CHAPTER 34: CEREMONY (3)

Chapter 34: Ceremony (3)

The hall was still humming with the heat of Emily Lionheart’s flames when my name was called.

Every pair of eyes—first-years, seniors, even the instructors up on the dais—shifted toward me like a wave.

The scrape of my chair against the marble floor rang out

SCREEECH—

A sound so sharp it cut through the silence, echoing against the tall rune-etched walls.

My footsteps followed, steady and deliberate.

Step. Step. Step.

Each one bounced back at me, magnified by the suffocating stillness. I could almost feel the whispers pressing at the back of my skull, though no one dared speak loudly yet.

’Here we go. The "Welcome Ceremony Speech" event. One of those make-or-break flags. If I keep it safe, they’ll forget me in a week. If I throw fire... well, they’ll never forget.’

I kept my posture straight, hands loose at my sides, eyes half-lidded as though I didn’t care about the hundreds staring at me. The gamer inside me was grinning. The Michael I’d inherited would have crumbled. But me? I was about to pour gasoline over this hall.

When I reached the podium, Emily stepped back. Her sword was sheathed now, but her golden eyes lingered on me for a beat longer than necessary, faint curiosity flickering within.

I smirked at her, then leaned toward the crystal microphone.

"...Mic test. Test."

BOOM—

The enchantment carried my words across the hall in a burst of clarity. The anticlimactic awkwardness was palpable.

For a heartbeat, silence.

Then—

"Pffft—"

A snort from somewhere in the back.

Another cadet outright chuckled.

The tension cracked. A ripple of laughter spread like a wave through the first-years. Even some of the seniors above smirked, shaking their heads.

"Is he serious?"

"What kind of Rank 1 does a mic test—?!"

"He’s treating this like a tavern stage performance!"

I straightened, brushing invisible dust from my uniform with exaggerated care, and when the laughter began to die down, I let my voice rise.

"Now that I have your attention..."

The crystal flared, amplifying my words so that even the last row couldn’t escape them.

"I know what many of you are thinking. How does a commoner—someone with no title, no great lineage—stand here as your Rank 1?"

The hall shifted. Whispers erupted immediately, hushed but sharp.

"He said it himself... commoner?"

"So it’s true, then. He’s not even from the Houses..."

"Impossible. There must be some trick."

Faces twisted—some in disgust, some in disbelief, others in fascination. Nobles in particular straightened in their seats, frowns deepening.

I let the murmur build, then slammed my palm against the podium.

BANG!

The sound reverberated, silencing them.

"Yes. I am a true commoner."

My voice echoed, bold, unwavering.

"I don’t belong to the Royal Family. I’m not tied to the Great Eight Houses. And I’m certainly not the Push over character of someone bedtime novel."

Gasps. Someone hissed. A boy in the second row clenched his jaw so hard I thought his teeth would crack. The nobles were visibly bristling now, offended that their lineage was mocked so openly.

I didn’t let them interrupt. I pressed forward, stabbing the air with my finger as I spoke.

"You call me a disgrace? Then listen carefully—if I am a disgrace, then you, with all your titles and all your heritage, are even greater disgraces for letting a commoner like me stand above you!"

The explosion of voices was instant.

"He dares to look down on us!"

"Arrogant bastard!"

"Unforgivable!"

Cadets rose half from their seats, only to be pulled back down by friends. Fists clenched. Eyes burned with rage.

And yet... among the common-born cadets, the reaction was different. Wide eyes. Awed whispers. A few even smirked, hiding it quickly from their noble peers.

______

Up on the faculty platform, the instructors were no less animated.

Vice Principal Sophia’s eyes narrowed, though amusement tugged faintly at her lips. "This boy... he’s really going to make enemies of the entire first-year class."

Dean Derisu folded his arms, unimpressed. "Courage is not enough. He’ll need strength to back up that provocation."

Principal Herald Crimson, however, let out a rumbling laugh, stroking his beard. "Ahh... but doesn’t courage itself have its own beauty? Hahaha! This one has guts."

Even Vice Principal Sophia sighed, though her eyes twinkled. "It seems next month’s Combat Test will be... very lively."

Their words floated above, unheard by us, but their gazes burned into my back.

And still, I stood tall at the podium, letting the storm of whispers rage before I continued.

I spread my arms slightly, voice carrying like iron through the air.

"Look at me carefully. I am your Rank 1. Not because I was born with it. Not because some House paved my way. But because I seized it with my own hands."

My words echoed. My chest rose and fell, the heat of the moment feeding me.

’There it is. The dagger in their pride. This isn’t about making friends. This is about staking my flag. If they hate me, good. Hatred makes rivals. Rivals make me stronger.’

Behind me, I caught Emily’s faintest reaction in the corner of my eye. She hadn’t moved, but her brows had twitched upward. Surprise. Just for a moment.

That alone was worth it.

