The shrill sound of the dorm alarm echoed through the room, dragging the boys out of their sleep. One by one, Ken, Vorden, Quinn, and Peter groggily rose from their beds, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and getting ready for the day ahead.
After getting dressed in their standard-issue uniforms, they made their way to the canteen for breakfast. The same sterile white walls and long rows of tables greeted them as they entered. But this time, there was a quiet tension between them—a silent understanding of the roles they had to play.
Ken, Vorden, and Erin exchanged subtle nods. Without a word, the three of them picked up their food and moved to sit at one of the tables near the front of the canteen—among the higher levels.
Meanwhile, Quinn, Peter, and Layla hesitated for a moment before heading toward the back of the canteen where the lower levels sat, trying not to draw attention to the shift. The group's usual dynamic had been split, but it was all part of the plan to make it seem like they had learned their place after yesterday's warning from Mono.
They all ate quietly. The buzz of conversation around them seemed distant, muffled by the weight of strategy. No glances were exchanged between the two groups, not even gestures. They played their roles perfectly.
When the bell rang, every student rose from their seats and began filing out toward their classrooms.
Inside Del's classroom, the social divide once again showed itself. Ken, Vorden, and Erin walked confidently to the front of the room and took their seats among the high-level students.
A few whispers floated through the room as students took notice of the seating arrangement.
"Guess they finally figured it out," someone muttered. "About time."
Peter, Quinn, and Layla entered a moment later, quietly making their way toward the back of the classroom. They sat close together, eyes on the front, playing the part. But beneath the surface, all six of them knew the truth.
As the class continued to fill, a small group of high-level girls made their way toward the front rows. Their wristwatches displayed levels ranging from 4.0 to 5.1—each one carrying themselves with the confidence of students clearly used to standing near the top.
Their eyes landed on Ken and Vorden, who were seated together, keeping up the act of separating from their lower-level friends. The girls exchanged glances before approaching with a mix of amusement and interest.
"You're Ken, right?" one of them asked, her tone casual but laced with curiosity. "That was pretty impressive, what you did yesterday in the canteen."
Another girl leaned in slightly toward Vorden. "Yeah, you two actually managed to stand your ground against Ray. Most first-years wouldn't have lasted five seconds. I'm surprised you're walking around in one piece."
Ken offered a polite nod but didn't say much. His mind was still juggling a dozen thoughts—plans, strategies, and uncertainty of what would happen next. Still, he couldn't deny that the recognition felt quite… validating.
Vorden, as usual, grinned and leaned back in his chair. "Well, what can I say? We like to make an entrance."
The girls laughed lightly.
"Between the three of you," one said, "who do you think did the best against Ray?"
Ken's expression remained neutral, but Vorden chimed in without hesitation. "Erin, probably. She kept a cool head when the rest of us were on the verge of being electrocuted into next week."
That answer surprised the girls—and Ken. Vorden rarely passed up an opportunity to praise himself, but his sincerity about Erin was clear.
The conversation drifted around the details of the fight—how fast Ray had moved, how his soul weapon had changed the tide, and how reckless the three of them had been for even trying to stand up to a second-year that powerful. But mixed into the teasing and talk was something else too:
Respect.
They weren't being mocked.
They were being acknowledged.
Ken remained quiet for most of it, watching, listening, thinking. These moments—these conversations—they were stepping stones. The group was making an impression, and people were starting to pay attention.
The girls continued chatting, their attention now fully on Ken.
"Actually," one of them said, turning to the others, "if you think about it, Ken landed the most hits on Ray. I mean he even managed to uppercut him before he used his soul weapon."
"Right?" another added, her eyes lighting up. "And the way he dashed in to save Vorden and Erin did you see how fast he was? I didn't even realize what happened until Ray's attack missed."
Vorden leaned back in his seat, a lopsided grin on his face. "Yeah, that was classic Ken. Came flying in like a hero."
Ken scratched the back of his head, slightly uncomfortable with the sudden praise. He wasn't used to being the center of admiration—especially from people who didn't even know him yesterday.
"I just did what anyone would've done," he said quietly.
"No," one of the girls replied, folding her arms. "A lot of people would've stayed on the ground, watched, or run but you didn't."
Ken's eyes flicked briefly toward the back of the classroom, where Quinn, Peter, and Layla were sitting. They weren't talking—just quietly observing like the rest of the class. It made him wonder if they could hear what was being said up front. If they were proud. Or if they were worried.
