The Grand Amphitheater loomed ahead, rune lights casting a glow over stone seats.

  Sara shoved past a broad-shouldered guy in a gray tunic, smirking an apology—“Sorry, got pushed.” Her voice dripped with a half-sweet, half-teasing edge as she tossed her ponytail, crop top inching up, shorts hugging her hips.

  He turned around, shoulders squaring as he gnced back at the empty stretch of stone where the line ended. His hazel eyes flicked back to her, irritation sparking in them. “You’re kidding, right?” he said, crossing his arms, voice ft. “There’s nobody there.”

  Sara spun toward him, pout blooming, eyes wide and glistening. “Okay, fine, my bad,” she said, softening her tone, hands falling limp. “I just don’t want to get stuck back here when they sm the gates, you know?” She shrugged, small and helpless, biting her lip for effect.

  He stared, jaw tight, then snorted, a half-grin tugging at his mouth. “Yeah, well, keep shoving like that, and you’ll piss off the wrong person before we even get in.” His eyes flicked to her, caught on the crop top inching up, the shorts hugging her hips. I’d stared too, back in the dorm—I got it.

  Sara obviously noticed, and her smirk sharpened. “Oh, come on, it’s every idiot for themselves out here,” she teased, ughter threading her words. “Or are you that wrong person? A big tough guy?”

  Dax smirked back, eyes glinting as he countered, “Tough enough to not cry over a little line-cutting, princess.” His tone was dry and pyful, matching her energy without missing a beat.

  Sara ughed, bright and unrestrained, her head tipping back for a second. “Okay, tough guy, what’s your name?”

  He stepped forward then, closing the gap with a smooth stride, falling in step beside her as the crowd inched along. “Dax,” he said, grin widening, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks. “Daxter Marrow. School of Adventurers. You?”

  “Sara Volkov,” she replied, tossing her ponytail with a flick, her smirk turning sly as their boots brushed. “Archery. School of Adventurers, too. Guess I’ll be seeing you in some adventuring csses?”

  Dax nodded, his grin sharpening as his eyes flicked to the chunky silver rings and neckces glinting on her. “Yeah, if that jewelry doesn’t get you snagged in a fight first—School of Adventurers’s no pce for bling.”

  Sara ughed, sharp and bright, brushing a hand over her piercings like they were trophies. “Please, I’m backline—arrows don’t care about style. What’s your weapon? Don’t tell me you’re one of those sword-and-shield meatheads.”

  “Daggers,” he said, shrugging those massive shoulders, his tone casual like it was no big deal. “I’m a Rogue.”

  Sara blinked, her smirk faltering for a split second, and I felt my own jaw drop a little from where I trailed behind. Daggers? A Rogue? This guy? He was built like he’d swing a warhammer or wrestle a bear—broad chest, tree-trunk arms—not slink through shadows with tiny bdes. Even Sara seemed thrown, her head tilting as she sized him up again.

  “Daggers?” she said, arching a brow, her grin creeping back with a hint of surprise. “No way. You’re, what, a foot taller than me? I’d have pegged you for a maul or something.”

  “Looks can lie,” Dax replied, his grin turning cocky, eyes glinting under the rune lights.

  I trailed behind, hands in my hoodie pockets, silver chain cold against my skin. Their banter buzzed ahead—Sara’s ugh cutting through, Dax’s rumble answering.

  Here, Sara’s already got Dax hooked, and I’m… what? The pity tag-along? A one-day sidekick before she ditches me for her real crew?

  Would I be spending another 4 years studying only to end up in my mom’s basement again, hiding behind a screen, jerking off to Tentacle Lust V?

  The jeans chafed harder with every step, denim grinding my thighs raw, and the hoodie rubbed my chest, nipples scraping the rough cotton.

  Dax’s hazel eyes flicked my way, lingering as he tilted his head. “So, who’s your friend?” he asked, more to Sara than me.

  “Lily? She’s—” Sara broke off mid-sentence, spinning toward me with a grin before throwing an arm around my shoulders. She yanked me into a quick, tight hug, pressing my face against her chest. “She’s my new roomie! A bit shy though—say hi, Lily,” she cooed, teasing like I was a kid.

  I froze, stunlocked by the warmth of her body, the soft press of her boobs lingering in my brain. “H-hi,” I choked out, face burning as I stared at the stone.

