"Keep going, all of you. You're almost there—just keep holding on to that feeling."
Her voice rang across the room like a calm bell in a storm. A woman, elegant in posture and purposeful in stride, walked confidently across the tiled floor. She wore a tailored black suit with a short skirt, and a long draping tie etched in green and black geometric patterns that swayed gently with each step.
On either side of her, children sat cross-legged on the ground, eyes squeezed shut, their hands curled into an oval shape—as if cradling something invisible, delicate, and sacred. They groaned quietly, the strain visible in every furrowed brow and trembling lip.
"Steady now… That's it, May," the woman said, stopping momentarily. Her voice softened. "Just keep holding on to it. Don't let go, no matter what you feel. That sensation—cling to it like breath."
To her left, a boy of seventeen sat in serene stillness. His legs were crossed, his body rigid with concentration as he stared ahead at a faintly glowing sphere hovering in the air before him. It pulsed with a rhythmic thrum—blue in color, gentle in hue, like the heartbeat of a star, flickering in and out of existence.
The boy's dark brown eyes, deep as tilled earth, locked onto the orb. A small, victorious smile spread across his lips.
"Finally... I did it," he murmured, a shaky breath escaping his lungs. "Oof."
He let himself collapse backwards onto the floor, exhaustion playing a symphony across his features—every muscle slack with relief, pride quietly radiating from him.
The woman paused, eyes narrowing slightly as she turned and walked toward him. Calmly, gracefully, she knelt beside the softly pulsing orb and examined it closely.
"Hmm..." she hummed, her voice analytical but almost reverent. "Soft pulses... flickers occasionally... light blue hue… a clean circular rotation."
Her gaze lingered on the ball for a moment longer before she nodded.
"...It's a pass."
She turned to the boy, her eyes suddenly filled with something tender—admiration, perhaps. Or respect. She spoke softly, but her words carried weight.
"Jason Morel, you've passed. You've successfully completed your soul line check. You'll be sent to the Ashrel Office for continuation and your official interview."
She stood again, her voice now louder and commanding.
"You've earned a short moment of rest for your hard work and unwavering focus—but remember, time does not slow for anyone."
At the sound of his name, every eye in the room turned toward Jason, still sprawled on the floor, chest heaving. Envy, awe, and curiosity shimmered in the gazes of his peers. But before the attention could blossom into whispers—
"Do you want to restart your process?!"
The woman's voice cut through the air like a whip.
Every child jolted like a puppet on strings, immediately snapping back into position. The tension dissolved from Jason's shoulders as the eyes slipped away from him. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, the soft glow of his soul orb still dancing in his peripheral vision. He felt the fatigue deep in his bones—painful, aching—but also something else... pride.
With great effort, he pushed himself up, hands trembling. His back groaned as he lifted off the ground, his legs heavy beneath him. Slowly but with purpose, Jason walked out of the room, the glowing ball fading behind him.
His destination: the Ashrel Office.
Elsewhere…
"Ahh… finally. A little peace and quiet," sighed a balding middle-aged man, slumped heavily into his office chair. Dressed in a plain white shirt and black trousers, his pot belly peeked over his belt like a mountain over a village. A black robe hung carelessly over the back of his chair, and a lazy grin played on his face.
"I swear, I was this close to cursing that entire brat's bloodline," he muttered with a laugh. "Good thing I held back. Could've gotten messy—hehe."
He spun in his chair lazily, the old wheels screeching in protest. With a grunt, he pushed himself up, belly wobbling with the effort. But just as he stood fully upright—
Knock. Knock.
The man paused.
His eyes turned toward the door a few feet away, one brow rising suspiciously. He wasn't expecting anyone. Suspicion flashed across his pudgy face. With a heavy sigh, he slumped back into the chair, repositioning himself before calling out:
"Come in."
The door creaked open in an instant, and a boy entered—young, lean, and quiet in his movements.
The man squinted. Recognition stirred behind his eyes.
"Huh… isn't that one of the kids from the orphanage? What was his name again…?"
His brain whirred. Then suddenly—
"Ah! Jason Morel! The top prospect in the entire orphanage."
As if on cue, Jason approached the desk and gave a respectful, slight bow. His voice was calm and composed, despite the wear on his face.
"Good morning, Ashrel. My name is Jason Morel. I've just completed my soul line awakening. Miss Earl instructed me to come to you for the interview."
The moment her name left Jason's mouth, the man's face twisted. A twitch in his brow, a curl in his lip—disgust, perhaps. Or something deeper. He muttered under his breath.
"Ms. Earl…" The words tasted bitter.
He shoved the thought aside.
His eyes drifted back to Jason, scanning him top to bottom like a merchant appraising rare goods. Jason shifted uncomfortably.
Ashrel stood, belly bouncing as he lumbered around the desk. He stopped directly in front of Jason, his gaze locking with the boy's.
"So… you've come for your interview, huh? Hahaha!"
He turned, walking toward a cluttered shelf. His voice continued, this time more nostalgic, more reflective.
"You know, in all seventeen years of working here… this has only happened four times. Four."
He glanced over his shoulder.
"Four people have ever come for the interview stage. And each one of them? They went on to join the Joint Protection Agency. Big stuff, really."
He turned around, hand resting on his belly, a sly grin curling on his face.
"So don't think of this as some big exam or life-defining moment. Let's call it… a formality. In fact—"
He leaned forward slightly.
"Why don't I just pass you now?"
Jason blinked, surprised.
"Think about it. You'd be skipping a step countless others never even reach. You'd already be ahead. Just imagine it—future Task Force material, maybe even elite division if you play your cards right."
He chuckled again, clearly enjoying himself.
Jason didn't reply at first. He looked at the man, his eyes unreadable. Then slowly, deliberately, he forced a small grin and replied with a polite:
"Yes, of course."