---
The host coughed—a soft, cracking sound like paper breaking under too much weight. It sliced through the silence Cale had left hanging, but no one seemed to notice. Maybe they were too busy pretending this whole thing was normal.
"Thank you, Cadet Ashblood, for your... heartfelt words," the host managed, stretching a smile across his face. It didn't fit. It was the kind of smile you wear when you're pretending to be someone you're not.
Heartfelt words. Yeah, right.
I zoned out for a second, and my mind wandered. I focused on something that didn't make sense—Cale Ashblood's status window.
[[[ Status Window
Name: Cale Ashblood
Age: 18
Race: Human
Rank: D
Title: The Regressor, Ash of the End, He Who Burns Alone, Heir of Akashic Record
Supporting Constellation: Unknown
Stigma: Regression
Personal Attributes:
1. Seeker's Eye 2. Sword of the End
---
Statistics:
Strength: 28 | Stamina: 26 | Speed: 23
Perception: 28 | Health: 30 | Magic Power: 29
Perseverance: 90 | Luck: 91 | Charm: 80
---
Remarks:
A broken hero, cursed by the past, forever chasing a salvation that slips away with each new dawn. ]]]
"..."
I rubbed my eyes. That wasn't what I expected. Cale Ashblood's stats were already pushing past what a normal human should have. Hell, they were beyond it. Strength, stamina, speed—yeah, that made sense.
The usual protagonist stuff. But charm? Eighty? Even the most popular heroine in this story couldn't get close to that. And luck? How much luck can one guy have? Cale wasn't just lucky; he was practically invincible.
Of course. Of course, it was all part of the damn script. His status was probably locked in place, maxed out. Hell, even his perseverance was as high as it could go. The guy's too stubborn for his own good. And luck? The universe had already decided his fate. No surprises there.
And then, like it was nothing, the host called up the next cadet to deal with the mess left behind.
"Next, our Second-Rank Cadet—Rayne Valestorm."
Rayne stood up, slow, deliberate, like a storm gathering in the distance. You could practically feel the anger smoldering behind his golden eyes, like he wanted to rip through the air with the same force he'd used to carve pride into his face. He'd always been the best. Always.
But now, someone else wore that crown. Someone had taken his place.
Cale Ashblood. A name that tasted bitter, even when you didn't say it aloud.
Rayne didn't care about formality. Didn't care about rules. He didn't even care about rankings, not really. His words cut through the air, sharp, angry.
"I don't care about rules. Or rankings. I know what I'm worth—and anyone who thinks otherwise..." His gaze flicked toward Cale, sharp as a knife. "...can step up and prove it."
The auditorium didn't cheer. It didn't do anything. The only sound was the low hum of tension, thick and heavy, like the air was too dense to breathe.
Short. Harsh. Done.
The classic rival. The one who couldn't accept being second. Always the one with something to prove.
Yeah, I remember. In the upcoming arc of the novel, Rayne's not really going to get anywhere. In the end, he'll become a demonic human because he can't beat Cale fairly on his own. No surprise. It's hard to beat someone like Cale when reality itself seems to bend just to keep him on top.
Not that it matters; he's the second most hated character of mine in this novel, but still, to get a happy ending in this damn ruined story, he must survive at least the later arcs. I have some plans for him.
The host swallowed what he wanted to say, forced another smile, and moved on.
"Our Third-Rank Cadet—Eris Moonlight."
She stood up, fragile like something trapped between the pages of a book, the kind of prayer you only half-remember. Blue hair veiled her face, shoulders trembling—not from fear, but from something heavier. Something like devotion turned to stone.
"I'll... do my best," she whispered, her voice barely a breath, but it didn't matter.
"..."
I can't say anything about it; I have no words.
It wasn't shyness. Not really. It was something else. Something deeper. Eris Moonlight was the heroine of this story, but not in the way you'd want her to be.
She was doomed. Doomed to love a man who'd never be hers. Even after 999 regressions, she was stuck, revolving around Cale like some kind of... never mind.
Her eyes locked on him for a second. Maybe it was just me, but there was a flicker of hope buried deep down inside her—quiet and desperate.
But it didn't matter. Nothing ever did.
And then the host sighed, the kind of sigh that could be heard by the stars.
The sky above us dimmed.
It wasn't natural. The way it shifted. Like the world itself was bending around something that didn't belong. Something too big to ignore.
And then he was there.
Dean Aziroth, the Skyfather.
A name heavy enough to crush the air out of your lungs. One of the thirteen Pillars of the Celestial Assembly.
He didn't walk. One second, there was nothing. The next, he was just there, like the universe decided it couldn't live without him anymore. His draconian armor gleamed, his long coat hanging like a crown in disguise.
He raised a hand, and everything went still. The world went quiet, holding its breath.
"Cadets," his voice slid through the air like a whisper, but it felt like a command. "Welcome."
It wasn't warm. It wasn't kind. It was just... final.
"You are not special. Not yet."
There it was—the words that broke something in the crowd. You could feel it in the silence. The shattered dreams, the broken pieces of what they thought they were.
"Fate is cruel. And here, even survival must be earned."
The way he said it, like it was the only truth that mattered. The weight of it crushed every expectation. Every hope. And just like that, he was done. No more words. No promises.
He didn't need to say anything else.
The screens flickered to life above us, blue-white and humming with ancient calculations that no one could ever hope to understand. The ranks appeared, flickering and changing as they processed us into neat little categories.
I didn't expect much. And I was right.
#9001/10000.
Expected of an extra, huh? I can hardly get this rank.
And then came the real test. The real judgment.
The Class Assignments.
Six classes: Aegis, Ignis, Umbra, Astra, Tempestus, Titan. The Gate of Fate would decide where we belonged. Not some committee. Not even gods. Just the Gate, older than time, older than myth. It didn't care about the version you showed the world. It cared about something deeper. Something you couldn't hide.
And then it came.
[[ Aegis Class. ]]
Aegis. The same class as the "hero," the "rival," and the "heroine."
What the hell? Is this gate broken or something?
I stared at the screen, the weight of it hanging on my chest. The Gate of Fate had made its decision, but it sure didn't seem like it had any idea what it was doing.
The sky returned to its indifferent blue. The host made a few final remarks, a few encouraging words about survival rates and dormitories, and dismissed us like we were just another group of faces in a crowd.
The ceremony was over. Now the main story starts, huh?
---
Author's Note:
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