The storm of whispers hadn’t even settled when I leaned forward again, resting both hands on the podium. My voice dropped, lower, sharper—forcing silence back into the hall.

"And since I stand here as Rank 1... that means all of you are beneath me. A commoner stands above you, and that is your reality."

BOOM.

The sentence landed like a hammer.

The hall erupted instantly.

"He’s insane!"

"Unacceptable!"

"How dare a commoner claim authority over nobility?!"

I raised my hand slowly, almost lazily, letting the noise play out. My other hand brushed back my silver hair, catching the light just so, before I looked back down at them with a smile that was equal parts charming and venomous.

"Don’t look me in the eye," I continued smoothly. "Keep your heads lowered. Remember your place beneath the Rank 1—even if that Rank 1 is just a commoner."

Gasps. Outrage. Faces flushing red. I could see the veins bulging in noble foreheads.

The first-years were practically frothing. And yet, I saw more than anger. I saw fear. They hated it because it was true—because I had proved it on the survival trial island. They couldn’t deny my placement.

I let that fear simmer.

"I didn’t take Rank 1 just because I’m stronger," I went on, lifting a finger as though teaching them a lesson. "I took it because I wasn’t a coward like the rest of you. I don’t need a family name for protection. I don’t need a title to shield me. I will take what I want, and I will fight anyone who tries to stop me."

The nobles nearly burst out of their seats. A girl from the Vandross Count house rose half a step, her violet cape swishing, but her friends yanked her back down before she embarrassed herself further.

Down the row, Leon Lionheart sat stiff, his eyes wide. His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

’Leon. You of all people should understand. You’d never dare say this out loud. You’d worry about reputation, about allies, about factions. But me? I’ll be the villain gladly. That’s the freedom of a player, not a character.’

And then, the voice I was waiting for.

"Now that is what we call a Rank 1."

The words came from Eric Draven, lounging casually in his seat with his signature smirk. His tone dripped with mocking admiration, but his eyes glimmered with something sharper recognition.

"This commoner boy actually has a spine left... Heheh..."

At his side, Ren folded his arms, lips curling. "Then let’s make sure that spine snaps in the next combat test."

Their voices carried enough for several rows to hear, and immediately more whispers spread. Some cadets laughed cruelly, others looked uneasy. Rivalries were already being etched into stone.

I caught Eric’s gaze deliberately, holding it for a moment, and gave him the faintest nod half challenge, half mockery.

Then I turned back to the hall, my tone rising once more.

"You want to know where my strength comes from? Then don’t waste your breath complaining. Come at me yourselves. Anytime. Anywhere."

I let the words settle, then smirked, adding with deliberate cruelty:

"Just don’t come crawling with your tails between your legs when you lose."

Silence.

Pure, suffocating silence. The nobles were livid, the commoners were wide-eyed, and the neutral cadets didn’t know whether to laugh or hide.

But I wasn’t done.

I lifted my chin, letting my gaze drift upward—toward the balcony where the upper-years leaned casually against the railings, watching.

"And if that isn’t enough..."

I raised my voice so that it carried clearly to them.

"...I welcome a challenge from the seniors as well. If any of you old weaklings want to prove yourselves, I’ll be waiting."

CRASH—

The hall’s atmosphere shattered.

It wasn’t whispers this time. It was an uproar.

"Did he just—?!"

"He insulted the seniors?!"

"Madness! He’ll be crushed!"

Even the seniors above stirred. Some laughed coldly, others narrowed their eyes in sharp interest. One third-year actually leaned so far over the railing his cape swayed, a grin splitting his face.

"This first-year’s got a death wish..."

"Hah! No. He’s got guts."

I kept my expression calm, even bored, as though their outrage was beneath me. Inside, though? My heart was racing.

’Perfect. Absolutely perfect. I didn’t just provoke the first-years. I’ve put the seniors on notice, too. This isn’t about survival anymore—it’s about forcing the world to see me. In this Academy, if you don’t shine, you vanish. So I’ll shine brighter than anyone. Even if it means painting a target on my back.’

Behind me, I could feel Emily’s gaze again. Heavier this time. Assessing. As though she were trying to peel me open and read the soul underneath.

Let her look. That was fine. Because all she would see was fire.

The silence that followed my last words was heavier than any roar of outrage.

I had just challenged the Academy itself.

Every cadet, every instructor, every senior above—whether they admitted it or not—was now staring at me with sharpened attention.

The nobles below seethed, their faces pale with anger, fingers twitching as if already gripping their swords. Some commoners, however... their eyes were wide with something else. Not just shock. Not just fear. But hope.

They had seen a boy without a name, without a crest, stand tall in the face of nobles and seniors alike. And though most wouldn’t dare voice it, a flicker of admiration glowed behind their pupils.

"Is he serious...?"

"He’s going to get destroyed..."

"Still... to say that in front of everyone..."

