward: ???
– Penalty: Death.
Aster stared at it.
Then laughed again. Louder, this time.
"Of course," he muttered, wiping his face again. "Of course it's death. Why not? Nice of you to wait until I finished crying."
He closed the screen, rubbed his face, and leaned forward.
His hands were still shaking.
But he was still breathing.
And that meant he had something left.
Even if it was just spite.
---
---
Aster stood up slowly.
The floor felt colder now. Or maybe he was just more aware of it. Every breath felt heavier but sharper, like breathing through ice.
He glanced once more at the quest log. Still there. Mocking him.
> Main Quest: Graduate from Valebourne Academy
– Reward: ???
– Penalty: Death.
"Great," he muttered. "No pressure."
He tapped the screen again and brought up the map. It unfolded in his vision like a detailed blueprint of a castle—though calling Valebourne a castle was like calling a dragon a lizard. The academy stretched across what looked like multiple districts. Dorm towers. Training fields. Spell arenas. Libraries that might as well be labyrinths. And one particularly large red zone simply labeled 'Restricted'.
"Let me guess," Aster muttered, zooming in. "That's where all the fun happens."
The map adjusted automatically to show his current location—a pin hovering over North Wing Dormitory – Room 207. A few other dots scattered nearby, probably students who'd finished the trials as well. Most seemed to be resting. Recovering.
He should do the same.
But something in him itched.
Not curiosity.
Not even fear.
Just a compulsion. That twitchy, irritated feeling he always got after solving a hard problem. Like his brain wouldn't stop moving.
You can't afford to relax.
Not here.
He opened the drawer at his bedside. Inside was a simple uniform—deep black, with silver linings tracing along the arms and chest. A small crest over the heart: a sword crossed with a flame over an open book. The official Valebourne sigil.
It was surprisingly comfortable.
He slipped it on, tying the belt with trembling fingers, and caught his reflection in the narrow wall mirror.
Pale. Eyes sunken. Tired.
But still here.
Still alive.
And ranked 7th.
"Not bad for someone who got thrown into all this with nothing but sarcasm and spite."
He took one last breath and exited the room.
The hallway outside was dimly lit, long, and carved in smooth stone that clicked under his boots. A few others moved through it now—students in similar uniforms, some chatting nervously, others walking like they owned the place. Everyone looked strong in their own way. Magical, confident, intense.
No one looked at him twice.
He liked it that way.
Yet a thought lingered in the back of his mind—they have no idea.
No idea how close he came to losing it.
No idea what kind of pressure was sitting on his shoulders.
No idea that the system could just casually sentence him to death with a congratulatory message.
And no idea that, despite all the sarcasm, something in him had started to shift.
Not just the will to survive.
But the beginnings of a mindset that would one day terrify them all.
He passed a notice board near the common room. A new message flickered into view:
> Tomorrow – Specialization Interviews Begin.
Prepare your mind, body, and mana.
He tilted his head.
"So they're already sorting us."
He smirked.
Fine.
If the academy wanted to see what he was made of, they'd get their answer.
Eventually.
He tapped the scythe-shaped pendant he'd tucked under his shirt—his key to something far more dangerous.
Then turned the corner without looking back.
--