The academy did not wait for anyone.
Kai learned that lesson the moment he stepped out of the medical wing.
The corridor outside was wide and immaculately clean, lined with translucent walls that shifted opacity depending on foot traffic. Students moved in controlled flows, guided by subtle floor lighting and floating directional glyphs. Everything about the architecture communicated one thing clearly: efficiency over comfort.
No wasted space. No wasted motion.
Kai paused just long enough to orient himself.
The implanted knowledge in his mind supplied a map of Aurelion Academy—one of the most prestigious institutions in the sector, responsible for producing military commanders, system researchers, corporate elites, and exploratory vanguards. Entry alone placed a student above ninety-eight percent of the population.
Staying was another matter.
A soft vibration at his wrist drew his attention. A slim, metallic band had locked itself there at some point during his admission. The academy terminal.
A holographic screen unfolded above it.
CADET STATUS: ACTIVE
SCHEDULE UPDATED
08:30 – System Theory (Lecture Hall C)
10:00 – Physical Evaluation (Arena Block 3)
13:00 – Tactical Fundamentals (Sim Room 12)
16:00 – Aptitude Reassessment (Mandatory)
Kai scanned the list.
Reassessment.
So his collapse had not gone unnoticed.
"That's reasonable," he murmured.
The corridor opened into a vast central atrium. Natural light filtered down through layered transparent panels far above, illuminating a space filled with motion and sound. Students gathered in clusters—some animated, some tense, some openly confident.
Above them all, a massive holographic display rotated slowly.
FIRST-YEAR CADET RANKINGS – LIVE UPDATE
Names scrolled continuously, each accompanied by numerical values, classifications, and projected growth curves. Students glanced up compulsively, some with pride, others with thinly veiled anxiety.
Kai followed their gaze.
Rank 1: Elias Thorn
Combat Aptitude: S
Growth Projection: Exponential
Rank 7: Lyra Solenne
Combat Aptitude: A+
Strategic Index: S
The numbers were precise. Brutally so.
Kai searched for his own name.
It took longer than expected.
Finally, near the bottom.
Rank 1,274: Kai Veridian
Combat Aptitude: D-
Growth Projection: Minimal
A faint ripple of emotion stirred—recognition, not embarrassment.
So this body had been weak even by academy standards.
That explained the whispers he'd heard during implantation. The implanted memories surfaced: instructors barely remembering his name, peers dismissing him as filler.
Kai closed the ranking display.
His System remained silent.
No reaction. No fluctuation.
That, in itself, was data.
Lecture Hall C was already half full when Kai arrived. The room was amphitheater-shaped, with tiered seating descending toward a central platform. Holographic projectors hovered above, currently dormant.
Kai took a seat near the middle. Neither hiding nor displaying himself.
Around him, conversation buzzed.
"…heard Thorn broke the reaction-time record."
"…Solenne's tactical simulation was insane."
"…some guy collapsed during testing yesterday. Medical issue, apparently."
Kai did not look up.
At precisely 08:30, the ambient noise cut off abruptly.
A figure appeared at the center platform—not walking in, but phasing into visibility as light condensed into human form.
Instructor-grade projection.
An older man, silver-haired, eyes sharp enough to feel invasive. His presence alone quieted the room further.
"Welcome," he said. "To System Theory."
The holograms activated.
Complex diagrams filled the air—interlocking geometric patterns, probability curves, neural-symbol overlays.
"In Aurelion," the instructor continued, "your System is not merely a tool. It is a contract. Between you and reality."
He gestured, and a simplified System interface appeared.
"Your System measures aptitude, optimizes growth, and aligns you with your most statistically favorable future. It reduces waste. It eliminates inefficiency."
His gaze swept the hall.
"Some of you believe this means destiny is fixed."
A pause.
"That belief is incorrect."
Murmurs rippled through the students.
"Destiny," the instructor said calmly, "is calculated. And calculations can be refined."
Kai listened carefully.
The lecture proceeded into advanced theory—how Systems used quantum probability models, how growth projections adjusted dynamically, how deviation beyond acceptable thresholds triggered corrective feedback.
