"No mana detected."
"...Ranked last."
"But how did he get in?"
Murmurs echoed throughout the wide marble hall, mixing with the flutter of robes, the clinking of enchanted weapons, and the tapping of polished boots.
Lucien stood in the corner, arms crossed behind his back, eyes half-lidded beneath the brim of a worn, dark tophat — far too formal for someone his age.
A top student should not look like a mourning butler.
Yet, here he was — standing beneath the massive golden crest of Zephyrion Mana Academy, having just aced the written exams with scores bordering perfection.
And ranked dead last in mana compatibility.
"They must have made a mistake."
"Is he a noble's illegitimate child?"
"Maybe a charity case."
He heard them all. He simply didn't care.
His eyes drifted to the towering crystal pillars surrounding the hall, humming softly with stored mana. A dozen ways to disable them. Another dozen to repurpose them into temporary pulse generators. The thought crossed his mind like idle trivia.
He adjusted his black formal coat — stiff, clean, with a silver brooch in the shape of a hawk feather pinned near the collar. His mother's.
And inside the coat, near his chest pocket, ticked the old brass pocket watch.
Father, you really sent me into a snake pit this time…
"Candidates, gather into your assigned practical groups!" an instructor barked from the front.
The crowd shifted. He moved quietly.