The heavy scent of parchment and ink filled the air as academy representatives gathered inside a private chamber near the testing grounds. A long table stretched across the room, laden with documents detailing the results of the latest examinees. A few nobles sat among them, quietly murmuring among themselves, while the instructors reviewed the most promising candidates.

  Lord Evander reclined in his chair, fingers drumming lazily against the polished wood. His golden-threaded uniform marked him as the Royal Academy’s chief instructor, the man who personally selected new entrants for the most prestigious magical institution in the kingdom. He had barely glanced at the test results, yet his voice carried absolute certainty when he spoke.

  “The two commoners—Leo Thorne and Ren Aldren—are mine.” His words were spoken with the same indifference one might use when selecting a fine bottle of wine.

  A murmur of discontent rippled through the room.

  “That’s hardly your decision alone, Evander,” a sharp voice interjected. The speaker was Magister Carrow, an elder representative from the Green Zone Academy, his robes embroidered with alchemical sigils. Unlike Evander, Carrow had poured over the results meticulously. “Leo Thorne is a spectacle, yes, but Ren Aldren… his mana refinement is remarkable. The Green Zone Academy would be a far better fit for him.”

  Evander’s lips curled in amusement. “Refined? Certainly. But his mana pool is pitiful compared to Thorne’s. No amount of control will make up for that gap.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Besides, you alchemists are only interested in potion-brewers and rune-scribes. What use would you have for someone with real potential?”

  Carrow’s expression darkened. “Control matters just as much as raw power. Your Royal Academy has always favored brute strength, but those with precision—true magical understanding—are just as valuable.”

  Another voice chimed in before the two could continue their verbal sparring.

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  “I’m more interested in Thorne, personally.” Sir Dain Ferris, a muscular instructor from the Crimson Fang Academy, a combat-oriented school, leaned forward, his steel-plated gloves clinking against the table. “That mana pool is wasted on researchers. A raw force like that belongs on the battlefield.” He grinned. “We train warriors, not scholars.”

  “You train brutes,” Carrow muttered under his breath.

  Evander ignored both of them, finally turning his gaze toward the gathered nobles, who had been silent until now. “And what do our esteemed noble representatives think?”

  A woman in elegant silver robes—Lady Celise Vaelthorne, a recruiter from a prestigious noble-only academy, adjusted the delicate veil over her face before speaking. “Leo Thorne is… interesting. But I see little reason to concern ourselves with him. We all know how this plays out—commoners with raw potential burn out long before they reach mastery.”

  “And Ren Aldren?” Carrow pressed.

  She barely spared a glance at the document before offering a polite smile. “I’m sure he’ll make a fine addition to your little alchemy school.”

  Carrow exhaled sharply, but before he could argue, Evander chuckled. “Fine. If you want the boy so badly, take him.” He leaned back again, stretching his arms behind his head. “I’ll even make things easy for you. The Royal Academy will take Thorne, and Green Zone can have Aldren. Everyone leaves happy.”

  Carrow’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t just an insult—it was an intentional slight. By openly dismissing Ren, Evander was subtly reinforcing the idea that his academy only took the strongest, while relegating Ren to a ‘lesser’ school. It was a political move as much as it was a personal preference.

  Before Carrow could object, another noble spoke up—Lord Regin Blackthorne, a lesser-known but ambitious recruiter from Obsidian Hall, a school that often took in unusual cases. He had been silent the entire meeting, quietly analyzing the situation.

  “I disagree,” Lord Regin said smoothly. “You’re all focusing too much on raw power or refined control. But what about intelligence?” He tapped the paper with Ren’s name on it. “This boy was the top academic performer in his school for years. I’ve read reports of his near-photographic memory.”

  Carrow raised an eyebrow. “You’re interested in him, then?”

  “I might be,” Regin mused. “With the right guidance, knowledge and memory can surpass brute strength. It would be interesting to see what he becomes.”

  Evander smirked, clearly unbothered. “Then I suppose we’ll see which academy he chooses, won’t we?”