Corrective feedback.
Kai's System interface flickered briefly.
External Concept Alignment Detected.
Deviation Resistance: marginally increased.
So his System reacted not to actions, but to ideas.
He found that… fascinating.
Physical Evaluation came next.
Arena Block 3 was a controlled combat-testing environment, modular and adaptive. Platforms rearranged themselves continuously to suit different assessments.
Kai stood among a group of twenty cadets.
An instructor's voice echoed overhead.
"Baseline physical metrics. No System augmentation."
That was a relief. Not because Kai feared comparison—but because raw numbers told clean truths.
One by one, cadets stepped forward.
Strength tests. Speed trials. Endurance measurements.
Most performed well. Some excelled.
Kai's turn came.
The results were displayed instantly.
Strength: Below average.
Speed: Slightly below average.
Endurance: Average.
No surprises.
The whispers returned, quieter but sharper.
"Why is he here?"
"Academy standards are slipping."
"Waste of resources."
Kai heard them all.
And dismissed them all.
The instructor frowned at the data. "Veridian. You'll proceed to combat simulation."
A humanoid construct emerged from the platform—standard academy model, scaled to first-year difficulty.
The countdown began.
Three.
Two.
One.
The construct moved.
Fast. Efficient. Optimized.
Kai did not rush forward.
He stepped back—once, then twice—drawing the construct into overextension.
The audience scoffed.
"Running already?" someone muttered.
The construct adjusted, predictive algorithms refining its attack angle.
Kai tilted his head slightly.
Deviation detected.
Probability path divergence: 0.004%.
He moved before the construct committed.
Not faster—earlier.
His foot slid across the platform at an oblique angle, placing him just outside the construct's optimal strike zone. Its blade cut through empty space.
Kai struck—not with power, but with precision. Fingers hooked into a maintenance seam at the elbow joint. A twist. A calculated torque.
Metal shrieked.
The construct stumbled.
Kai followed through, using the construct's own momentum to destabilize it further. A final push sent it crashing to the platform, systems sparking as it shut down.
Silence.
Then confusion.
"That joint wasn't exposed," the instructor muttered.
Kai stepped back, breathing evenly.
His System updated quietly.
Deviation stabilized.
Passive Effect Acquired:
Predictive Noise – Minor
Opponent prediction accuracy reduced in proximity.
No applause followed.
Just data.
During the lunch interval, Kai sat alone.
The cafeteria was expansive, offering nutritionally optimized meals tailored to System profiles. Students clustered by rank, by origin, by ambition.
Kai's tray contained a standard-issue meal.
Unremarkable.
Across the room, he felt a gaze settle on him.
Not curious.
Evaluative.
Kai looked up.
A young woman stood a short distance away, ash-blonde hair tied neatly, posture relaxed but controlled. Her eyes were sharp, calculating.
Lyra Solenne.
Rank 7.
She approached without hesitation.
"Mind if I sit?" she asked.
"You already decided to," Kai replied.
A flicker of amusement crossed her face as she took the seat opposite him.
"You're not what your numbers suggest," she said directly.
Kai chewed thoughtfully. "Numbers describe outcomes, not methods."
Lyra studied him more closely now. "You don't deny it."
"There's nothing to deny."
"Interesting." She leaned back slightly. "Do you know how many people try to game the System?"
"Many."
"And how many succeed?"
"Few."
Her smile sharpened. "Then which are you?"
Kai met her gaze evenly. "Neither."
Lyra laughed softly. "That's a dangerous answer."
"So is asking the wrong questions."
For a moment, silence stretched between them—not awkward, but charged.
From a higher level of the cafeteria, unseen by either of them, another figure observed.
A girl with short, dark hair leaned against the railing, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable.
Nyx Vale smiled faintly.
An anomaly had entered the academy.
And anomalies were her specialty.
Far above the planet, in a data nexus that spanned light-years, a system older than Aurelion recalculated.
A deviation—small, persistent, resistant—refused correction.
The equation no longer balanced.
And for the first time in a very long while, probability hesitated.