As the dawn approached, sunlight pierced through the misty air, reflecting off the wet grass and slick patches of mud from the night's rain. The morning calls of chickens echoed from the coop. But beneath that natural rhythm wasn't the sound of a sleepy stir—it was the sound of grunting.
"…98… 97… 99… 100!" he exclaimed.
"Crap, did I skip a number? Oh well."
A 15-year-old boy—Hikaru Siegfried—pushed himself up from the ground. He had brown, slightly messy hair, a cowlick sticking up no matter how much he tried to flatten it, and striking emerald-green eyes. Standing five-foot-ten with egg-tan skin and a lean build, he was already up and training.
"Today… will be the day I head for the Capital of Vertrlies and enter the entrance exams for the Elite Exorcist Blue Academy!" he declared.
After catching his breath, Hikaru headed for the shower. He lived under the care of his uncle, Thomas Siegfried—a retired veteran hybrid mage of the Sigil Order—and his wife, Merleone. Though no longer active, Thomas's name still held weight among exorcists.
"Hurry your ass out of the shower! Your breakfast is ready!" Merleone yelled from the kitchen.
"Okay! I'll be there in a minute!" Hikaru called back.
"That kid's such a slowpoke. Good thing we woke him early so he won't be late," Merleone said.
"His training should've served him well," Thomas replied, sipping his tea. "Most kids his age don't get drilled by former generals. But his lack of offensive magic might hold him back."
Merleone finished cleaning the pans and joined Thomas at the table. A few minutes later, Hikaru came out of the shower, fully dressed and packed.
He stared at the table, mouth slightly open.
"Is this breakfast… or a buffet?" he asked sarcastically.
"You have to be energized if you want to show those snobby nobles what you're made of," Merleone replied.
He sat down and began eating. There was bread, toast, French toast, pretzels, and more buttered toast.
"Finally. I get to eat something other than just bread," he said.
They weren't poor—bread was just versatile and easy to prepare. After the meal, all three stood.
"Come here," Merleone said, opening her arms.
Hikaru embraced her.
"I'm gonna miss you guys," he murmured.
"Write when you can. And visit," she said. A tear slipped from her eye—one of pride, not sorrow.
"We'll miss you," Thomas added.
"I'll miss you too," Hikaru replied. He pulled away from the embrace. "This is goodbye—for now."
A carriage pulled up outside. Hikaru waved goodbye to his only family and stepped inside, placing his bag and sword on the seat beside him.
"So, Hikaru, huh?" the driver asked.
"Yeah. That's my name—don't wear it out."
The driver chuckled. "Better hope that was satire, kid. Or you'll be a laughingstock in the capital."
The ride on the half-cyborg horse-drawn carriage was bumpy but quiet. After a few hours, the massive walls of the capital rose in the distance.
Hikaru's eyes lit up in awe. Skyscrapers reached for the heavens, and a translucent dome shielded the entire city like a bubble of glass.
"First time seeing the capital?" the driver asked.
"Yeah. This is insane," Hikaru replied.
"Get used to it. Or don't."
"Don't doubt me. I'm making it in that school whether they like it or not."
"Confident, huh? That's good. You'll need it."
Who is this guy to give me advice? Hikaru thought. Still… he's not wrong.
They approached the city's gate.
"You got the papers?" the driver asked.
"Wouldn't have come without them."
Hikaru gathered his documents: a voucher signed by his uncle, provisional citizenship for the exam period, and his identification. A soldier and officer stepped up to the carriage.
"ID and registration, please," the officer said.
Hikaru handed over the papers. The officer's eyes flicked to the name.
"Siegfried, huh? Tell your uncle I'm a big fan."
"Uh… sure," Hikaru replied.
The officer stamped the documents and handed them back.
"You may pass."
Hikaru exhaled in relief.
"Those guys are kind of scary, huh?" the driver said.
"Not at all," Hikaru scoffed, though his tone betrayed him. The driver chuckled knowingly.
They stopped at a public carriage station near the entrance.
"I'm sticking around until we know if you pass," the driver said. "Might as well get to know each other. I'm Asel. Asel Harbridge."
"Right… I'm Hikaru. But you already knew that."
