“Fuck off,” I mumble as the security guard lets me inside the campus area. The reluctance in the middle-aged man’s eyes is clear, and the way he looks at my old banged-up Ford Focus reminds me of someone who stepped in dog shit. I know he can’t see it, but I still sneak a middle finger in his general direction while I drive into the maze-like parking lot.

Calling this area a parking lot doesn’t do it justice, because I doubt regular parking lots have fountains and marble statues. But I should have expected as much. After all, that’s what the Academy is. Getting a spot in the entrance exam is nothing short of a miracle for someone like me. I don’t come from old money, and the Academy doesn’t cater to regular people. I have to thank that degenerate of a lawyer for getting me inside, he pulled a few strings along with a generous dose of overlooked loopholes. From what I understood of his explanations, his case hinged on long-forgotten scholarship provisions from the 18th century.

In a way, I’m glad I accepted his—No, I’m not too happy about the whole transaction. I’m a bit disgusted with myself to have helped him indulge in his less-than-savory desires. I shake my head, let’s not imagine what that pig is doing to that poor Thousand-Legged Lamprey.

That poor creature must be suffering a fate worse than death.

Of course, if anyone asks, I never heard anything about the illegal capture of a dangerous Dungeon monster. I’m also unaware of the deranged desires of that greasy bastard in an expensive suit.

“Here we go!” I park my vehicle between two pristine sports cars that must be worth more money than I will ever see. The dinged-up e-cig stored in my glove box ends up in my hands as I smile. Even my vape looks like it got fished out of a sewer. The paint on the main body rubbed off a long time ago. Still, the battery compartment is somehow worse since it stays closed only thanks to a piece of tape. I shut my eyes as I inhale the vaporized e-liquid, and the heavenly scent of cherry candy fills up my lungs. The sugary goodness, and dangerous levels of nicotine, always helps me relax.

I look over my paperwork to check that everything is correct. From what I have heard on the Internet, the Academy is strict. Writing my name slightly out of the designated area could mean failing the exam.

My gaze hardens as I look over the horizon, the large campus is so massive it has a special postcode. All those Victorian-inspired buildings and parks might look like a paradise to an untrained eye. But I know better than anyone that these supposed hallowed halls are nothing more than a daycare for rotten cowards.

I take a deep breath to calm the bubbling fury that threatens to explode. Losing control now would be the worst decision of my life, I have to keep my objective in mind. The Academy is a stepping stone; my real goal will always be the Tower Entrance Ticket. These mystical Tickets grant their bearer the right to enter the Tower, the biggest Dungeon on the planet. Some experts say that the Tower is a parallel world, while others claim that it’s an overgrown Dungeon. In any case, there are multiple entrance gates all over the planet, and Tower Runners all vie for the very valuable resources hidden in the Tower’s depths. Or should I say heights since the floors in the Tower go up? After all, that’s why it has its name.

I also wonder where the Tower is hidden, since the gates look like large rings made of rocks. There must be teleportation involved since regular Dungeons look like holes in the ground.

But back to the Tickets. They don’t exist on the open market since the Academy holds an effective monopoly on them. They only grant them to their best students, and they can’t be stolen since they bind to their bearer.

Someone who is too cynical for his own good might say that the Tickets always end up in the hands of the same people. People like the progeny of distinguished families rather than the ones who earned it, but who I am to judge? I’m sure that the rotten institution that deems people like my late older sister and her team as ‘irrelevant’ is above all reproach. Otherwise, why would they never even mention the disaster? Their faulty intel killed my sister, and they swept the resulting massacre out of the public eye.

The rumbling of a large diesel engine takes me out of my dark memories, so I inhale some vaporized e-liquid as the rumbling subsides. I close my eyes, I almost lost control. Rampaging through all those expensive automobiles would be so satisfying, I can almost taste the glee of turning these expensive vehicles into piles of scrap metal. But these idiots can buy a new car without batting an eye and I would also lose my only shot at getting a Ticket. Not to mention that I would end up in prison for a very long time.

“Calm down, Ian.” I mutter to myself as I take deep breaths. I look at myself in the rearview mirror; my brown eyes are exulting fury as I slick back my black hair. Breaking the Academy’s monopoly on the Tower is one of my objectives, that rotten institution won’t survive without their golden goose. It will also collapse once I bury all the people who sent my sister to die. I knew coming here would put my self-control to the test, but I never expected to be so angry before even leaving my vehicle. I look at my clenched fists; my knuckles are already turning white.

Another hit of cherry-scented nicotine helps with the tension as I exit my car. Somehow, I doubt I have to worry about it getting scratched. It’s already banged up, and the doors aren’t even the same color as the rest of the body. The paint job on the sports cars next to me must be worth more than my car when it was new.

I head towards the main paved path, and my tongue clicks at the inanity of the place. Each brick emits a different type of Mana! The road has an eerie rainbow-like glow, a casual display of the insane amount of wealth the institution has. The Academy can afford it, considering the tuition fees are in the seven digits. But that’s not my problem since Uncle Sam himself grants me a free ride! Something tells me that the loophole that landed me in this place is getting through Congress at this very moment. These people have to make sure that a ‘peasant’ like me will never enter their precious Academy again.

