The booming voice lingered for a moment after the announcement, allowing the weight of the numbers to sink in.

Eleven teams. Nine eliminated.

Just as the announcer drew in a breath, preparing to continue, a sudden movement caught everyone's attention.

An instructor rose from the lower platform and hovered swiftly toward the announcer's stand. He leaned in, shielding his mouth with one hand, and whispered something into the announcer's ear.

The exchange lasted only a few seconds.

Then the instructor straightened, nodded once, and departed as quietly as he had arrived.

The announcer hesitated. He then cleared his throat, adjusted the crystal amplifier beside him, and spoke again, his tone noticeably more measured. "There has been… a change regarding the next round," he announced. "For now, please remain in the resting area. The details of the second trial will be announced shortly."

A moment of silence followed.

Then...

The arena erupted into puzzled murmurs.

"They are changing the next trial?"

"Yeah! That seems to be the case. But why would they do that?"

"Isn't everything already planned beforehand?"

One student leaned toward his companion.

"This year's Half-Yearly Ranker's Test is insane. Nine teams have already been eliminated in just the first trial."

Another nodded. "Yeah. Maybe the academy thinks it's too harsh. They might be planning to ease the difficulty a bit."

"That would make sense," someone else chimed in. "If they keep going like this, there won't be enough teams left for later rounds."

Speculation spread quickly through the stands. Some sounded hopeful. Others skeptical.

Down on the arena floor, Derek's team exchanged glances.

"Changes?" Art muttered. "That's not normal, right?"

Eva crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful. "No. It isn't."

Emma's gaze drifted briefly toward the upper balcony, where the academy's highest authority resided. "When the academy changes something mid-trial… it usually means someone caught their attention."

Henry swallowed. "…In a good way or a bad way?"

Emma didn't answer.

High above the arena, the instructor who had whispered to the announcer now stood before the Headmistress. Despite his rank, his posture was respectful, almost cautious.

"Are you certain, Headmistress?" he asked carefully. "To make that the second trial… I fear it may be too extreme."

The Headmistress leaned back slightly, fingers resting against the armrest of her seat, her gaze still fixed on the arena below.

"To comprehend a brand-new technique within five hours?" the instructor continued. "That level of difficulty… it borders on impossible. Even seasoned instructors would struggle, let alone students."

She let out a soft chuckle. "Maybe, you're underestimating them," she said calmly.

The instructor hesitated.

But the Headmistress spoke again. "Even so… if no one succeeds, the trial would be meaningless." Her lips curved into a faint smile. "That won't happen," she replied. "A total of eight teams will participate in the next trial."

The instructor's eyes flickered. "Eight?"

"Yes," she said simply. "And listen carefully. Even if just one member of a team successfully comprehends the technique, that entire team will pass."

The instructor was taken aback. "…The entire team?"

She nodded. "Fair, isn't it?"

He frowned. "But if none of them succeed..."

"Then," she interrupted smoothly, "the teams with the highest level of comprehension will advance."

The instructor fell silent, digesting her words.

"That…" he began slowly, "That does address the issue, but...."

She raised a hand. The gesture was casual. Almost lazy. Yet the pressure that followed made the instructor's breath catch in his throat.

"Just do as I say," the Headmistress said, her voice still light. "Please don't make me repeat myself."

There was no anger in her tone. No raised voice. But something ancient and overwhelming pressed down on the air around them.

The instructor lowered his head immediately. "As you command, headmistress."

He turned and left without another word.

The Headmistress's gaze drifted back toward the arena. Toward a certain young man standing calmly among his teammates.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. 'Five hours,' she thought. 'Let's see what you're truly capable of.'

Down below, Derek felt an inexplicable chill pass through him. He glanced upward, unaware of the reason, then shook his head lightly.

"…Strange," he murmured.

Art noticed. "What is?"

Derek looked back at the arena, expression neutral. "Nothing," he said. "Just a feeling."

The instructor who had asked the announcer to hold on returned once more, moving swiftly toward the announcer's platform.

He leaned in again and whispered into the announcer's ear.

This time, the reaction was immediate.

The announcer's eyes widened, his brows knitting together in disbelief.

