“This is the state-of-the-art Albedo Labs here in Ordo University, no more than a thirty minute walk from campus. Every department is equipped with cutting edge technology and given so much resources that they want for nothing—I joke, of course. While we boast having one of the most well-funded research facilities in the world—which attracts specialists from all fields if I may add—it’s actually quite competitive here as departments are often butting heads over budget and grants.

“It’s a cutthroat environment, but who knows? If you’re looking to become a supporter, then this place may be perfect for you!”

The counselor guided the prospective university students around the main plaza of Albedo Laboratories. She was a bright little star leading a school of fish, their attention divided on her and the inquisitive eyes belonging to their judges above.

On balconies and platforms overlooking the plaza above were a majority of the Systemic Works’ third-year students and their educators, alongside non-systemic individuals who belonged to Albedo Labs. After all, the facility was not restricted to only System users.

Getting stared at by a thousand eyes was not a normal part of a typical college tour, but these upstarts were special. When the Slayer System had awakened on their sixteenth birthday and determined their Growth Potential, all of them were destined to become high-rankers. Upon discovery, they were offered to enroll into special programs for the rest of their high school years for one purpose: preparing them for Systemic Works in college or whatever institution. These programs differed from school-to-school, but they were rigorous in academic and physical affairs.

In other words, everyone down there was aiming to attend the prestigious Ordo University as a junior Slayer.

The application was a three-stage process. They had passed the first and second stage: filling out the application itself, then passing the interviews (most of which were online). Now this was the third and final stage: an all-expenses paid seven-day vacation to Ordo University, known as Expedition Week—since the next generation of Slayers had to venture into unknown territory for the first time in their lives. Only five-percent of applicants managed to reach this far, and even then not all of them will be admitted into Systemic Works.

Over the course of seven days, these applicants will participate in various events to showcase their talents pre-emergence and finish it off with one big exam at the end. The third-years had the special honor of collaborating with their professors to create some of the events themselves while the second and first-years did the grunt work. And once Expedition Week was over, the third-years also helped deciding the final admissions.

That was just the official business. Between the beats, the applicants were constantly being monitored.

Like now, when their judges were watching them from above, picking apart every little thing, destroying them on a molecular level.

Victor pushed up his glasses, writing down notes in a journal he’d borrowed from a first-year (he stole it because he lost the one Ichiken had given out to the class). “I don’t like the way No.145 is looking at me. Minus one point.”

“That’s because you laughed at her when she fell face-first into the mud pit yesterday,” Deon replied, rolling his eyes. Glancing at his notebook, it was lots more organized than his buddy’s. There were headings and highlights in different colors, and out from the top were colored tabs marking important pages.

Victor huffed and checked his notes. Yeah, he thought while smiling, shutting his notebook with a solid thump of the pages, I can’t read a fuckin’ thing I wrote.

“Are you actually taking any notes since Expedition Week started?” asked Deon without breaking eyes with the lambs.

“Not really. Including the notebook that I lost—” Deon sighed, “—I filled out, like, three pages? A lot were just scribbles, the rest were tally marks. I got a whole grading system going on inside my head, y’know. Everyone starts off with one hundred points, and each time they do something wrong, I take one off.”

“That can’t be consistent knowing your memory is awful.” Deon flipped his pencil and erased something. “What’re you going to say to the professors when it’s time to make decisions? ‘Yeah, so-and-so has thirty points, deny them!’”

“Exactly. It gives me a good opportunity to describe my intricate system that might replace the one we have now. Then once they’re convinced, the system will be implemented and it’ll be this big success and I’ll get a statue of myself.”

“I do not want to wake up and see your statue first thing in the morning.”

“Hey, we’ll be long gone once it comes ‘round. But I would make daily trips to admire myself in all my stone-y glory.”

“Would?”

“Yeah, ‘cause if I’m important enough to have a statue, then I’m important enough to have bigger business. Like visiting all my other statues.”

“Ugh.” Deon shook his head and continued to jot down notes, now regretting ever entering a conversation with him. “Whatever, just do your job and make some actual notes. Not some arbitrary tally marks or points or whatever you cooked up inside that empty head of yours.”

“Hey, I have you know that you’re running on thin ice.” Victor tapped his head. “You have twenty-seven points left, and once you hit zero, I’m kickin’ your ass out without a second thought.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. For every word you say to me, that’s one point.”

