1

Congrats to all of you who made it here today. But don’t get too proud. The one sitting beside you? They’ll be your rival in three years—fighting for the same few seats.

In the Academy’s pilot training division, seated in line, I was biting back a yawn as the headmaster droned on with his kind words.

The uniform I wear—academic, not military. While the Armunale squad’s uniforms are pure white, mine is the same cut, just in gray.

I heard when they handed out the uniforms—that the students at the Academy are still raw stones, dull and unpolished. They say you only get to wear that bright white uniform once you’ve been polished up and made to shine.

Hearing it that way, even this dull-colored uniform starts to look kind of nice.

—Well then, I’m counting on you all to give it your best.

Finally, the dean’s speech was over. Checking the schedule, greetings should be done with that. After this, it’s just recreation by faculty—then the day wraps up.

And then, a sigh came from beside me. While all the other students listened intently to the headmaster’s lecture, that sigh was oddly refreshing.

I peeked over quietly—there she was, a woman with hair so black it looked like it’d swallow the light, glaring at the altar like it owed her a debt. Just like with Miss Seta back then. Black hair—still the best. It tickles something deep, something from before.

And then—caught my gaze, looks over. Those eyes, red. Not what I expected. Guess this really is another world.

“What?”

Ah, no. Sorry, nothing. Just heard a sigh, that’s all.

Ah, was that so? My apologies—I’m the one who was rude.

Oh, maybe he’s not so bad with manners after all.

Goodwill rising, you know.

"Stop worrying about it. What’s strange is how serious everyone else is around me. You’re the kind of person I can actually like."

"Is that so."

She turned her gaze back to the pulpit, as if she’d had enough of talking.

Guess she’s not interested in being friendly. Well, we’re probably going to be rivals from now on. Makes sense.

"Then, with that, the enrollment ceremony is concluded. After this, follow your department teachers’ instructions to move on."

As the announcer spoke, teachers standing around began guiding the students.

"Those studying piloting, this way! Don’t dawdle—follow me!"

A broad-shouldered man, looking like Captain Bodwan, waved from the hall’s entrance.

The students around me started moving toward him. I followed the flow, heading straight for the man.

"Right, heading to class—don’t wander off. Stray too far, and you’ll get lost for sure."

The thing is, it’s not entirely wrong—so that’s what makes it annoying.

The academy’s buildings form an oval, surrounded by outer walls and the main school structure. Seven stories high, with more than a thousand classrooms crammed inside.

And since every kind of class gathers here, the place ends up being like a maze.

We walk down the hall, teacher in front. Up seven floors, keep going—then we hit the dead end. The wall here? It’s just the outer wall, plain as day.

“Alright, this is your classroom. Farthest one in the whole place—should be easy to remember, right?”

“W-Why’s it so far away!?”

A student pipes up. Probably what everyone’s thinking.

"Anyone aiming to be a pilot needs solid stamina, that’s why the pilot classroom’s set at the far end. Gotta train every day—best way to keep in shape. Oh, and if you need to get to a special class, it’s on the opposite side, on the ground floor. You’ll have to run to make it on time."

Like a demon’s in there…

"Get in already. Seats are free."

The room’s about the size of a small conference hall—roughly two classrooms’ worth, if you’re thinking of the old world.

And yet, every single one of the pilot hopefuls squeezed in. So maybe fifty of them, total.

I drop into an open seat at random. Next to me, the girl who followed me in earlier, just… ended up there.

Everyone settled in, good. I’m Gazul Ortega—your instructor for the next year. Used to be a pilot for the Armunale unit, but got injured and stepped down from the cockpit to focus on training the younger ones. All the other instructors are the same—former pilots. So if you’ve got questions, don’t be shy. Ask away. And this one’s a warning.

His smile fades. His voice drops.

"Most of you probably came here aiming to be Armunale pilots. But next year? Fewer than a third of you’ll still be sitting in this classroom."

A ripple of tension spreads through the room.

"And those who actually graduate? Maybe five. You know why?"