Asel took off his hat, revealing shoulder-length white hair and steel-gray eyes. Hikaru blinked—he hadn't noticed earlier.
"Hey, can we grab a bite before I check in?" Hikaru asked.
"Sure. Shouldn't fight on an empty stomach, right?"
They walked down the street to a small sandwich shop with a sign that read: Gary's Grubs. The name alone screamed "cheap."
Inside, the shop had a calm, woody interior. They ordered pork sandwiches and found a booth.
Hikaru leaned back, finally starting to settle—but the real challenge was just beginning.
They both sat down at a small wooden table, the rough grain cool under their arms. Hikaru glanced to the side, his green eyes catching the soft morning light filtering through the window. "Nervous?" Asel asked quietly.
"No… just reflecting on how big of a deal this is for me," Hikaru replied, his voice steady but carrying the weight of the moment.
"Good," Asel said with a nod, "but you shouldn't dwell on it too much. All you need to think about is performing. That's what counts."
"You're probably right," Hikaru said, swallowing the lump of nerves in his throat. I need to be prepared for anything they throw at me, he thought firmly.
He took a bite of his sandwich, the pork savory and well-seasoned. "This is pretty good," he said, mouth half-full.
Asel chuckled softly. "You probably shouldn't be eating like that around nobles in the school," he warned with a smirk.
After finishing their quiet meal, the two stood and stepped out onto the bustling streets. The sun had climbed higher, warming the cobblestone and casting long shadows. In the distance, the towering spire of the academy loomed, a beacon of hope and challenge.
Hikaru adjusted the sword strapped across his back, its worn leather strap creaking slightly under his movement. "Let's get this over with," he muttered under his breath.
The walk to the academy was crowded and noisy, filled with the chatter of other hopefuls and the distant calls of street vendors. But as they entered the marble-floored lobby, the noise dulled into a heavy silence, broken only by the soft shuffling of feet.
The walls were pristine white, decorated with deep blue banners that fluttered faintly in the draft. Three long lines stretched before the registration desks, filled with students mostly Hikaru's age, though some appeared older, hardened by years of training.
Asel found a seat among the rows of waiting chairs, while Hikaru joined the line. The atmosphere was thick with tension; the kind that made every breath feel heavier. Hikaru could feel it settle deep in his chest—his own nerves tightening like a steel band.
I have to make it… What if I don't? How will I ever make it? I hope I make it… His thoughts spiraled, each second stretching painfully.
The room was so quiet that he could hear the soft, uneven breathing of those around him. Some trembled visibly, others managed to hold a composed façade.
Minutes crawled by until it was finally Hikaru's turn. "Registration, please," a female clerk demanded briskly.
Hikaru handed over his voucher, watching as she scanned it carefully. She then tucked the papers into a file and slid it into a drawer behind the desk.
"Good luck, Siegfried. Next!" she said without looking up.
Hikaru nodded, a small smile breaking through as he walked back to Asel's side and took a seat. The tension in the room clung to him like a second skin as they waited for the exams to begin.
A melodic tune suddenly echoed through the intercom. "Will participants please proceed to the next room?" a calm female voice announced.
The crowd rose in unison and moved towards the entrance to the next hall. "See you later," Hikaru said quietly to Asel.
Asel nodded and smiled warmly. "Good luck, kid."
Hikaru returned the smile softly. "Yeah, thanks," he replied before joining the others.
The next room resembled a large auditorium, its walls painted a soft yellow that caught the light warmly. Rows of blue seats were lined up neatly to maximize space, with room for nearly a thousand students.
"Please seat yourself wherever you like," the supervisor instructed as Hikaru entered.
He scanned for an empty seat and found one beside a boy who looked to be around his age, with medium-length black hair and striking apple-red eyes.
"Anyone sitting here?" Hikaru asked.
"Nah. It's free game," the boy replied, offering a reassuring smile.
"I'm Hikaru. Hikaru Siegfried, nice to meet you."
"Yeah, I'm Albert Swolvenlis. Nice to meet you too," Albert said, his smile never fading.
Hikaru sat down, his foot tapping subtly against the floor—nervous energy barely contained beneath a calm exterior.
