The first thing Alex noticed about Saint Academy was the floor.
It was too clean.
So clean that his reflection stared back at him…warped, thin, and out of place. His shoes, worn thin at the soles and patched twice by hand, scraped softly against the polished marble as he stepped inside the Grand Hall.
The sound echoed.
Too loud.
Too poor.
Heads turned.
Not all at once. That would have been mercy. Instead, the looks came in waves…slow, deliberate, dissecting. Curiosity twisted into disdain. Disdain sharpened into amusement.
Alex lowered his gaze instinctively.
Don't look weak. Don't give them a reason.
The Grand Hall of Saint Academy was vast beyond reason. Crystal chandeliers floated midair, suspended by magic circles that glowed faintly gold. Banners bearing noble crests lined the walls…lions, dragons, phoenixes, names older than kingdoms.
Every seat was filled with students dressed in tailored uniforms, fabrics shimmering faintly with enchantments. Silk. Reinforced leather. Family sigils embroidered in gold thread.
Alex stood frozen at the entrance, feeling like a stain someone forgot to wipe away.
"Move."
A shoulder slammed into him.
He stumbled forward, barely catching himself.
"Watch where you stand," a boy muttered, not even bothering to look back.
Laughter followed. Soft. Refined. Practiced.
Alex swallowed and continued walking.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
He found his assigned seat near the back…far from the central rows where the high-ranking nobles gathered. The chair was plain. No sigil. No enchantment hum. Just cold wood.
Fitting.
He sat.
The moment he did, the chatter around him resumed, louder now that he'd been classified as harmless.
"Is that him?" "The scholarship one?" "He looks thinner than the rumors." "Do you think he even awakened yet?"
Alex clenched his fists beneath the desk.
He thought of his father.
Of calloused hands sorting through broken artifacts and discarded junk. Of bowed backs and forced smiles. Of humiliation swallowed so Alex could stand here...in this hall that felt less like opportunity and more like a courtroom.
I'll endure, Alex told himself.
Just survive today.
The lights dimmed.
Silence fell…not because the students respected authority, but because they were trained to obey it.
Footsteps echoed.
The Headmaster ascended the stage.
He was tall. Broad-shouldered. His hair was silver, pulled back neatly, his presence crushing in a way that made the air feel heavier. Power rolled off him openly no attempt to hide it.
He didn't need to.
"Welcome," the Headmaster said.
His voice carried effortlessly, pressing against every ear. "To Saint Academy."
A pause.
"This institution exists for one purpose."
Another pause. Deliberate.
"To refine power."
Alex felt a chill crawl down his spine.
"We do not nurture weakness. We do not shelter the unworthy. Saint Academy is not a place for dreams."
The Headmaster's eyes swept the hall.
"It is a place for survivors."
Murmurs rippled through the students...excitement, pride, hunger.
"The strong will rise," the Headmaster continued. "The weak will be… corrected."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Or removed."
Alex's breath caught.
He forced himself to stay still.
I knew this, he thought. I knew.
Yet hearing it spoken so casually felt like a blade sliding between his ribs.
The orientation ended with practiced efficiency. Announcements. Schedules. Warnings disguised as encouragement.
As soon as dismissal was declared, the hall exploded into motion.
Groups formed instantly.
Nobles gravitated toward one another like magnets...family names traded like weapons, alliances forged with smiles too sharp to be sincere.
Alex remained seated.
Moving now would draw attention.
Too late.
A shadow fell over his desk.
"Oi."
Alex looked up slowly.
The boy standing before him was tall, blond, and impeccably dressed. His uniform bore a crest Alex recognized immediately...Victor Crestfall. One of the most influential noble families in the eastern provinces.
Behind him stood four others, all smiling.
Not friendly smiles.
Predatory ones.
"You're the commoner, right?" Victor asked.
Alex stood up quickly, bowing his head slightly. "Y-yes, sir. Alex."
Victor tilted his head. "Just Alex?"
"Yes, sir."
The group chuckled.
"No family name?" Victor pressed.
"No, sir."
Victor sighed dramatically. "How unfortunate."
He leaned closer. Too close.
"You know," Victor said, voice light, "Saint Academy has standards. And you… don't quite meet the aesthetic."
Laughter.
Alex felt heat rush to his face.
"I'll work hard," he said quickly. "I won't cause trouble."
Victor blinked.
Then laughed outright.
"Work hard?" he repeated. "That's adorable."
Victor gestured lazily. "Tell me, Alex. Do you know why we let people like you in?"
Alex hesitated.
"To… give us a chance?" he said quietly.
Victor's smile sharpened.
"No. We let you in so you remember where you belong."
Victor straightened.
"But I'm feeling generous today."
He folded his arms. "Answer one question, and I'll let you walk away."
The hall felt suddenly quiet.
Students nearby slowed, pretending not to listen while hanging on every word.
Alex swallowed. "What… what question?"
Victor grinned.
"What's the name of the Emperor's favorite concubine?"
Silence.
Alex's mind went blank.
He had never studied court gossip. Never had time for it.
"I..." His voice failed.
Victor's eyes gleamed.
"Well?"
Alex clenched his jaw.
"I don't know," he admitted.
Laughter erupted.
Victor turned to his friends theatrically. "He doesn't know."
Someone wiped an imaginary tear. "Tragic."
Victor leaned down until they were eye to eye.
"Let me make this clear," Victor said softly. "You don't belong here. And I will personally ensure you never forget that."
A cold hand clamped around Alex's shoulder.
Then…
"I believe the answer is Lady Liana."
The voice was calm. Clear.
The laughter died instantly.
Victor straightened slowly.
A girl stood behind Alex.
Silver hair fell neatly down her back. Her green eyes were sharp...not kind, not cruel, simply aware. Her uniform bore a duke's crest.
Victor scowled. "And you are?"
She smiled politely.
"Elara Everwood."
A ripple passed through the crowd.
Victor clicked his tongue. "This doesn't concern you."
Elara stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on Alex's arm.
"I disagree," she said. "He's amusing."
Alex stiffened.
Victor hesitated...just a fraction...then scoffed. "Fine. He's yours."
He turned away, throwing one last glance over his shoulder.
"Enjoy your pet."
The word sank deep.
Elara leaned closer, her fingers tightening ever so slightly.
"You should be grateful," she whispered. "I just saved you."
Alex nodded quickly. "Thank you, Lady Elara."
She smiled.
Not warmly.
"Stay close to me," she said. "Weak things don't survive alone."
She released him and walked away.
Alex stood there, heart pounding.
Around him, whispers spread like wildfire.
Pet…Toy…Parasite.
Alex slowly sat back down.
His hands trembled.
From the stage, the Headmaster watched quietly.
His gaze lingered on Alex for just a moment longer than necessary.
Then he turned away.
Alex didn't know why, but the feeling that settled in his chest was worse than humiliation.
It was certainty.
Something had already decided his role.
And it wasn't mercy.