The days passed in a blur of whispers, sideways glances, and constant evaluations. Eli quickly became the subject of relentless speculation. The students at the academy had learned just enough to draw one universal conclusion: he didn't care. About anything. Or anyone.
At first, they thought it was an act. No one could truly be that indifferent, that confident, that distant. But as time wore on, it became clear—Eli Wolfstone wasn't pretending. He was untouchable.
Even the teachers didn't quite know what to make of him. He performed with brilliance in class yet refused to engage. He obeyed no traditions, formed no alliances, and gave no respect unless it was earned. It didn't take long before his name began to ripple through the academy's underground web of factions and hierarchies.
Then, the call came again.
Madam Joselyn Maria summoned him.
The second time felt different. No pretense, no theatrics. Just cold, heavy inevitability. Eli understood now—this place was a nest of serpents, and Madam Joselyn was the one feeding them.
He entered her office without knocking.
She didn't look up right away. The desk between them was stacked with papers, folders sealed with imperial wax, names inked in calligraphy that screamed importance. Her pen scratched across a parchment before she finally glanced up.
"Take a seat, Mr. Wolfstone," she said curtly.
Eli slid into the chair without a word. He sat like he had all the time in the world, but his eyes—those cold, calculated eyes—betrayed the storm brewing inside.
"I've been watching you," Madam Joselyn began. "Less than a week in, and you've become… noticed."
"I'm hard to ignore," Eli replied smoothly.
"Too hard," she said with a slight tilt of her head. "You're causing disruption—not just socially, but academically. Your results are raising questions. Questions from people far above my rank."
Eli's eyebrow twitched. "Sounds like your problem."
"It becomes mine when I'm asked to submit a candidate for the Imperial Scholarship Test."
The words hung in the air like a loaded gun on a table.
Eli said nothing at first, but a pulse ticked in his jaw.
The Imperial Scholarship Test wasn't just a test—it was a battlefield. A stage for brilliance, manipulation, and social warfare. One didn't merely pass it; one survived it. The reward was an open door into the nation's most powerful circles—universities, councils, secret programs. The cost, however, was higher than most could pay.
"Why me?" Eli asked, tone sharp but quiet.
"Because you're not like the others," Madam Joselyn said. "You're not bound by name, legacy, or noble allegiance. You're the perfect wildcard. A blank slate. They're looking for someone who can rewrite the system, not preserve it."
Eli's eyes narrowed. "And what do you get out of this?"
"Survival," she said flatly. "This academy is under scrutiny. Sending you in is a gamble—but if you succeed, I win political favor. And if you fail…" She shrugged. "You were never really ours to begin with."
He hated her honesty more than her manipulation.
"And what happens if I say no?" Eli asked.
"Then your time here ends," she said without pause. "We have no place for wasted potential. Not in my academy."
It was a threat disguised as formality. But Eli wasn't afraid.
"I don't follow anyone's rules," he said.
"You don't have to," Madam Joselyn replied. "But you'll have to learn how to bend them. The test isn't about knowledge—it's about understanding people. Who to trust. Who to crush. Who to ignore. If you're clever enough, you won't just pass—you'll shape your own future."
Silence settled for a moment.
Then Eli leaned forward, voice low. "I'll take the test."
She nodded once. "Good. It begins in three weeks. You'll be given the materials and informed of the first phase—coded, of course."
Eli stood up to leave.
"Oh, and Mr. Wolfstone?" she said, just as he reached the door.
He paused but didn't turn.
"You're not the only candidate from this academy. Keep an eye on your peers. Some of them aren't as forgettable as you might think."
Eli walked out without a word, but his mind was already racing.
He knew who she meant.
Hana Mizuno.
Not a noble. Not rich. But brilliant, strategic, and quietly feared by many. She had known him before all of this, and if she was taking the test too, then it wasn't just the academy he'd be facing.
It was the ghosts of his past.
And the possibility of someone who could see through everything he was trying to become.
The Imperial Scholarship Test would demand everything.
His mind.
His instinct.
His will.
And maybe—just maybe—his soul.