—He was chosen. But by whom—and why?
The college entrance exam is approaching.
An untouched practice exam booklet lay open before him—pristine. He already knew the answers.
Top of the class. First in every mock test. By all accounts, he should have felt secure.
But the countdown mocked him.
The digits on Shawn's phone pulsed—28D:016:11:27. Twenty-eight days left, and still no leads on the remaining Elemental Cores.
Bzzzzt.
The vibration cut through the silence—a message from Mr. King:
"Any progress with Chairman Da? CP-Hub's archives might have records on the Elemental Core. But be careful—they don't help outsiders."
Shawn's fingers hovered over the screen, then slowly set the phone down with a muted clack.
Chairman Da wasn't just anyone—he was the axis around which power turned, the man who dictated the nation's rhythm with a nod or a silence. Meeting him would take time.
And time was a luxury Shawn didn't have.
Then, the watchers came.
He didn't need eyes to sense them.
A faint hum above—surveillance drones disguised as crows, wings whispering through the sky.
And the café barista—his stare clung like a shadow that refused to leave.
Not O.S.S.—too polished.
Not National Guard—too noisy.
Then who?
The same type who'd hauled him into that car?
The morning bell shrieked through the sleepy classroom. Sunlight fractured through half-lowered blinds, striping golden beams across battered wooden desks.
Shawn traced a heart with his thumb, unfazed, as the last students shuffled in, bags dragging, yawns muffled.
BANG.
The classroom door slammed open like a thunderclap.
All heads snapped toward the noise.
Principal Vance stood framed in the doorway, breathless, tie askew, sweat beading at his temple.
His hand gripped a cream-colored envelope sealed with crimson wax—the imperial phoenix of Capital University.
"Shawn Mercer," he called, voice tremoring with disbelief, "you've been selected as a special admit to Capital University's School of Philosophy."
The room inhaled sharply as one.
Vance cleared his throat, barely suppressing a tremor. "This is… unprecedented. The letter arrived this morning. Signed by Dean Lucian Voss himself. They've waived all exams. You are to report to the capital immediately."
Then came the whispers:
"Capital University? That's impossible."
"No one from here's ever even—"
"What the hell did he do?"
"His parents must be loaded—"
"Wasn't his grandfather Black Faction during the Purge?"
Shawn didn't move. His face was stone.
But two seats away, Judy's nails bit into her workbook, her jaw tight. Dan clenched the desk edge so hard his varsity jacket straining at the seams.
Principal Vance looked at Shawn, eyes pleading for some response. Gratitude. Shock. Anything.
Shawn leaned back in his seat, arms crossed.
"I refuse." The air turned electric.
Principal Vance blinked. "What?"
"I would like to apply for Sunzen University's Philosophy Department," Shawn said, voice calm as water.
A second of stunned stillness—
"You're insane!"
Dan burst out, his desk rattling as he stood.
The principal turned pale. "Shawn, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—"
"I appreciate the offer," Shawn said evenly, "but my decision is final."
Teachers exchanged frantic looks.
Someone gasped.
Vance all but yanked Shawn into the hallway, shutting the door behind them with a solid thud."Do you understand what you're turning down?" he hissed. "Capital University is the pinnacle—connections, resources—"
"I know," Shawn said simply.
"Then why—?"
Shawn met his gaze, unwavering. "Because I don't trust sudden generosity."
That Night.
The study was bathed in the warm glow of an brass desk lamp, its light pooling over worn manuscripts and inkstones.
The faint scent of sandalwood lingered between floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, their contents meticulously organized—leather-bound classics, bamboo-slip reproductions, and treatises on forgotten dynasties.
The air carried the quiet reverence of a scholar's sanctuary.
The study's antique clock marked three heavy seconds before Elias responded. He set down his reading glasses with deliberate care.
"It's unusual," he said at last.
"A special admission from Capital University? To a provincial student?"
His thumb brushed the jade paperweight's carved surface. "Exceptions like this don't happen without powerful hands shaping them."
Shawn leaned against the bookshelf, the old wood creaking under his weight. "So someone pulled strings."
"Or," Elias rotated the jade to catch the light, "someone is taking measure of you."
The jade paperweight landed on the desk with a decisive thud that lingered in the heavy air.
Outside, the distant murmur of the city seemed to press against the walls, a low hum beneath their wordless tension.
Moments passed,Elias's voice scarcely above a whisper.
"Still… you should go."
Shawn's hand moved unconsciously to his chest. "To accept?"
"No." Elias's eyes gleamed. "To learn whose hand holds the pen that wrote your name."
Shawn exhaled slowly, the Thunder Core warming against his palm as if in warning.
Nothing came without a price.
This invitation?
The cost might be his very future.