How the hell did I end up here?
That's the first thought buzzing in my skull like a fly that refuses to die. One moment I was minding my own business, peacefully blacking out on the street, and the next I'm stuck in the body of a teenager with the magical potential of a soggy cabbage.
No, seriously. I had a chat—and I use that word loosely—with the chubby guy from yesterday. Apparently, his actual name is Lie Jun, but I still like calling him chubby guy. It fits. The conversation mostly went like this:
Him: Blah blah blah magic core blah blah marfianism.
Me: [nods sagely while absorbing everything like a Wi-Fi-starved millennial]
I learned a lot though. For starters, this world is magical. Literally. Not metaphorically like "follow your dreams" magical, but actual abracadabra kind of stuff. They call it marfianism. Sounds like a cult, honestly, but hey—who am I to judge when I'm the freak with a violet-level magical core?
Let me break it down for you, because my brain is still reeling from the whole system. In this world, only a tiny fraction of people can perform magic. They're called Marfians, and to be one, you need two things: magical veins and a magical core.
Guess what? Most people don't have either.
The core comes in colors, like a fashion line gone wrong. From weakest to strongest, it goes: Violet, Indigo, Blue, Green, Yellow, Orange, Red.
The king here has a yellow core. Other members of the royal family have Green cores. Most of the marfians have a Blue core. Red and orange seem not to be in this world or not known but they are the strongest ones.
And before you ask—yes, I'm violet. Not even a cool shade like midnight violet. Just… violet. To make it worse, every core color has five levels. Guess who's Violet Level 2?
Me.
Which means I'm literally one step above absolute trash. So yeah, everyone's favorite punchable loser growing up? That's me. The guy people trip in corridors, pants during training, and avoid making eye contact with so they don't lose brain cells? Yep, still me.
Even chubby guy—sorry, Lie Jun—is better than me. He's Indigo Level 3. Not a genius, but at least he doesn't make teachers sigh dramatically when he enters a room.
And the worst part? Magical core levels apparently also determine intelligence. So the lower the level, the dumber you are. Which means the original version of this body—my predecessor, I guess—was practically a glorified potato. Explains a lot.
I almost cry in my misery. But I'm hungry, so I swallow it down like a real man and head to the eating area. I haven't eaten since yesterday. The screening test is today and dying from starvation before failing miserably isn't exactly a power move.
On the way, I try not to trip on my own uniform—which is old, scratchy, and newly washed, meaning it smells like wet hay but at least doesn't have mysterious stains anymore.
The eating area is called the Stone Hearth Pavilion. Very grand name for what looks like an oversized mess hall with too many wooden benches and not enough ventilation.
Just as I'm about to get in line for food, guess who shows up like a bad sequel?
Yu Wenhuan.
Yes, that guy. Mr. "I'm Too Pretty To Blink" from yesterday. Now I know his name—thanks to Lie Jun's never-ending info dump. Apparently, his uncle works in the Royal Court, and that's enough to make him strut around like the floor owes him rent.
He walks in with his goons, throwing smirks like confetti. He glances at me, snickers, and keeps walking. Thankfully, he doesn't stop to bless me with another insult. Maybe he's saving his breath for the actual screening.
I grab my plate and head to the Farthest Possible Corner™ of the room. Alone, cold, quiet. Just how I like it. No stares, no whispers, no random bread rolls being thrown at my head. Bliss.
I chew on my bland porridge (which might actually be gruel pretending to be porridge) and think.
I need to get out of this world.
No offense to the medieval Hogwarts vibe, but I've got things to do, people to ignore, memes to scroll. But getting out requires knowledge—and unfortunately, knowledge isn't served with breakfast.
Lie Jun told me that the screening test is just the beginning. It happens every ten years, part of the grand Imperial Examination Series™, and is designed to filter out losers like me before they embarrass the palace.
But if you pass? Even by a hair?
You're in.
The lowest passers get jobs like patrolling cow sheds in abandoned outposts. But the top scorers? They become Golden Knights. Sounds fancy, right? They're the personal guards of the king and the Crown Princess.
Ah, the princess. I still remember that face—like every Disney princess ever fused into one unfairly gorgeous being. But I didn't see any Golden Knights near her, only silver-armored ones. Maybe Golden Knights are some kind of invisible ninja task force.
Either way, I need to pass. That's the first step. Once I get into the palace, I can access books. Libraries. Scrolls. Maybe even a wizard Google. Whatever it takes to figure out how this world works—and how to crack its exit door open.
The screening exam, though? Nobody knows what it'll be.
They change it every year. Some say it's a fight. Others say it's a puzzle, a race, a weird talent show. The only thing everyone agrees on?
It's designed to eliminate people. Not reward them.
So yeah, exciting stuff. I'll probably die before lunch.
I'm halfway through my meal when a loud, echoing voice fills the air like thunder had a baby with a megaphone.
> "All examinees must report to the examination field immediately."
Oh, crap.
I scarf down the rest of my food like a squirrel being evicted and bolt out of there.
Time to face the unknown.