The hall continued to buzz with energy long after Zael's own awakening. Students shifted uncomfortably in their seats, some whispering, some laughing, others glancing nervously at him as if expecting him to break under scrutiny. Even from his hidden corridor, he could feel the weight of their stares. Nobles flitted their eyes between him and Seraphina, comparing, judging, cataloging.
"They said the Nightshade heir would be strong," a young boy from a wealthy merchant family muttered to his companion, "but… common? Seriously?"
"Maybe his brother didn't pass down any real skill," the companion snickered, eyes glinting with malice. "Imagine being the shadow of a legend and still being a nobody."
Zael pressed his back harder against the wall, jaw tight. He didn't respond, didn't even glance toward them. Words meant nothing. Observation meant everything. Each whisper, each smirk, each sideways glance was data, a measurement of the social currents that would carry or crush him in this world.
From the balcony, some nobles were more direct. "The Nightshade boy," a voice called quietly but pointedly, "is barely worth the title of student. Imagine our alliances if even the Nightshades disappoint." A ripple of laughter ran across the benches.
Zael let it wash over him, emotion locked behind his calm exterior. Let them underestimate me. They won't see the truth until it's too late.
Tyron stayed close, his quiet presence steadying him. "Ignore them," he said again, a hint of frustration in his tone. "They only mock because they don't understand. Or they fear being irrelevant next to you."
Zael's eyes flicked toward him, faint gratitude hidden beneath the calm mask he wore. "Next to me?" he whispered under his breath, almost to himself. "No, Tyron… next to what I will become."
The rest of the ceremony pressed on. Students' talents flashed in vibrant hues above their heads, letters of their grades shimmering in the golden sunlight. Fire Manipulation — Rare Grade. Sword Mastery — Hero Grade. Earth Shaping — Hero Grade. Each revelation brought whispers, cheers, and subtle jabs. Nobles smiled smugly at common-born students, while the less fortunate murmured complaints about luck and bloodlines.
Zael cataloged everything.
The academy wasn't just a place of talent; it was a microcosm of the world itself. Class, lineage, and social standing intertwined with raw ability to create a delicate, dangerous hierarchy. He saw the noble families in the balconies, whispering and nodding, calculating what alliances could be formed or broken. He noted the murmurs among students, the envy that curled in subtle smiles or the outright scorn in sideways glances. Every movement was a potential threat or opportunity, every word a test of composure.
And yet, Zael remained calm, silent, invisible. The Talent Bank pulsed faintly in his mind, a hidden flame, its full power unknown to anyone but him.
He thought briefly of his previous life. A world without talents, where power came from knowledge, influence, or sheer force of will—but nothing like this. Here, the world was simpler in some ways, crueler in others. Power was objective, measured in grades, abilities, and influence. And yet, even as he measured the hierarchy around him, he understood: the system he now carried was something beyond this world's rules.
The mocking didn't stop. After the ceremony, as students began to disperse, whispers and side comments followed him through the corridors:
"The Nightshade heir? More like a commoner's mistake."
"I wonder if he even knows how to lift a sword."
"Imagine having a brother like Kael… and this is all you inherit?"
Even some teachers didn't hide their disappointment. A middle-aged instructor, a veteran of many awakenings, shook his head as Zael passed. "Don't let this define you," the man murmured, though his eyes were skeptical.
Zael's hands remained in his pockets, expression neutral. He didn't speak. He didn't even respond to Seraphina, who had already begun to distance herself, her elegance intact but her disappointment unmistakable.
Let them doubt me. Let them mock me. Every glance, every whisper is fuel. And one day… they'll understand nothing of what has happened here today.
Tyron stayed at his side, watching as students whispered and pointed. "You need to be careful," he said softly. "People will try to use your perceived weakness against you. Nobles, peers… even teachers."
Zael nodded slightly. "I know. I'll move quietly. They won't know what's real… not yet."
As the sun sank behind the horizon, spilling amber light through the dome, Zael's gaze drifted beyond the hall, past the forests and mountains, past the ancient ruins and dungeon rifts whispered about in hushed tones. He thought of the world he had left behind, of the life that had ended abruptly. And he thought of the life ahead, filled with opportunity, danger, and hidden power.
A subtle smile crossed his face. Today had been humiliating, yes—but it had been only the first day of his second life. A secret awakening no one could see. A first step toward a rise that would remain hidden until the perfect moment.
The mocking voices faded into the background as Zael allowed himself one thought, quiet, almost sacred:
Common outside… Supreme inside. Soon, the world will learn what it has ignored.
------
The crowd thinned slowly as the final students were called to the crystal. Whispers still echoed like distant storms, carrying speculation, envy, and judgment. Noble families, perched on the balconies, discussed quietly in hushed tones, their words weighted with strategy and ambition.
"The Nightshade boy…" one murmured, lips barely moving, "is lucky his brother has already set the standard. Otherwise…" A faint smirk curled the speaker's lips. "He wouldn't even be noticed."