“You’re an idiot.”

"Minus three points.”

Deon glared at him, opened his mouth to spit venom back but thought otherwise, continuing on with his job. “I don’t care enough to argue with you. And whose glasses are you even wearing? You don’t wear glasses.”

Victor puffed up his chest, pushing up his glasses proudly. “It’s Alex’s.”

His friend’s expression fell. “He’s going to kill you.”

And so had Victor’s. “...Yeah. Anyway, what’s next on the list? I can at least do one last job before he tears my spine out of my back.”

~~~

“No, that’s not…” Damien stared dumbfounded at the small group of seven applicants before him, all seeking to enter the Combative Program. He was one of the unlucky seniors tasked with guiding them through their next exercise: something of a war-game, where they had to pool together their intellect to successfully complete an expedition.

It was basically a tabletop game but with real-world stakes. For them, admittance into Ordo University. For Damien, what little sanity he had left as he’d unwittingly volunteered to be their game master and ultimately their judge. This wasn’t his first thought when Professor Hei-ran had asked him and the others for help regarding Expedition Week, and he was beginning to regret his decision.

His group had received paper handouts with the expedition details in question, specifically the Nemesis they had to contend with. For them, they were dealing with a corrupted divine dragon who had the power of lightning coursing through its blood. It had three hearts. Destroying one was useless as it had two others, and it possessed hyper-regeneration as well so the destroyed heart would piece itself back together.

According to the handout, the expedition was declared a success when the subjugation was completed. However, ‘success’ was an objective metric. The entire Expedition Team could be killed or infected with a foreign disease and thus could not return—a practical defeat. Yet as long as the divine dragon was slain, then it was technically a ‘success’.

Judging from the conversation, this group was heading down that path. Technical success yet anything but.

Damien listened helplessly as two of the applicants, No.16 and No.249—thank goodness for these numbers because he couldn’t remember their names otherwise—were arguing back-and-forth.

His group had correctly deduced one path to victory: destroying all three hearts at the same time. However…

“These kids are hopeless…” he muttered, holding a thick stapled stack of papers close to his chest. No.16 was arguing for an alternative approach: taming the dragon itself, which was an admittedly daring plan but also very stupid. Meanwhile, No.249 was advocating for the regular subjugation through the avenue mentioned before, yet he had no actual idea on how to do it. He talked more than he did thinking.

In fact, No.249 had dominated the conversation since the beginning and Damien broken down every word he said: Fifty-percent was fluff, twenty-five percent was flattery towards Duskfire’s eldest son, twenty-percent was horrible ideas, four-percent was miscellaneous topics, and only one-percent had value. He had a desire to impress but had little else in the way of actual notable traits.

As for the remaining five applicants, they were silent and presumably contemplating, reading through the handout multiple times. Were they actually strategizing? None of them were whispering to one another. Were they clueless? Probably, they were teenagers. Was Damien losing his marbles? Absolutely.

“Mister Fayer, are you busy?” asked a voice through his earpiece: Professor Hei-ran, the devil herself.

He pressed on the earpiece. “I’m going insane. Was this the best job you could’ve assigned me?”

“Well, you’re the son of a Chief Slayer. It’s best to place you in charge of a social event so the applicants can respect you as much as they respect one of our third-years. I’m assuming none of these kids tried to bully you into submission?”

“I’m on the verge of being assaulted into submission by their nonsense.”

“So you’re doing great!” cheered Professor Hei, grinning on the other end maybe. “Believe me, Damien, I know it’s tough. I have countless horror stories from the past years’ Expedition Weeks and I’m waiting for another incident to pop up.”

“I’m expecting a ‘but’, Professor.”

“But you’re stuck here. What do you want me to say? You signed up, you’re getting paid for this—” (“I’m already rich to begin with,”) “—which is why you’re doing this out of the kindness of your own heart.”

Sorry to say that my heart isn’t built like yours. “It’s only the second day. Do I have to be the mediator for this poorly-designed event for the entire week?”

“No, and don’t call it ‘poorly-designed’. It’s been a staple for the past six years now and it really does help us see how each applicant behaves in a cooperative yet competitive setting.”

Damien tuned his ears back to the conversation at hand. Surprisingly, one of the other applicants had joined the debate: No.91, arguing against No.249. “If you took a shot of soju each time you were baffled by an applicant’s decision, how much would you’ve taken by now?”

“I’d be dead, Damien,” admitted the professor. “Several times over. Which is why I limit myself to one shot every five baffling decisions so I’ll die once or twice.”

“Charming.”

“Mhm. How about I make it up to you by taking everyone out for drinks?”

“No,” he swiftly answered. Professor Hei-ran was notorious amongst her colleagues for having an unhealthy addiction to alcohol. There were rumors that she drank one bottle of soju a day. Most were probably exaggerated but Damien did not want to be anywhere near a drunk S-Rank Slayer.

Professor Hei blew air. “Fine. I won’t bother you any longer. Have fun with the event, Damien, and don’t forget to take detailed notes.”

“Mhm, all the way to my untimely demise…”

