The sun rose over the grand spires of the Royal Academy of South Ryehem, bathing its sprawling courtyards and elegant towers in golden light. The academy grounds bustled with activity — students shuffled between classes, sparring duels echoed from the training grounds, and the murmur of conversations filled the air.
Yet, amidst the usual academy life, a suffocating tension lingered.
The aftermath of the recent Eligibility Exam still hung heavy in the minds of every student. Anxiety festered like a storm cloud above them, and everywhere one looked, it was the same — students huddled in nervous circles, debating over their answers, praying for leniency, and dreading the results.
Teachers gave lectures, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy, though even they knew it was futile. The academy grounds, usually a place of lively chatter and youthful competition, now felt like a battlefield after the war — haunted by the memory of a test so difficult it had shaken the confidence of the entire student body.
But there was one anomaly.
One figure who moved through the chaos with unshaken calm.
Kazuki.
Sitting at his desk, his eyes half-lidded, a faint, unreadable smile resting on his lips as though none of it concerned him in the slightest.
He listened to lectures without tension, sparred at the training grounds with casual ease, and spoke to his classmates like it was any other day.
And people noticed.
Everyone noticed.
Even the seniors, students from higher grades who'd heard the whispers from their younger siblings and cousins, found themselves watching him with growing confusion.
"Is that him?" a senior whispered from a classroom window, gesturing toward Kazuki, who was walking across the courtyard, utterly unbothered.
"Yeah… that's Kazuki. The one who didn't panic before, during, or after that disaster of an exam," another replied.
"I heard it was like a 6th-grade exam… and it was for 3rd graders. Even I would've struggled with that," someone else muttered.
"Same. And get this — when the teacher tried to console the students, basically saying they might have to repeat a year, that kid didn't even blink."
The seniors exchanged bewildered looks.
It wasn't just the test that was legendary now — it was Kazuki's calm.
A stillness so unsettling, it felt like watching a man who already knew the outcome before the question was asked.
A girl from the senior grade frowned. "It's like it's a daily routine for him. As if even if the world burned down, he'd sip tea and ask what's for dessert."
The undercurrent of unease spread.
What kind of child — at only eight years old — could remain so composed in the face of something even seasoned students found terrifying?
The academy grounds, still simmering in chaos, had unknowingly begun to revolve around a single boy.
Kazuki.
The one calm eye in a raging storm.
And yet, if any of them could have read his thoughts, they might have been even more unsettled.
For Kazuki wasn't merely calm because of confidence.
He was calm because everything that was happening… was exactly what he had expected.h