Day one of testing ended better than I'd dared to hope.
Sure, I hadn't set any records or made the instructors gasp with amazement, but I'd gotten through every evaluation without embarrassing myself completely. The affinity testing confirmed my fire element with what they called "significant raw potential," though they'd frowned at my control scores. Combat assessment went surprisingly well—apparently all those years helping with village defense had given me better tactical instincts than most Academy candidates.
"Not bad for a village kid," Rina had said as we compared notes over dinner. "Your flame threading technique caught some attention."
I'd tried to look modest while internally celebrating. Kyoto's training had actually helped more than I'd realized.
Day two brought more intensive testing, and that's where things got interesting.
The combat scenarios weren't just about individual techniques—they were tactical problems designed to test how we'd handle real situations. Multiple opponents, environmental hazards, protecting civilian targets. The kind of challenges that village life had actually prepared me for, even if I'd never realized it.
"Hayashi, you're on point for this exercise," called Instructor Yamada, a stern woman whose scars suggested extensive field experience. "Your team needs to escort these civilians through corrupted territory while under attack."
I studied the training ground setup—fake buildings, obstacles, designated 'civilian' targets played by Academy staff. Three other students as my team, including Kenji and a quiet girl from Kaze Region named Saki.
"What's the approach?" Kenji asked, and I could hear the expectation in his voice. He'd been dominating every individual test with perfect technique execution.
But this felt different. This felt like protecting people, which was something I actually understood.
"Saki, you take high ground for reconnaissance," I said, pointing to a building that offered good sightlines. "Your wind techniques should give you mobility advantage. Kenji, I need your fire control for area denial—block chokepoints, force attackers into predictable paths."
"And you?" asked the fourth team member, a serious-looking boy from Tsuchi Region.
"I'll stay mobile between you and the civilians. My techniques might not be pretty, but they're good for emergency situations."
The exercise began with corrupted beast puppets attacking from multiple directions. But instead of trying to eliminate them all, I focused on creating safe corridors for the civilians, using terrain and team positioning to minimize engagement.
When Kenji's perfect flames created a barrier, I guided our charges around it. When Saki spotted flanking enemies, I used my more chaotic fire to create confusion rather than trying for precise kills. It wasn't elegant, but it worked.
"Interesting approach," Instructor Yamada noted as the exercise concluded. "Most candidates focus on eliminating threats. You prioritized objective completion."
"Village defense is about keeping people safe," I said simply. "Everything else is secondary."
She made a note on her evaluation sheet that I couldn't read, but her expression suggested it wasn't negative.
Daichi, my roommate from Tsuchi Region, performed exactly as I'd expected—steady, disciplined, unshakeable. His earth techniques weren't flashy, but they were reliable in a way that made other students want him on their teams. Mountain kingdom training showed in every movement.
"Your people take this seriously," I commented as we walked back to the dorms.
"Mountain passes don't forgive mistakes," he replied in his usual understated way. "Better to be careful than sorry."
Kenji, meanwhile, continued to excel at everything. His fire techniques were textbook perfect, his tactical knowledge encyclopedic, his physical conditioning obviously the result of years of professional training. Watching him work was like seeing what I might become if I had infinite time and resources.
"Regional academy," he explained when I asked about his background. "My family's been producing guild members for three generations. This is just the next step."
The casual way he said it reminded me how different our preparations had been. Where I'd had a week of secret forest training, he'd had a lifetime of systematic development.
But day two ended with something that changed everything.
I was heading back from the evening meal when I noticed unusual activity around the main Academy buildings. Transport wagons arriving under cover of darkness, bearing insignia I was just learning to recognize. Guild symbols from across Shinrin Region.
"What's all the commotion?" Rina asked, appearing beside me with the quiet grace that seemed natural to water users.
"Guild leaders," Daichi said, his mountain kingdom heritage making him better at reading political signs than the rest of us. "All six major guilds, from the look of it."
My heart skipped. "All six?"
"Crimson Fang, Silver Moon, Iron Crown, Storm Hawks, Azure Blade, and Broken Chain." He pointed to each wagon in turn, identifying symbols I was still learning. "That's not normal for Academy testing."
