Chapter 1: The First Day

Chapter 1: The First Day

The blaring screech of the alarm clock shattered the remains of Chrites's dream.

He groaned, throwing a heavy arm over his face before blindly smacking the snooze button. The sudden silence was a relief, but the damage was already done. Tossing the thick blankets aside, he dragged himself out of bed, his bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor. He stumbled into the bathroom, turning the faucet as far to the right as it would go. A quick, freezing shower shocked the remaining sleep out of his system, leaving him shivering but fully awake.

Standing in front of the fogged-up mirror, he wiped away the condensation and ran a towel through his damp, pitch-black hair. He didn't bother grabbing a comb, just letting the wet strands fall into a casually messy state over his forehead. He stared at his reflection for a long moment—just messy dark hair and perfectly dull blue eyes staring back.

Good, he thought, adjusting his posture. Bedhead works perfectly. Don't stand up too straight. Look tired. Look average.

He walked back into his bedroom and threw on the academy uniform that had been hanging on his closet door for a week. It consisted of a crisp white dress shirt, a stiff red tie that he left slightly loose, dark trousers, and the official navy-blue student coat of the Grovics Magical Warfare Unit. He grabbed his scabbard off the desk, making sure the simple, black-hilted sword was securely fastened at his hip. He didn't draw the blade. He just made sure it was seated right, then grabbed his heavy school bag and bolted downstairs.

The smell of fried eggs, sizzling meat, and burnt toast filled the kitchen. The television in the living room was quietly broadcasting the morning news, talking about local elections in the Grovics continent. His dad was already sitting at the small dining table, swiping through an article on his datapad while sipping black coffee. His older brother leaned casually against the kitchen counter, wearing his own work clothes, loudly chewing on a green apple.

"Morning," Chrites mumbled, sliding into a wooden chair. He reached out, grabbed a piece of slightly burnt toast from the center plate, and started eating like a starving wolf.

His older brother smirked, tossing the apple core perfectly into the trash can across the room. "Whoa, slow down there, vacuum cleaner. You're gonna choke before you even make it to the entrance exam. Would be a real shame to fail because of a piece of bread."

"Leave your brother alone," his mom scolded lightly, walking over from the stove and setting a massive plate of eggs and sausage in front of Chrites. She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners with warmth. "You just make sure you eat enough, Chrites. It's a big day. You need your energy for the physical tests."

Chrites nodded rapidly, his mouth completely full, and gave her a thumbs-up. He practically inhaled the meal, barely chewing before swallowing, chugged a tall glass of orange juice to wash it down, and jumped up from his chair.

"Alright, Mom, Dad, I'm heading out!" Chrites called out, already half-way down the hallway toward the front door.

"Do your best on your first day, my son!" his mother yelled from the kitchen, her voice full of pride. "And please don't get into any trouble!"

"I won't!"

Chrites pushed the front door open and hit the pavement running. The morning air of the city was crisp and cool. The streets were already bustling with daily life. Office workers hurried toward the transit stations, street vendors set up their food carts, and the heavy city traffic hummed along the main roads. He sprinted down his usual route, weaving through the crowds of normal citizens. His standard-issue leather shoes slapped loudly against the concrete sidewalk.

As he rounded the sharp corner near the central transit station, he spotted a familiar figure leaning against a brick wall, tapping his foot impatiently. It was Rivb. His best friend had his arms crossed over his chest, his own navy-blue school coat looking just a little too big on his shoulders.

Rivb checked his digital watch, groaned, and let out a loud, exaggerated sigh as Chrites jogged up, panting heavily.

"Dude, are you actually kidding me?" Rivb said, throwing his hands in the air. "It is literally the first day of the academy and you're late. Again. How is that even physically possible?"

Chrites rested his hands on his knees, faking being totally out of breath. "Oh, man... sorry. I was up way too late."

"Doing what? Studying basic magic theory so you don't fail out in the first week?"

"Playing *War Dead Zombie," Chrites lied smoothly, flashing a grin as he stood up straight. "I was grinding the survival mode till like three in the morning. I got surrounded by a horde on level fifty. I couldn't just pause it and go to sleep."

Rivb rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it hurt. A small, involuntary smile cracked through his annoyed expression. "You're an absolute idiot. Seriously, you're going to get us both thrown in detention before we even take the physical exam. Come on, let's just move before the gates close."

"Right behind you," Chrites laughed, adjusting the strap of his bag.

The two seventeen-year-olds took off down the sidewalk, sprinting the remaining four blocks toward the towering, iron-wrought gates of the G.M.W.U. academy.

When they finally arrived at the main entrance, they had to slow down to push their way through the massive crowd of nervous teenagers. Standing just off to the side of the main pathway, waiting under the shade of a large oak tree, were two more familiar faces.

Shevy was leaning against the tree trunk, scrolling on her phone, while Chrono stood beside her, his arms crossed tight, looking like he was ready to scold someone.

"There they are," Chrono said as Chrites and Rivb approached. Chrono shook his head, his tone strict. "You two are late on your very first day. Do you have any idea how bad that looks for our evaluation?"

