Seventy Seventh Seven-Chapter 63: Seventh Test E. S. A. T

"Isn't this the last test...?"

"Yes."

"What was it again?

"One on One mock duels."

"Fudge."

"Yeah. Fudge that..."

Seven talked to no one but himself as he stared at the mirror, moving his fingers with deliberate care as he ran his hair with a comb. He attempted to tame the unruly strands into something presentable.

But it was stubborn.

No matter how much effort he put in, it refused to stay in place.

"Tch."

He tossed the comb onto the desk and ran his hands through his hair roughly, messing it up entirely out of frustration. The strands fell back into their usual disheveled state.

Messy.

It was always messy.

Maybe it suited him better this way.

His gaze shifted downward, taking in his current attire. It was just his usual casual clothing. The stylized cloak he received as a so-called gift from some unknown sender was no longer an option.

It had been grazed and torn by the howlers back in the forest.

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And getting it fixed? That required money he didn't have to go and see a tailor shop.

"Hah..."

He exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck before placing the comb back on the desk. His eyes flicked to the mirror one more time, studying his reflection.

'Theia's Eye.'

Then, without a word, he activated the artifact only to deactivate it.

Then activated it again.

Deactivated.

And again.

Again.

"It doesn't hurt?"

His brows furrowed slightly. It was the seventh time he had asked himself that question.

Was this a good thing? Or was something wrong?

He couldn't shake the unease bubbling inside him. Theia's Eye was never meant to be used freely without consequences.

The agony that followed every activation was proof of that. Yet now, the process was nearly painless.

"...Forget it."

There was no point overthinking it right now. If anything, he should be relieved that the pain have lessened. It made things easier.

Step.

He finally turned away from the mirror, running a hand through his hair one last time before heading toward the door. His fingers hovered over the handle before he sighed.

"Early? Fudge that..."

He recalled Lythian's words from earlier. Something about the Academy calling them in for a briefing before the last test. A formal orientation or whatever.

Annoying.

Lythian had been banging on his door relentlessly that morning, urging him to get up and leave. Seven, of course, ignored him completely. At some point, when the knocking finally ceased, he assumed Lythian had given up and left on his own.

Turns out, he was wrong.

That bastard had somehow gotten inside.

He barely even reacted when he heard footsteps behind him as he was combing his hair. Lythian had stood there, arms crossed, looking unimpressed as usual.

"Fudging assassins..."

In the end, he refused to go with him, and Lythian went ahead to the Academy alone.

Now, it was his turn to leave.

With one last glance at his reflection, he turned the knob and stepped outside.

***

Inside the Academy's grand hall, the applicants murmured among themselves, exchanging speculations and half-baked theories about the final test.

Some looked excited, others nervous, and a few wore unreadable expressions—calm, detached, and unreadable, just like Seven.

He leaned against the farthest wall, arms crossed as he observed the growing crowd. Lythian was a few feet away, hands stuffed into his pockets.

The Academy staff had yet to make an appearance, and the longer they waited, the more impatient the applicants became.

"Fuck this..."

Lythian muttered under his breath, loud enough for the applicants beside him to hear.

"If they're gonna wake us up this early, they should at least show up on time."

Seven smiled.

For once, being late had its own benefits.

"I should've listened to that fucker..."

"...?!"

Seven didn't reply, despite knowing well those words were meant to him. He had already gone through the trouble of waking up, dressing up, and getting here.

Engaging in pointless arguments wasn't part of the plan.

Before Lythian could push further, an authoritative voice echoed through the hall, silencing the murmurs of students.

"Attention."

Instructor Vaughn, the proctor of the seventh test, a strict-looking man with a military stance, stepped forward.

Behind him stood several other instructors, including some higher-ranking academy officials who rarely made an appearance—including Cylinth.

That alone told Seven that this final test wasn't just a formality but it was a big deal.

