As the ughter and chatter from the introductions slowly faded, Jared stood and cpped his hands, his voice firm and commanding.

  “Alright, gd everyone’s enjoying themselves, but that’s not the reason we gathered here,” he said, steel-gray eyes scanning the group. “Let’s move on to the main topic. Christopher—what did you feel about the first battle we fought?”

  Christopher sat up a little straighter, his expression thoughtful. “You were testing us,” he said calmly. “You allowed us to move freely to observe our tactics and see how far our skills had progressed. But because you underestimated us, you were overwhelmed. That’s what led to your loss in the first round.”

  A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the group.

  Jared nodded, clearly pleased. “Anyone else have something to add?”

  Ethan raised a hand, casually but confidently. “You were holding back quite a bit. Not just in power, but in strategy. I noticed that most of you were acting defensively, conserving stamina. And skills were barely used—aside from that one Accelerate when Kael broke through the line. The rest were just Grade 0 spells meant for distraction, not real damage.”

  He paused, gncing at the third-years. “So, personally, I think the loss was intentional—to lull us into a false sense of security.”

  That got a few raised eyebrows. Jared, however, ughed—a full, genuine sound.

  “Your name’s Ethan, right? Looks like we’ll need to keep an eye on you. Excellent reasoning and sharp observation, but you are overestimating us a tiny bit.”

  The unexpected praise made Ethan blink, then smirk as he scratched the back of his head. “Thanks. I try.”

  Jared turned back to the group, his tone more serious. “As Christopher and Ethan pointed out, yes—our first match was designed to gauge your capabilities. We limited ourselves to the level we were at near the end of our first year. Truth be told, you surprised us. You’re faster, more coordinated, and more decisive than we expected.”

  He folded his arms. “Still, we stuck to the rules we made for that round, which is why we lost. But starting from the second match, we began loosening those restrictions—allowing one of our members each time to act without holding back in order to recalibrate the bance. Can anyone point out the changes that were made?”

  Daniel shot his hand up. “The first change was obvious. Your scout was allowed to move freely in our camp.”

  Ethan raised his hand next, his tone thoughtful. “That’s only half of it. I think there was still a restriction in pce—he wasn’t allowed to attack any of our pyers. That condition was removed in the third match, which is what led to the… let’s call it the ‘assassination’ of our team leader.”

  A few groans and grins broke out as people recalled the moment. Christopher looked mildly uncomfortable at the reminder, but nodded with a respectful gnce toward Ethan.

  Jared grinned broadly. “Indeed! That’s exactly it. In the second match, we allowed Orrin to maneuver freely but forbade him from direct engagement. By the third, those reins were cut, and well—you saw the result. We also started loosening our restrictions on Power Strike, though we never had to resort to it.”

  “Then, on the fourth match,” Ethan added, “you allowed full use of magic—spells beyond Grade 0. And by the fifth, you were fighting at full capacity, no restrictions at all.”

  Daniel’s eyes widened, and he nearly jumped out of his seat. “So that’s why! The more we fought, the stronger you guys felt! I thought I was just imagining things, but I was right all along!”

  Jared chuckled warmly. “You weren’t imagining it, Daniel. That was the test—to see how you’d adapt as we gradually increased the difficulty. And you adapted very well.”

  Daniel scratched the back of his head, looking a bit downcast. “But... we still lost in the end.”

  “That’s to be expected!” Orrin cut in, arms crossed but grinning. “If we really lost to people who just began their training, then all our time spent here would’ve been a waste!”

  A few third-years ughed in agreement, though it wasn’t mocking—it was genuine encouragement.

  Christopher, still thoughtful, spoke up. “Why are you guys helping us so much, though?”

  Jared’s smile softened as he looked over the group. “There are a lot of reasons,” he said, counting them off on his fingers.

  “First—because the stronger the adventurers who graduate from this Academy are, the safer the world around us becomes. We’re investing in our own future, in a way.”

  “Second,” he continued, “we were helped by our seniors when we were starting out. It’s a tradition—passing on strength, guidance, and a few bruises.”

  A few nods rippled through the third-years at that.

  “Third—testing the new generation is important. Talent isn’t always obvious right away, and some of us are already thinking about recruiting for our future Cns. You guys may not be able to join one until your third year, but it never hurts to make connections early... you know, mark the cards,” Jared said, tapping his temple with a sly grin.

  “Fourth,” he added, voice growing more earnest, “because we love this Academy. It might not hit you yet, but after everything you experience here—the friendships, the hardships, the victories and failures—you’ll feel it too. It becomes a part of you.”

  He paused, then smirked.

  “And fifth... no less important...” he leaned in slightly, as if sharing a grand secret.

  “We need to crush those pointy-nosed bastards from the Royal Academy at the tournament! Gods, I hate those smug faces!”

