Meanwhile…

Far from the northern gates, within the main campus of the Imperial Soulforge Academy, a bored student sentry slouched in his chair inside the surveillance control room.

He wore a black tunic, the mark of a cadet who had earned the uniform.

He had been assigned to menial duties, but thought it a good idea to relax a bit.

He had one boot propped on the console, a steaming cup of coffee balanced dangerously close to expensive equipment.

And a handheld game console rested in his lap.

Above were rows of floating monitors showing different academy sectors like the training yards, dorm halls, sparring arenas, and all four gate entrances.

The sentry glanced lazily at the north gate feed.

Two white-clad figures stood before the colossal doors.

He snorted.

"Freshmen clowns… this late in the year?" he muttered, shaking his head. "Unlucky bastards."

He took a sip of coffee and went back to his game.

Minutes passed.

Then something made him glance up again.

His eyes widened.

"…Huh?"

He leaned closer to the screen. The forest beyond the gate was no longer still.

No. If he were to describe it in one word, it would be... Chaos.

Eldritch beasts were dropping. Fast. Too fast.

The kill counter on the screen began ticking upward in real time.

10…

18…

31…

47…

The sentry's coffee slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.

"What—?"

The counter jumped again.

64…

79…

His face went pale.

"No. No, no, no—"

He bolted upright.

"Instructor Lewis!" he screamed.

"INSTRUCTOR LEWIS!"

He ran like a panicked animal out of the control room, boots slamming against metal floors.

An older man in a red instructor tunic followed him back in moments later. The man's irritation was clear on his face.

"What is it now?" Instructor Lewis snapped. "Are we being invaded or something?"

The sentry pointed at the monitors, hands shaking.

Lewis followed his gaze.

He froze.

The kill counter crossed:

100…

112…

His fingers trembled as he slowly removed his glasses.

"…Activate the central holographic monitor," he said quietly.

The sentry swallowed. "Sir?"

"Hurry up, you idiot. The sponsors will want to see this."

The sentry hurried.

However, the Instructor's eyes were still glued to the screen. "Are they not supposed to be mere freshmen clowns?"

Deep within the heart of the academy…

Pencil hurried down a polished corridor, carefully balancing a tray with a neatly frosted cake.

He was dressed in his cadet white, his uniform slightly oversized on his already large frame.

His steps were heavy, and his expression nervous but hopeful.

He muttered to himself.

"He's finally out… he's really coming today…"

He turned a corner—

—and bumped into a sudden gust of wind.

One of his feet slid out from under him.

The tray tilted.

The cake fell.

Three senior cadets in black tunics laughed as they walked past.

"Watch your step, clown."

Another flicked his fingers, and a playful gust of wind shoved Pencil again for good measure.

They didn't even look back.

Pencil stared at the empty space where the cake should've shattered.

"…Oh."

A voice spoke behind him. "Is this for him? It looks terrible."

(Author's note: In case you forgot, Bloodshine cannot say the truth. But questions come as they are.)

Pencil turned.

Bloodshine stood there, arms crossed, her black tunic marked with green trim to show her shade's rank. Her amber snake like eyes softened slightly as she looked at him sprawled on the floor.

She reached down and helped him to his feet.

"I heard the news," Pencil said quietly. "That he was finally released… and coming today. So I made a cake for him."

Bloodshine looked down at the ground. "But it's perfectly okay."

Pencil smiled.

"Actually—"

He raised his hand.

The cake floated up from midair, perfectly intact.

It had never touched the ground.

Gravity rippled faintly around it.

Bloodshine blinked. "…You caught it?"

He nodded sheepishly.

"What about the others?" she asked. "Will they welcome him too?"

Pencil shook his head.

"I asked a few of the other first years. No one wants to be seen with an F-rank… even if he saved their lives."

She frowned. "Tommy? Polystar? Vass?"

"Tommy won't miss it for the world," Pencil said. "But he's in a Gauntlet battle right now. Polystar doesn't care. He never cares about anything unless it concerns freeing shades. And Vass…"

"…No," she sighed. "I don't know, Vass."

She folded her arms.

Pencil spoke up. "Don't worry. I understand how you feel. But freshmen get three days for the orientation hunt. They probably still have time."

Bloodshine's expression softened slightly at those words.

Pencil continued. "Those three days were hell for us."

Bloodshine nodded.

She knew what he meant. They barely made their required ten kills to enter the academy's main campus.

That only happened because they had realised that they could hunt the little creatures and it would still count.

She gave a faint smirk. "Since he's F-rank… it'll probably take him even shorter."

"Yeah, hopefully he makes it before the three-day deadline."

Suddenly—

Someone ran past them.

Then another.

Then another.

Whispers followed.

"It's impossible—"

"How are they that strong?"

Pencil turned, confused.

"Uh—what's going on?"

No one answered him.

One senior sneered. "Move, clown."

Bloodshine grabbed another cadet's arm.

"Hey. What's happening?"

The cadet swallowed.

"…New freshman clowns challenged the artificial biosphere."

She blinked. "So?"

"…They already have a hundred kills each."

Her face drained of color.

"…Each?"

She spun toward Pencil.

"Run."

They burst into the main plaza.

Above them, the massive central holographic screen flickered to life.

The footage was stabilized.

Soren and Cynthia filled the display. They were moving like monsters.

Eldritch beasts fell in waves.

Cynthia crushed one creature into the ground with incredible force, snapping its limbs inward before slamming it flat.

Soren blurred past another, flashing as his blade severed another's head in one clean arc.

The kill counter surged:

138…

152…

169…

The crowd grew.

Gasps rippled through students and instructors alike.

"Are... are they competing with each other?" Someone whispered, and everyone realised it was true.

But it only shocked them more. After all, in that artificially made biosphere specially designed for orientation, cadets had died.

Yet, for Soren and Cynthia, the new cadets, it was mere sport.

Behind, a particular student with white, flowing hair stared at the screen, a particular glow in his eyes.

Meanwhile, one group stood near the front.

Goldsworth and his posse.

His jaw hung open.

"…Isn't he supposed to be F-rank?"

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