Crescent Academy had numerous unspoken rules that everyone knew about.
Stuff like “commoners can’t enter the S Class,” “you shouldn’t enter the Training Forest alone,” or “if you mess with the statues in the annex building, you’ll vanish without a trace like a rat in the night.” They were more like urban legends or spooky tales than official rules.
Some of these had evolved into actual written rules over time, but for the most part, they were just unwritten traditions passed down through generations.
Take, for example, the rule about not entering the Training Forest alone—no one actually supervised to check if students were breaking it. It was all just understood.
“Hmph. A commoner in the S Class? Truly unprecedented.”
“This has never happened before.”
“But it is also quite natural that the top student of the entrance exam goes to the S Class, isn’t it?”
Even though the new semester had just barely started, all the professors who gathered rather hastily for this meeting already knew why they were there.
It was none other than the issue of a commoner named Ryu joining the S Class, an event approved by the Chancellor himself.
To put it simply, this was the hottest topic currently buzzing through Crescent Academy.
Not only among the new students but also the returning ones—whispers were everywhere. Some claimed Ryu must’ve used cheating methods to reach the top, others suspected he cut some kind of deal with the exam officials, and the wildest rumors even hinted at a possible connection to the Chancellor himself.
Making matters worse, during the very first Student Council meeting of the semester, this infamous commoner Ryu showed up but quickly excused himself, citing some urgent matter. It was an opportunity for Ryu to clear the air and address all suspicions in front of the Student Council, the representatives of the student body. Instead, Ryu left hastily, deepening everyone’s curiosity.
Although one of the St. Claire family’s offspring who’d come with Ryu managed to salvage the situation somewhat, the chatter and rumors weren’t fading. Something as significant as this had to be discussed, and so the professors gathered for an emergency meeting.
“Uh… What if we release Ryu’s entrance exam video? It clearly shows no cheating, so wouldn’t that help quell the rumors?”
“Hmm. Even if we release it, people will probably claim we tampered with it. They won’t believe us.”
Professor Amillion, feeling the piercing gaze of several colleagues, suggested a solution, but it was shot down almost immediately.
Of course, when everyone’s speculating about cozy relationships with the Chancellor or faculty, they’re not going to trust a video produced by the Academy’s side.
The students at the Academy were one thing, but the noble houses backing them would refuse to believe any official statements intentionally, Amillion knew. After all, claiming the title of “Top Student” at this Academy was no small matter.
The Academy was full of the Empire’s brightest and most promising talents. Standing at the top of such a competitive pool meant earning an achievement everyone would respect everywhere. Ryu wasn’t just any old student—he’d entered as the top-ranked newcomer, a prestigious title allowing him to be invited to the Crescent Society, an exclusive club of Crescent Academy’s top students, whose reach could influence both the Empire and the greater geopolitical climate.
This society was a goldmine of connections, and it was infuriating that a commoner might join its ranks so easily.
Naturally, many nobles were desperate to find fault with Ryu’s accomplishment.
After all, when your opponent is a commoner, you feel much freer to throw accusations without worrying much about consequences.
Click.
“Good morning, everyone. You’re working hard.”
“Ah, Vice Chancellor Landgar. You’ve arrived.”
The noisy meeting room fell silent as the last member arrived—Vice Chancellor Landgar, stepping through the door with an unusually stern expression. Professors who had been sitting immediately stood to greet him.
“So, let’s settle this and move on. A commoner in the S Class, and even as the top student—unthinkable, even if approved by the Chancellor, right, Professor Amillion?”
“Uh…”
Poor Professor Amillion could feel the heat. It wasn’t his fault! The rules clearly stated the top seven students from the entrance exam went straight to the S Class, with no mention of excluding commoners.
Why not just stick to the official, documented rules when the situation gets tricky?
“Of course, I understand the gravity. Let me propose a solution.”
The Vice Chancellor’s voice commanded immediate attention as soon as he settled into his seat. Everyone focused on his plan.
“How about we create an event to directly showcase this student’s abilities? After all, the root of these issues lies in the fact that no one has yet seen the student’s capabilities firsthand.”
