“Who wants to go first—”

Before he could finish, Malinda was already standing.

Kenji paused, surprised for a fraction of a second, then smiled faintly.

She walked toward the empty chair, her steps steady. She sat facing the dummy without hesitation.

“I like your personality,” Kenji said as he approached her. “Decisive.”

He positioned himself beside her.

“Place your hands a few inches from each side of the dummy’s head,” he instructed. “Do not touch it.”

Malinda obeyed.

“Now focus,” he said. “Aim to clap your hands together without moving them.”

She frowned slightly.

“Without moving them?” she asked.

Kenji nodded.

“Look at the dummy,” he commanded. “And focus on clapping.”

Malinda fixed her gaze forward. Her brows tightened as she concentrated. At first nothing happened. The seconds stretched. Her breathing slowed. Her awareness narrowed.

Then she saw it.

A faint glow formed in her palms. It flowed outward, bridging the space between her hands. The light passed through the head of the dummy and connected back to her other hand, forming a complete circuit.

Her breath caught.

She felt the sensation of impact.
A clap.

But her physical hands had not moved.

Her eyes widened in amazement.

Seconds later, the dummy’s eyes lit up. Thin arcs of energy traced across its body. The clay surface crackled with visible current, flickering like veins of living light.

The class leaned forward instinctively.

“Elementalist,” Kenji said, pride clear in his voice. “More precisely, a Lightning-aligned Elementalist.”

The word lightning carried more precision. More power.

“Congratulations.”

Malinda broke her focus abruptly. The glow vanished. The electricity faded from the dummy. Silence returned to the field.

She stared at her hands as if they no longer belonged to her.

Kenji tapped her shoulder lightly.

“Next,” he said.

Malinda stood, still stunned, moving her fingers slowly as she walked back to her seat, as if searching for the pulse she had just commanded.

The atmosphere in the class shifted.

What had started as fear was turning into hunger.
A need to know.

More initiates leaned forward now, eyes fixed on the dummy. Excitement moved through them like a current. Xin and Zachery stood up at the same time, both stepping forward instinctively.

Kenji raised his palm.

“Stop.”

They froze mid-step.

He observed them for a second, then nodded slightly, as if acknowledging what he had just seen.

“Fine,” he said. “I will call names.”

The tension sharpened.

“Warda,” Kenji commanded. “You’re next.”

Warda looked surprised. She had not stood like the others. Her anticipation was quieter, buried under unease. Still, she rose and walked forward, slower than Malinda had, and took the seat facing the dummy.

Kenji repeated the same instructions.

She lifted her hands a few inches from either side of the dummy’s head.
She closed her eyes briefly, then focused.

At first, nothing happened.

Then the clay surface rippled.

The class held its breath as the dummy’s neck twisted unnaturally. From the front of its throat, something pushed outward. Clay reshaped itself, stretching, forming structure.

Another head began to grow.

Smaller. Incomplete. But unmistakably alive in shape.

Warda gasped.

Her focus shattered. She pulled her hands back instinctively.

The second head dissolved instantly, the clay smoothing itself as if nothing had happened.

Her breath came fast.

Kenji spoke calmly.

“Invoker.”

The word echoed.

Warda turned to him, eyes wide.

“So… I can raise the dead?” she asked.

Kenji shook his head once.

“Not the dead,” he said. “You can bind the form of defeated foes. Their appearance. Their function. And make them assist you in battle.”

Her hands trembled slightly.

He gestured toward her seat.

“Go back.”

Warda stood, still shaken, and returned to the group.

Kenji turned his attention forward.

“Next,” he said, “Zachery.”

“Yes,” Zachery answered immediately, shoving Xin lightly back with his shoulder as he stepped forward.

Kenji gave the same instructions without changing a single word.

“Hands near the head. Do not touch. Focus. Clap without moving.”

Zachery sat down with a grin that barely hid his impatience. He placed his hands in position, eyes sharp, posture tense with anticipation. Unlike the others, he did not hesitate. The moment he focused, his Vitria surged forward aggressively.

The air around the dummy compressed.

There was no glow. No gradual reaction.

The clay figure imploded.

Both sides of its body were crushed inward at the same time, as if an invisible force had slammed its right and left halves together. The sound was dull and heavy, like wet stone colliding. The chair scraped backward slightly under the impact.

Zachery’s eyes lit up.

“Awesome,” he said, almost laughing.

Kenji nodded once.

“Amplifier,” he said. “I should have known.”

Zachery leaned forward.

“Why?” he asked.

Kenji looked at him flatly.

