Temporary Rankings

"You all did well in both of the examinations we had," Nero announced, standing at the front of the classroom with his usual mildly amused indifference.

I observed Nero's composed stance, noting how his hand rested casually on the ornate lectern. He wasn't a man who needed to project authority – he simply possessed it, radiating quiet confidence with every measured word. His expression suggested he found our struggles somewhere between academically valuable and personally entertaining. Definitely both.

"Do they even matter?" Cecilia sighed dramatically, stretching like a cat in the sun. The way she tilted her head caused her blonde hair to cascade over one shoulder as if she'd practiced the movement.

"They do," Nero said, completely unbothered by her theatrical display. "To a certain extent."

"Your rank will not be determined solely by the midterms," Nero continued, his eyes scanning the room with practiced precision. "These examinations do play a role, though the midterms will carry the most weight. That being said, rank changes still only occur twice a year." He paused, then added, "Of course, you also have written rankings. Though, I suppose those matter less."

I kept my expression neutral, though inwardly I was calculating how this system could be leveraged. Twice-yearly rank changes created interesting strategic possibilities – a narrow window where repositioning was possible, followed by long periods of stability. Useful information.

"What's the point of a break if you're just going to give us work?" Ian muttered, running a hand through his messy red hair.

"It is a break," Nero replied smoothly, the kind of smoothness that suggested he had no interest in empathy. "Which is why the assignment isn't particularly difficult. It's simply meant to ensure continued growth."

"Those aren't very simple terms," Cecilia muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear, drumming her manicured nails against the rich mahogany of her desk. The sound created a subtle rhythm that somehow managed to be both irritating and hypnotic.

Rachel, sitting near the front where sunlight caught her golden hair like a halo, raised her hand. The simple silver ring on her finger – a royal heirloom, if rumors were correct – glinted as she moved. "Professor, I've been wondering for a while—why don't we train with our Gifts during lessons?"

An astute question, precisely what I'd expect from her. Rachel rarely spoke without purpose, each question carefully considered before voiced.

The classroom shifted subtly as attention refocused. Even Jin, who typically maintained his practiced disinterest in the corner seat by the window, angled his head slightly to listen. Lucifer's posture straightened almost imperceptibly, the only indication of his interest.

Nero's expression didn't change. But I noticed the way he tilted his head ever so slightly before speaking, a micro-expression that suggested he had anticipated this line of inquiry. His fingers tapped once against the lectern – his tell when transitioning to a topic he considered particularly important.

"The purpose of Mythos Academy," he said, "is to facilitate your overall growth. Training your Gift is important, yes, but it should never become a crutch. If you rely too much on it, you risk stagnating."

His gaze flickered toward Cecilia, who had started tapping her nails against her desk in obvious boredom. The sound echoed slightly in the high-ceilinged room, creating a counterpoint to Nero's measured speech.

"For example, Student Cecilia can achieve spell weaving naturally because of her Gift," Nero continued. "But if she learns to do it without relying on that ability, she will be able to push even further when she does use her Gift."

Cecilia huffed, a strand of blonde hair fluttering with her exhale. "That sounds like a lot of unnecessary effort." The sunlight caught her crimson eyes, making them appear to glow momentarily – a reminder of her Slatemark bloodline's distinctive trait.

"Yes," Nero agreed, smiling pleasantly. "That's the point."

A brief, almost uncomfortable silence fell over the classroom. The distant sound of training exercises from the courtyard filtered through the windows – second years practicing formation maneuvers, judging by the rhythmic cadence.

Rachel nodded, thoughtful as ever, her fingers absently tracing the gilded edge of her textbook. Ian leaned back in his chair until it balanced on two legs, the wood creaking in protest. His expression was half convinced, half ready to argue just for entertainment value. Cecilia looked about three seconds away from challenging Nero's philosophy on principle, her lips pursed in a way that suggested she was formulating a perfectly cutting remark.

I maintained my observation, not just of Nero but of the entire classroom – the subtle power dynamics, the unconscious alliances, the individual tells that revealed more than words ever could.

Because Nero was right.

Not just about Gifts, but about growth.

Everyone here possessed extraordinary raw talent. Lucifer with his perfect control, Rachel with her saint's blessing, Ren with his overwhelming martial prowess, Seraphina with her frost affinity, Cecilia with her innate spell manipulation – all of them had natural abilities that placed them far above their peers. And yet, they remained constrained by the very patterns that had brought them success.

Their Gifts were powerful, but they had boundaries. And whether they realized it or not, Mythos Academy wasn't merely teaching them to utilize their strengths.

It was compelling them to transcend them.

I exhaled slowly, tapping my fingers against the desk in a deliberate rhythm, my mind already mapping potential trajectories for each classmate's development, identifying leverage points where intervention might yield optimal results.

Growth was a resource to be cultivated and directed. One I intended to use to its fullest.

"And now, the student ranked number one is Arthur Nightingale," Nero announced, as if he were merely commenting on the weather or some other unremarkable observation.

The classroom atmosphere crystallized into perfect stillness. Seven sets of eyes turned toward me, each carrying different weight. Ren's dark gaze hardened with immediate rejection, Cecilia's crimson eyes widened with delighted intrigue, Rachel's sapphire stare assessed with new consideration, while Lucifer's emerald gaze remained carefully neutral despite the slight tension in his jaw.

I had anticipated this outcome, of course. The points calculation had been straightforward enough once I understood the scoring metrics. This revelation simply confirmed my calculations.