  Sara ughed, giving my shoulder a light shake before letting go, her arm dropping casually as she turned back to Dax. “See? Total wallflower. We’re working on it.”

  Dax snorted, eyeing me. “So what school are you attending? What focus?”

  “School of Support,” I replied.

  “What about your focus?” Dax continued.

  “Uh… maybe healing?” I asked myself. I didn’t really know what the focus meant, but that sounded about right.

  Dax shot Sara a look. “Healing? That’s still School of Adventurers, no? Healers are out there with us, not sitting back.”

  Sara nodded. “Yeah, if you’re in the dungeon patching people up, you’re Adventurer—me, him, healers, tanks, all that. Support’s different.”

  “Oh,” I mumbled, heat creeping up my neck. “I thought—”

  “Doctor, maybe?” Dax cut in, tilting his head. “Support’s got doctors—fixing people after we drag ‘em out.”

  Sara smirked. “Ah, yeah. Healers are in the thick of it with us, keep you alive in the shit. Doctors just clean up the mess ter.”

  “I guess it’s just semantics,” Dax added, shrugging. “They use the same magic, no?”

  The crowd lurched forward, shoving us to the front of the line before I could say more. A long registration table loomed ahead, clerks barking over the noise. Sara stepped up, voice sharp.

  “Sara Volkov, School of Adventurers.”

  The registrar—a wiry guy with a glowing clipboard—handed her a deep blue robe and a sword emblem. “Adventurer section, left.”

  “Daxter Marrow, School of Adventurers,” Dax said next, snagging his blue robe and sword emblem. “Adventurer section, follow her.”

  I shuffled forward, heart thumping. “Lily Harper, School of Support,” I muttered.

  The clerk handed me a blue robe and a staff-and-book emblem. “Support section, right,” he said, already moving on.

  I clutched the robe, rough fabric scratching my palms, and gnced at Sara and Dax. They were tugging on their robes, emblems catching the light.

  “See you ter, doc,” Sara said with a quick grin, heading left with Dax toward the Adventurer section. I turned right, following the line of students until I was pointed to sit in one of the rows. The Grand Amphitheater hummed around me—rune lights flickering overhead, students chattering as they settled in.

  Next to me, a scrawny guy was hunched over a thin book, his mop of bck hair half-hiding his face. His gsses kept slipping down his nose, and his robe hung open, showing a graphic tee—a curvy ninja girl in a skimpy outfit, mid-kick, kunai glinting in her hand. Manga, no question.

  I leaned in, curious. The page was open to two ninja girls cshing—tight outfits shredded from the fight, one pinning the other with a thigh choke, daggers fshing. Action with a heavy dose of ecchi—straight out of my old basement pylist.

  He jolted when he caught me staring, smming the book shut with a yelp. “I-it’s not what it looks like!” he squeaked, shoving it under his leg, cheeks fring red. “It’s got a real story, okay? N-not just… pictures!”

  I smirked, raising my hands. “Didn’t say it was. Looks cool. What’s it called?”

  He blinked at me, adjusting his gsses, then swallowed hard, his flush deepening as he tugged the book back out. “Uh… Shadows of the Crimson Veil,” he said, voice cracking before it sped up. “I-it’s from the Eastern Isles—‘manga,’ they call it, r-read left-to-right, not like our books. I mean, it’s got ninja cns, secret jutsu, crazy fights, and—uh—yeah, the art’s… detailed. B-but it’s not just that! There are yers!”

  “Layers, huh?” I said, grinning. He was squirming now, shifting in his seat like it was too hot, one hand tugging at his colr. “Sounds cool. What’s the story?”

  His eyes widened like he couldn’t believe I’d asked. “O-oh, uh, okay! S-so it’s about these kunoichi—ninja girls—from rival cns, right? There’s Ayane. She’s the lead, all stealth and poison daggers, and she’s hunting this blood jutsu that’ll make her unstoppable. B-but the other cn’s got Kiri, this total badass with shadow clones, and they’re always cshing—rooftop fights, ambushes, smoke bombs everywhere!” He was rambling now, words tripping over each other, his free hand gesturing wildly. “A-and yeah, their outfits get… torn up a lot, b-but it’s strategic! Shows their grit! The art’s insane—every move’s so fluid, and the tension’s nuts!”

  I nodded, leaning closer to peek at the page—Ayane’s thigh-high slit skirt, Kiri’s top half-unraveled, mid-strike.