Still, this attention didn't change anything. Not to Ken.
"Ray still beat us," Ken finally said, cutting through the admiration with calm honesty. "I don't want to get praised for losing. We've got a long way to go."
The girls paused, but then one of them nodded. "Fair enough. But that doesn't mean we can't recognize guts when we see it."
The bell rang, and the door clicked open as Del entered the classroom, his usual carefree expression on his face. The students quickly quieted and returned to their seats, but the feeling lingered.
As Del stepped up to the front of the classroom and began speaking, Ken barely registered the words.
His eyes remained forward, his posture straight—but inside, his thoughts churned.
Why did they praise me? I lost. We all did.
His fists clenched under the desk.
He remembered the feeling of Ray's blow slamming into his gut. The raw helplessness. The way his body gave out even though his mind screamed to keep fighting. He had barely been able to protect Vorden and Erin. If Ray had really wanted to... no one would've stopped him.
Then came Mono's words—cold and calculated.
"Next time... I won't hold back like Ray did."
That line echoed in Ken's skull more than the compliments did.
These upperclassmen were monsters. And if Ken was going to survive here, if any of them were, he had to stop thinking like a student and start thinking like a warrior.
He glanced at his wristwatch.
Level 4.9. Respectable, sure. But in this world, that number was just a mask.
He looked toward Quinn who was quiet in the back, his level still a 1. Just a kid lost in a world that didn't want to wait for him to catch up.
Then toward Vorden—grinning and joking like nothing fazed him. Erin—still and unreadable, but he knew she was thinking just as hard.
I have to get stronger. We all do.
And not just for survival.
Because something was stirring beneath the surface of this academy. Mono, Ray, the way second-years were allowed to do almost whatever they wanted, the war, and the soul weapons.
There was something bigger happening.
Ken didn't know what it was yet, but he knew this much: if he didn't get stronger soon, he wouldn't be around long enough to find out.
He looked back toward the front, refocusing on Del's voice. Not just as a student, but as someone preparing for war.
As Del wrapped up the final part of his lesson, the lights in the classroom dimmed slightly, and a bright blue projection appeared in front of the room. The holographic screen displayed a long list of names, each one grouped beneath bolded headers:
Elemental Abilities
Transformation Abilities
Enhancement Abilities
And so on.
And at the bottom in a separate box:
Unclassified / Original / Undeclared
"Please look at this carefully," Del said, his voice cutting through the quiet murmurs as students leaned forward to find their names. "These are your assigned combat classes starting tomorrow. You've been placed based on the ability you registered during orientation. These aren't permanent—you may switch if you feel another class better suits your growth."
He pointed to the list again as it slowly scrolled. "You'll also receive this on your wristwatch momentarily. Make sure to register for your chosen combat class by the end of the day."
Ken's eyes scanned quickly. He found names he recognized—Erin was listed under Elemental Abilities, and Layla under Enhancement. But when he searched for his name, he didn't see it.
Nor did he see Quinn's , Vorden's and Peter's.
A strange sinking sensation hit him. Just as he was about to raise his hand, Del continued:
"If your name doesn't appear on the list, it's likely because either your ability does not fall into any standard category... or you are considered an Original—someone with a unique or unregistered power."
The class instantly stirred with a buzz of whispers. Some students turned toward the back, where Quinn sat, curiosity and speculation sparking in their eyes.
"You four," Del added, glancing subtly at Ken, Peter, Vorden, and Quinn, "are free to choose your own combat class. Our instructors will be informed to expect flexible enrollment. Choose wisely."
The projection disappeared, and within seconds, their wristwatches vibrated, pinging with the full list of available classes and registration options.
Ken glanced at the glowing interface on his wrist. The combat classes were listed with detailed descriptions: training focus, instructors, and even difficulty level. He noticed the Elemental Class was the most populated, while the Original Class didn't exist. The system simply allowed free movement between all categories.
Peter frowned as he looked at his own wristwatch. "Guess I'm still not part of anything, huh," he muttered under his breath.
Quinn remained silent, but Ken could see the gears turning in his mind.
Ken closed his watch's screen and leaned back in his chair.
So we're on our own, huh...
But maybe that wasn't a bad thing.
Maybe that freedom was exactly what they needed.