  That st part sent the group into uproarious ughter—both first-years and third-years alike. Even the usually reserved Stefan let out a chuckle.

  The atmosphere warmed immediately, the line between “uppercssmen” and “first-years” blurring, repced by something simpler: comradeship.

  “So, how bad are our chances?” Ethan asked, leaning forward, unable to hide the curiosity in his voice.

  Jared gave a short ugh. “Oh, your chances are good. Way better than ours were back when we were first-years.”

  That earned a few surprised looks among the younger students.

  “Of course,” Jared added with a shrug, “it also depends on the teams you face. A bad matchup can ruin even the best pns. But judging by what we saw today? You guys have real potential.”

  Daniel tilted his head. “Did you guys win back then?”

  “Nah,” Jared said, grinning. “We lost. But we made it into the best four before being knocked out by the team that ended up winning the whole tournament. So, in a way…” he leaned back with a satisfied smile, “we were pretty damn close to winning.”

  Daniel, still riding the wave of curiosity, leaned forward and asked, “So, what about the tournament at the end of the year? And the final tournament before graduation? Did you guys participate?”

  Jared nodded, but his smile had faded a little, repced by something more serious. “We did. Every time. But catching up to them…” He shook his head. “It was hard. Real hard.”

  He leaned on one knee, speaking with a rare bluntness. “We trained our best, pushed ourselves to the limit. But the distance between us and them only widened. It’s not just about effort. It's about resources, too.”

  The younger students exchanged looks, sensing the weight behind his words.

  “They have access to all kinds of elixirs, enchanted equipment, private tutors—everything you can imagine to speed up their growth. I doubt they even train half as hard as we do, but when you can drink a potion to triple your progress, hard work alone can’t close that gap.”

  Jared’s steel-gray eyes sharpened as he looked around the group.

  “That’s why first year is so important,” he said, voice firm. “It’s the only time when they’re still adjusting. When their fancy resources haven’t yet given them an overwhelming advantage. It’s the one window where pure talent, quick thinking, and real fighting spirit can level the field.”

  He straightened up, his presence filling the room.

  “Don’t let this chance slip through your fingers.” he said, every word deliberate. “Once it’s gone, it’s gone. Catch them while they’re unprepared. Fight like hell now—because you won’t get another shot like this.”

  The room fell into a heavy silence, every first-year hanging onto the weight of that truth.

  The future was darker than they had expected.

  But looking at it another way… wasn’t this better?

  The harder the challenge, the sweeter the victory would be.

  They hadn’t lost yet. They still had hope.

  Even their seniors, who had faced defeat time and time again, hadn’t given up—so how could they?

  Breaking the silence, Christopher stepped forward and put out his hand. His deep blue eyes were fierce with determination.

  “Let’s do it,” he said, voice strong. “Let’s end this losing streak—and never repeat it again!”

  Daniel was the first to jump in, spping his hand over Christopher’s with a wild grin.

  “Right! We’re not going down without a fight! And I’ll bite their necks like a rabid dog if that’s what it takes to win!”

  Ravyn raised an eyebrow, arms crossed.

  “That sounds barbaric. I’ll leave the biting to you. As for me... I already have a few Second Grade spells prepared. Maybe before the tournament, I’ll have a Third Grade ready too.”

  Kael chuckled, fshing a zy smile as he stepped forward.

  “If my dy’s going, I’m forced to comply,” he said dramatically. “But even if she wasn’t, no way would I miss a chance to join something that sounds this fun.”

  Christopher turned toward Ethan’s group, hand still outstretched.

  “What about you guys?”

  Oliver froze, caught like a deer in torchlight.

  “W-What!? Us!?” he stammered. “Sure! We’ll… uh… cheer you on!”

  Christopher shook his head firmly.

  “That’s not enough. Join us in the fight, too.”

  Oliver hesitated—until Anya, cheeks flushed but determined, grabbed his hand and shoved it into the pile.

  “Sure! Count us in!”

  Celica was right behind her, stepping in without hesitation.

  “Don’t forget about me!” she said proudly, adding her hand to the stack.

  Ethan sighed, realizing he was getting swept along by the momentum. He caught Misha’s hand—making her squeak in surprise—and set both their hands atop the growing pile.

  “Fine. We’ll help too,” he said, smirking faintly.

  “E-Eh!? Me too!?” Misha blinked rapidly, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her small hand tightened slightly in his.

  And then the third-years joined in as well, their voices loud and full of fire:

  “Let’s win this time for sure!”

  “Let’s show those bastards we’re not easy targets for bullying!”

  “Let’s kick them off their tall horses!”

  The circle of hands grew rger, a web of different backgrounds, dreams, and struggles all tied together by one shared vow:

  They would fight.

  And this time, they would win.