“Oh, indeed.”
“Mm.”
The idea was met with positive nods from the professors.
“There are fairness considerations, though. We can’t just throw together a random event and announce it, or someone might protest, saying it’s yet another hoop the commoner has to jump through.”
The Vice Chancellor was pointed, but no one dared argue his logic.
“So… Let’s tie this to the Grade Competition.”
Even Professor Amillion found himself nodding unconsciously. While the suggestion might seem radical, it could offer a clean resolution to the situation.
—
Crescent Academy had its share of long-standing traditions. Among them were exams to promote students to higher classes, the annual Northern Expedition under the guise of field trips, and a Festival in the first semester that was essentially a masquerade ball.
Then there was the “Grade Competition.” The very name suggested the younger the grade, the more they’d be at a disadvantage.
But the official excuse was always about encouraging interaction between seniors and juniors. Seniors would get a chance to display their authority and mentor younger students, and junior students could watch and learn, all to boost motivation across the board.
It sounded like a great idea on paper.
“In the student council meeting, no one mentioned this. Seems like this decision came from above, not from student council deliberations.”
“Aha, indeed.”
“Though, I wonder why. I thought this event was typically scheduled at least two months into the semester.”
“Ah, they must have their reasons.”
“Still, barely three weeks’ notice? That’s awfully short for preparation.”
“Hm? Elaine, are you participating too?”
“…”
“…Are you?”
“I apologize for my presumption—I seem to have forgotten that I haven’t been asked by the representative yet.”
‘Representative’ must refer to me.
Elaine gave a faint, wistful smile and bowed her head slightly.
It was only after encountering Elaine that I finally understood the details of the Grade Competition. She brought up the topic even before I had the chance to ask, and I seized the opportunity to clarify things with her, especially since winning this event could directly benefit my skills.
Elaine and Cynthia were already seated nearby. Cynthia seemed eager to join the conversation but was holding back.
“Hey, if you’re in it too, that’d be awesome! With first and second place working together, we could totally dominate.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Elaine spoke with the seriousness of a knight preparing to save a village from impending doom, though I thought it was a tad over-the-top for a student competition.
“So, I get what the event is, but how exactly does it work? Do you know?”
“Well… I’ve heard the format changes each year. Last year it was dungeon exploration designed by the Academy.”
This school really loves to make its own stuff. Not only magical artifacts like crystals or golems, but even actual dungeons that are a phenomenon of Arcania, apparently.
“Dungeon exploration sounds good?”
“Given how the event rotates each year, it probably won’t be dungeon exploration again this year.”
“That’s disappointing.”
I was intrigued by the idea of an Academy-made dungeon which would, presumably, have safety measures in place and offer the perfect opportunity to discreetly use my abilities. Oh well, missed chance.
“That said, our first priority is forming the team.”
“Team? Oh, right, the grade representative doesn’t go alone.”
“Yes. Depending on the competition, but usually the freshman team consists of around ten members. The older grades determine their team sizes based on ours.”
“Ten people? That’s a lot…”
I usually preferred small teams. Even when working with the Black Shadow Guild, I’d often go solo, especially for specialized operations like the Sandglass mission. Usually, teams never exceeded four people for me.
And here I was forced into a team of ten.
“Yes. Typically, the freshmen report their team size first, and the older grades adjust accordingly. It’s a nod to fair competition since there’s always a difference in ability between grades.”
“Ah, I see.”
Elaine knew so much it was hard to believe she was a freshman too.
“So, how do they pick the ten members?”
“Normally, all S Class students are automatically included. Beyond that, the representative can handpick other students from other classes.”
“So, starting with the seven of us from S Class?”
“…Usually.”
Elaine hesitated and glanced around.
As usual, the classroom was eerily quiet, all eyes on our conversation. Sure enough, Cain chose that moment to saunter in with a smug grin plastered across his face, strutting toward us.
Just seeing him approach made me want to give him a piece of my mind. Why does he bring this out in me?
“I have no intention of participating.”
“…”
“Naturally.”
Cain crossed his arms, looking utterly satisfied with himself as he delivered the line with his signature crooked smile.