"You placed first in the Island Survival and second in the Inter-Year Mock War," Nero continued, his tone unchanged despite delivering information that had just reconfigured the classroom's entire social hierarchy. "However, in terms of sheer calculated points, you surpass Lucifer, who placed second and first respectively. Your total score exceeds his, placing you ahead of everyone else."

I could feel the shift in the room's energy – the almost imperceptible redistribution of attention and respect. The subtle change in how classmates positioned their bodies, unconsciously reorienting toward the new center of gravity.

Lucifer, seated across from me, remained expressionless. His sharp green eyes gave nothing away, though the slight adjustment in his posture – a barely noticeable straightening of his spine – revealed he was recalculating his own position.

Ren made an actual noise of protest, something between a scoff and a laugh, his fingers tightening around his pen until the metal bent slightly. Cecilia tilted her head, crimson eyes alight with interest, while Rachel simply watched, her lips parted slightly, as if reassessing a complex equation.

Jin, as usual, said nothing, though the shadow across his face deepened as he angled further toward the window.

Ian sighed dramatically, muttering something about how his ranking "was a disgrace to dragonkind," his voice carrying the theatrical martyrdom he frequently affected to mask genuine feelings.

Seraphina showed no reaction at all, her silver hair falling forward to conceal whatever thoughts might have registered in her eyes.

Meanwhile, Nero continued speaking, utterly immune to the charged atmosphere. He gestured toward the board, and a holographic display flickered to life, mana particles assembling into crisp, glowing text.

Temporary Class 1-A Rankings Before Midterms:

Rank 1: Arthur Nightingale

Rank 2: Lucifer Windward

Rank 3: Ren Kagu

Rank 4: Rachel Creighton

Rank 5: Cecilia Slatemark

Rank 6: Jin Ashbluff

Rank 7: Ian Viserion

Rank 8: Seraphina Zenith

"These are your current rankings," Nero said smoothly, the holographic light casting his face in an eerie blue glow, "though the final rankings will be determined after the midterms. The number of points isn't displayed, but I assure you, the gap is… notable."

A pause. Then, with his usual detachment, he dropped a bombshell.

"In the Mock War, Arthur was, by far, the most tactically superior student among both years. He was able to read and command the movements of over two hundred students in real-time while handling logistics on his phone. He identified the location of the 6-star beast, engineered its release at the precise moment that would cripple the second-year's strongest player, Kali Maelkith, and ensured she was eliminated personally. If the AI could perfectly capture every tactical decision made in real time, he may have even surpassed Lucifer in total contribution. Unfortunately, the technology is not quite advanced enough to track such intricate decision-making."

The silence that followed was profound, accentuated only by the distant call of birds outside and the subtle hum of the holographic display.

I kept my expression neutral despite Nero's unexpected elaboration. His breakdown of my tactics was more detailed than I'd anticipated – he'd clearly been monitoring my movements more closely than I'd realized. Information I'd need to account for moving forward.

Ren's knuckles whitened as his grip on the desk intensified, small fractures appearing in the wood beneath his fingers. His jaw clenched so tightly a muscle jumped visibly along his temple, his entire body radiating barely contained fury.

Rachel exhaled slowly, her eyes slightly unfocused as she processed the implications, one hand unconsciously touching the silver pendant at her throat – a gesture she only made when deeply thoughtful.

Cecilia let out a low, delighted laugh that seemed to dance through the tension, clearly entertained by the dramatic shift in classroom dynamics. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers, studying me with newfound intensity.

Lucifer's response was the most interesting. His mouth curved into a small, fleeting smile – there and gone in an instant, like lightning across a night sky. The gesture might have appeared friendly to an observer, but I caught the calculation behind it, the reassessment, the recognition of a genuine rival rather than a temporary curiosity.

After class ended, the afternoon sun had shifted, casting longer shadows across the academy grounds as students dispersed toward their respective dormitories and training areas. The main courtyard fountain caught the light, sending prismatic reflections dancing across the stone pathways where small groups of students gathered to discuss the day's lessons.

Rachel approached, her movement graceful and purposeful through the scattered crowd. Her expression remained unreadable for a moment before settling into something softer—warm.

"You worked hard, Arthur," she said, offering me a small, genuine smile that softened her usual regal bearing.

I recognized the sincerity in her statement – Rachel's social interactions were always deliberate but rarely false. This was genuine acknowledgment, not merely political courtesy.

"It was because of you and Cecilia," I replied with measured modesty, redirecting some credit while calculating how this new dynamic might affect our relationship. "If not for both of you, I wouldn't have defeated that mutating six-star beast in Island Survival."

"Perhaps," she conceded, tilting her head slightly, causing her gold earrings to catch the light. "But that doesn't change the fact that you are a tactical genius."

She said it with such certainty – not as flattery or exaggeration, but as a simple statement of observed fact.

Rachel studied me for a long moment, something flickering behind her sapphire eyes—thoughtful, calculating, perhaps reassessing my position in whatever plans she had already formulated. Her fingers adjusted the perfect fold of her sleeve – a small tell that indicated she was about to propose something significant.

Then, almost too casually, she said, "Hey, for the break…"

I raised an eyebrow, already anticipating several possible offers based on her change in tone and the slight shift in her posture.

Her lips curled slightly, the expression somewhere between royal invitation and personal request. "How about you come to the Creighton estate?"