The next morning brought answers, though they raised more questions than they resolved.
All seventy-two students assembled in the Grand Assembly Ground to find not just Academy officials waiting, but an imposing group of figures in guild colors. Six individuals whose presence seemed to alter the very air around them—the kind of power that made my village's strongest defenders look like children playing with wooden swords.
Izuma stood among them wearing Iron Crown colors, his casual demeanor from our forest encounter replaced by the bearing of someone accustomed to command. Seeing him in this context drove home just how significant our brief interaction had been.
Administrator Tanaka stepped forward, her usual stern expression even more serious than normal.
"Recent developments have required enhanced coordination between Academy training and guild operations," she announced. "Guild leadership has requested modifications to standard procedures."
She gestured toward the assembled guild leaders. "Effective immediately, all seventy-two candidates are accepted for Academy foundational training. The next six months will constitute intensive preparation before specialization assignment."
A murmur of surprise rippled through our group. Accepting everyone was apparently unusual.
"Enhanced curriculum will include advanced regional politics, inter-guild cooperation protocols, and updated threat assessment procedures." Her pause carried weight. "The world you will graduate into may be significantly different from the one previous Academy classes encountered."
I exchanged glances with Daichi. Enhanced threat assessment procedures. Updated protocols. Euphemisms for whatever was making intelligent Akuma appear and guild leaders convene emergency meetings.
"Training begins tomorrow. Dormitory assignments remain unchanged. Family members will continue educational programs appropriate to their circumstances."
As the assembly dispersed, I caught sight of Izuma watching our group with unreadable eyes. For just a moment, I thought he might approach, but then another figure in guild colors drew his attention to something urgent.
Whatever political developments had brought all six guild leaders to the Academy, it was clearly serious enough to reshape how they prepared the next generation.
The next six months passed in a blur of intensive training that made my village preparation look like casual exercise.
Combat techniques, regional history, political structure, economic systems, threat assessment, team coordination, leadership principles, diplomatic protocols—knowledge flooded into my head faster than I'd thought possible to absorb.
And through it all, Mina thrived.
The Academy's family education program was everything I'd dreamed of giving her and more. Advanced mathematics, comprehensive regional history, basic Shinzai theory, diplomatic studies—she absorbed it all with the same intense focus she'd once applied to perfecting rice ball recipes.
"Did you know the mountain kingdoms have seventeen different clan systems?" she asked excitedly during one of our weekly meetings. "And each clan specializes in different earth technique variations?"
"That's fascinating," I said, meaning it completely. Watching her intellectual curiosity finally have proper outlets was worth every challenge the Academy training threw at me.
"And the island federation has this complex trade route protection system that requires coordination between eight different guilds!" Her eyes sparkled with the joy of learning. "The political structures are so much more complicated than anything in our village."
She'd made friends with other Academy family members—children of instructors, relatives of advanced students, dependents of various Academy staff. Seeing her social circle expand beyond just her worried big brother filled me with relief I hadn't realized I needed.
Six months of this intensive education changed more than just my combat skills. For the first time, I began to understand the true scale and complexity of the world beyond our village borders.
The regional politics alone were staggering—not just six separate territories, but intricate webs of alliance, competition, and cooperation that shifted based on everything from trade agreements to corruption outbreaks. Guild relationships that could span decades or shift overnight depending on leadership changes and external pressures.
And underneath it all, growing awareness that recent developments were straining systems that had maintained stability for generations.
By the time six months had passed, I'd grown stronger, smarter, and more capable than I'd ever imagined possible.
But more importantly, I'd finally begun to grasp how little I'd actually known about the world I was trying to help protect.
Standing in my dormitory room on the evening before our next phase of training would begin, looking out at Academy grounds that had become familiar, I reflected on the journey that had brought me here.
Six months ago, I'd been a village failure whose greatest aspiration was not embarrassing himself completely.
Now I was beginning to understand the true scope of what strength meant in a world where intelligent corruption was emerging, where guild leaders held emergency meetings, and where Academy training had been modified to prepare students for challenges previous generations had never faced.
The real education was just beginning.