A young girl stepped into the room, no more than seventeen or eighteen years old. A blue overcoat rested neatly over a fitted suit striped in black and blue—an ensemble that closely resembled an academy uniform.
"All blue…?" she murmured under her breath.
The moment she crossed the threshold, her gaze shifted.
It landed on Rodrigo.
The atmosphere changed instantly. The temperature seemed to drop, and an invisible pressure flooded the room, tightening like a drawn wire.
Derick noticed it at once. Something was wrong.
Following her line of sight, he turned—just in time to see Rodrigo staring back at her, eyes blazing, fangs fully bared in a feral snarl.
Neither moved.
Neither spoke.
Yet the clash between them was unmistakable—a silent, violent confrontation crackling through the air, as if the room itself were caught between two predators sizing each other up.
Rodrigo spat onto the floor and sneered.
"Who brought a dog to a gathering of noble men?"
The insult hit its mark.
The girl standing in the doorway stiffened, her expression darkening as fury surged to the surface. Her teeth lengthened into sharp fangs, her features warping—cheekbones sharpening, eyes gleaming with a feral glow as her face began to take on the unmistakable contours of a wolf.
A low growl rumbled from her throat as she leaned forward, muscles coiling, ready to strike.
But before she could move—
An arm settled firmly on her shoulder.
The pressure was light, yet absolute.
She froze mid-motion, breath hitching as the presence behind her reined in her rage, stopping the attack just moments before it could be unleashed.
Derick followed the restraining arm to its owner.
It belonged to a young man—despite his composed demeanor, he was likely only in his early twenties. He was tall and strikingly handsome, though there was something unmistakably feral about him. His sharp features bore a strong resemblance to the girl's, as if they shared the same bloodline. Even his eyes carried the same predatory glint, though his was carefully leashed behind a calm smile.
He rested his hand gently on the girl's shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring.
"Honey," he said softly, his voice low, almost a whisper meant only for her, "why lose your cool over something so trivial?"
The girl stiffened but did not pull away.
He leaned closer, his smile never fading, though his eyes hardened just a fraction.
"If you keep letting your temper run wild," he continued quietly, "the family head might one day decide to send you to the Pit."
The words were spoken gently but themelodic, but the underlying warning was unmistakable.
The girl slowly straightened, her tense posture relaxing as the wolfish features faded, returning her face to its natural form.
"Go on, introduce yourself to your new friends," the handsome young man murmured, his voice calm but firm. "We wouldn't want them seeing us in a bad light."
Layla stepped forward, bowing gracefully as she addressed the people in the room. "My name is Layla, from the Vishun Clan."
"Rui Yan, Dragon Spirit Clan," came a reply.
"Dillard, Dragon Spirit Clan," another voice followed.
Derick inclined his head slightly. "Derick McCall."
Rodrigo leaned back slightly, a confident smirk playing across his face. "Rodrigo, fifth prince of Vermillion Castle. Never thought a princess from the strongest werewolf clan could be so… easily riled," he said, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
A middle-aged man stepped into the room, his hair neatly styled to the left, the Dragon Spirit Clan crest pinned prominently on the left side of his uniform. He clapped his hands sharply, drawing the attention of everyone present successfully. "Time to head out," he announced.
Rallying the candidates, he guided them toward another section of the reception area.
Outside, countless passenger spacecraft moved back and forth like a swarm of busy bees, ferrying people between the reception hall and the trial venue.
All the trial candidates followed the man, walking along the boarding aisle in orderly formation. Layla lingered slightly behind, exchanging a quiet farewell with her companion before falling in step with the group.
Flashing their identification watches to the staff overseeing the spacecraft, the candidates were verified and allowed to board.
They waited as the vessel slowly filled. Inside, the spacecraft contained 230 seats, arranged in pairs along both sides, much like an airplane. Yet despite its capacity, only about forty people occupied it, leaving plenty of empty space.
The spacecraft lifted off, breaking free from the planet's gravity. Below, the reception area shrank quickly, until it was nothing more than a tiny white dot in empty space
Rui Yan nudged Dillard gently. "Wake me when we reach the venue," she murmured, closing her eyes and letting herself drift into sleep.
