Headmaster Rubin sat alone in his dark office, the only light coming from a single mana-lantern casting long shadows across the polished wood desk.
A cup of coffee sat beside him, forgotten as he studied the reports spread before him like pieces of a puzzle.
His fingers moved from one evaluation to the next, each docunt marked with the red seal of confidentiality.
This year’s batch was exceptional.
No, that word felt insufficient.
Unprecedented.
Most Academy years produced one or two talents who warranted genuine attention, students who could shape the continent’s future if properly cultivated. T
his year had given him more than a dozen.
Rubin’s gaze moved across the nas thodically.
Iris Lockhart. Irene Ashbourne. Armani Faelar. Grace Light...
The list went on.
Several others from the lesser-known branches of the great families showed similar promise, though their paths remained less certain.
He took a slow sip of coffee, grimacing at the cold bitterness, but did not stop reading.
Grace Light’s file lay open at the top of the stack.
Her performance during the Inter-Class War had been... phenonal.
That was the only word that fit.
Fighting prowess far above average for her stage, intelligence that allowed her to adapt strategies mid-battle, and a natural cap for advancent that suggested she could reach heights most students would never see.
But the most impressive trait was not listed in any official tric.
Her leadership ability.
Rubin had watched the war through scrying arrays and broadcasting runes along with the other Academy officials, and Grace’s movents had felt almost predictive.
She unified Class S before they could split, identified threats before they showed themselves, and positioned her class near the final statue that suggested far too much knowledge.
The report ntioned information leaks.
Rubin knew of them, of course.
How else would Grace get such information?
Certain families with influence inside the Academy’s administrative structure often sold tactical details to their children for the right price.
He tolerated it because discovering how students obtained advantages mattered more than punishing them for possessing ambition.
Grace must have secured information about the Inter-Class War’s structure ahead of ti.
That did not bother him.
What interested him was that he could not pinpoint exactly how she obtained it.
If he couldn’t trace the thod, that ant she had been careful. Not sloppy. thodical.
That was good. Very good.
Her relationships inside the Academy appeared genuine as well.
Luca Underwood had beco unusually close to her, Iris respected her enough to follow her judgnt, and even Aura – who trusted almost no one – seed willing to tolerate Grace’s presence.
Loyalty.
Not forced through coercion or fear, but built through competence and trust.
Rubin set Grace’s file aside with a faint smile.
She was not rely a prospect.
She was the greatest prospect of this generation.
Before he could move to the next evaluation, the door to his office opened without a knock.
Vera Beacon stepped inside, her expression calm but purposeful.
Rubin gestured toward the chair across from him without speaking, and Vera sat.
"You have sothing to say," Rubin said mildly.
"I do." Vera’s tone remained professional, though there was an edge of conviction beneath it. "I recomnd you take a closer look at Ronan Ashbourne."
Rubin’s smile deepened, the kind of expression that showed experience far beyond his apparent age.
"Continue," he said.
Vera straightened slightly. "Ronan has shown significant strategic potential, though he did not display it outwardly during the war."
Rubin already knew this, of course. He had watched every move Ronan made during the exam, subtle as they were.
But he wanted to hear Vera’s interpretation.
She continued without prompting.
"On the surface, Ronan appeared to be a flimsy second-in-command at best, a re friend of Elara Lockhart at worst. But I believe his involvent in the war was far greater than it seed."
"How so?"
"He t secretly with Adam from the Class C and D alliance," Vera said. "I believe he was the one who pushed toward the disbandnt of that faction, fracturing them before they could beco a serious threat by leading them to a statue I am unsure how he found the location of."
Rubin humd thoughtfully but did not interrupt.
Vera pressed on. "There is also the matter of Aura Acheron. I cannot prove contact between them, but several of Ronan’s movents align suspiciously with monts where Aura acted independently. If there is a connection, it is very well hidden."
Rubin’s expression did not shift, all of this information he already knew, but his mind went to a certain student’s passing.
Marcus’s death had been noted, investigated briefly, and then set aside.
Simply a formality, and that’s all it shall remain.
There was a high probability Aura Acheron had been involved, given her strength, proximity, and the nature of the wound.
But unless students offered concrete proof or the Academy witnessed the act directly, Rubin would not take action.
You didn’t murder anyone if no one found out.
That was the rule inside war simulations.
If a student could kill cleanly enough to leave no trail, then they had demonstrated a level of competence worth acknowledging.
Still, Marcus’s family would need to be managed carefully.
They would demand answers, and Rubin would have to provide sothing that satisfied them without exposing the Academy’s tolerance for calculated violence.
Political drama, he thought with a sigh. He would never get used to it.
"Interesting," Rubin said neutrally. "I will look into it."
Vera nodded once and stood, leaving without further comnt.
Once the door closed behind her, Rubin leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly.
His gaze drifted toward the two lists on his desk.
The left list was longer – students who had failed to et the Academy’s heightened standards and would be reassigned to lower-tier facilities or dismissed entirely.
The right list contained those who had passed, proving themselves capable of surviving the new direction the Academy would take.
Ruban picked up his pen and carefully wrote Ronan’s na onto the right list.
Then he set the pen down and looked toward the portrait hanging on the wall behind him.
The previous Headmaster stared back, frozen in paint but still present in Rubin’s mory.
"I’m sorry, old friend," Rubin murmured. "But there must be changes made to the Academy if we are to properly prepare the next generation."
The gods were beginning to move.
Divine corruption had already reached the Northern Continent, twisting demons into mindless attackers consud by holy power.
Those fools, he thought. Why would I trust them not to dabble into divine power? Demons have always mistaken forbidden power for strength. Now the Northern Continent was paying for their arrogance and the incompetence of their ruler.
Rubin could not afford to coddle students anymore.
He had seen what kindness produced. Weakness, hesitation, and death when the real battlefield arrived.
If this generation was to survive what lay ahead, they needed to be hardened now, while there was still ti.
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