"…Are you sure?" he whispered back, unable to hide his shock. "That's the trial the Headmistress wants for the second round?"

The instructor nodded slowly. Seeing the announcer's hesitation, he spoke in a low voice, carefully explaining every detail, how the trial would function, the conditions for passing, and the reasoning behind it. Then, without another word, he reached into his spatial ring.

A faint ripple of space followed. One by one, eleven stone tablets appeared in midair before settling gently onto the announcer's platform. Each tablet was ancient-looking, covered in faintly glowing runes that pulsed with a strange, subtle rhythm. The announcer stared at them.

He lifted his gaze toward the upper balcony.

Toward the Headmistress. Their eyes met.

She didn't speak. She didn't need to. She gave him a slight nod — calm, composed, absolute.

'Do it.'

The announcer exhaled slowly. Then he straightened his posture, his expression hardening as he activated the crystal amplifier.

"Attention," his voice rang out across the arena. "The second trial… will now be announced."

The murmurs instantly died down. "This trial," he continued, "will be a comprehension test."

A ripple passed through the crowd. "Each remaining team will be given a technique," the announcer said clearly. "You will have five hours to comprehend it."

Gasps followed.

"If a single participant successfully comprehends the technique," he continued, "then their entire team will qualify for the next round."

The students froze.

"And if no one succeeds in fully mastering it," the announcer added, "then the teams with the highest level of comprehension will advance instead."

He paused, letting the tension build. "Out of the remaining teams, only eight will proceed to the next trial."

The arena erupted.

"What? Only five hours to comprehend a technique?!"

"That's insane!"

"Learning a technique isn't something you can rush!"

Even the instructors were visibly shaken. Everyone knew the truth. Learning a new technique wasn't just about talent — it required understanding, alignment, and sometimes years of practice. Five hours?

That wasn't a test.

The announcer raised his hand, silencing the noise.

"Now," he said slowly, "I will announce the technique you must comprehend."

He placed his hand on the nearest stone tablet. The runes flared softly. "The technique is..."

He paused. Then spoke the name. "Divine Sense."

The reaction was instant. The arena exploded into disbelief.

"Divine Sense?!"

"That's impossible!"

"Even instructors struggle with that!"

Divine Sense. An ability to perceive without relying on one's eyes. To feel the world through pure awareness. To sense movement, intent, and presence beyond vision. It was not a beginner's technique.

It wasn't even considered suitable for students.

High above, the Headmistress watched silently. Down below, Derek's eyes narrowed slightly.

Eva sucked in a sharp breath. Art went pale. "D... divine… Sense? Are they for real?"

Henry swallowed hard. "Isn't that something only veteran fighters can use?"

Emma clenched her fists slowly.

And Derek...

Derek felt his heart beat just a little faster. 'So that's it,' he thought. 'A comprehension test.

Five hours. Divine Sense. Can I do it? If I can, then I will be one step closer to my goal.'

Amidst the chaos of puzzling thoughts, the announcer's voice continued to echo, cutting cleanly through the restless noise of the arena.

"Team leaders," he said firmly, "step forward and receive your stone tablets."

His gaze swept across the remaining teams.

"Each tablet contains the Divine Sense technique. Once all teams have received their tablets, the countdown will begin."

He paused briefly. "Best of luck to all of you."

The weight of his words settled heavily on the arena floor. One by one, the team leaders stepped forward.

Boots echoed softly against the stone as they advanced toward the announcer's platform.

As Derek walked, he felt the subtle shift in the atmosphere. Eyes followed him. Not just from the audience — but from the other captains as well.

Linda walked a few steps ahead of the others. Just before reaching the platform, she turned her head slightly and glanced at Derek. Her gaze was complicated.

Disbelief.

Reluctance.

And something closer to grudging acknowledgment.

The other team leaders did the same. They measured him with sharp eyes.

A first-year.

A cultivator.

It didn't sit right with them. Yet, reality didn't care about pride.

One by one, the announcer handed out the stone tablets.

Soon, all teams had returned to their designated spots, stone tablets now resting before them.

The arena grew quiet. Too quiet.

Then....

The announcer raised his hand. "Participants," his voice echoed, amplified and resolute, "the second trial — begins now."

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