The lights dimmed, and four figures appeared on stage. A tall, slender woman with black hair stepped up to the podium.
"Welcome, applicants, to the entrance examination for the Academy of Blue. My name is Gandol De Violet, and I am the principal of this academy," she began, her voice strong and clear.
"You stand at the threshold of a future few are permitted to glimpse. You were not chosen at random—you were given the chance to prove yourselves. Remember that. This institution does not produce simple magic users. It forges exorcists, leaders, tacticians—survivors."
"We do not care for your bloodline, your name, or your personal beliefs. Only your merit matters here."
"Today, you will be evaluated across five categories: Offensive Capability—your destructive potential and ability to engage in magical combat. Defensive Capability—your aptitude for withstanding pressure, both magical and physical. Control—your precision, restraint, and ability to manage your mana flow effectively. Physicality—your reflexes, endurance, strength, and general athleticism. Mental Composition—your resolve, instinct, intellect, and psychological resilience."
"Each score is measured out of one hundred. In order to be considered for admission, you must score at least sixty in two or more categories. Those who fail to meet this requirement will be dismissed from the academy immediately. Let it be known: your scores will be visible to others. This evaluation is not private, and failure here will not go unnoticed. Some of you will be disappointed. Some of you will be broken."
"But a few of you… will rise."
With a graceful nod, she finished and stepped away as the other three figures followed.
Hikaru felt a bead of sweat slide down his temple. His palms were clammy, and his heart hammered in his chest. This was really happening.
You got this.
His face tightened into a look of resolve. If he was going to perform, it was now. All his training had led to this moment.
"Now we will take you in for a virtual screening. Please follow the instructors," a voice called from the back.
A man in uniform raised his hand, signaling the row forward. Hikaru guessed he was their instructor. They followed him through a tunnel lined with glowing panels.
Rooms filled with Measurement Pods flanked their path. The invention was designed to calculate mental and physical statistics precisely.
"One by one, please select a room," the instructor gestured.
Hikaru moved to the nearest room and stepped inside.
"Now, enter your pods," the instructor ordered.
The pod's glass doors slid open, revealing a half-filled chamber of warm water. Hikaru stepped in carefully, placing his sword on the bench.
"Please remove your clothes," a calm voice from the pod instructed.
Hikaru complied, his skin prickling with unease at the unfamiliar technology.
He lay back and floated in the warm water, the pod humming softly around him. Microparticles and arcane sensors swirled invisibly, scanning him thoroughly.
A drop of sweat slid down his face despite the calm warmth. He closed his eyes and focused on steadying his breath, preparing for the evaluation to begin.
The pod hummed with arcane machinery, its core pulsing faintly as it filtered the dense, viscous mana-water within. The liquid was too warm, too still—like being submerged in a dream. Then, with a soft ping, the light above him shifted to green.
Hikaru's eyes snapped open.
The pod hissed, splitting open with a mechanical click. Water drained away rapidly, and the panel above lifted. Steam coiled out as Hikaru stepped onto the cool metal floor, blinking against the sterilized light.
A towel was already placed by the door. Convenient.
He grabbed it, wiping the lingering moisture from his face and neck, then tousled his dripping hair.
Nice. I bet I look cooler with my hair wet, he thought with a smirk, catching a faint reflection in the nearby glass. It was messy, but gave him a sharp, tired look—like someone who had already fought and survived.
He gave his head a final shake, drying it just enough before dressing. A standard academy uniform waited for him: dark pants, navy tunic with white trims, and a crest over the left chest—the symbol of the Blue Academy.
When he stepped outside the pod chamber, the hallway was still silent. Stark white walls glowed faintly, traced with mana circuits that pulsed with artificially powered energy. No sounds. No footsteps.
Just him—and the instructor, who stood near the exit.
Damn… First one out?
Hikaru stretched his arms behind his head, then slumped down to the floor, sitting with his knees up and arms resting loosely over them. He tapped his finger idly on the tile, letting the quiet fill the space. There was no point in being tense. Not yet.
Eventually, footsteps echoed behind him.
One student emerged. Then another. And then—
Albert.