The whispers bled through the silence like embers in ash.

Above, the seniors continued their quiet reactions. Some chuckled darkly, already plotting how they might "test" me. Others folded their arms, intrigued. To them, I was no longer just another first-year. I was bait.

And the faculty... oh, the faculty.

From the corner of my vision, I caught the Vice Principal leaning toward the Dean, her lips curling faintly.

"This boy really does intend to make enemies of the entire first-year class."

Dean Derisu’s reply was low and cold, arms crossed. "Courage is one thing. Foolishness another. If he cannot back this up with results, those words will choke him."

The Principal chuckled, stroking his beard. "Results or not, he has spirit. Young blood should spill with fire. That is how we test their mettle."

Sophia—the Vice Principal—glanced back at me, eyes glimmering. " It seem that senior prides are at stake."

Even the instructors in their seats were murmuring, some amused, some critical. A few were smiling, though, as though entertained by the chaos I had unleashed.

Good. Let them talk. Let them plan. The more attention, the more the story bent around me.

---

I adjusted my stance slightly, letting the echo of my words hang longer before speaking again. This time, my tone was calm, smooth—almost gentle compared to before.

"You may hate me. You may curse my name. That’s fine. I don’t need your approval."

I swept my gaze across the crowd, deliberately slowing, making eye contact with cadets who flinched under the weight of it.

"But remember this: I’m not here to be liked. I’m here to survive. To win. To rise."

The words rang clear, sharp, cutting through the tension.

"You can challenge me. You can scheme. You can throw everything you have at me. I’ll take it all. And when the dust clears, I’ll still be standing."

The hall was utterly still. My heart beat fast, but my face betrayed nothing.

Then I let a small smirk curl my lips, leaning slightly into the mic as if sharing a secret.

"And when that happens... you’ll have no choice but to look up at me."

BOOM.

The crowd exploded again. Nobles slammed their fists on armrests, commoners gasped, seniors chuckled louder, and even a few cadets shouted outright.

"He’s delusional!"

"Cocky bastard!"

"Rank 1 or not, I’ll crush him myself!"

Leon’s jaw tightened, his hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t look angry, though—more... shaken. Conflicted. His gaze flickered toward his sister, then back to me.

Eric Draven laughed openly now, throwing his head back. "HAHA! This is good! Finally, someone worth breaking." His eyes glittered like a predator’s. "Don’t let me down, commoner."

Selena’s expression, however, remained unreadable. Her violet eyes followed me steadily, as though trying to pierce my mask. She tilted her head slightly, lips pressed thin not with disapproval, but with curiosity.

And Emily...

Emily Lionheart hadn’t moved. She stood just behind me, arms folded loosely, her golden eyes burning with interest. Unlike the others, she wasn’t angry. If anything... she looked amused.

As if to say, So this is the path you’ve chosen? Then show me you can walk it.

---

I let the chaos run its course, then raised my hand casually. The hall dimmed again into a low, tense murmur.

This was it. The moment to seal it all.

"Mark my words," I said, voice steady, unyielding. "From this day forward, the Academy will remember the name Michael Willson."

A final silence. A final strike.

And then, deliberately, I stepped back from the podium.

The sound of my boots against the marble

CLACK.

CLACK.

echoed through the hushed hall.

I didn’t bow. I didn’t nod. I simply walked past Emily Lionheart, her eyes following me, and descended the stairs.

Every cadet’s gaze clung to me, burning with hatred, awe, curiosity, or ambition. But none could ignore me.

Exactly as planned.

---

Inside, my thoughts spun like wildfire.

’This is it. The flag is set. By provoking everyone—nobles, commoners, seniors—I’ve forced the Academy into a state of motion. No one can treat me like background now. I’ve painted a target on my back, but that’s fine. A target is also a spotlight.’

I let a small grin slip as I returned to my seat.

’This is the game, after all. And I intend to win it.’

---

On stage, Vice Principal Sophia exhaled softly, muttering just loud enough for her colleagues.

"...A dangerous one, that boy."

Dean Derisu scoffed. "Dangerous, yes. But only if he survives his own arrogance."

Principal Crimson chuckled again, his deep voice rumbling. "Arrogance? No. That’s conviction. The kind of conviction that either forges legends... or corpses."

No one replied, but the weight of his words lingered.

---

As I sat down, Eric’s smirk widened, Ren’s eyes gleamed with anticipation, nobles whispered furiously, and commoners stared like they had just seen a comet streak across the night sky.

Emily Lionheart turned her head toward me, her lips curving just slightly into something unreadable.

The ceremony would continue. Other names would be called. More speeches would be given.

But the truth was undeniable.

This ceremony, this hall, this entire Academy... would now revolve around the declaration of one boy.

The boy who dared to spit in the face of tradition.

The commoner who claimed Rank 1.

The boy named Michael Willson.

------

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