Chapter 14: The Prelude to Chaos.
The hours slipped by like shadows in the dimly lit halls of Ragandarok Academy. The students, each confined to their quarters, passed the time in their own ways. Some trained relentlessly, their bodies drenched in sweat as they honed their skills. Others buried themselves in ancient tomes, their eyes scanning pages filled with secrets of the arcane. A few slept, their minds drifting into dreams of triumph or failure, while others sat in silence, their thoughts consumed by the looming examination. The air was thick with anticipation, a silent storm brewing beneath the surface.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the academy's grand courtyard came alive with the soft glow of lanterns, their light fueled by shimmering particles of Minema. The courtyard was vast, its expanse dominated by a raised wooden platform and rows of seats—250 in total—each one occupied by a hopeful candidate. Despite the sheer number of participants, the atmosphere was unnervingly quiet, as though the weight of the upcoming trial had stolen their voices.
Then, breaking the silence, the sound of footsteps echoed through the courtyard. All eyes turned to the platform, where a man emerged, his presence commanding immediate attention. He was dressed in an elegant brown suit, his light brown hair and matching eyes catching the lantern light. His fair skin and composed demeanor gave him an air of sophistication, but there was something unsettling about the way he carried himself—a calculated grace that hinted at something far more dangerous.
The students exchanged glances, their thoughts converging on a single question: *Who is this dandy, and what is he doing on the stage?*
The man smiled, his voice calm yet piercing. "Good evening, everyone. I am the headmaster of Ragandarok Academy, the most prestigious institution in the world."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. This man—this *fashionable* man—was their headmaster? They had expected a grizzled veteran, a figure of raw power and authority, not someone who looked like he belonged on a runway. The headmaster continued, his tone measured. "You're probably wondering why I've gathered you here tonight, a full day before the examination. The answer is simple. My predecessor wasted valuable time on the day of the exam explaining the rules. I, however, believe in efficiency. Tonight, you will learn everything you need to know to survive tomorrow."
A student in the front row, a bespectacled boy with short brown hair, raised his hand. His voice was calm but laced with skepticism. "Excuse me, Headmaster, but isn't this tantamount to leaking the exam? If we already know the questions, how can it be called a test?"
The headmaster's gaze shifted to the boy, his smile never wavering. "And your name is?"
"Fujito Ryuji," the boy replied without hesitation.
"Ryuji," the headmaster said, his tone almost playful, "every student here begins with three points. You've just lost one. Speak out of turn again, and you'll lose another. And let me make this clear: if your points reach zero, you will be disqualified immediately. You are here to listen, not to debate."
Ryuji's body stiffened, his face pale. The message was clear: dissent would not be tolerated. The other students exchanged uneasy glances, the reality of their situation sinking in. They had no rights here—only the privilege of silence.
The headmaster continued, his voice steady. "As I was saying, I've made significant changes to the academy's rules in the past three years. One of those changes is the structure of the entrance exam. This year, the rules will be revealed in advance, giving you the entire night to strategize. After all, war without planning is nothing but suicide."
His words resonated with many of the students, earning their reluctant respect. He was a man who valued intellect and preparation, traits they could admire even in their unease.
"Last year," the headmaster went on, "nearly 500 candidates took the exam. This year, there are only 243 of you. But make no mistake—the competition will be fiercer than ever. Only 30 of you will succeed."
The courtyard erupted in murmurs, the students' anxiety palpable. The headmaster raised a hand, and silence fell once more. "Let me explain how the exam works. Each of you starts with three points. To pass, you must accumulate ten points. How do you gain points, you ask? Simple. You fight. Every punch, every kick—each successful strike earns you a point. But beware: every time you're hit, you lose a point. If your points reach zero, you're out. Weapons are allowed, but only strikes with fists or feet will count toward your score. Use your swords, your spears, whatever you have—but remember, the only way to win is through direct combat."
The students exchanged wary glances, the weight of the headmaster's words settling over them like a shroud. This wasn't just a test of skill; it was a battle of survival.
"The exam will take place in the academy's outer arena," the headmaster continued. "You will all be thrown into the fray at once. No teams, no alliances—just you against everyone else. The last 30 standing will earn their place at Ragandarok."
The murmurs grew louder, the students' fear and disbelief bubbling to the surface. "Is he serious?" one whispered. "We're supposed to fight *everyone*?"
The headmaster's voice cut through the noise like a blade. "I don't recall inviting flies to this gathering. Shall I start deducting points en masse?"
The students fell silent, their fear of the headmaster outweighing their panic. He smiled, satisfied. "One more thing. Two of you—Fulan Nanimo and Akira Denki—used your Menma abilities earlier today. That is strictly prohibited. As punishment, you will begin the exam with only one point each. One misstep, and you're out."
Akira's face paled, his mind racing. *How did he know? Were we being watched?* Fulan, however, remained calm, his expression unreadable. He had already pieced together the truth: the exam had begun the moment they stepped foot in the academy. Every action, every word, was being monitored.
The headmaster's final words hung in the air like a death sentence. "The candies you ate this morning contained Menma particles. They allow us to track your movements and detect the use of your abilities. Consider this a warning: any further disobedience will result in immediate disqualification. That is all. You are dismissed. We meet again at nine tomorrow morning. Good luck."
As the students filed out of the courtyard, their minds were a whirlwind of thoughts. Some plotted strategies, others sought alliances, and a few, like Fulan, retreated to their rooms, their resolve unshaken.
Akira approached Fulan, his voice low. "So, your name is Fulan Nanimo."
Fulan didn't slow his pace. "If you have nothing important to say, I suggest you find someone else to bother."
Akira quickened his steps to keep up. "I get it. You're angry because you lost points because of me. But that's exactly why I want to talk. Fulan, I told you before—I want to fight you. But I don't want to be disqualified. Help me get through this exam."
Fulan stopped, his gaze cold. "You're asking the wrong person. I can't even guarantee my own success. How am I supposed to help you?"
Akira smiled faintly. "That's the point. We're in the same boat. One hit, and we're out. If we watch each other's backs, we might just make it."
Fulan's expression didn't change. "And why should I trust you to protect me? What's to stop you from taking my points for yourself?"
Akira opened his mouth to respond, but Fulan cut him off. "Save your breath. I'm not in the business of trusting strangers. I'll pass this exam on my own. My advice? Stay out of my way tomorrow. If you don't, I won't hesitate to take your points."
With that, Fulan entered his room, leaving Akira standing in the hallway, his face a mask of frustration and uncertainty.
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