The boy stepped out of his pod, blinking against the light. His dark hair clung slightly to his forehead, water still dripping off his collar.
"Hikaru?" Albert said, testing the name on his tongue like it was unfamiliar.
"Yeah," Hikaru replied, not bothering to stand until the instructor moved.
At last, the instructor turned and began to walk. Hikaru rose, brushing off his pants, and followed. Albert matched his stride.
"You nervous so far?" Albert asked casually, his tone too friendly to be genuine.
Hikaru didn't glance at him. "Not really. There's nothing to be afraid of."
That wasn't totally true. But he didn't feel like giving this guy any more than that.
Why does he care so much? Hikaru thought, side-eyeing him. Is he trying to make friends? We don't even know if we're gonna make it yet.
They stopped at a large metal door. The instructor placed a hand on the panel beside it, and it hissed open with a smooth slide.
"Beyond this door is your offensive and defensive evaluation," he said. "You will be tested against Fighting Evaluation Mechs."
Hikaru raised a brow. Mechs?
He adjusted the sword on his back slightly as they stepped inside.
The room beyond was massive—an expansive training chamber separated into sections by reinforced glass and mana-barriers. Inside each section stood a mech: humanoid in form, sleek and silver, with glowing joints and dense sensor nodes across their frames.
Each evaluation cell contained a rack with mana sabers—swordless hilts that, when activated, projected a blade made entirely of condensed artificial mana. The sabers glowed with different frequencies, low enough to avoid real injury but solid enough to deliver proper resistance and feedback on strike.
Hikaru watched the mechs move in demonstration battles, observing how they adapted. But something was off.
No pattern. No rhythm. They didn't just react—they learned.
He narrowed his eyes.
As the previous group finished and the sterilizing mist was flushed from the air, the instructor called names. Hikaru was one of the first.
He stepped into his evaluation chamber, shutting the door behind him. The air inside was slightly warmer, the lighting stark. He unstrapped his real sword and leaned it against the wall, picking up one of the sabers from the rack.
Hummmm… The mana saber activated in his hand, casting a soft blue glow as the blade flickered to life.
"Your evaluation begins in 3… 2… 1…"
Chime.
The mech's eyes flared gold.
It lunged.
Hikaru barely had a second before the machine crossed the distance, arm raised in a strike. He shifted low, sidestepped, and met the attack with a clean diagonal slash—
RED.
A thin line blinked across the mech's chest where the saber had grazed.
The mech recalibrated. No hesitation. It swept its arm out horizontally in retaliation.
Hikaru ducked under, spun, and delivered an upward strike to the joint—
RED.
Another light—this time along the arm.
The mech paused for half a second, then adjusted stance. Twin blades extended from both arms now—mana constructs forming from its wrists. It switched to a dual-saber form.
It came at him again.
Fast.
Each blow was precise and heavy, the sabers clashing in sparks of artificial light. Every strike came with realistic feedback through the hilt—shocks through Hikaru's forearms. It was like fighting a real opponent.
He deflected, pivoted, backstepped—but it was adapting faster than he liked.
The mech went high with both sabers, preparing for a cleaving strike.
Hikaru slid low beneath it, using the mech's own momentum against it, then rose with a spinning uppercut of mana—
RED. RED.
Two lights across the shoulders.
From the observation booth above, a group of instructors stood behind tinted glass. One leaned closer, reviewing the data on the monitor.
"Advanced footwork… The mech had to switch protocols mid-fight," the examiner muttered. "That one's not standard."
Back inside, the mech's AI entered its final mode: Pressure Loop.
Its speed increased. Footwork became aggressive. Strikes came in rapid succession, meant to break stamina and rhythm. Hikaru gritted his teeth, his movements sharper now—but slower to respond.
His grip started to ache.
The next strike nearly clipped his temple. He blocked it with both arms and staggered back.
No. I'm not done yet.
For a split second, the veins on his arms glowed faintly—mana stirring deeper. He parried the next blow with a sudden shift in angle, pushing inside the mech's guard.
He twisted his hips. Countered with a riposte—
RED.
A glowing line slashed across the mech's chest.
The machine froze. A confirmation chime sounded.
"Evaluation complete."
