May 29th, 2047 – Crimson Vale Academy, 8:04 AM
The courtyard buzzed with life.
Students, old and new, spilled from sleek black buses like ants from a nest—uniformed, polished, and carefully curated. Laughter echoed. Bags rolled. Shoes tapped against the polished stone floor.
But Kairon walked through the chaos like a ghost.
Calm. Unbothered. Present, yet unseen.
His eyes scanned the towering structure ahead—Crimson Vale Academy. Gothic spires, glass-paneled walls, and a massive crest carved into the front gates. Elegant, intimidating, and cold.
He adjusted the collar of his coat as the wind tugged at the hem.
"This place smells like ambition."
His voice was soft, barely audible. Not that anyone was listening.
A voice crackled from hidden speakers above the archway.
"Attention first years. Report to the main hall for orientation. Do not wander."
Kairon turned his gaze forward. The sea of students began to move.
He didn't rush.
Instead, he watched.
A group of students passed by laughing too loud—overcompensating.
Another walked alone, glancing around, unsure—hiding anxiety with confidence.
Two girls whispered, their eyes darting—judging already.
Kairon blinked slowly.
"Masks. Everyone's already wearing theirs."
Someone bumped into him. A tall guy, broad-shouldered, clearly older.
"Watch it," the senior said coldly.
Kairon looked up at him. Unblinking. Silent.
Then… walked away.
Not because he was afraid.
But because it wasn't worth the energy.
The main hall was massive—arched ceilings, glowing chandeliers, and pillars lined with student banners. It looked less like a school and more like a government building.
First-years gathered in rows, all dressed the same, but none truly alike.
Kairon stood near the back, hands in his coat pockets, eyes half-lidded. He wasn't nervous. He wasn't excited. He was just… here.
A sharp click echoed as heels tapped onto the stage.
A woman stepped forward—tall, strict, with short black hair and silver-rimmed glasses. Her coat was lined with gold.
"Welcome to Crimson Vale Academy," she began, her voice crisp and echoing. "I am Instructor Ravel, head of first-year discipline."
No applause. No greetings. Just silence.
"This is not a place for dreams. It is a place for results."
"Here, you will be tested. Ranked. Judged. Not by teachers, but by your peers."
Whispers rose.
"Your dorms, meals, and privileges will all be decided by your performance. Fall too far behind…"
She paused, smiling slightly.
"…and you might wish you never enrolled."
Kairon's golden eyes didn't flinch. If anything, he looked bored.
"Same system. Different uniform."
"Let the evaluation begin."
A sudden chime echoed through the hall.
Dozens of drones flew in through hidden vents—sleek black spheres with blinking blue lights. They hovered above the students, scanning one by one.
BEEP
BEEP
SCAN COMPLETE
A screen blinked to life behind Instructor Ravel, names and ranks appearing in real-time.
[Initial Assessment: Provisional Rankings]
1. Kiryuu Alen – Class A
2. Elise Thornhart – Class A
3. Nero Velden – Class B
...
4. Arlen Voss – Class C
...
5. Kairon Vale – Class D
Students turned. Murmurs spread.
"Who's that guy?"
"Class D? Seriously?"
"He looks like he doesn't even care."
But Kairon didn't react.
Not even a blink.
Because class rankings... were temporary.
And no one ever notices the quiet ones—until it's too late.
Instructor Ravel snaps her fingers as a digital panel appears in front of the students .
The digital screen buzzed.
Rows of names shifted into clean columns—neatly sorted beneath bold headers.
Platinum. Gold. Silver. Bronze.
And then, at the very bottom, in a darker shade:
Obsidian.
A hushed murmur rippled through the hall.
"Obsidian?" someone whispered.
It wasn't a rank. It was a label.
Instructor Ravel stepped forward. Her dark heels clicked in perfect rhythm against the polished stone floor. She scanned the crowd with sharp eyes—bored, efficient, and utterly in control.
"For those of you struggling to keep up—let me explain."
The projector shifted, displaying the academy's emblem system:
---
Crimson Vale Academy Provisional Rank System
Platinum Rank – Top 1%, elite thinkers and leaders.
Badge: Silver phoenix on black.
Gold Rank – High-performing, consistent students.
Badge: Golden lion on white.
Silver Rank – Average or slightly above average.
Badge: Silver wolf on navy.
Bronze Rank – Underachievers or those on probation.
Badge: Bronze crow on red.
Obsidian Rank – Provisional failures. Labeled as unremarkable. Unfit. Unseen.
No badge. Instead, the symbol is stitched directly into your uniform.
A cracked black fang surrounded by faded ash.
---
A hand went up near the center of the crowd.
"Ma'am, how were these ranks assigned?"
Instructor Ravel didn't pause.
"Based on your entry exam scores—written, psychological, and behavioral analysis. Nothing random. No emotion. Just data."
A few students looked shaken.
Another asked, "What does the rank affect exactly?"
"Everything that matters," she replied coolly.
"Class schedules. Project groups. Instructor attention. Library permissions."
She turned to the screen once more.
"And yes—social standing. Naturally."
A brief pause, then she added:
"We don't have a dining hall here. There's a cafeteria—open to all."
"You're free to buy what you want… but let's be honest."
Her eyes glinted.
"People rarely eat with those they consider beneath them."
You all should move to your classes as you will all meet your class teachers.
Uneasy silence. Shuffling feet. Nervous glances.
Some already looked at the Obsidian column like it was contagious.
Kairon didn't blink.
He glanced down at his coat. The thread was subtle—black on crimson—but it was there. Not a medal, not a choice. Stitched into the fabric like a scar only the observant would see.
Permanent. Marked. Watching.
A few students were already whispering and pointing.
But Kairon?
He adjusted his collar, his golden eyes calm, detached.
"So this is how they categorize worth."
He turned, watching the others file out.
"Let them. I'm not here to fit in anyway."
As he walked toward the classroom, he passed students still staring at the screen.
Their badges gleamed.
His thread didn't.
Kairon's boots echoed down the hallway—clean, quiet, clinical. Marble walls lined with digital signs and security cameras watched silently from every corner. As he passed, he noticed students whispering by lockers, others staring at him when they saw the Obsidian thread stitched on his chest. Most looked away just as quickly.
He didn't slow down.
After a few turns, he reached a door at the far end of the hall. Above it, glowing faintly in red text:
Class 1-D
He tilted his head slightly.
"D-class... Of course."
The door slid open with a mechanical hiss.
Inside, sunlight pooled lazily through the tall windows. The desks were standard, nothing fancy. The smell of cleaning agents still lingered faintly in the air. A group of students sat scattered across the room—some chatting in low tones, others with their heads down, catching a few minutes of rest before the day officially began.
No one looked particularly excited to be there.
Kairon stepped in, his presence unnoticed by most, and made his way to the very back—by the window.
The glass was slightly fogged with the morning chill, just like the bus earlier.
He slid into his seat silently, dropping his bag to the floor. Elbows on the desk, chin resting in one hand, he glanced around at his new classmates—some already marked with that same black fang on their coats.
So this is the losers' class, huh.
He didn't say it aloud. Just thought it, calmly.
His golden eyes narrowed slightly—not with contempt, but with something colder.
A detached kind of curiosity.
The kind predators had when watching a herd.