Of course. Right now, there are thirty-two Armunale units operating across the entire kingdom—no, wait, thirty-three, since the one I brought is included.

Not every unit gets a new pilot every year. Each year, new pilots are assigned as assistants to current ones, join the Armunale squad, gain real combat experience, and only after a few years do they finally earn the right to pilot an Armunale as a proper pilot.

So even if we graduated ten or twenty pilots a year, there’d still be no place to assign them.

Last year’s pilot course had seven who made it to graduation. Out of those, only two were assigned as reserve pilots to the Armunale squad.

Even the five the instructor mentioned—those are high numbers, when you look at the yearly records.

If you understand the reason, good. From today, from this moment on, you’re not just rivals—easy, simple things like that. The one beside you? An enemy. A wall standing between you and your future. Keep your eyes sharp on their movements. Don’t let them slip past. And never slack off, not even for a single day, striving to stay one step ahead of everyone else. That’s all I’ve got to say. After this, you’ve your first aptitude test. Change into your workout clothes and meet on the field. The changing rooms are right by the field entrance—change there.

He said that, then just walked out, leaving us behind.

At first, we just stood there, unsure what to do, glancing at each other. Then, slowly, we started moving—each of us deciding for ourselves, leaving the classroom. I stood too, and headed for the changing room.

Changed into the workout gear they gave us before enrollment, then made my way to the field.

The place was a plain beneath a massive dome-shaped ceiling. In the corner of my vision, a forest stretched out. The dome’s ceiling was a mix of wood frames and glass, letting in sunlight just right.

We pilots-to-be stood around in small groups, or just warmed up by ourselves, waiting for the instructor to show up.

Then, the Gazul instructor arrived, flanked by a few other teachers.

“Alright, gather ‘round me. No need to worry about the formation.”

I followed the order and moved to stand near him. By sheer luck—again—there she was, the woman with black hair, standing right beside me… coincidence, right?

“Just like I said earlier, today you’ll be taking a skill assessment. We’ll check your basic stamina, swordsmanship, and magic. The paper test on Armunale will be later this afternoon—so don’t sweat it.”

A quiet chuckle slipped out from somewhere.

"First up’s the stamina test. Simple enough—just keep pace with me. How far you can follow determines your score. Five minutes from now, we start. Get your warm-ups done by then."

That’s all he said. Gazul instructor stepped into his stretches. The others doing the same, stretching out behind us—guess they’ll be tagging our progress from the rear.

I stepped back from the group, loosening up my limbs.

Five minutes later, we were called back together. The stamina test began.

With Gazul leading, the pilot cadets took off across the grassland.

Everyone here’s aiming to be a pilot, so for the first twenty minutes, no one dropped out—everyone stayed right on Gazul’s heels, trudging through the open field.

But now… someone’s gonna start falling behind soon.

I think that, eyes on the ground.

This isn’t some proper road—just a bumpy field full of weeds. You can see dents here and there, like the ones Armunale left behind.

For people who’ve only ever run to build muscle, this rough terrain’s gonna be a real test. Oh—right away, one’s already cracking.

I was just behind, so I spotted the drop-out fast.

He’s slowly being pushed back from the group, edging closer to me.

Breathing hard. Feet unsteady. He’s pushed himself pretty far already. Sweat’s pouring.

Better cut him loose quick.

Forcing him to keep going won’t help. I decide, and ease up the pace just a bit—then pass him with a relaxed smile.

The look on the boy’s face as I passed him—pure despair. He just stopped dead in his tracks. Then one of the instructors from the back came up, whispered something, and gave him a pat on the shoulder. He crumpled right there, sobbing.

“Ah, well. Next year’s your shot, I guess.”

The weak ones get weeded out every time. Not failing, maybe—but bottom of the class, for sure. Harsh reality, hitting hard from the very start. Still, I’ve no intention of falling down.

We ran another five minutes, and two more dropped out. The instructors picked up the pace, just as the others did.

Ten minutes, twenty minutes—more and more kept falling behind.

After an hour, fewer than ten of us were still going. They were drenched in sweat, forehead to temple, clinging desperately to the pace the instructors set.

