Berrik?

"Welcome to the Spirit Academia," the man in a long coat announced, his cane resting in the crook of his arm. His deep voice resonated, commanding the attention of everyone present. The crowd of new intakes buzzed with anticipation, each face marked by excitement or anxiety.

Among them were young nobles, easily distinguished by their proud, haughty demeanor. They stood apart in reserved corners, exuding an air of superiority.

Gelatea scowled, her disdain evident as her gaze swept over them. Not even nobles, yet you carry yourselves like kings and queens. She cursed silently. The facade of class division was as glaring as daylight.

Nearby, Faust scanned the gathering, his eyes darting left and right. His brow furrowed as he muttered under his breath, "Where are you?"

His search was interrupted when a group ahead shifted, giving him a clear view. Among the sea of faces, he finally spotted the lone girl he'd been looking for.

"Got you," he whispered with a satisfied grin.

Suddenly, an unusual aura spread through the air. It was subtle at first, but soon, everyone near the gate turned in unison, drawn to the source of the strange sensation.

A carriage rolled into view. Its intricate design was almost otherworldly. The wheels didn't touch the ground but glided over a shimmering carpet of light, as if the earth wasn't worthy of bearing its weight. Atop the carriage was a crest: five concentric circles resembling a musical stave. Abstract musical notes and symbols were etched into the circles, their meanings mysterious and haunting.

"A noble?" Faust wondered aloud, glancing at Gelatea, whose expression betrayed her confusion. She didn't answer, lost in thought as she struggled to recall which family bore such a crest.

The carriage came to a halt, the luminous carpet fading as the wheels stopped. Faust turned to Claire and the Plaguewalker, the latter so silent and still that Faust had momentarily forgotten his presence.

"How is it doing that? Is it a relic?" Faust asked, his curiosity piqued.

Claire replied matter-of-factly, "That's just an overly designed carriage bound to a spirit. Could be a lesser one, could be greater."

The door of the carriage creaked open, and an unseen melody began to fill the air. It wasn't loud, yet it seeped into the minds of everyone present, playing faintly in their thoughts.

A man in his early thirties stepped out first. He had a striking appearance, though his hunched back gave him a peculiar silhouette. He wore a white garment bearing the same crest as the carriage.

Behind him, a boy emerged. The melody intensified the moment his feet touched the ground.

"What is this sound?" Faust muttered, shifting uncomfortably. He turned to Gelatea and was startled to see tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

"Crying?" she repeated, snapping out of her trance. She touched her face and froze, realizing he was right. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice trembling.

Around them, similar reactions unfolded. Many of the new intakes wept without understanding why. Some remained dry-eyed but looked unsettled, as if resisting an invisible force.

Faust's attention snapped back to the boy. Clad in a simple yet elegant robe resembling a priest's garment, he seemed oblivious to the chaos his presence caused. His golden-brown hair shimmered under the sunlight, and his handsome face carried a heavy sadness.

Who is he? Faust wondered, watching intently.

Two more figures stepped out of the carriage, each dressed in similarly plain but immaculate robes. When the final figure appeared, Gelatea instinctively lowered her head. It was an unconscious act, as though compelled by an unseen force.

"I know them now," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's the Berrik family. That man…" Her thoughts spiraled, memories surfacing unbidden.

Her Spirit Gear began to materialize without her realizing it. Claire tapped her shoulder, snapping her out of it. Gelatea quickly suppressed the manifestation, embarrassment flashing across her face.

"The Berrik family?" Faust echoed, his curiosity deepening.

"Yes," Gelatea confirmed, her voice steadying. "The family whose members possesses Spirit Gears that take the form of musical instruments…"

Before she could finish, a dog nearby began barking uncontrollably. Its cries turned into shrill whines as it slammed its head against a rock. The poor creature continued its desperate assault until it collapsed.

"What's going on?" Faust whispered, his unease growing.

The hunched man, standing beside the boy, seemed equally disturbed. He glanced at the older man, who gave him a silent order with his eyes. The hunched man nodded and stepped forward, his Spirit Gear materializing: a large, ornate gong. Its weight and size explained his hunched posture.

With a graceful motion, he summoned an intricate mallet and struck the gong. A reddish wave of spiritual energy rippled through the crowd, silencing the melody.

"It's gone," Faust noted, feeling the oppressive atmosphere lift. His eyes lingered on the man and his Spirit Gear. "What a Spirit Gear," he muttered.

The Berrik boy, noticing everyone was now free of the melody's influence, lowered his head in shame.

"I get it now," Gelatea said, her voice laced with mockery. "I believe the Berrik boy can't control his Spirit Gear. So the almighty Berrik family had to send him here." She laughed, the sound sharp and bitter.

The crowd parted instinctively, creating a clear path for the Berrik family. As they walked through, the boy's downcast gaze briefly met Faust's. In that fleeting moment, Faust saw the weight of his despair, the sadness that clung to him like a shadow.

"Sorry for the commotion," the man in the coat said, addressing the crowd, as he adjusted his cane in his arm out of anxiety. "Now, new intakes, please bid your families goodbye and approach the gate."

Faust smirked at Gelatea. "I think those who cried couldn't handle the effects of that Berrik's metaphor or Spirit Gear—or whatever caused the tears."

Gelatea shot him a glare but couldn't suppress her laughter. She stepped closer and wiped a tear from his cheek. Faust froze.

"I didn't cry," he insisted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Sure," she replied with a smirk.

The man called the Berrik boy over and handed him a pendant. "This will suppress the uncontrolled energy," he said.

As the boy accepted it, Faust turned to Claire, Gelatea and the Plaguewalker. With a final wave, they departed in their carriage, leaving him to join the line of intakes forming at the gate.

When the gate opened, Faust was greeted by an unexpected sight. It wasn't the Spirit Academia, not yet. Instead, it was an entirely different landscape-a vast, otherworldly country.

In the distance, the silhouette of a grand building loomed. As the group marched forward, Faust noticed an unsettling detail: some of the people they passed were barefoot, while others wore shoes.

More barefoot. More barefoot.

Faust couldn't help but notice as they continued their journey, following the man in front. He noticed the people here lived regular lives, seemingly unaffected by the crowd of new intakes passing through.

Faust's gaze lingered on a man sitting at the side of the road, barefoot, his feet thick and calloused, evidence of years without shoes. A woman nearby carried a basket of produce on her head, her bare feet gracefully balancing on the cobbled path as though the stones were nothing.

A memory stirred in his mind.

...and then there are those who fail the ceremony but retain their sanity - the Nelipots.

His heart sank as the weight of those words settled over him.