CHAPTER 39: NOW THAT WHAT WE CALL A SPEECH!

As soon as the announcement rang out, Freya tilted her head in confusion.

Loki Moe Lester.

What kind of name was that?

Who in their right mind would name their child something so strange? And more importantly, she had never heard of anyone from a noble house called Moe Lester.

’Which noble family does he belong to? Moe Lester?’ she wondered, still standing stiffly on the stage.

But her confusion quickly gave way to frustration.

She hated losing.

No, she loathed it.

Since childhood, all she had done was fight and win. Ending up in 6th place now felt like a slap in the face.

Then her gaze shifted to a boy rising from one of the front seats. There he was: the North Star of their generation.

The one who had outdone her and claimed the title for himself.

He moved unhurriedly, almost lazily, as though this stage belonged to him alone.

His steps were light, shoulders relaxed, hands tucked into his pockets as if the tension of the ceremony couldn’t touch him.

Freya’s eyes narrowed, catching every detail of the boy as he walked. He had beautiful pink hair that reminded her of cherry blossoms that she had once seen in her childhood.

It reminded her of her late mother. And those eyes of his? they were pure gold, as if they were the eyes of a divine. They gleamed with something sharp and amused, as though he found the entire world entertaining.

His skin was pale, almost porcelain, as if winter itself had carved him into being. When compared to her childhood friend, Louie, who was the nationwide crush of ladies, this boy didn’t fade in comparison.

As he walked closer to the stage, the murmurs in the hall swelled into a restless tide. Freya caught snatches of hushed disbelief:

"A commoner?"

"No noble house?"

"How did he...?"

But the boy didn’t care about those words. He continued to walk towards the stage with a cheeky grin on his face.

His face was so smug that it made Freya’s stomach churn.

When he finally stepped onto the stage, her aunt Asha began distributing their medals. Each one had its rank neatly engraved, with [Supernova] written in small, gleaming letters below.

Freya accepted hers in silence. The same went for others.

And then her aunt’s voice rang out once more, clear and formal:

"Now that all of the Supernovas have been announced, it’s time for the North Star of the first year to give his speech."

All eyes turned to him. And that smug grin of his only seemed to widen.

He stepped up to the podium with his badge gleaming on his chest.

His eyes moved all around the hall, soaking in the weight of a thousand gazes. Nobles had a look of disgust that clearly showed that they didn’t accept him as the Soaring Dragon.

The commoners, on the other hand, were looking forward to his speech.

Loki took his time. He let the silence stretch, tasting the tension like fine wine.

Then, leaning into what appeared to be a mic:

"Funny thing," he began, voice smooth, almost bored. "I thought about giving a speech about hard work, unity, and hope."

He looked at the crowd.

"But standing here, looking at all of you... I thought — why bother lying?"

A few brows furrowed as he said those words; whispers buzzed at the edges of the hall. It only made him look more amused.

"See, some of you were born wearing family names bigger than your heads. You had tutors wiping your noses and telling you the world was yours by right.

You were given your grimoires at the age of 13, 14, or 15, while I got mine a month ago."

He swept his gaze slowly to the other half of the hall, towards the commoners.

"And the rest of you? You spent every waking hour chasing them, bleeding for the hope you could catch up."

A moment of silence fell as he paused. Then that grin of his only twitched wider.

"Funny thing is, you all ended up in the same place anyway... right below me."

The words landed hard. A few faces turned red, while others went pale.

"But hey, don’t look too hurt," The pink-haired boy added lightly, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Not everyone’s meant to be remembered. Some of you were born to build the stairs... so someone else could stand on top."

His golden eyes gleamed, half-lidded and mocking.

"And lucky for you... that someone just happens to be me."

A ripple of tension spread. Cadets shifted in their seats; a few instructors exchanged uneasy glances.

Loki’s voice stayed calm, light, almost playful — as if he were talking about the weather.

"But really, don’t stop dreaming. Don’t stop fighting. Burn your lungs out training day and night. Swear to your gods, your ancestors, or your childhood promises."

He paused, voice dropping softer, slower, as though letting them in on something private.

"Just know... when you finally look up, covered in sweat, tears, and maybe a bit of blood... you’ll still see me standing above you. Smiling."

Thick silence fell on the whole hall. Loki let it sit there, his grin never fading.

"Anyway," he went on, voice light again, almost casual, "thanks for all the effort. Makes the view from up here a lot less boring."

Then he tapped the badge on his chest, metal catching the light one last time.

"Oh — and don’t take it too personally. Someone had to be first. It just wasn’t going to be you."

He gave a slow, mocking salute, turned on his heel, and strolled off the stage.

***

As I turned my back to the stage, clothes fluttering dramatically, because yes, presentation matters.

I couldn’t help grinning so hard my face hurt.

One speech and I had probably pissed off half the future dukes, half the barons, and at least three people who could afford to have me quietly stabbed in an alley. All before lunch.

Not bad, Loki. Not bad at all.

I could practically feel the heat of their glares burning holes through my back. Some of them looked ready to leap at me on the spot.

Which, honestly, would’ve been entertaining.

"Remember," I muttered under my breath, "confidence isn’t everything... but it sure sells the act."

But it wasn’t just for fun.

Well, okay — it was a little for fun. I am me.

But mostly... I needed them pissed. Really pissed. Furious enough to train till their bones ached.

Because if things keep moving faster than they did in the novel...

Then, the nether fiends and the villains, the kind who don’t politely wait until graduation — they’ll show up sooner than anyone expects.

And these pampered "geniuses" weren’t ready.

In the book, they had time. Years to sharpen their swords, polish their pretty titles, and learn the difference between a spar and a killing blow. But I don’t think we’ll get that luxury anymore.

So, it was better they aimed all that pride and rage at me now... and get strong enough to survive later.

"Come on, get mad," I muttered under my breath, almost laughing. "Hate me all you want — just get stronger while you do it."

They won’t thank me, of course. Why would they? To them, I’m just an arrogant first-ranker with a grin too wide for my face.

That’s fine, though. Let them glare, let them plot, let them dream of beating me bloody.

Because the truth is... I’d rather see them glare at me now than watch them die later.

And if I have to play the villain to do that?

Well. I’ve worn worse masks.

Still smiling, I kept walking. The hall behind me simmered with rage and confusion.

And me?

I had never felt so good since I came here.

***

’What a fool.’

Serena thought as she watched their so-called North Star leave the hall.

To her, he looked like nothing but a joker. The way he carried himself didn’t match the title of North Star at all.

According to her, the North Star was someone who should shine brightly above the rest, calm, dignified, and unwavering.

A figure others could look up to, not laugh at.

But she didn’t care as long as she kept her rightful place at the top in academics.

She was a researcher, not a warrior. And with that comforting thought, she turned on her heel and walked briskly to the bulletin board.

Serena had been called a genius since childhood.

She had found numerous potions, cured countless diseases, and proposed many groundbreaking theses about the Spirit Realm — the mysterious home of Spirit Cards.

Never, not even once, had she tasted second place when it came to theory.

So when she looked at the ranking for the theory exams, she expected what she always saw:

Her name, Serena Nightingale, shining boldly at the top.

But what she saw instead made her breath catch.

At the very top, written as clear as day was:

[1st in Theory – Loki Moe Lester]

Serena’s eyes widened as she read those words.

A faint tremor ran through her fingers as she traced the letters of that absurd name on the board.

"...Loki Moe Lester," she muttered under her breath.

"I’ll remember that name."