  But of course, if they truly wanted to win—they couldn’t stop here.

  “Great!” Jared cpped his hands together. “Now that our minds are set, let’s get to the real deal. Me and Orrin are gonna drill into your heads every strategy we know. Then we’ll go over your current training regimens, how to optimize them, what to focus on, and a whole bunch of other stuff.”

  “Wait—really!? Isn’t it already kinda te?” Oliver protested, eyes wide with arm.

  “Don’t worry,” Orrin grinned. “This tavern stays open all night.”

  “Oh fuck,” Ethan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “We still got css tomorrow…”

  “Hahahaha! A day without sleep won’t kill you!” Darius bellowed, raising his mug with a smirk.

  “Get used to it,” Seris added with an utterly serious expression. “This becomes routine starting third year.”

  “I don’t want this kind of routine!” Oliver cried, to a wave of ughter.

  The group pressed on—ughing, arguing, debating, and sharing stories that ranged from horrifying to hirious. Tactical diagrams were scratched into the wood of the table with crumbs and spilled ale, spell formations were drawn in the air with glowing fingers, and rivalries were sparked over the best way to clear a goblin den.

  By the time the tavern’s owner reluctantly shooed them out, the sun was rising on the horizon, casting golden light over the academy grounds.

  There were still three hours until css—but who could risk falling asleep now and actually waking up on time?

  “Damn, I’m cursed…” Oliver muttered, dragging his feet.

  “Are you? What about me?” Ethan said with a grin, carrying a completely passed-out Misha on his back like a sack of potatoes.

  “Move quicker, boys!” Mar called over her shoulder, walking backward with a teasing smile. “The faster we get back, the longer we can sleep!”

  “Ha! I’ll just sleep in css,” Daniel yawned, rubbing his eyes.

  “This takes me back,” Orrin said with a nostalgic sigh. “Our own first year was exactly like this…”

  “Right,” Jared nodded, smirking. “Back then, you said the same thing Daniel just did. And you woke up bald the next day.”

  “Yeah,” Orrin winced, then ughed. “Professor Alden is merciless!”

  Jared turned toward the first-years. “What’s your first css today, anyway?”

  Ethan hesitated, then sighed. “…Mana Manipution.”

  Orrin burst out ughing. “Hahaha! Looks like Ethan’s css drew the short straw!”

  “Yeah! Don’t fall asleep or you’ll definitely wake up bald!” Jared warned between cackles.

  Ethan gave a sleepy smirk. “I think I’ll be fine. Can’t say the same for Daniel though…”

  He gnced over. Daniel was shambling like a zombie, eyes barely open, one boot untied, swaying dangerously with every step.

  “Yeah… he’s doomed,” Ethan muttered.

  “Looks like another one’s about to join the baldy club!” Orrin said with a wide grin, spping Ethan’s shoulder.

  “Won’t his hair grow back like yours?” Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Sure it will.” Orrin nodded sagely. “But once you’re in the baldy club, you never get out! Trust me, even now people still call me ‘Baldy’—and this,” he tapped the back of his head dramatically, “this glorious mane has long since returned!”

  Ethan stared at him for a moment, thinking back to earlier when he caught a glimpse of the back of Orrin’s head…

  Wasn’t there… still a little bald spot back there?

  The thought itched at the edge of his mind, but he wisely decided not to say it out loud.

  Some battles just weren’t worth fighting—especially not with a proud, sleep-deprived senior who could probably throw him into the nearest river without effort.

  Instead, Ethan just coughed into his hand and looked away, doing his best to suppress the smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.

  Probably better to let that mystery stay unanswered, he thought.

  As Ethan trudged along the path back to the dorms, half-dragging his own legs, he couldn’t help but remember the first errand he ever ran at the Academy—delivering supplies to one of the older seniors.

  That guy…

  The way he looked—hollow eyes, dark circles so deep they could have been bruises, a soul so drained it was a miracle he was still upright.

  It wasn’t just exhaustion; it was as if sleep had become a distant myth, like a fairytale he hadn’t been allowed to hear.

  Ethan swallowed dryly, gncing up at the slowly brightening sky.

  Is this… really the future left to me?

  A future of sleepless nights, endless drills, brutal training sessions…

  Dragging his half-dead body to css after being chewed up and spit out by “tradition”?

  Fighting not just monsters and enemies, but also the very clock ticking away at his sanity?

  He looked down at Misha, still softly breathing on his back, her face peaceful in sleep.

  He looked ahead at Oliver, grumbling under his breath, and Daniel, practically sleepwalking.

  He looked at Celica and Anya, talking quietly but determined, even as they staggered with tired feet.

  And then he sighed, a long, exhausted breath.

  A crooked, bitter-sweet smile formed on his lips.

  Well... at least I won't be alone.