The voices were forced to die down. There were no students of the Imperial Academy that weren’t intelligent. The exams were strict, and fools could neither slip through the cracks nor cheat.
If Teacher Fern was going so far as to push Theron to the forefront, then she already had blinders on. There was no amount of dust they could kick up that would change things. Much the same way there were no useless students in the academy, there were likewise no useless teachers.
In the case that Theron truly was worthy of this placement, there was even less reason for them to complain.
None of this changed the fact that many were unhappy with how Teacher Fern had gone about doing things, and that unhappiness was naturally transferred to the youth many of them didn’t know rather than the powerful Gold Mancer none of them could offend.
Throughout the process, Theron remained silent. Teacher Fern had expected to see some sort of reaction, but he sat there just the same.
**
The class was brought to the exchange room. This place was little more than a theatrical court of sorts, designed with the Imperial Capital in mind.
It was designed not much unlike a theater, if said theater’s stage was surrounded by seating in all directions. The stage itself was a circular platform that followed the layout of the room, and the spectator’s area was divided into four, opening up four paths for entry.
By the time many of the seats were filled, Theron stood behind a wide podium with Malaya, waiting for their opponents to arrive.
Although she wasn’t a femme fatale, she had a gentle air to her. One would be hard-pressed to find someone who didn’t have a fond expression of her.
She fidgeted on the podium, arranging the blank pieces of paper and lining up her pens and pencils. Nothing could seem to soothe her OCD, so she shifted them again and again.
After a polite greeting, the two partners hadn’t spoken again. The exchange was meant to simulate a high-pressure situation where you might have to work with someone you weren’t familiar with. Plus, the added variability of unknown questions raised the stakes.
There was a slight commotion at the doors, and a new wave of students entered, led by a short old lady. She moved with vigor, although she leaned on a cane that looked carved from an ancient tree. Behind her, there were two prominent youths.
Syriah Thistle, another 18-year-old third-year. She had accumulated 49 credits and was well on her way to becoming an honors graduate.
Benedik Grey, an Earldom descendant. He had accumulated 57 credits and was in his third year.
The closer one got to the top, the larger the gap that even a single credit represented. That was also why Theron’s 12 credits stood out so fiercely.
Teacher Bloom surprisingly didn’t react with much surprise to seeing Theron on the stage. She sent her students up and took a seat, readying herself for the coming event.
Murmurs and whispers soon consumed the exchange court. There were three 18-year-olds on the stage, and one 14-year-old that stood out like a sore thumb.
Theron stood with his eyes closed.
If I perform poorly, it will justify their reactions and potentially increase the ire they feel for me. If I perform well, they’ll understand Teacher Fern’s intentions, but the resentment will still remain. It’s a dead end no matter what…
He had lived a quiet life in the academy thus far. If not for wanting to leave for an extended period of time, he wouldn’t have completed his credits so quickly, nor caught Teacher Fern’s attention.
Though the valiant housewife thought she was guiding him, in reality, she was making his life worse. It wasn’t just about the inconvenience of living in the limelight. Orphans like him didn’t have the luxury of offending nobles, and that was exactly the fire Teacher Fern had just pushed him into.
Her “kindness” was a detriment, and her naïveté, her unconscious trust that the system would allow Theron to shine, would bring him no shortage of trouble.
Despite the calm look on his face right now, Theron was more than a little displeased, but what could he do?
Theron’s eyes opened as a silhouette appeared at the center of the debate platform. The figure appeared in a wisp and, without a word, a gentle smile on his face.
The man would be a breath of light, if such a thing made sense. His hair and beard were far too bright a shade of white to feel natural, and his skin was bronzed in vibrancy.
This was the dean of the political stream, Dean Grey.
“Welcome, everyone. I won’t waste your time with a long, drawn-out speech. Just remember to use this exchange to build your knowledge and your camaraderie.”
Dean Grey raised a hand, and a fluttering ball of light appeared in his palm. It rose to the ceiling and exploded in a firework, forming a line of words in what could only be described as an impeccable display of Mana control.
Mana is life. Mana is power.
These two philosophies have ruled the discourse for generations. Team Bloom will take the former, and Team Fern the latter. You have 10 minutes to prepare before the opening round begins.
Malaya had already begun to write furiously, dashing through ideas. She planned to give herself five minutes, then spend the next five minutes organizing their argument with Theron.
Theron gazed at the question for a moment before he looked to where Dean Grey had vanished. Then his gaze swept over the crowd.
Five minutes passed quickly, and Malaya looked down at Theron’s papers with a frown. Why were they blank? Was he not preparing?