Hikaru let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He lowered the saber, letting it flicker out, and glanced at his fingers—still steady, though tingling with residual strain.
He sat for a moment on the floor, catching his breath.
Once the other students completed their battles, they gathered again near the instructor. One by one, they reformed into formation.
"This next phase," the instructor announced, "will evaluate your control over mana."
Hikaru's stomach tightened slightly.
Control, huh…? Shouldn't be too bad.
They moved into a side room—cooler, darker. The walls were covered in mana-insulating glyphs. At the center stood a massive crystal orb, suspended in air, rotating slowly. It glowed with a deep violet hue.
"This is the Mana Orb," the instructor said. "Your task is to channel mana into it at a perfectly consistent rate. You will be scored based on your ability to maintain control while environmental conditions fluctuate."
He tapped a console.
"Expect cold. Heat. Noise. Pressure. And silence. Begin when called."
"Siegfried, go on," he said.
Hikaru stepped up to the orb and lifted up his hands, then started pouring in his mana. Without the changes, it was smooth sailing. Then, it was cold. But nothing a little country boy couldn't handle.
Until it was really cold.
Hikaru's hands started to tremble as he noticed his mana circuits dimming a bit. Things were about to go very bad—until they switched it to hot. Hikaru was pretty immune to heat, until it reached 120 degrees Fahrenheit. His position shifted; his mana frequency felt shaky, like it was increasing—and he was still, still, still decreasing each inch of his heartbeat.
"Gah!" He struggled. Every second felt like a minute, until…
The heat was gone.
If that had gone any longer, I would've lost it, he whispered under his breath.
Noises started playing on the speaker. This one was particularly easy—he had gotten yelled at by Merleone, which was probably about hundreds of decibels loud. Quiet was nothing; he could actually get used to it. And with stress, the instructor cast a hypnotic spell that put him under the pressure of stress.
"This is nothing…" he thought.
After a few seconds, Hikaru was done.
Sigh. A sigh of relief.
"Nice job, Siegfried," the instructor congratulated him.
Hikaru thought that probably meant he did good. He sat down and watched the others go, thinking about his performance.
I can't tell if I did good, he thought.
After the others were done, they had finally been able to finish the evaluation. They left the crystal orb chamber, back into the lobby.
There were twelve other groups that were done, meaning that his group was the second to last.
Shortly after, the last group finished, and they were all now sitting down.
"In the middle of the room will be the names of those who made it, and the scores of each. But first, let us name the top three scorers…"
"Number three, Ray Amaru. Number two, Rika Miku. And number one, Charlotte Enbloom."
The room was then filled with clapping.
Hikaru bit his lip. Now he knew it was down to this board—he had to get over 60 on two of his statistics.
"The board will now be presented."
Everyone circled around the middle, where the board rose from the floor in a quiet, mechanical hiss. A glowing display of names shimmered into view, ranked from top to bottom.
Hikaru stepped forward, weaving through shoulders and chatter, trying to find a clear line of sight.
He looked for his name—maybe he wasn't top ten. That was fine. He hadn't expected to be.
He scanned downward.
Not top twenty either.
Still nothing by thirty.
His heartbeat picked up. The noise of the crowd started to feel distant, muffled under the pressure rising in his chest.
What if I failed?
He blinked, eyes narrowing as he moved down the list.
Forty-five… fifty-two… sixty-one…
Still nothing.
No. I trained for this. I bled for this. I didn't come this far to go home.
His stomach twisted as he reached the lower third of the board.
Sixty-seven. Sixty-eight. Seventy-two…
Then—
74 Hikaru Siegfried.
The name glowed faintly. Small. Forgettable. But it was there.
He exhaled sharply, unaware he'd been holding his breath. Relief and shame fought in his chest like wild animals. He had made it—but barely.
Around him, others cheered. Some cried. Others stared in stunned silence. Hikaru didn't move.
He passed. But just high enough to matter and low enough to be ignored.
A whisper ran through the crowd.
"Who's Siegfried?"
"Probably some fluke…"
But Hikaru wasn't listening anymore. He didn't care what they thought.
Because he knew one thing—
74 is still inside. And now that he was in…
They'd all remember his name.