Michael shrugged, some defensiveness creeping into his voice. "I haven't had any time to train properly. Father's had me stuck in management lectures and trade negotiations constantly."

He sighed. "Honestly, is it even worth trying that hard? One thousand points is relatively easy with the armor's firepower. And as for ranking..." He trailed off uncomfortably. "It's practically a given that Lady Lyralei Valen will take first place. Competing for the top against her isn't even worth imagining."

Ignatia hummed noncommittally. "Well, I'm checking on our Talent Advancement Program investments. Making sure our sponsored students survive the examination."

Michael nodded. Right, the joint sponsorship arrangements between noble houses—identifying promising commoners early and funding their education in exchange for future loyalty. Father handled all that administrative tedium. Michael couldn't even remember which specific commoners were under House Aurelian's direct patronage.

He grinned slightly, trying to recover his usual confidence. "Want to team up to reach 1,000 points? Then we can scout together afterward."

He gestured at his armor. "The academy didn't let me bring Mana Storage Crystals. I've been fueling this armor directly from my mana circuits. I'm a bit drained."

Ignatia paused, considering. "Sure. If you can even remember the priority list, that is."

As Michael turned away to scan for more monsters, Ignatia's eyes tracked the retreating forms of the three commoner students in the distance.

Her eyes sharpened with calculating focus.

Strange. Which of those three had that intense, murderous bloodlust? Or was it someone else observing from nearby?

She replayed the moment in her mind—that split second before she'd released her aura, when she'd felt something dangerous coiling in the air. Killing intent. Focused. Controlled. Waiting.

If I hadn't arrived when I did, they would have certainly beheaded Michael the moment his armor came off. That entire confrontation felt orchestrated.

Lara? She dismissed the thought immediately. No, that woman was worthless in a fight—pure support type.

Steve? Possible, but his rage had seemed genuine, uncontrolled. Not the calculated patience of an assassin.

Orange? But what would he benefit from killing a noble heir? It would destroy any future he had, Talent Advancement Program sponsorship or not.

Or something else lurking around here?

Her heterochromatic eyes scanned the desert landscape carefully, looking for any sign of hidden observers.

I should be more careful going forward.

Then another thought struck her, and she sighed internally.

And I'm not sharing a zone with Prince Agni.

Could this day go any worse?

The Monitoring Control Room was unusually quiet.

Professor Sylvia broke the silence, her voice filled with concern. "We must recall them back immediately!"

She gestured at the display showing Lara sobbing, Steve in shock, and Orange bleeding. "They're too injured to continue safely."

Professor Vincent adjusted his spectacles, his mechanical augmentations whirring softly. "No. It appears Student Orange has remarkable talent in his blessing abilities. We should let them figure it out themselves. If they can't manage, then we'll call them back."

Professor Whisper nodded, her doll-like face expressionless. "Too much care would ruin the yield," she murmured in her characteristic monotone.

Professor Gareth sighed heavily. "Well... I suppose so. We can't coddle them forever."

The scene shifted to Zone 1: The Verdant Meadows.

Lyralei blinked, remaining frozen in her combat stance, black lightning still crackling around her clenched fists. Her eyes were locked on the tall, white-masked figure before her.

"Aurora?" she asked cautiously. "Is that you?"

The white-masked woman blinked behind her featureless porcelain mask—and immediately moved.

She closed the distance in an instant, reaching out to flick Lyralei's forehead playfully.

Maybe it was because her mental composition was shaken from the sudden appearance, but Lyralei dodged the woman with practiced ease, jumping backward and creating space between them.

"Hey, quit it, Aurora!" Lyralei said, annoyance creeping into her voice. "What are you even doing here?"

"I'm not Aurora!" the white-masked woman protested, her soothing voice carrying genuine indignation.

"Come on, you're fooling no one," Lyralei muttered, clearly not believing her for a second.

The white-haired woman tilted her head. "What gave me away?"

Lyralei froze as if she'd been asked something incredibly obvious.

She looked the figure up and down slowly—taking in the full height, the flowing white mage's dress, the distinctive proportions.

"Size?" Lyralei finally muttered.

The masked woman went completely still. "...What?"

"You have a very memorable figure," Lyralei said matter-of-factly, gesturing vaguely at the woman's tall, statuesque build and curves.

There was a long, awkward silence.

"Huh?" the masked woman said quietly.

Then louder: "Huh?!"