  “That’s my kind of thing,” I said, half-ughing. “Used to watch stuff like that… back home.”

  “R-really?” he stammered, his voice pitching up as he adjusted himself again, crossing one leg over the other like he was hiding something. His cheeks were practically glowing now, sweat beading on his forehead. “Like anime? You watch anime as well? M-most people here think it’s creepy or dumb, b-but it’s not! The Eastern Isles, they don’t hold back—everything they do is amazing!”

  I caught his flush, the way he kept fidgeting, tugging his robe over his p. Weirdly twitchy, but I shrugged it off—the guy just seemed pretty hyper.

  Before I could ask more, the rune lights dimmed, and a hush rolled through the amphitheater. He fumbled, stuffing the manga into his bag, and I straightened up, heart kicking a little. The Entrance Ceremony was starting.

  A rough voice cracked through a scry orb hovering above the stage, silencing the crowd. An old man stepped forward—60 or so, grizzled, broad shoulders under a faded, rune-stitched robe. White hair thinned over a scalp that’d seen too many suns, and his hard eyes swept us like he was counting heads for a fight.

  “Welcome to the Arcane Academy,” he began, voice gravelly but steady, “pride of the City of Caletheris, lifeblood of the Astral Empire. I am Torin Veyra, your Headmaster.”

  He paused to let everyone know who he was.

  “As you know, four hundred years ago, the Hero of Light slew the Demon King, ending his century of ruin. From that bloodied ground rose our empire—dungeons surged, riches flowed, and this Academy was forged to harness it. You sit here now—veterans and new blood—carrying that legacy.”

  He paused again.

  “For near four centuries, we’ve trained the empire’s strength,” he went on, hands csping behind him. “Adventurers to strike the rifts, Support to mend the fallen, Schors to chart the mana’s pulse. Caletheris stands as your crucible—step through its gates, and you join a line unbroken since the Hero’s day.”

  The crowd stirred—Adventurers cpped on the left, a few cheers breaking out. Schors nodded in the center, all prim. Support—my chunk—just rustled, a couple kids whispering. Ethan adjusted his gsses, head tilting like he was soaking it in, but he didn’t say a word.

  Torin straightened, robe shifting as he scanned us one st time. “You’re here to learn, to grow, to serve the empire that lifts us all. Welcome—and may the Goddess light your path.”

  He stepped back, the scry orb dimming with a faint pulse. The benches buzzed—feet tapping, voices murmuring. I shifted again, the bench digging into my ass. Nice intro, sure, but how long was this gonna drag?

  More figures shuffled onto the stage after him—some professor in a stiff tunic yapping about discipline, an uppercssman with a smug grin going on about “glory,” a woman with a staff who wouldn’t shut up about mana flows. I lost track fast. It was all a blur of big words and bigger egos—something about rifts feeding the empire, teamwork making us strong, don’t disgrace the Hero’s name. My head dipped, eyes drooping as the voices droned on. Bh bh, serve the empire, bh bh, don’t suck. I caught snippets—Adventurers sshing, Support patching, Schors scribbling—but it was like listening to paint dry. Ethan stayed quiet beside me, his gsses slipping as he slouched too. Neither of us bothered to nudge the other awake.

  Hours must’ve crawled by because my neck ached, and my legs twitched to move. I jerked upright once, blinking hard as some guy in a velvet cape rambled about “honor in the rifts.” The crowd was half-dead—uppercssmen heckling from the top tiers, freshmen fidgeting. I rubbed my eyes, stifling a yawn. Was this a ceremony or a sleep aid?

  The rune lights flickered, a soft hum rising as the air shifted, pulling me out of my daze. A priestess in white glided onto the stage—her flowing robes shimmering with faint runes, her voice lifting into a hymn that echoed off the stone. “Goddess of Light, hear us,” she sang, slow and clear, the melody weaving through the half-asleep crowd. Heads lifted, and murmurs faded.

  Her voice softened, hands rising as she spoke. “Four hundred years past, the Hero of Light, blessed by our Goddess, struck down the Demon King—his SSS-Css Break sealed by The Holy Sword, thrust into this stone. From her sacrifice rose the empire, yet the Goddess decreed: this bde shall call a new champion when peril awakens, their hand to wield her will. We pray now, oh Light, to guide us to the chosen should the peril be awakened.”