Nearby, a group of students from wealthy merchant families leaned closer together, whispers laced with malice. "Did you see his talent? Multiplier? Common grade? The so-called heir of the Nightshades… laughable."
"Maybe he'll surprise us," a third voice offered cautiously. The first two scoffed. "Surprise? By failing quietly and taking up dust in the academy archives? Highly unlikely."
Zael listened, silent, his mind cataloging every word, every tone, every subtle gesture. Every insult, every jab, every casual dismissal was a layer of information. He noted the patterns: who laughed openly, who whispered cautiously, and who measured his reaction.
Let them underestimate me, he thought. Let them whisper and mock. That is how the world reveals its weaknesses… and how I will exploit them.
Even Seraphina's distancing did not go unnoticed. Her earlier warmth and composure had hardened into cold elegance. Though her beauty remained flawless, her posture and the subtle tilt of her chin spoke volumes. She had already begun to close the distance, separating herself from Zael in the perception of the academy, leaving him to the judgment of the crowd.
Tyron stayed close, observing the social currents as carefully as Zael. "They'll test you," he said softly. "Not with talent or combat yet… but with perception, with gossip. They'll see your weakness as an opportunity to rise—or crush you."
Zael's gaze swept the room, cataloging nobles with influential families, ambitious classmates, and potential rivals. I have to move carefully. Let them believe what they want—weakness, inadequacy. Every misjudgment is fuel for the future.
Across the hall, a boy from a prominent noble family whispered to his companion, pointing subtly at Zael. "I bet he's hiding nothing. Common grade—he won't even reach the first tier of class change at ten."
The companion shook his head, lips curved in an amused smirk. "He'll never surpass anyone with a proper rare or hero-grade talent. I'd place my bets elsewhere."
Zael noted the boy's stance, posture, and subtle tension. Arrogance paired with overconfidence… likely a poor fighter, impulsive. Will be useful as a pawn or obstacle later.
The hall itself was more than a building; it was a test. The polished marble floors reflected the sunlight and the crystal's glow, amplifying the display of talent and hierarchy. Stained glass depicted ancient heroes of the academy, legendary awakenings, and battles past—constant reminders of the history and legacy that every student was expected to uphold or surpass. Every whisper, every glance, every step in the hall carried weight far beyond mere ceremony.
Zael let his eyes roam, seeing patterns others did not. He saw nobles cluster, forming invisible alliances; common-born students whispering, testing potential rivals; and instructors observing from the sidelines, their expressions measured but calculating, marking the students' reactions as carefully as the talents themselves.
Even now, whispers about him threaded through the hall:
"I heard he's reborn… no, he's just… ordinary."
"Multiplier? That's… pathetic."
"I wouldn't trust him to survive the first dungeon trial."
Zael's lips curled in a faint, private smile. They don't know. They'll never know… not yet.
His gaze lingered on Seraphina. Shadow Veil—Epic Grade. The talent itself was remarkable, yes, but the way she carried herself—controlled, calm, untouchable—was even more significant. The crowd whispered around her like moths circling a flame, but she was immune, untouchable, almost untouchably elegant.
Tyron, calm as always, followed her movements in contrast. Lightning Speed—Epic Grade. His aura was precise, controlled, and reliable, giving him influence in ways the crowd often overlooked. He did not flaunt it; he simply was.
Zael cataloged both of them quietly, noting every strength, every advantage, every potential way to survive, adapt, and surpass. Extraordinary, yes… but they are visible. I am invisible. For now.
The mocking continued in fragmented whispers:
"He can't even match her… pathetic."
"His brother's shadow is the only thing impressive about him."
"Common outside… what a joke."
Zael let it wash over him, emotions locked behind a calm exterior. Inside, a quiet, almost imperceptible spark pulsed. The Talent Bank hummed faintly in his mind, its hidden upgrade complete.
Supreme… but invisible. They can't see it. And they won't until it's far too late.
The hall gradually emptied as students returned to their seats or left for meals and private discussion. Whispers faded into chatter, replaced by new stories of the hero-grade and epic-grade awakenings, gossip about family alliances, and debate over who would dominate the next dungeon trial.
Zael remained at the corridor's edge, silent, observing. His mind replayed every word, every gesture, every whispered slight. Each one was data—every insult, every doubt, every look of disappointment from Seraphina. They see only what they want. Let them.
Tyron leaned closer. "You handled that well. Calm. Unmoving. That's how they'll test you most—through perception, gossip, and assumptions. Never give them reason to doubt themselves… or you."
Zael nodded silently. Patience. Observation. Data. Control. All of it matters more than what anyone can see in a single moment.
As the sun dipped below the dome, golden rays casting elongated shadows across marble floors, Zael turned to the horizon beyond the academy walls. Forests, mountains, ruins, and whispered dungeon entrances stretched out as far as the eye could see. Every shadow, every tree, every cliff held potential: for training, for secrets, for growth.
He allowed himself a faint smile. Today had been humiliating, yes, but it had been the first day of his second life. A day of beginnings, of hidden power, of silent observation. Common outside… Supreme inside. They won't see me coming. And when they do… it will be too late.
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