~~~

“Of all thirty-three applicants for the very first round,” Leona counted off, tapping the butt of her pen against her clipboard, “every single one failed by your metrics. Everyone. Nobody survived.”

Alexander rolled his eyes as he drank the rest of his water bottle, crumpled the soft plastic in his hands, tossed it into the trash. His hands found the white towel wringed around his neck and wiped sweat off his forehead. “I got carried away, okay?”

“Carried away—? Alex.” She gestured across the room where most of the thirty-three applicants were: sitting against the wall, laying near-motionless on the floor, deceased one way or another. Every kid here was vying for limited spots in the Combative Program, hence why they were sweating their balls off in a gym.

A few were in the bathrooms, puking their guts out.

“In my defense,” began Alexander, raising his hands up to show he meant no genuine harm, “those kids fucking deserved it.”

“You don’t say things like that, Alex! What’s wrong with you?” Leona lambasted him and his poor choice of comedic timing. “The original plan was to have them spar against each other. They weren’t supposed to spar against their instructor trying to one-up Ichiken’s [Hyakunin Kumite].”

“For one, not a single applicant here is a worthy opponent.” That comment earned an eye roll. “And two—” (“Two,”) “—yeah, two! I, uh, I got annoyed so I decided to change the plans a little. Besides, if you really rationalize this, they needed to be humbled at some point.”

“Is that your defense when the our professors ask you what happened?”

“Sure. I doubt saying ‘those kids fucking deserved it’ will fly well with them.” Alexander sighed and sat next to Leona, making sure none of his sweat dripped onto her. Technically she was his co-instructor but was delegated to more of an administrative role than a physical one, ensuring the event kicked off smoothly. They had a few first and second-years helping but they ran the show. Said first and second-years were utterly terrified of him and jittering amongst themselves.

“They made you upset, didn’t they?” Leona asked him, checking over her papers. “What’s wrong with high-schoolers these days? First Althea’s thing, now you had a whole class of teenagers looking down on you. Had.”

Alexander licked his lips, tasting sweat on his tongue. “Yeah. Sorry I went overboard. I’ll take whatever punishment the admins will give me.”

The professors thought assigning him to the sparring event was a great idea. In theory, yeah. In practice, they had underestimated the culture that these kids were taught in. School told them they were special. Had high Growth Potentials after all, told them they were God’s gifts to the world. Then, in the prestigious Ordo University, one of their instructors was a senior majoring in Economics, whose only point of connection with the System was item trading he did as a hobby. Not only that, his Potential was in the D’s.

Maybe it was better to lie to them. He wouldn’t hear these brats mouthing off.

“Seriously? A D-Rank is judging us?”

“Man, why isn’t the daughter of Hwaseong Heavens doing this instead? Or any of the other juniors?”

“This is ridiculous. Who do they think we are? I might complain to administration about this.”

“Let’s be real: if his GP is in the D’s, then he’s probably dumb.”

“I don’t think he’s even related to any well-known Slayers. He’s just a random guy they found.”

That was some of the stuff he heard after his disastrous introduction, until one had stepped out from the group: No.67. He’d personally aired his grievances with Alexander, stating he was the child of some famous Slayers and whatever, expressing his disappointment with Ordo University’s decision to include a ‘middling man’ like him, all with a pretentious look in his eyes like he was an aristocrat seeing a farmer.

That was when Alexander had decided to change his plans: anyone who could best him in a short spar would receive highest marks plus a personal recommendation. Naturally everyone jumped at the opportunity, with No.67 being the first. He lost within seven seconds.

