Of course, the moment they were dismissed, Kana grabbed the “New Student Guidelines” booklet from the distribution table near the entrance. As they waited in the slow-moving line to the Examination Hall, she flipped through the pages with growing intensity.

  “We have to fail all the assessments,” Kana said quietly.

  “What?” Suri and Boris both turned toward her, clearly not on board.

  Kana exhaled and showed them the page she had bookmarked. “Read the benefits and drawbacks per classification,” she said. “Gold class sounds great—until you see the fine print.”

  She continued before either of them could interrupt. “Gold students get the best food, lodging, and a hefty allowance. Sounds amazing, right? But they’re also buried in classes—magic theory, monster ecology, combat drills, etiquette, advanced field strategy. And on top of that, daily training and mandatory simulations.”

  She gave them a pointed look. “No time for dungeons.”

  Suri raised an eyebrow. “Okay, what about Silver?”

  “Almost the same. Fewer privileges, slightly less intense, but you’re still stuck attending most of the same classes, just without the best resources. Still barely any dungeon time.”

  She flipped to another page. “Copper class? Three classes max, and you pick them. No extra training, no surveillance, and get this—only one class per week is mandatory. The catch? No allowance. No free meals. And you must pass the year-end exam, or you’re expelled.”

  Boris scratched his head. “So we’re aiming for the worst rank on purpose?”

  Kana nodded. “It’s not the worst for us. We want time to raid. That’s how we level up—I mean get strong. We don’t need the academy’s help to grow stronger—we just need access to the capital and the knowledge here and a bit of security in the future. Copper gives us freedom.”

  Suri smirked, leaning back against the wall. “So, play dumb, take three easy classes, and use the rest of the year to grind.”

  “Exactly,” Kana said.

  Boris frowned but eventually nodded. “Fine. But if I get kicked out, I’m blaming both of you.”

  Suri chuckled. “Then don’t be dumb.”

  Moments later, Kana’s name was called. She entered a smaller room off the main hall—cool, stone-walled, with several professors standing behind a long table. Their robes bore varying insignias of class expertise. The room had a subtle weight to it, like a courtroom.

  “State your class,” a stern-looking woman asked, quill poised.

  “[Ranger],” Kana replied.

  That caused a brief pause. One of the professors, a balding man with circular glasses, raised an eyebrow. “Rare designation. Hybrid-type?”

  “Basically. I specialize in both dagger combat and ranged archery,” Kana answered plainly.

  “Mmm,” the professor murmured. “Interesting. A mix of [Thief] and [Bowman].”

  “That's how it’s usually described.”

  Another professor looked down at his notes. “Very well. Professor Wor-en, you're up.”

  Professor Wor-en stepped forward—a lanky man with sunken eyes and a perpetual look of exhaustion. He let out a long, tired sigh and motioned with his thumb.

  “Come on, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  …

  Professor Wor-en had been with the academy for over eight years.

  He was once an adventurer, forged by blood and grime, dungeons and desperation. He hadn’t graduated from the academy like most of his peers, nor had he trained under nobles or scholars. Instead, he’d learned to survive with nothing but two skills and a blunt dagger he sharpened nightly with a rock. The third skill, [Observe], came to him unexpectedly one day during a raid. He never learned how or why. Only that it worked—and saved his life more times than he could count.

  When the old principal offered him a post—good pay, limited prestige, but safety and steady coin—he’d taken it. He had mouths to feed, a future to plan, and bones that ached too loudly after every fight.

  He had planned to resign this year. Just help with the entrance assessments and leave with a quiet nod.

  Forty-seven students had passed before her. Some confident, some terrified. With [Observe], he saw through every one. Mouth. Breath rhythm. Eye twitches. He could sense arrogance, fear, overcompensation. A few were impressive. Most were not.

  Then student number forty-eight entered.

  Kana. From a village he’d never heard of—Saltrain. No known sponsor. No noble lineage. A “special category” invite. He almost lost his interest until he saw her move.

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  She walked like a ghost.

  Not a sound. Each step was exact in pacing and spacing, like a seasoned scout or assassin. She glanced at each professor—not meek, not defiant, just… measuring. The way [Assassins] did before a contract kill.

  No fear. No fidgeting. No visible hesitation.

  [Observe] told him more. Hands calloused, scarred. Slight scratches on her arms and lower jaw—healed in layers. Her breathing? Flat. Stable. Controlled. Not a flicker of nerves.

  Yet somehow, something about her gaze tickled a strange instinct in him—like he was being pitied.

