The disembarkation was controlled chaos. Uniformed NVA staff directed the flood of prospects toward a massive courtyard at the base of The Spire. Banners hung from towering poles, each displaying a different symbol and color—presumably representing the five student guilds.
"Assigned assembly point," I muttered, checking the information on my ID card. "Sector 4-C. You?"
"4-C as well," Natalia said, showing her card.
"Same here!" Emi bounced excitedly, her earlier anxiety seemingly forgotten in the face of this small victory.
"They probably grouped us by region," I reasoned, though I suspected there might be more to it. The System often engineered "coincidences" that served the narrative.
We followed the signs to Sector 4-C, a designated area marked by glowing blue lines on the courtyard floor.
A tall, muscular woman with short gray hair and a scar across her left cheek stood at the front of our section. She wore a modified NVA uniform with instructor insignia and held a tablet, occasionally glancing at it while surveying the gathering students.
"That’s Lieutenant Commander Reeves," Natalia whispered. "She’s infamous. Used to be an A-Rank active Hunter until she lost her team in a Gate Break. Now she trains cadets and makes their lives hell."
As more students filed in, I noticed the gangly form of Reggie James entering our sector. He caught sight of us and made a beeline in our direction, weaving through the crowd with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, leaving a trail of muttered apologies in his wake as he bumped into annoyed prospects.
"Oh joy," Natalia sighed beside me. "Our grape-flavored admirer approaches. Just what this day needed."
"Hey there!" Reggie exclaimed, sidling up next to us. Up close, I could see he had an unfortunate haircut—a sad bowl cut that hung limply over his forehead like a deflated parachute—and cheeks mapped with angry red constellations of acne. "I’m Reggie James. You might have heard of me? My dad is a supervisor at the East District Containment Facility. Pretty important position, actually."
When none of us dignified his name-dropping with a response, he plowed ahead like a runaway train of social awkwardness. "Anyway, I wanted to apologize for what my friend said earlier. Super inappropriate. We’re all just nervous, you know? First day jitters and all that." He laughed—a high-pitched, strained sound that hung in the air between us like a bad smell. His gaze bounced frantically between Emi and Natalia, lingering a beat too long on their chests. "So, what are your Aspects? I bet they’re really something."
"None of your business," Natalia said with arctic coldness that could have frozen lava.
"Oh, come on! We’re all going to be classmates soon. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours," he waggled his eyebrows, a gesture that missed "suggestive" entirely and landed squarely in "mild seizure."
"I can create grape rubber like taffy from my fingertips. It’s super rare. One in a million, actually. The VHC has me classified as a C-Rank with B potential."
"Fascinating," I deadpanned, my voice flatter than week-old soda. "I can create silence by walking away from annoying conversations. Watch me demonstrate this miraculous ability right now."
I turned on my heel, guiding Natalia and Emi away from Reggie toward the edge of our sector.
"That wasn’t very nice," Emi said, though her lips twitched with a laugh she was desperately trying to suppress.
"I’m not here to make friends," I reminded her, scanning the growing crowd.
"Though if we were making friends," Natalia added, "it certainly wouldn’t be with Grape Boy. I’d rather befriend one of the monsters in the Gates."
A shrill whistle cut through the air, silencing the chatter throughout the courtyard. Lieutenant Commander Reeves had stepped onto a small platform, her stern gaze sweeping over the assembled prospects.
"Attention!" she barked, her voice carrying without the need for amplification. "You are about to begin the most difficult challenge of your young lives. The NVA entrance examination is designed to break you, to find your weaknesses, and to determine if you have what it takes to become a Hunter."
She paced along the platform, hands clasped behind her back. "The first phase will test your individual aptitude— mental tests, physical abilities, reflex responses, cognitive functions, and Aspect control. Those who pass will move on to the second phase: combat simulation. The final phase will evaluate your performance in a team environment."
Reeves stopped pacing, her gaze drilling into the crowd. "But make no mistake: this is not a school exam. This is a battle for your future. Out of the thousands gathered here today, only seventy-five will earn the right to call themselves NVA students."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Seventy-five. Even fewer than I had estimated.
"You have ten minutes to prepare yourselves," Reeves continued. "Use them wisely. When the signal sounds, proceed through the doors behind me in an orderly fashion. Anyone who pushes, shoves, or attempts to gain an unfair advantage will be immediately disqualified." Her eyes narrowed. "And believe me, I’m looking for reasons to thin the herd."
With that cheerful note, she stepped down from the platform. The nervous chatter resumed immediately, louder than before.
"Seventy-five spots," Emi whispered, her earlier confidence wavering. "Out of thousands..."
"Fuck the odds," I said.
"You really believe we can all make it?" Emi asked, her voice small but hopeful.
"I don’t deal in belief," I said, my voice low and steady. "I deal in assets. You," I nodded to Emi, "are the best healer here. You," I glanced at Natalia, "are a psychic powerhouse. And I... am me. We’re not walking through those doors hoping for a spot. We’re walking in to claim three of the seventy-five they’ve reserved for us. Let the rest of them fight over the scraps."
Natalia’s hand found mine again, squeezing once before letting go. "For once, I agree with you completely."
Emi took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and nodded. "Okay. Let’s do this."
A siren wailed, signaling the end of our preparation time. The massive doors at the base of The Spire slid open, revealing a sleek, clinical interior.
"Remember," I said as we joined the flow of students moving toward the entrance, "this isn’t just about power. It’s about adaptability. About keeping a clear head when everyone else is panicking. Stay focused, stay calm, and trust your instincts."
The culling had begun.