(A/N Big thanks to everyone for the Power stones and Golden tickets, they mean a lot. As usual, please don't hesitate to comment or drop a review. ENJOY)

Power stones people, Gimme it.

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At exactly 9:00 a.m.

A ripple cut the air.

Every head turned.

Orion's mind clicked instantly.

A spatial fold. Clean. Immaculate. No wasted motion.

A figure stood beside the central chair.

Onyx-black hair. Dark, steady eyes. An aura of complete control.

The same man who stood above them before the trial. The one who brought them to the coliseum. The one who explained the rules and watched every moment.

Doran Chronos.

The room fell silent.

And every student straightened.

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Doran didn't speak immediately.

He stood beside the central chair, hands behind his back, gaze sweeping slowly across the twenty students seated before him. His eyes paused on each person for no longer than a heartbeat, but the effect was sharp enough to straighten every spine in the room.

"Welcome to A1," he said finally. His voice carried easily across the hall—steady, smooth, and controlled. "I am Doran Chronos, the class instructor for this year's A1. I'm sure you all know me by now."

No one dared to move.

"I'm equally sure," he continued, "that each of you has formed your own assumptions about who I am. Some accurate. Some not. All of that is about to be corrected."

He lifted his hand.

A snap echoed lightly.

Above them, a holographic list appeared—twenty names, neatly displayed. A beat later, red symbols began appearing beside every name except one. The numbers varied: –1, –4, –12, –30.

Orion's brow rose slightly.

He's punishing us for time.

The realization came instantly.

He expected us here at 8:30. Only the girl who arrived first passed his requirement.

Doran looked at none of them directly, yet every one of them felt seen.

"I assume," he said, "you already understand what I am addressing."

Silence confirmed he was correct.

"This will continue as long as I remain your instructor—which means until you leave this academy."

A quiet shift moved through the room. No one dared complain.

"Sessions with class instructors typically occur once a week." His tone didn't change. "Ours will be held every morning."

A pause.

"Every day.

From 8:30 a.m.

To exactly 8:58 a.m."

Several students stiffened. Seris muttered something under her breath before quickly shutting up.

"Failure to arrive on time," Doran continued, nodding toward the hologram, "results in this. Deduction of points."

He flicked his wrist, highlighting the red marks.

"And yes, the points matter. They determine whether you remain in A1 or fall to another class. The academy is meritocratic. The moment your points drop below the threshold, you will be transferred without debate."

He let the words settle.

"For now," he said, "you may relax. These deductions are mild. But they will scale with your offenses. Keep that in mind."

The room remained painfully attentive.

Doran stepped forward, stopping near the center of the semicircle.

"Now," he said, "let me tell you what it means to be in A1."

No theatrics. No exaggerated tone. Yet the seriousness in his voice was unmistakable.

"Being admitted into the Chronos Academy is a privilege of the highest order. We have thousands—nearing millions—of descendants across the domains. Only a fraction enter these halls."

He gestured lightly.

"To be admitted means you carry potential worthy of grooming. It means you have a seed the academy believes can grow into something valuable."

His voice sharpened.

"But A1 is not about potential.

A1 is proof."

He let the statement linger.

"You are the first among thousands. You are the standard others will be judged against. You are the ones expected to lead, excel, innovate, and represent this lineage when the time comes."

He looked around the room again.

"It is beyond a privilege to stand where you sit. You may not fully understand that yet—you haven't faced the world, not truly. But you will."

The girl who had arrived early kept her posture straight, unmoving. Seris leaned back slightly, thoughtful. Caelum remained relaxed but attentive. Erevan looked focused, almost eager.

Doran nodded once.

"My responsibility—as well as the responsibility of every instructor who will teach you—is simple: to make you the best version of yourselves."

His tone softened only slightly.

"And in doing so, ensure that when you stand in the world beyond these walls, the Chronos name stands with you. Strong. Respected. Unshaken."

He clasped his hands behind his back again.

"You may have heard this during orientation, but let me repeat it here: this academy is a family. The people around you today—these nineteen individuals—will be the ones whose paths intertwine with yours for decades."

He looked at them, one by one.

"Connections are not a suggestion.

They are part of your foundation."

He pointed lightly toward them.

"Learn from each other. Grow with each other. Compete if you must, but do not isolate yourselves. The Chronos stands strong because our strongest branches are connected at the roots."

Orion silently acknowledged the message.

Doran moved toward the center chair, though he didn't sit.

"There is a limit to what I can say today. Your first class begins shortly."

He raised a hand, and the hologram dissolved into faint particles.

"But for now, understand this much:

This room—A1—is not a gift.

It is a responsibility."

He stepped back.

"And you will uphold it."

A crisp silence followed—light, sharp, expectant.

Doran gave a final glance around the room.

"We will meet again tomorrow."

And without warning—

without a sound—

his figure vanished.

Not a flicker. Not a flash.

Just gone.

Leaving twenty students sitting in absolute silence.

Orion and the rest of the class sat frozen for a few quiet seconds after Doran vanished, as if their minds needed time to catch up with everything he'd just unloaded on them. The weight of his words wasn't dramatic, but it was clear. Expectations. Standards. Pressure. All of it placed squarely on their shoulders.

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