I was feeling it too, deep down—more than I’d admit. Thought I’d been toughened up by hunting, but apparently still too soft to be a pilot.

“Huff huff huff…”

Keeping my breath steady, I pushed on without breaking stride. Another thirty minutes. Six of us left. Then the instructor slowed the pace.

“Alright, basic stamina test’s over. All of you still standing get full marks.”

“Y-yeah! We did it!”

“Mm.”

“O-oh… it’s over…”

“Phew… phew…”

Some pumped their fists. Others leaned on their knees, gasping. A few just flopped down right there—each showing their joy in their own way.

Among them, me and that woman.

We walked slowly toward the instructor, catching our breath. That she’d made it this far—damn, she must’ve been training hard.

“Ten minutes’ break. Then we move on to swordplay. Everyone clear?”

Look closer—there are people who dropped out along the way. Seems we’ve circled back to the starting point while running.

Those who quit earlier are all fired up, swearing to do better next time. The ones who made it to the end are clutching their sides, grinding their muscles to catch their breath, trying to squeeze out a little more strength.

I sit down on the ground, doing my best to recover.

“You’re not bad at this, are you?”

The woman from before speaks up.

“You’re not so bad yourself. Don’t look like you’re about to collapse.”

She’s sweating, sure—but not breathing like the rest. Looks like she’s still got plenty in the tank.

“Of course I’m fine. I’ve got a different kind of grit than those folks. And you? You seem to be holding back, too?”

“Who knows. Maybe I’m just pretending.”

“Just talking like that’s enough.”

“Eld.”

“Huh?”

My name. Honestly, I didn’t think we’d skip introductions entirely when we all first gathered in class.

Yeah, now that you mention it—Rayla. We were all told we’d be enemies, so I never gave it a second thought.

True enough, the instructor did say we’d all be enemies from the start. That’s why so many of the other students are moving solo, no introductions, no talk. But I reckon that’s a mistake.

Maybe we should’ve made a few allies, just a few.

What do you mean?

Seems like they’re deliberately pushing us apart. Could be we’ll end up paired up or even forming groups later. Better safe than sorry—better to have a few folks you can trust, even if just a little.

Armunale squad usually numbers at least five, sometimes ten or more. No way someone who can’t keep up with a group’d pass the test.

You’ve got to know your friends from your foes, or you won’t last long in this race.

“One could say that. As long as we’re paired up, we’ll be fine, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. If we try to make threes, it just screws up the pairing. Anyone asking to join’s probably already paired.”

“So we’ll stick to pairs for now. But don’t get the wrong idea—this is strictly for getting good marks.”

“Right. Got it. Count on me.”

I take the hand Rayla offers and stand.

At the same moment, the swordsmanship test begins.

Let’s cut to the chase. I’ve got no talent for swordplay.

No, I mean—hunting’s not about swords, you know? At best, you’re just whacking at game with a knife. After that, it’s bow or magic.

So I’ve never had any sword training before.

Yeah, I was done in before I could even blink.

The test’s supposed to be you pick a weapon you can handle, then take on the instructor one by one. But I didn’t do much of anything. Grabbed a middle sword for the first time, stood there with a stance so bad it wasn’t even a stance, and swung at him like I’d seen someone do once. One hit. Down I went. Probably figured it’d be dangerous to let me swing again.

How am I supposed to do anything without even using magic?

And the one who took top marks in this exam? That was Rayla—she made the instructor bow out clean. Knocking his sword right out of his hand, pressing a blade to his neck? That ain’t beginner’s luck. How long’d you have to train to do something like that, huh…

Still, the others weren’t slouches—seemed to’ve all learned the basics of swordplay at least, and were trading blows with the instructor proper! Me? I got knocked down in one hit.

Guess if you’re aiming to be a knight, swordplay’s expected. Nobles probably learned it from their parents, right?

Never thought I’d trip up like this.

But the next test’s magic.

Magic’s my thing. Gotta make up for lost ground here—pull myself up a few notches, at least.

I steady myself again, take a breath, and step forward into the next trial.