A part of Alexander wished he was that middling, unimportant man.

“What is wrong with kids nowadays?” he muttered to himself. “God, I sound like an old man.”

Leona chuckled. “It’s not your fault for being stronger and wiser than them. Except for one thing: you know word’s going to spread fast. How do you think this event will change?”

Alexander shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I’m the guy who knocked thirty-three high-schoolers down on their asses. Stuff like that doesn’t usually come with deep foresight.”

“If you end up fighting the entire population of applicants, I won’t have any sympathy for you.”

“You will.”

Leona blew raspberries. “Only because you make me worry too much.”

“You stress me out everyday.”

“Shush.”

~~~

“Kaiya.”

“Eh?! How did you get in here?! I locked the door!” she shouted, scrambling onto her messy bed stuffed in the corner of her messy room like a ghost had appeared before her. Kaiya was wearing cute navy blue pajamas with pink pandas patterned across in colors.

Chunhua raised the masterkey between her fingers. As Class Representative, she shared the masterkey with Professor Hei-ran for the dormitories in emergency situations. Like whenever she needed to sneak inside to fetch something, whenever her classmate forgot their personal key, and whenever the Vice Class Representative had suddenly come down with a ‘cold’ since yesterday and needed to be checked on.

Kaiya moved awfully quick for a girl who was supposed to be bedridden. Her beautiful pale skin was healthy, and her blue eyes popped from behind the curtains of her long black hair. She tucked her legs close to her chest, lips quivering like a little girl whose scheme was exposed.

Chunhua sighed and shut the door. No one was inside the dormitories at the moment but it did not hurt to be safe. “Kaiya—“

“I’m sorry!” she squeaked. “I didn’t wanna lie but—!” (“Calm down—“) “—I didn’t wanna tell the truth either and I know that sounds really bad—!” (“Kaiya—“) “—but I was just really embarrassed and thought you’d get mad and—!”

“Kaiya!” Chunhua raised her voice, putting an end to her friend’s panicked rambling. On a second glance she saw Kaiya’s lips trembling, her frame shrinking more into a ball.

Did I scare her? she thought. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh?” the word rose weakly into the air.

“You’re a lazy person, Kaiya, but far from irresponsible.”

“Kinda feels like I am.” She buried her face into her legs. “Whatever, don’t worry about it. Lemme get dressed—“

“You can confide in me.” Chunhua sat on the edge of her bed after throwing aside a random sock on the sheets.

Kaiya shifted uncomfortably and didn’t respond.

“I don’t care that you lied; I care if you are okay. What happened? You are not usually like this.”

“…I was just a little insecure s’all. It’s dumb,” she said, unable to look her best friend in the eye.

“If you are stuck in your room, then it is certainly not dumb,” countered Chunhua.

“You’re gonna laugh at me if I explain it.”

“I won’t.”

“You totally will. You laughed at me a lot of times before.”

“Because I think you are a hilarious woman.”

Kaiya pouted and lowered her legs. “Fine fine, I warned you. It’s because of Expedition Week. I looked at the roster so many times: A-Ranks, S-Ranks, even a couple SS-Ranks. I read their essays. About what they went through, what families they came from, how hard they worked. Then there’s me, who kinda just stumbled into everything.”

So that is the reason why. Because we are third-years and have to manage Expedition Week, Kaiya has seen this year’s applicants and felt undeserving of her place here. Chunhua placed a hand on her leg. “That’s not true—“

“I mean, I stumbled into a positive condition. Stumbled into OU and continued to stumble throughout. And before you say anything, I didn’t think this would affect me that much.” Kaiya paused. “Until yesterday, when I was overseeing my event. I shared bits of my life: normal stuff, where I grew up, what I did during high school, those things. Then when things got started, I heard them… I heard them whispering about me…”

Kaiya’s eyes were towards her bookshelf of mangas but she was staring beyond them. “A-And it wasn’t anything bad either. I mean, not bad bad but I didn’t like what they were saying. I—!“ She choked down whatever she was going to say and shook her head. “I dunno, it’s nothing. I just felt really sick and everything hurt and I had to step away. I was like that all day yesterday.”

A compassionate pain stung Chunhua’s heart. She had never seen Kaiya like this before: so withdrawn, so meek. “I’m sorry—“