  One of the professors signaled him and interrupted his thoughts.

  He nodded. “Come on, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Kana stood and followed without a word. In the sparring chamber, Wor-en tossed her a basic dagger, but she pulled out her own. Black-handled. Balanced. Worn down to the grip.

  “Throw it. Target dead center,” he said.

  Her stance was perfect—too perfect. He recognized it. A pro’s posture. She exhaled slowly… then flung the blade.

  It landed—barely—on the outer rim of the target.

  He frowned. “Again.”

  This time she aimed left, same precision in her pose… same awful result. Almost a miss.

  That wasn’t nerves. That was control.

  “Alright,” he said slowly. “Light spar. Use your blade.”

  Her stance didn’t shift. It was already flawless. No gaps in her guard. No wasted motion.

  Wor-en lunged—not with a skill, just a basic horizontal slash though most people won’t be able to react to it.

  She read it instantly, parried clean… then let her grip slip. Her footing gave out. She tumbled backwards, rolling, losing her dagger.

  Not a single break in her breathing. Not even a glance of frustration.

  She was faking it.

  But why?

  They moved to the archery range next. Again—textbook posture, flawless form… embarrassingly bad aim. Her arrows barely nicked the edge of the targets.

  He let out a breath and rubbed his forehead.

  “I know what you did there,” he said, voice low. “But I’ll follow the guidelines.”

  She nodded without reply.

  “You’ll see your rank posted tomorrow morning. Outside this hall. Rest of the day is yours.”

  The student, Kana, left as silently as she came.

  Wor-en stood frozen for a moment before marching back to the evaluation room.

  “Give me the handbook,” he barked.

  A new professor blinked. “What?”

  “The handbook for freshmen. Now.”

  He flipped through it fast, fingers twitching, eyes narrowing. Page after page. Then he found it.

  Copper Class Curriculum: Max of Three Self-Chosen Classes. One Minimum Attendance Required Per week. No Academy Duties. No Extra Training.

  He stared at it, then leaned back with a low whistle.

  “That little brat,” he muttered with a grin.

  “She’s a prodigy.”

  “But she’s just lazy.”

  ……

  Before the sun dipped below the horizon, Wor-en and the other professors had finished assessing the new students.

  He didn’t linger. Without changing or resting, he climbed the stone stairwell to the upper floors of the academy and stopped before a heavy oak door. He knocked twice and waited.

  “Enter,” came the familiar voice from within.

  Wor-en pushed the door open. The principal’s office was cluttered, not with chaos, but the kind of functional mess only someone long used to responsibility maintained. Scrolls and books stacked in uneven towers. A half-finished cup of tea on a windowsill. Walls covered with maps—both of the kingdom and of something older.

  “Wor,” said the principal, glancing up from a file with a welcoming grin. “What brings you here? You never visit.”

  “I need information,” Wor-en said, stepping forward. “Student Kana. From Saltrain Village. I want to know if there’s more details about her.”

  The principal raised an eyebrow, then turned to his desk and flipped through a stack of parchment. “Kana... Kana... Ah. Here we are.”

  He scanned the document quickly. “No. Nothing classified or hidden. Though now that you mention it—there are three from Saltrain Village this year. Kana, Suri, and Boris.”

  “Three?” Wor-en blinked.

  The principal nodded. “Odd, isn’t it? That village barely registers on our map. Yet they got three invitations.”

  Wor-en crossed his arms. “Were the other two assessed as Copper?”

  “They were. You’re well-informed for someone who doesn’t read the score sheets.”

  “I knew it,” Wor-en muttered, half to himself. Then he met the principal’s eyes. “I want to be assigned as their advisor. The Copper group this year.”

  The principal’s smile vanished. “You’re serious?”

  “I am.”

  “You know what that means. Most professors dodge that post—Copper class is a pit of dropouts. If they fail out, it reflects on you. That's not a mark you want if you ever aim for a higher salary.”

  “I’m not aiming for a higher salary,” Wor-en said flatly. “I’ve been aiming to quit since last year. But I’ll stick around a little longer… if I get the Copper group.”

  The principal studied him for a moment, aware of his third skill [Observation]. “You think there’s something in those three?”

  “I know there is.”

  A pause.

  Then the principal chuckled and leaned back. “Alright, Wor. They’re yours. I’ll file the paperwork myself.”

  Wor-en gave a rare, satisfied nod.

  As he turned to leave, the principal called out, “Just one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Share it with me. I promise to keep it to myself.”

  Wor-en didn’t reply.

  But as he closed the door behind him, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.