"Hey, don't look at me," Rivb immediately protested, pointing a thumb at his friend. "It is entirely Chrites's fault. He was playing video games until three in the morning like a child."

Chrites rubbed the back of his neck, offering a sheepish smile to the couple. "Yeah, that's my bad. Sorry, guys. Won't happen again."

Shevy put her phone away and sighed, though she didn't look nearly as angry as Chrono. "Whatever, at least you made it before the doors locked. Let's just get inside before we actually get in trouble."

The four of them joined the flow of students moving past the gates and onto the sprawling academy campus. The architecture was imposing—huge gray buildings, manicured lawns, and older students walking around in sharper, higher-ranking uniforms.

As they walked, Rivb nudged Chrono with his elbow, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "So, anyway. I saw you two fighting yesterday afternoon in the nearby park. A lot of yelling. Couples shouldn't fight this much, you know? Bad for the blood pressure."

Chrono's face instantly flushed red. He glared at Rivb.

"Mind your own business, Rivb," Shevy snapped, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Don't speak on other people's private lives. It had nothing to do with you."

"Yeah, back off," Chrono added, adjusting his collar awkwardly. "We were just... discussing tactics."

Rivb held his hands up in mock surrender, laughing. "Okay, okay! Geez. Keep your secrets. I was just giving some friendly advice."

They eventually reached the main testing facility. The examination room was absolutely massive, looking more like an indoor stadium than a classroom. Bleachers lined the walls, already packed with hundreds of nervous students. In the direct center of the room sat the evaluation machine—a large, heavy block of dark metal covered in glowing panels and a single, flat glass pad on the top.

"Find a seat, wait for your name to be called, and channel your magic into the sensor pad when instructed!" an older instructor yelled through a megaphone.

The four friends found an empty spot on the middle bleachers and sat down. The atmosphere was incredibly tense. Every time a student walked up to the machine, the whole room went dead silent, waiting to see their score flash on the giant screen above the examiner's head.

"Man, I feel sick," Rivb muttered, bouncing his leg up and down nervously. "What if I get a bad rank? My dad will actually kill me."

"Just focus on pushing your mana evenly," Chrono instructed, trying to sound confident, though his hands were gripping his knees tightly. "Don't try to force out more than you actually have. The machine calculates density, not just raw volume."

Shevy nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Just stay calm." She looked over at Chrites, who was leaning back, looking half-asleep. "You aren't nervous at all, are you?"

Chrites shrugged. "Whatever happens, happens. No point in stressing over it now."

They sat there for a grueling twenty minutes, watching kids walk up, place their hands on the machine, and walk away looking either thrilled or devastated.

Finally, the examiner's voice echoed through the hall. "Candidate Chrites Lunode. Step forward."

Chrites stood up, ignoring the supportive pats on the back from his friends, and walked down the bleacher stairs. He kept his posture relaxed, his hands in his pockets until he reached the center of the room.

The examiner, a stern-looking man with a clipboard, didn't even make eye contact. "Place your palm on the glass. Channel your magic."

Chrites pulled his right hand from his pocket and laid it flat against the cold surface of the machine. He took a slow breath. He mentally pushed down the terrifying, swirling pressure of his true power, sealing it away tight. Instead, he forced out just a tiny, fragile spark of heat.

The machine hummed. A faint orange glow lit up under his palm.

A moment later, the giant screen above beeped loudly, displaying his results for the entire room to see.

**SCORE: ROOKIE TIER 2**

The examiner scribbled the result on his clipboard. "Average. Move along to the next room."

"Thank you, sir," Chrites said, pulling his hand back and walking away, a quiet sense of relief washing over him. He had perfectly blended in.

In the world of the G.M.W.U., power was everything, and the military had spent decades perfecting a rigid system to categorize it. Every soldier, mage, and student was evaluated and placed into a strict hierarchy that dictated their future, their salary, and their social standing.

At the very bottom of the ladder was the **Rookie**. This rank was reserved almost entirely for academy students and fresh recruits. Rookies were capable of basic magic manipulation, but lacked the stamina or refined control for serious combat. Like all ranks, it was divided into three tiers: Tier 1 was the absolute bottom, while Tier 3 meant a recruit was on the verge of graduation.

Above them stood the **Slayers**. These were the fully graduated, capable soldiers who handled standard military missions, border patrols, and daily defense operations. A Slayer Tier 3 was a seasoned veteran, highly respected in ordinary society.

The true military power began at the **Elite Slayer** rank. These men and women were high-ranking officers, tactical commanders, and devastating forces on the battlefield. To reach Elite Slayer required not just raw power, but years of brutal combat experience.

Above the elites were the **Masters**. These were the generals, the division leaders, the absolute peak of conventional military strength. A Master could turn the tide of a battle single-handedly. Across the entire Grovics continent, only a handful of individuals ever reached this terrifying tier.

But at the absolute pinnacle, above all laws and standard military structure, were the **Supreme Masters**. It was a title given only to those whose power defied logic and reason. In the entire world, across all five continents, only seven people held this rank. Two of them resided in Grovics. They were walking natural disasters, forces of nature bound only by their own will.

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