“Nothing,” he said. “Now leave.”

Zachery blinked, then smirked and stood, clearly satisfied, walking back to his seat with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

Kenji turned his head.

“Next,” he said. “Xin.”

Kenji repeated the instructions without variation.

Xin sat down, calm and composed. He placed his hands in position and closed his eyes for a brief second. The moment he focused, his breath caught.

“I felt it,” Xin said. “The clap. Immediately.”

The dummy, however, remained unchanged. No glow. No distortion. No reaction.

Xin frowned slightly.

“I felt the connection,” he said. “But nothing happened. What changed?”

Zachery scoffed from behind him.

“Knew that guy was nothing.”

Kenji’s eyes shifted toward Zachery, cold and precise.

“Quite the opposite.”

Zachery stiffened.

Kenji turned back to Xin.

“Do not break the connection,” he said.

Xin hesitated but obeyed, maintaining his focus, his hands still hovering beside the dummy’s head.

In one swift motion, Kenji raised his right hand and chopped downward.

The dummy’s head was severed cleanly and sent flying across the field, rolling lifelessly in the grass.

A sharp intake of breath spread through the class.

Before the body even settled, the stump at the neck pulsed.

Clay shifted. Structure reformed. A new head grew instantly in its place, perfectly shaped, perfectly aligned, as if nothing had ever been lost.

Xin’s eyes widened slightly, not in fear but in awe.

Kenji nodded once.

“Conduit,” he said. “Your Vitria is immense.”

Xin allowed the connection to fade and stood, a quiet smile forming on his face as he returned to his seat.

Kenji turned.

“Next,” he said.

His eyes settled on Levon.

“Levon.”

Levon did not stand when his name was first spoken in Kenji’s mind.

Like Warda before him, he had been sitting still, lost in the replay of the lecture inside his head. Every rule. Every consequence. Every absolute statement. Part of him was still trying to prove that it was all an illusion, that something this large could not be real.

But then he had seen Malinda.
He had seen Warda.
He had seen Xin.

And fear crept in, not of them, but of what waited for him.

The unknown was no longer theoretical. It was approaching. Slowly. Inevitably.

When Kenji finally said his name, it sent a cold shiver through him.

“Levon.”

His chest tightened. He knew he could not refuse. If he wanted answers, if he wanted control over the chaos forming around him, he had to step into it. Understanding required participation.

He stood.

As he walked toward the chair, Kenji leaned slightly closer and whispered a single word.

“Weapon.”

Levon stopped.

“What?” he asked quietly.

Kenji did not answer. He dismissed the question with silence and motioned him forward.

“Hands near the head. Do not touch. Focus. Clap without moving.”

Levon obeyed, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He placed his hands beside the dummy’s head, feeling a strange resistance in the air, as if reality itself was waiting for his intent.

The moment the connection formed, the dummy changed.

Its surface softened. The clay folded inward, stretched, and elongated. Limbs dissolved into structure. The torso narrowed. The head compressed into a sharp, refined edge. In seconds, the humanoid form collapsed into a single object.

A sword.

Perfectly balanced. Clean. Silent.

“You are a knight,” Archie shouted from the back.

Levon did not respond, he felt only dread.

Not because of what the dummy became.

But because of what Kenji had said before it did.

Weapon.

“Constructor,” said Kenji. His voice carried a rare note of respect. “Not many of you exist.”

He broke the connection slowly and lifted his eyes to Kenji, who was already watching him.

You knew, Levon thought.

Not guessed.
Not predicted.

Knew.

Kenji met his gaze without blinking.

“Move,” he said.

Levon stood, his legs heavy, his thoughts louder than the room itself. As he walked back to his seat, the word followed him.

Weapon.

Kenji turned back to the class.

“Next,” he said.

His eyes shifted.

“Marziah.”

Kenji repeated the instructions once more, his voice steady and unchanged.

Marziah sat down without hesitation. Her posture was rigid, controlled. She placed her hands beside the dummy’s head and fixed her gaze forward. Unlike Zachery, there was no excitement in her expression. Only concentration.

The moment the connection formed, the air around the dummy compressed.

There was no glow.
No gradual shift.

The clay body collapsed inward violently, both sides crushed together as if caught between two invisible walls. The impact was sharp and final, the chair scraping slightly under the force.

Marziah’s eyes widened, but she did not pull back.

Kenji nodded once.

“Another Amplifier,” he said.

A quiet murmur moved through the class. Two already. The same result, the same raw physical dominance, expressed without subtlety or hesitation.

