The classroom door hissed open with a sound like escaping steam.
Mark stepped in, and twenty pairs of eyes turned toward him. Some curious. Some amused. A few hostile. The teacher didn't look up—he simply tapped his crystal stylus against a hovering orb that logged attendance.
"Wilde, Mark. Present," the orb declared.
The room looked nothing like a traditional classroom. There were no desks—only glowing spell circles etched into the floor. Each student stood inside their own, silver runes pulsing gently beneath their feet. Magic hovered in the air like humidity before a storm.
At the center stood a tall man in a white coat. Alchemical glasses veiled his eyes, and his hair shimmered silver like mercury.
Professor Thorne.
"Elira," he said calmly. "Bring him forward."
Elira gestured toward the center of the room. Mark followed, passing circle after circle, each radiating faint mana. Every step felt heavier than the last—not from fear, but from pressure. Weight.The weight of being watched. Ranked. Judged.
Thorne's voice cut the tension like a blade.
"Mr. Wilde. You've missed three months of instruction. You've declined all aptitude evaluations. Your record shows… no registered spell tier."
"Correct," Mark replied, eyes level.
"Then let's fix that."
The center of the room shifted. A black stone platform rose with a soft rumble. Its circular surface shimmered with dormant glyphs.
"Step into the Diagnostic Ring," Thorne instructed. "Let's see what kind of blood you're hiding."
Elira leaned in as he passed. Her voice was low, urgent.
"If you show nothing, they'll mark you Nullblood. That's social suicide."
A warning.
A threat.
A memory sparked in his mind—shattered fragments from the old Mark's life. Nullbloods didn't just get expelled. They were erased from opportunity. Shunned. Dangerous burdens in a world where magic was survival.Magic wasn't optional—it was currency.
He stepped into the ring.
Nothing happened.
The runes remained cold.
Whispers filled the room. A snicker echoed from Calen's circle.
"Guess the freak's just a pebble in a river of Stonebloods."
Mark didn't flinch.
He had once negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions by reading silence like a contract. And this was just another system. He could feel it—beneath the circle's arcane mechanics, it wasn't just scanning raw power. It was measuring intent. Focus. Will.
Then I'll give it something to measure.
He closed his eyes. Slowed his breathing.This body was weaker, but it had something. Dormant. Locked. Coiled.In the dark below his thoughts, a presence stirred.
Not wild. Not bright. But cold. Calculated. Heavy.Like gravity given shape.
He pulled.
And the runes answered.
The circle lit—first faintly, then violently. Black and gold sigils flared outward in layered rings. Runes spun like gears around his feet. A pillar of light erupted, tall and dark-edged, spiraling upward like a controlled explosion.
GONG.A deep, resonating chime shook the classroom.
Professor Thorne dropped his stylus.
The orb overhead glitched and sparked.
Then, in a distorted voice:
"Mana Signature: Unregistered Variant.Classification: Forbidden Tier.Bloodline Anomaly Detected.Classification Override… Pending. Pending…"
The silence that followed was total.
Then came the chaos.
"What the hell is Forbidden Tier?" someone whispered.
"Isn't that... illegal?"
A few students backed away like they'd just seen a demon burst from the floor.
Thorne found his voice. Barely.
"Wilde, step out. Now."
Mark exhaled slowly. His legs trembled slightly as he stepped down. His skin still glowed faintly—like heat after flame.But inside? He felt clear. Sharper. Like the world had finally stopped muffling itself.
This wasn't just mana. It was authority. It was leverage.
Thorne's eyes flicked toward the classroom doors. "You're going to the Headmaster's office. Immediately. They'll want to… review this."
Mark met his gaze. "Did I pass?"
Thorne stared at him for a moment, then nodded once.
"You didn't just pass. You broke the scale. And that… that scares me."
He turned away.
Mark walked toward the exit, shoulders high, head calm. Behind him, Calen seethed in silence. But Elira watched with narrowed eyes.
Not fear. Not jealousy.Curiosity. Calculation.
Like a strategist staring at a piece that wasn't supposed to exist.
Good, Mark thought. Let them wonder. Let them panic. I've worn a crown before. They're not ready for the empire I'm about to build.
He pushed open the door—
—and nearly collided with a tall figure in an obsidian cloak.
Cold eyes. Ink-black gloves. Gold pin shaped like a key twisted through a circle: the Headmaster's sigil.
"Mark Wilde," the man said calmly. "Walk with me."
"You're not the first Forbidden Tier we've seen," the Headmaster said quietly. "But you may be the last."