  The hymn swelled again, her words sinking in, a quiet reverence settling over the amphitheater. My eyes flicked to the runestone—that sword glowed sharper now, or maybe I was just seeing things. Ethan shifted beside me, gsses catching the light, but he stayed quiet. The crowd was hooked, drowsy haze lifting.

  Then Torin Veyra strode back up, his grizzled frame cutting through the hymn’s fade, robe snapping as he seized the stage. The scry orb fred, his voice rolling out like a storm breaking.

  “Four centuries ago, the Hero faced a darkness that’d swallow us whole!” he thundered, hands gripping the air. “The Goddess led the hero to drive this very sword through the Demon King’s heart, forged our empire from his ruin—and left us this prophecy! A new hero will rise—chosen by the Goddess herself, tested by this bde—to pull it free and face the rifts tearing at our world! Will you be that hand? Will you cim her steel and carve our fate?”

  He thrust a fist toward the runestone, the sword’s glow pulsing under the lights. “Freshmen—stand! March to this stage, grip that bde, and show the Goddess your fire! Salvation or doom rests in you—step forward, prove your worth, and let destiny roar!”

  The amphitheater erupted—Adventurers surged up shouting, Schors rose clutching books, Support stumbled into motion, a chaotic tide of blue robes. I jolted to my feet, heart pounding as Ethan scrambled beside me, manga bag swinging, but the crowd swallowed us whole. Bodies shoved past, a mess of elbows and boots from all sections—Adventurers, Schors, and Support crashing together. I lost Ethan in the sea, his mop of bck hair bobbing ahead before vanishing.

  An invisible force rippled through, sharp and unyielding, shoving us back into jagged lines snaking toward the stage. I nded between two strangers—a tall girl with a sword emblem on my left, a wiry guy with a book pin on my right. Neither looked at me. I didn’t say a word, either.

  I stood there, silent, the strangers beside me just as quiet. Minutes dragged—hours, maybe. My stomach growled, low and nagging. No food since the hospital, and this wait was endless. Was this why I got zapped here? The thought hit me hard—transmigrated to pull that sword, be the hero from Torin’s big speech. My pulse quickened, a flicker of excitement sparking. Me, the chosen one? Sying demons, saving empires? But then… nothing. Just standing here, bored out of my skull, legs stiff, hunger gnawing. Some hero gig.

  Approaching the stage, the runestone loomed ahead. The Holy Sword stabbed into it, glowing faintly under the rune lights. Ethan, a few heads in front, stepped up. I craned my neck to see the skinny frame dwarfed by the stone. He gripped the hilt, tugged—sword fred a soft white, then dimmed. Nothing. He shuffled off, shoulders slumped, as Torin Veyra took his emblem, muttered something, and handed it back.

  A few attempts ter, it was finally my turn. I stepped up, observing the Holy Sword. It’s metal glinting, runes pulsing faintly along the bde. Torin stood off to the side, grizzled face unreadable, hands ready to take the next emblem. I reached out, fingers brushing the hilt—and pain seared through me, sharp and hot, like I’d grabbed a live wire. A bright glow fshed, blinding, and I stumbled back with a yelp, clutching my hand. The crowd murmured, heads turning—confusion, not awe. The tall girl behind me squinted; the wiry guy shrugged. Torin gnced up, brow furrowing for a split second, but he didn’t move.

  I shook it off, stepping forward again, face burning—great, already screwing this up. Torin took my staff-and-book emblem, his voice low as he chanted, “By the Goddess’s will, bind your path.” A suffocating weight pressed down—mana, thick and heavy, squeezing my chest—then vanished. He shoved the emblem back into my hand, the pin warm, glowing faintly. “Next,” he grunted, already looking past me.

  I turned to shuffle off, rubbing my stinging palm. Ethan was further ahead, waiting next to an exit, looking at me with a bit worry. Just as he was about to say something, a blinding white fre erupted behind me. Gasps rippled through the crowd—everyone spun to look. A blonde guy—tall, cocky grin—stood at the runestone, The Holy Sword free in his grip, raised high like he’d just won a prize. The light pulsed, dazzling, and the amphitheater lost its mind—shouts, cheers, uppercssmen whistling from the tiers.

  I blinked, squinting into the glow, when something flickered in front of me—a blue screen, floating, crisp text cutting through the chaos:

  [System Online: Welcome, Lily Harper.]