“I should be saying that,” Kaiya interrupted. “It’s just stupid high-schoolers gossiping and I got upset and jealous. I’ll get over it and join you guys soon. Just gimme a little more time.”

This troublesome girl had often put Chunhua at a loss for words, but that was due to her silly antics. Never had she been a stubborn wall refusing to open its gates, not even for her treasured friend and probably not Professor Hei either. Thinking back on the past three years they’d spent together, now…

Maybe it made sense. Chunhua did not know Kaiya’s life all that well, nor did Kaiya know much about hers and what’d happened in the jianghu and the Circle. They were both indomitable castles in that way, possessing pasts they’d prefer not to be shared.

They sat in silence, and although they’d sat together like this many times before, Chunhua’s presence was not a reassuring one. Kaiya was waiting for her to leave but didn’t have the courage to say it.

If only Leona was here. She’d know what to say.

Chunhua sighed and reluctantly took her hand off her friend’s leg, looking around her disorganized room. She wanted an answer, and within a second she’d spotted something that surprised her: an acoustic guitar shining from the sunlight streaming from the window, sitting comfortably on her chair.

Kaiya seldom mentioned her guitar. One time, she commented…

“You can stay bedridden, Kaiya, only for today,” Chunhua said much to her surprise. “In return, you must play a song for me. One single song.”

Kaiya picked her head up and noticed she had left her guitar out. She bit her lip, seemingly cursing herself for leaving it out in the open. “Play a song—? I mean, okay, but why?”

“Because playing the guitar soothes you, you’ve mentioned it before off-handedly.”

“Yeah, but it’s because I suck. It’s just a silly little thing I like to do whenever I’m bored or feel like it sometimes. I sound like a dying cat too.”

Chunhua cocked her head to the side. “You can sing?”

Kaiya opened her mouth to protest but realized the depth of the hole she dug was. “…I’m pretty bad? Like really really bad? I—actually never mind, I give up! Chunhua, just make me work—“

“And I am asking you to indulge me. You’ve pestered me to take breaks countless times before, and for once I am listening to your advice and taking one now. With you, with your playing.”

Although they didn’t know how they came to Ordo University besides the bare basics, Chunhua knew her friend. As forward as she was, Kaiya was weak to the exact same thing.

She shifted on her bed, unsure, uncertain, doubtful, until she eventually conceded: “Okay, don’t blame me if your ears bleed.”

“Do not say that. If it’s your voice, then I may be tempted to stay the entire day here.”

Pink ran across her cheeks and into her ears. Kaiya jumped out of bed and furiously shook her head. “I’ll kick you out if you do!” she exclaimed for some reason, stomping to her chair, plucking her guitar and sitting in its place. “One song, that was the deal.”

“One song, yes.”

“Yeah.” Kaiya pouted and began to tune her guitar, checking the strings, giving her instrument more attention than any exam or test. It was mesmerizing seeing her this focused. “…Chunhua.”

“Huh?” squeaked Chunhua, blinking absently.

Kaiya’s soft blue eyes were turned to her. “What song were you thinking ‘bout?”

“Err…” Chunhua gingerly placed her hands on her lap. “What is the longest song you know?”

The question earned a delightful laugh. “I’ll choose one then. You’ll get your money’s worth, don’t worry about it. And uh…” Kaiya hesitated, “…it’s been a long time since I played before an audience. Don’t laugh at me, okay?”

“Never.”

“Liar.”

Kaiya began to play. It was a Japanese song that Chunhua hadn’t heard before but the melody struck a deep, hidden aspect of her spirit. There was nostalgia in the lyrics, there was an air of bittersweetness. It was a song dedicated to the youth sung by a woman existing in a world too mature for her.

Chunhua listened, amazed. The musician in the chair was an unforgivable liar, she had realized within the first seconds. Because even to the untrained ear like hers there was little difference between this and a professional performance. This had been Kaiya’s passion once. This had been her ambition. It was felt in her voice, seen in how she shut her eyes and lost herself in the music, taken back to the years before Ordo University when she was a simple girl in Japan.

Eventually the song no longer mattered despite the previous insistence. What mattered was the young woman wearing fluffy pajamas in the middle of the day. Time slipped by them and seconds passed before Chunhua realized she no longer heard that delightful voice.

With enough asking and pleading, an encore started and that too lasted for seconds.