Exam - 6 Sushi or Oden?

The stone corridors of the Coliseum were quieter this morning—at least by Arcana standards. The echoes of spell clashes and mana bursts still hummed through the walls, but most of the ruckus stayed tucked inside exam chambers.

Alex, hands tucked into his coat pockets and a fresh toothpick replacing the one from morning, took his time moving between wings. He had paused in front of a training simulation wall, one of the large projected panels showing slowed-down replays of elemental channeling sequences. Not many cadets stood near it—most avoided the embarrassment of being caught watching the highlights. But Alex stood there, casually mimicking the finger movements in the air, correcting spell posture with idle precision.

A few eyes were already on him. Not because he was making a scene, but because no one under fifteen should be correcting mana flow mid-air like a bored lecturer.

A pair of guild scouts whispered behind their notes. One student elbowed another. Even a technomancer instructor paused, narrowed his eyes, and scribbled something on a floating notepad.

Then the corridor shifted.

Relen Tyvaris stepped into view.

The low hum of ambient conversation nearby dipped just a bit. Like someone had adjusted the volume dial of the hall.

He was halfway through the southern passage when he saw someone.

"Alexidrin Finch."

The voice didn't shout. Didn't ask. It just was. Firm. Measured. Like it had been part of the hallway all along.

Alex turned slightly, already recognizing the owner.

Relen Tyvaris.

Pinned at his shoulder was the emblem of the Tyvaris family—subtle but unmistakable. At its center, a silver crescent moon cradled a vertical caduceus, but instead of serpents, twisting medicinal vines wrapped the staff, which shimmered with faintly etched runes. Behind it, so faint it nearly vanished into the antique surgical silver finish, was the outline of a hand balancing a scale. The badge wasn't flashy, wasn't loud. Just like the man—elegant, clinical, and quietly absolute.

The man was dressed in layered ceremonial black and gray, accented with small emerald runes etched along the cuffs. No visible weapon. No visible ornamentation. He didn't need them. His expression carried enough weight.

Relen was the head in charge of the admission exam—Dean of Internal Management—and recently recommended for Vice-director of the Internal Management Committee. But more than that, he was Tyvaris-born. The noble house controlled medical essentials for Arcane City and supplied nearly every academy infirmary, lab, and recovery ward.

He didn't need to remind people who he was. He just waited for them to act like they knew.

Alex gave a nod. "Dean Tyvaris."

Relen walked beside him without invitation. "Staying out of the tests today?"

"For now," Alex replied. "Yesterday was enough."

Relen gave a soft, almost amused hum. "The youngest candidate in the arena. You've stirred the data boards, if nothing else. Even the algorithm flagged it twice. Ten years old, is it?"

"Just turned," Alex replied. "Celebrated with a training simulation and existential dread."

"Efficient," Relen said flatly. "You're younger than Prince Kaelor of the Griffin Clan of Teregal Lineage. He turns fourteen in two months. And yes, he's extremely annoyed about it. Word is, he broke three training dummies after hearing your name."

"Tell him I'm flattered," Alex said, dry. "Or terrified. Depending on which response buys more time."

Alex shrugged. "Not my fault he was born slower."

Relen's mouth twitched. Maybe a smile. Maybe not.

They walked a few steps in silence.

"Some are saying it's pressure," Relen continued. "That your family pushed for early enrollment. But others"—he glanced sideways—"see it as ambition."

"Both can be true," Alex said, not missing a beat. "But mostly, I'm here because being proclaimed dead by a 'Chosen One' makes school seem kind of relaxing."

Relen gave a small nod. "Good. And don't underestimate how fast people start rewriting stories—especially ones where a Valen boy gets resurrected in the middle of an inheritance power game."

Alex snorted. "Please. If anyone's directing this mess, it's Mr. Aiden. He micromanages like it's a sacred art."

"He is efficient," Relen allowed. "But your master has a habit of turning subtlety into spectacle. You're the quiet one, apparently."

"I'm not quiet," Alex said, flicking his toothpick. "I just don't enjoy making speeches unless someone's bleeding first."

Relen stopped walking and turned to face Alex fully. "We'll speak again soon. Enjoy your observations while you can. Day Three tends to separate the hopefuls from the headaches."

Relen paused, then offered the briefest parting glance. "Keep walking with your head up, Valen. If nothing else, it makes the older ones more nervous."

And with that, the Dean walked away—no bow, no farewell. Just the sound of his steps echoing down the corridor, his badge catching a flicker of light before vanishing into shadow.—no bow, no farewell. Just the sound of his steps echoing down the corridor.

Alex rolled his toothpick between his teeth.

Ten. Still the youngest in the building.

And now apparently, also the kid who casually laughed and strolled alongside the head examiner. That alone was enough for rumors to spread. Even the background noise of spell impact and instructor shouting seemed to quiet a little whenever he passed.

His once-quiet patrol had officially become a moving topic of discussion. Conversations shifted. Whispers turned into exchanged looks. A few older students pulled out mana-linked tablets, discreetly cross-referencing his name. Somewhere along the line, someone's familiar darted off toward the administration wing—probably relaying a report to their informant handler.

By the time he turned the corner, half a dozen groups had already started sending inquiries through their own family scribes or broker channels. If he wasn't on their radar before, he definitely was now.

Some stared outright. A few tried to pretend they weren't listening in. Even a pair of instructors paused mid-conversation to glance his way with the kind of squint that said, Did we miss something important?

He sighed again.

So much for staying under the radar.

'Great. Now everyone really had a reason to stare.'

And it only got worse.

Alex tried to resume his casual stroll, hoping to fade back into the crowd. No such luck.

He bent to pick up a book a girl had dropped—something thick, alchemical, and clearly overdue—only to hear a gasp behind him. When he handed it back, someone muttered, "Did you see that? He reads alchemical indexes."

Later, he bumped into a boy from the technomancy sector—literally bumped—and helped him gather up a scatter of prototype gear. They exchanged a few dry comments about unstable circuitry and mana shielding. Harmless stuff.

The next corridor had three students retelling it like he was consulting on a classified project.

He tapped his foot once while standing in line for tea. The line, which had been slow-moving, suddenly parted like a river around a rock. Candidates stepped aside, heads down, not meeting his eyes. One even muttered something about 'mana dominance patterns.'

Within seconds, the girl at the front of the line offered to swap places with him. A vendor adjusted their cart's display.

To everyone else: the Emperor had arrived—and he was apparently impatient.

To Alex: his foot itched.

Even when he sneezed—just once—a couple of nearby candidates turned to each other with wide eyes. "Was that a detection spell trigger?"

The worst was probably when he paused in front of a statue and adjusted his coat.

To him: cold draft.

To a watching trio of noble heirs: ritual signal to activate a long-range enchantment buried beneath the stone plaza.

He could practically hear the narrative spiraling out of control.

And behind the scenes, informants were earning bonuses with every exaggerated retelling.

'Great,' he thought, rubbing the bridge of his nose, 'At this rate, I'll be appointed Emperor of Arcana by dinner.'

Arcana was exhausting before lunch.

'Should I cancel the sushi and get oden?'