Marziah broke the connection and stood, her jaw tight, her hands still slightly trembling as she returned to her seat.

As Marziah walked back to her seat, she slowed just enough to meet Zachery’s eyes.
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke. Then she flexed her arm slightly, not exaggerated, not playful. Just enough to make the message clear.

You are not the only one.

Zachery smirked, but it was thinner than before.

Kenji did not comment.

“Next,” he said. “Artorias.”

Artorias stood and walked forward, his expression unreadable. He sat facing the dummy and listened to the instructions once more, already familiar with them.

Hands raised.
Focus set.
Connection made.

At first, nothing happened.

Then the clay began to shift.

Not violently.
Not with force.

It rearranged itself.

The ears slid forward, settling where the eyes should be.
The eyes drifted outward, taking the place of the ears.
The nose lowered into the space of the mouth.
The mouth twisted upward, settling where the nose belonged.

Every feature was correct.
Every placement was wrong.

The dummy became something deeply unsettling, a face that followed no logic but its own. A structure that was not broken, yet not meant to exist.

The class fell silent.

No excitement.
No awe.

Only discomfort.

Artorias slowly lifted his eyes to Kenji.

“What does this mean?”

Kenji did not answer immediately. When he did, his voice carried something rare.

Concern.

“Aberrant,” he said.

The word did not sound like a title.
It sounded like a warning.

Artorias noticed it. The slight hesitation. The shift in Kenji’s tone. But he chose not to dwell on it. He broke the connection, stood without another word, and returned to his seat quietly.

The dummy slowly reverted to its neutral shape.

Kenji turned back to the class.

“Next,” he said.
“Parvati.”

Parvati hesitated.

Not for long, but enough for everyone to notice. Her hands clenched at her sides, her breath shallow. Unlike the others, she did not rush forward driven by excitement or pride. She walked as if stepping into something she had already decided could not be avoided.

She sat.

Kenji repeated the instructions. She listened closely and obeyed without question. Hands lifted. Focus sharpened. Connection formed.

At first, nothing happened.

Then the dummy stopped.

Not collapsed.
Not transformed.
Not reshaped.

It froze.

The clay surface hardened instantly, a pale frost spreading across it like a living skin. Crystals formed in fine, sharp lines. The air around it grew visibly colder, faint mist rising as the temperature dropped. The dummy became a statue of ice, perfectly preserved, perfectly still.

Kenji nodded.

“Elementalist,” he said. “Ice-aligned user.”

Parvati exhaled, relief washing over her face. There was no fear in her eyes, no shock. Only understanding.

This made sense.

Cold. Stillness. Control. Preservation.

Something in her had found a shape that felt… right.

She smiled softly, broke the connection, and stood. As she walked back to her seat, her steps were lighter than before.

Kenji turned back to the group.

“Finally,” he said.

His gaze settled on the last remaining student.

“Archie.”

“About damn time,” Archie said.

He stretched as he stood, yawning loudly while walking toward the chair. The tension that had gripped him earlier was gone. The joker had returned, as if humor was the only way he knew how to stay intact after what he had already lived through that day.

He dropped into the seat casually.

Kenji gave the same instructions.

Archie followed them, still smirking, hands lifting into position, focus sharpening.

The connection formed.

At first, nothing happened.

Then the dummy began to bleed.

Blood seeped from its eyes.
From its ears.
From its nose.
From its mouth.

It was slow at first, then heavier, running down the clay surface as if the figure itself had been wounded from the inside. The sight was wrong in a way that crawled under the skin. No energy. No glow. No force.

Just violation.

Archie’s smile faded.

Horror replaced it.

He pulled his hands back instinctively, breaking the connection.

Kenji spoke immediately.

“Occultist,” he said, his tone colder than before. Almost disappointed. “Your kind requires specific monitoring.”

The words stung more than the result itself.

Archie stood, the usual swagger gone. He walked back to his seat slower, shoulders tight, eyes avoiding everyone.

Levon watched him sit.

Then leaned slightly closer.

“Hey, man,” Levon said quietly. “Don’t let it get to you. We don’t even know what these classes really mean yet.”

Archie did not look at him.
He only nodded once, slowly.

Kenji straightened.

“Now that you all know what class you belong to,” he said, “take a short break before your second class.”

A few students shifted, releasing breaths they had not realized they were holding.

“This next session,” Kenji continued, “will be with Gustav.”

The name landed heavily.

Every head lifted.

The same man from the cafeteria.
The one who had unsettled them before they even understood why. 

The break no longer felt like rest