The Academy courtyard reeked of tension.
It wasn't the soft, delicate tension of nervous scholars politely awaiting results. No. This was raw, animal tension. The kind that made your throat dry, your palms itch, and your enemies' smirks twist like blades.
The examination board towered at the center of the square, freshly pinned parchment gleaming in the sun like an execution notice. Around it, nobles, commoners, half-bloods, and their sycophants formed a suffocating mass of bodies.
Ace Dragnell cut through them, Klaus stumbling in his wake like a panicked rabbit.
Everywhere? Whispers. Sweaty fingers clenched papers. Highborn snobs glared down their noses, their eyes darting, calculating.
"Move," Ace muttered, elbowing his way to the front.
The rankings hit like a gut punch:
Ace Dragnell - 100/100
Elara Flavosky - 89/100
Lord Gareth Thorne - 56/100
Lady Seraphina Valerius - 53/100
Marcus Vane (Commoner) - 51/100
Lyra Wells - 49/100
Sir Julian Croft - 47/100
Lord Cassian Blackwood - 45/100
Lady Anya Meadowlight - 42/100
Acolyte Rhys Stone (Commoner) - 40/100
(Passing score: 26. Translation? Half the student body just academically bled out on the floor.)
The silence fractured.
Gasps. Choked curses. Shaking hands pointing like they'd seen a ghost.
Klaus's jaw practically unhinged. "Bro... You sold your soul, didn't you?"
Ace smirked, sharp and dangerous. "Brain cells. Souls are overrated."
He could feel the rage crackling behind him before he even turned.
Elara Flavosky. Regal posture fraying at the edges. Eyes like frozen daggers, glaring holes through him. Her whole body screamed one word:
Unacceptable.
"Easy, Madam," Ace teased. "That glare might fracture your image."
Her pride bled onto the marble, but hidden beneath her fury? A reluctant, simmering respect, curdling alongside confusion.
She wasn't doubting the score.
She doubted how the Academy's favorite delinquent lapped her.
A shout split the crowd.
"Liar!"
Theo Harnest barged through, face the color of overripe tomatoes. His lips trembled. His eyes sparkled with unfiltered panic and disbelief.
"Low-born trash! You cheated!"
Ace yawned, stretching casually. "Master Theo, relax. You're practically at rank zero. I couldn't dream of catching up."
Snickers rippled through the commoners like wildfire.
Theo's face burned hotter. He stormed toward a nearby Professor, veins popping across his temples.
"Professor! He cheated! His score's impossible!"
The Professor—an older woman with polished boots and a monocle sharp enough to slice through lies—adjusted her glasses, bored.
"We thought so, too," she said, voice colder than winter rain. "We rechecked Dragnell's paper multiple times. Zero errors."
She pivoted to Ace, eyes narrowing in something almost resembling approval.
"Your mathematics were... unorthodox. Higher-level theorem applications. Improvised, yet flawless. Congratulations."
Ace bowed, smooth as oil. "Appreciate the recognition, Professor."
Then her gaze snapped to Theo, slicing him apart with words:
"Unlike you, young Harnest. Your performance? Embarrassing for your lineage."
Theo's jaw twitched. His whole face screamed 'temper tantrum incoming.' But words? None.
He stormed off, boots thudding like toddler stomps.
Ace's smirk widened.
The whispers returned, circling like hungry crows:
"Perfect score?"
"Commoner genius?"
"Harnest got crushed!"
Even some highborns looked... impressed.
Elara's glare persisted, but now it pulsed with reluctant curiosity.
"Next time," Ace baited, voice oozing challenge.
"I'll annihilate you," she snapped, striding away like every step stabbed the marble.
Klaus clutched his head as they walked off. "Dude… You just pissed off every noble within a mile."
Ace grinned. "Let them simmer."
By the dorms, the whispers followed, sticky as smoke.
In his room, Ace ditched the uniform, muscles tense, veins humming with arcane potential. His mind burned with quiet satisfaction.
Training began. Hours of pushing limits, atoms shifting, disassembling, reforming, every second forging control like molten metal.
His lungs ached. His vision blurred. His body screamed.
Perfect.
Hours later, drenched in sweat, victorious grin still plastered on his face, Ace collapsed onto the bed.
"First blood drawn," he muttered, sleep dragging him under.
Ace Dragnell - Status Update
Noble Status: Low-tier (The decorative kind)
Age: 16
Strength: C+
Agility: C+
Endurance: B
Intelligence: S (Weaponized. Terrifying.)
Willpower: A (Stubborn)
Charisma: D (Smirk compensates)
Arcane Power: C+
Unique Ability:
Molecular Disassembly & Regeneration
* Description: The innate power to disassemble one's body to a molecular or even atomic level and reassemble it at will. Can regenerate from a single cell or atom. Can reassemble specific body parts, which will possess the same inherent power as the main body. Ace can now successfully detach and reassemble his hand and foot with increased speed, control, and reduced mental strain.
Elemental Affinities: Fire, Air, Lightning
Lightning boosts speed. Volatile. Dangerous fun.
Skills:
Self-Defense: C
Survival: D (Knows which berries kill, mostly)
Weapon Forging: B- (Katana forged, deadly, beautiful)
Knife Mastery: Beginner (Fire-infused stabbing encouraged)
Katana Mastery: Beginner (Eleven-second Fire burst. Needs refinement.)
Tutoring: Beginner (Commoners adore him now)
Gear:
Custom Katana (B+ grade. Burned nobles' pride included)
Reputation: Spreading like wildfire.
Lowborn anomaly turned academic terror.
Nobles rattled.
Commoners emboldened.
Elara intrigued, furious.
Theo? Still licking wounds.
Silver Crowns: 353
Dorm: 393