First on the Throne

The rankings were settled swiftly and mercilessly.

In the arena, where the raw energy of their awakening still pulsed through their veins, it became clear—battle experience was scarce, and instincts were still dull. The combat was nothing more than a test of endurance and raw physicality.

And in that aspect, Denwen reigned supreme.

A montage of domination unfolded.

The first opponent barely lasted a breath. Denwen ducked under a wild punch, stepped forward, and drove his fist into the boy's gut. The force lifted the poor kid off his feet before he crumpled like a discarded ragdoll.

The next tried a more cautious approach, circling Denwen, waiting for an opening. He lunged. Denwen sidestepped with unnatural speed, grabbed the boy's arm, and yanked him forward—kneeing him straight in the ribs. A wheezing gasp. One strike, one victory.

Three down. Four down. Five.

Each opponent fell faster than the last.

A well-built girl attempted to take advantage of his momentary lapse between fights. Denwen caught her leg mid-kick, twisted his body, and slammed her to the ground with bone-rattling force.

A massive guy, nearly as broad as an ox, thought he could overpower him.

Denwen met him head-on.

Their fists collided, but while the big guy staggered back, Denwen remained unshaken. The exchange had lasted a mere second—before the larger teen could even register what had happened, Denwen had slammed his elbow into his chest, driving him into the dirt.

The matches blurred together in an overwhelming onslaught of dominance.

One after another, they fell.

By the time Roy stepped forward, the dust had barely settled.

Roy rolled his shoulders, cracking his knuckles as he met Denwen's eyes with a competitive grin. "You're a menace, you know that?"

Denwen smirked. "Don't hold back."

Their fight was different.

Unlike the others, Roy was fast. He weaved, dodged, struck with precision. His movements were sharper, his instincts more refined. He was A-grade for a reason.

And yet—

Roy dashed forward, throwing a feint before twisting into a real strike.

Denwen didn't even flinch.

He sidestepped, shifting his weight ever so slightly before launching his fist forward—straight into Roy's chest.

A brutal impact.

Roy's eyes widened, his breath stolen in an instant. He staggered back, clutching his ribs. The force was undeniable.

Silence.

Then—

Roy let out a breathless chuckle.

"Come on, bro. You couldn't have gone easier on me?" He reached out, grabbing Denwen's outstretched hand as he let the laughter spill from his lips.

Denwen's smirk deepened. "Why would I go easy on you of all people?"

Roy's laughter roared through the battlefield.

"Nice one," he said, shaking his head. "Just know that this will be the last time. Next week—I'm coming for your throne."

The moment those words left his mouth, a chime echoed from their wrist devices.

A list flashed before them, revealing their official rankings.

1st - Denwen

2nd - Roy

3rd - Jay

...

10th - Angus

A muscle twitched in Angus' jaw as he stared at the results. His grip on his wrist device tightened, his teeth clenching.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, his eyes locked onto Denwen. "Even with better talent, I still came tenth. What the hell is he eating?" His fingers curled into fists. "Just you wait."

He wasn't alone in that thought. Many of the C-grades exchanged uneasy glances, their pride wounded. A D-grade stood above them all. It wasn't a title they could accept.

Even Roy, for all his good nature, felt the sting.

Denwen knew it wouldn't last.

That was why he fought now.

While he still had the advantage.

Because the day would come when talent and potential would catch up. When those with greater gifts would surpass him.

But until then—

He would take everything he could from this position.

The class president could be challenged once a week. If they lost twice in a row, they would be replaced. A single forfeit counted as a loss.

Denwen glanced down at his wrist device, reading his name at the top.

One week.

That's how long his reign would last—unless he could keep it.

"Well done champ" Kara bumped into him knocking him back into consciousness. 

"Thanks, I didn't see you fight anyone tho" he asked 

"Well I'm not a brute like you all, I would rather enjoy my forty fifth position for now while I begin cultivating. In a few weeks, don't think even you would be my match" she said crossing her arms.

—-

"Alright, guys, settle down," Kael's voice cut through the lingering tension. With a flick of his wrist, the shimmering battlefield dissolved, the energy retracting as the familiar wooden floors and sturdy desks of their classroom returned.

The students exhaled, some in relief, others in frustration.

Their rankings had been etched into their devices—an undeniable truth.

"You should all see your placements now," Kael continued, his tone steady. "And if you check the resource tab, you'll find your weekly essence core allowance."

A brief pause.

Then chaos.

Excited murmurs erupted across the room as students hurriedly checked their wrist devices. Some gasped, others stared in disbelief.

To many, this was the greatest wealth they had ever possessed.

A few students clutched their devices like prized treasures, already fantasizing about the techniques they would buy, the breakthroughs they would attempt, the power they could finally grasp.

But amidst the excitement, a voice cut through—loud, sharp, venomous.

"Yo, Class President."

The energy in the room shifted.

Denwen's gaze flicked up, locking onto Angus.

The boy's smirk was thin, forced, the sharp glint in his eyes betraying his frustration. The weight of tenth place hung on him like a curse.

"Thirty essence cores, huh? Must be a damn waste on you." Angus leaned back against his desk, arms crossed. "How about you hand 'em over to someone who can actually put them to good use?"

A few students froze, others shot glances between Denwen and Angus, envy flickering behind their eyes.

Thirty cores.

Three times what all of them had received.

For someone ranked below them, it was a bitter pill to swallow.

Denwen remained silent, his expression unreadable.

Then—

"That's wild coming from number ten, though."

Roy's voice cut through like a blade, effortless yet lethal.

The tension snapped.

Laughter rippled through the classroom as Angus's expression twitched. His fists clenched, but he said nothing.

Kael, still lingering by the door, let out a small chuckle before shaking his head. "Use them wisely," he reminded them before stepping out.

Just as the students were about to leave, the door swung open once more.

A tall, stern-looking upperclassman stepped inside, his uniform marked with an insignia that immediately silenced the room. His piercing gaze swept across the students before settling on Roy.

"The Principal wants to see you."

Silence.

A few students exchanged glances.

Roy's expression barely shifted, but Denwen caught the slight furrow in his brows before he stood up, exhaling through his nose.

"Guess I didn't have that much of a break," he muttered under his breath, flashing Denwen a smirk before walking toward the upperclassman.

As the door shut behind them, the classroom's atmosphere shifted.

The moment of levity was gone.

Denwen watched the closed door for a second longer than necessary.