I pause when I notice the first sign which gives directions to the exam area. The sign is hovering! I narrow my eyes and shake my head. I recognize the stainless steel cone with two concentric blue lines near the bottom of the device. The signs are floating using Mana engines, they resemble rocket motors and spew a constant stream of blue Mana that pushes on the air.

They’re also inefficient and regarded as wasteful toys. How many Mana crystals does it take to keep that thing powered for the day? More than a person with a median salary can afford, that’s for sure. And what are these gratuitous wastes of resources used for? To make signs float, and they look like they’re struggling to stay up. Hell, the panels look cheap compared to the rest of the Academy since they’re all thin sheets of white plastic with black letters. I bet the Academy used these because the engines can’t handle anything heavier than a few ounces.

“This fucking place,” I grumble. I had a bad impression of the Academy before, but it feels like they’re trying to piss me off on purpose. Not like it matters anyway, I’m not here to marvel at the architecture. I follow the dozen—dozens of floating signs! The air is thick with Mana because of them, and it makes me dizzy.

The signs lead me to my destination; an enlarged ancient Roman coliseum. Two armor-clad men protect the entrance, their state-of-the-art armor covered in small engravings distorts the surrounding air. The suit must be teeming with runes, like the high-end assault rifle in their hands. The Academy guards look a lot fiercer than in the pictures, and I doubt I could shoot my way through these suits of armor.

“Name?” a bored, middle-aged blond woman with her hair tied into a bun raises her head from her cheap folding desk behind the guards. I can’t help but notice that the metallic doors are at least four inches thick. What exams are they conducting that needs such heavy doors? Overkill is the name of the game here. Posting two guards here is also unnecessary considering the bunker-like checkpoints I had to go through to access the campus. But I guess the Academy likes to flex its power whenever it can.

That reminds me, the bastards at the entrance almost shot me! They doubted that somebody who drove such a ‘rolling pile of garbage’ had any business inside the Academy. Their expressions when they recognized my documents were priceless.

The woman hardly registers my existence as she raises her head from her phone. It takes a second before the receptionist focuses back on whatever she’s doing. “Ian Rivers,” I reply with a curt voice. Courtesy goes both ways. If that woman isn’t even bothering to look at me, then she’s not expecting me to be polite.

“You’re on the list,” she says after a minor pause before gesturing behind her with the enthusiasm of a dead fish. “Go inside, follow the instructions.” I nod and glance at the guards’ fearsome weapons before going inside the coliseum. The slight breeze I got accustomed to fades into a calm and pleasant warmth. Such a sudden change means they’re using Mana-based air conditioning. I shudder as I imagine the insane costs of keeping a building as large as this one heated, winter is right around the corner!

A normal, albeit gigantic, TV screen displays the instructions. I can’t hide my smirk at the first reasonable signage. Did they run out of money? After reading, I now have to head to a labeled ‘Testing Room’ to get my Potential Level assessed.

A groan comes out of my mouth. Measuring Potential Levels equates to measuring the innate Mana conductivity of a person along with things related to someone’s elemental affinity. Then there are many calculations related to—I shake my head, my grades in Manamatics weren’t the best in high school. Right now, the dominant thought is that a higher Potential Level means that someone has better magical abilities. I always found it bullshit since the metric isn’t as perfect as some think, but I digress. It’s not like it matters anyway; the Academy can’t reject anyone for their shitty Potential Level.

I asked that godforsaken lawyer about it. It has to do with many anti-discrimination laws.

Following the instructions leads me to enter one of the small concrete rooms. It’s devoid of any furniture save from a floating glass orb hovering above a column of black stone.

“Please place your hand on the orb,” a monotone voice coming from a corner makes me jump as another bored-looking woman wearing business attire appears out of nowhere. She looks younger than the receptionist at the entrance, she should be in her early thirties at most. And—she’s hiding a smirk, isn’t she? She did that deliberately!

My tongue clicks as I press my palm on the smooth surface of the cold measuring device. I only got my Potential Level measured once when I was a child, so I’m curious to see how I’m doing. I don’t expect anything grandiose, but I would be lying if I said that my heartbeat didn’t increase a little.

All my delusions of being some grand hero from a forgotten prophecy vanish. The orb emits a faint green glow and fills the air with a slight scent of mowed grass.

“Potential Level readings are at one hundred and fifty-two.” The impassible woman declares as she types something on a tablet she pulled out of the ether. “Faint affinity for nature.” I stiffen, my shit-tier affinity was always—well, I’m a bit miffed about it, even after all these years. Some people have cool stuff like fire, metal, or Mana! All I have is a low-level affinity for nature. I don’t even use any nature-based spells! All this affinity gets me is a slight allergy to certain synthesized antibiotics and a moderate liking for the outdoors. Others get to fire beams of molten plasma for almost no Mana cost.

I’m not jealous, not at all.

“Please follow me,” the woman indicates to a doorway that popped out of nowhere. I saw it, she smiled when she saw my reaction to the sudden hole in the wall! I follow the woman through the sterile corridor. She stops in front of a glass double door before signaling to go inside with her hand. I nod as I step inside, and the white hallway turns into a wide-open area with a large fenced-off arena in the middle. I then—How did she do that? How did she transport me in front of my chair, in the middle of dozens of other exam takers?

This fucking Academy, I swear.