Derick sat alone toward the rear of the cabin, absorbed in his communication device, when a familiar voice spoke from beside him:
"Hey, can I sit here with you?"
Derick turned to see Layla standing beside him, a bright, unapologetic smile on her face.
"You may," he replied evenly, gesturing to the empty seat.
She dropped into it with an exaggerated sigh, then leaned subtly closer. Her nose twitched once… then twice.
"…Huh."
Derick shot her a sideways glance. "What?"
"You smell like one of my kin," she said lightly, eyes sparkling with amusement.
"No, I don't," Derick replied at once, rubbing his temple. "I'm definitely not."
Layla laughed softly. "Oh? Confident, aren't you?" She leaned back, studying him openly. "Because my nose says otherwise. And my nose is very rarely wrong."
"I'm from completely humble origins Derick said flatly.
"Mmm," she hummed, unconvinced. "Then that makes it even more interesting. Which clan are you from? Family branch? Hidden lineage?" She tilted her head, grin widening. "Or are you the mysterious one I haven't met yet?"
Derick blinked. I am only somewhat affiliated with the Dragon Spirit Clan," and
"The mysterious one?"
She leaned closer again. "Don't tell me—you really don't know?"
"I don't know who," he replied.
Layla stared at him for a long moment… then suddenly burst into a laugh.
"Wow," she said, shaking her head. "Either you're an incredible liar, or my senses are playing tricks on me today." She waved a hand dismissively, eyes dancing. "Guess I'm overthinking things."
She turned her gaze forward, still smiling to herself.
"But just so you know," she added casually, "if my nose turns out to be right later… I'm claiming bragging rights." Hahaha.
....…
Several hours later, the spacecraft began its descent.
There was no turbulence, no violent shaking—only a subtle shift in pressure that pulled Derick gently from his thoughts. Outside the viewport, Sundra Planet did not grow larger.
Instead, a colossal silhouette emerged.
A fortress-like spaceship hung in orbit, vast enough to blot out the stars behind it. Its hull was layered with reinforced plating etched in unfamiliar sigils, neither clan nor academy markings visible anywhere. Streams of smaller vessels moved in and out of its docking bays with military precision.
"This is it," someone whispered nearby.
The spacecraft aligned seamlessly and slid into one of the docking corridors. A low hum reverberated through the cabin as magnetic clamps engaged.
Clang.
The doors unlocked.
Stepping out, the candidates were greeted not by clan attendants—but by order.
Rows of personnel stood waiting, dressed in immaculate butler-style uniforms of deep black and silver. Each bore a single crest pinned over the left breastplate: a stylized crown encircled by seven stars.
The emblem of the central government.
Caelum Rex's people.
The air felt… different.
Sharper. Heavier.
Gone was the subtle flexibility of clan hospitality. In its place stood absolute neutrality—cold, efficient, unquestionable.
A tall attendant stepped forward, his posture flawless, hands folded behind his back.
"Welcome, candidates," he said calmly, his voice carrying effortlessly across the dock.
"You are now aboard the Aegis Rest Vessel, a government-controlled zone."
His gaze swept over them—not lingering, not judging, merely recording.
"From this point onward, all trial-related procedures fall under the jurisdiction of the Central Authority. Clan influence ends here."
The words landed like a quiet decree.
Some candidates stiffened. Others swallowed nervously.
Derick felt it too—the invisible line being drawn.
"No favoritism," the attendant continued. "No intervention. No exceptions."
A pause.
"Your accommodations have been assigned. You will rest, recover, and await further instructions. The Trial will begin at dawn."
He gestured, and the line of attendants split cleanly into two, revealing a long corridor of white-lit pathways extending deep into the vessel.
"As a reminder," the man added evenly, "any violation of conduct within this ship will be judged directly by government arbiters."
No threats. No raised voice.
Yet the warning carried more weight than any shout.
Layla leaned slightly toward Derick, lowering her voice. "Well," she murmured, eyes flicking briefly to the crest on the man's chest, "looks like the fun part's over."
Derick exhaled slowly.
Or maybe, he thought, it was just beginning.