"As you all know, the Seventh Test will determine your final standing in the academy's entrance evaluation. Some of you have performed exceptionally well up to this point. Others..."

His gaze flickered across the crowd, as if pinpointing those who barely scraped by.

"Have been blessed by luck."

A few students shifted uncomfortably, and Seven could already guess who was being called out.

"This test will be a one-on-one combat evaluation."

Vaughn continued.

"You will be facing an opponent selected by the academy based on your previous performances."

"This is not simply about winning or losing."

More whispers erupted. This was different from what some had expected. If victory wasn't the sole factor, then that meant...

"Does that mean even if we lose, we can still pass?"

Someone from the crowd asked hesitantly.

"Correct. Winning does not guarantee passage, and losing does not mean automatic failure. The judges will determine your results based on merit."

"Bear this in mind: only seventy-seven out of a hundred present here will pass."

Seven's gaze darkened slightly.

This meant that luck played a role. Some judges might favor a certain fighting style over another. Some might prioritize aggression, while others valued control.

Lythian, too, seemed to reach the same conclusion. He scoffed under his breath.

"That means it's all up to how much these judges like us."

"..."

Seven remained silent, but his mind was already calculating.

If the judges were selecting candidates based on their own evaluations rather than pure win-loss records, then the probability of passing wasn't evenly distributed.

Factors like performance, style, and even personal bias came into play.

But if they assumed that everyone had an equal chance of impressing the judges, then the probability could still be estimated.

'77/100 x 100...'

"77%."

Each applicant, statistically speaking, would have a 77% chance of passing if selection was random among all participants.

But some would naturally have better odds depending on their fighting style, their opponent, or even how much attention they had drawn throughout the previous exams.

"This is bullshit."

Someone muttered in frustration, confirming that others had come to the same realization.

The examiner remained unfazed.

"Those who make it through this final stage will earn the right to enroll in the Academy as official students."

"Those who fail will have to wait for another opportunity in the future. That is the reality of this test."

The hall fell into uneasy silence.

"There will be no killing allowed. However, injuries will happen. This is a combat test, not a sparring match. If you are unable to continue, the match will end, and your performance will be judged accordingly."

Step.

Cylinth stepped forward and adjusted the glasses perched on her nose before addressing the students.

"Fight with a clear mind. Those who rely solely on brute force without strategy will find themselves at a disadvantage."

That earned a few scoffs from the more physically inclined students, but no one dared to voice their complaints outright. They all knew that here, strength alone wasn't enough to guarantee success.

"Now..."

She continued, her sharp gaze scanning the room before landing at Seven that was the farthest student from her position.

"Pairings will be announced tomorrow."

"Today is simply a briefing session. However, before we dismiss you, I suggest you use this time wisely."

"Study your potential opponents. Strengths, weaknesses, habits—you will not have time to analyze once the duels begin."

Seven hummed, tilting his head slightly.

He already had a rough idea of the stronger participants. There were a few prodigies, some noble heirs with powerful bloodlines, and even a handful of unexpected talents that had surfaced during the previous tests.

Still, the real challenge wasn't in brute force. It was in understanding how the academy decided matchups.

Would they pair equals? Or pit the strongest against the weakest to force growth?

A part of him hoped for the former, but another part knew that life rarely worked in such balanced ways.

"Dismissed."

With that, the instructors stepped back, and the controlled silence that had gripped the room unraveled into chaotic discussions.

Students immediately began grouping together, speculating about their opponents, sharing strategies, or even scouting the competition.

Seven turned to leave.

He had no interest in unnecessary socializing.

He had learned all he needed for now.

Step.

The moment he moved toward the exit, the air around him seemed to shift. A faint ripple—almost unnoticeable—distorted space in front of him.

Before he could react, a black void expanded beneath his feet. It swallowed him whole in an instant.

Soundless.

Seamless.

That even Lythian who was just beside him didn't notice what happened, as when he turned to face him, Seven was nowhere to be seen.