Top Scorer Freshman
The morning after the Imperial Academy entrance exam ended, a shiny mail coach came rattling to a stop in front of our rickety hut in the rural commoner village bordering the Imperial Capital.
The deliveryman confirmed the recipient, handed over the envelope, saluted, and left. The moment I took the envelope from him, I nearly burst out laughing.
Exam Number 99, Flint.
Congratulations on your admission to the Imperial Academy.
The contents were a standard admission notice, but the seal stamped on the front was utterly ridiculous. There, etched in exquisite detail, stood the Empire's emperor—supposed to exude dignity—right next to that thousand-year-old little dragon academy head I'd seen yesterday, both of them cutely flashing a double peace sign with their hands.
Did these folks all lose their minds at once...?
Just that infuriating sealing wax alone gave me a strong premonition that my three years at the academy wouldn't be remotely ordinary.
But my parents were too busy running around the neighborhood bragging that their tenant farmer son had made it into the academy. If I could just grit my teeth and coast through those three years like a dead rat, I'd cut my obligatory five-year military service down to one. Not a bad deal for me at all. Even better if I could swing a full exemption.
Not long after, the thunderous sound of hooves announced the arrival of three massive cargo wagons from the Gos Merchant Group, kicking up clouds of dust as they rolled into the village square. But it wasn't Countess Laurie Gos who stepped down—instead, it was her trusted subordinate... what was his name again?
"Lord Flint! Heartfelt congratulations on your admission."
No way... word of the admission notice reached the merchant group just hours after I got it? That's how you become the continent's top trading company, huh?
"The Guildmaster is swamped with budget approvals for the capital branch and acquiring a site for the secret workshop, so she sent me to prepare a celebration in her stead."
I felt a bit underwhelmed, but hey, getting celebrated felt good. At the man's signal, the merchant staff unleashed a torrent of premium barbecue and ale from oak barrels.
"Uh, excuse me... your name?"
"Cedric, at your service. I'll be your dedicated handler from now on, so please feel free to speak casually."
He flashed the smooth smile unique to a competent businessman.
"You didn't have to go this far."
"Nonsense. The Guildmaster gave strict orders to escort you perfectly."
That evening, our village clearing was packed to the brim. Folks who'd choked down hard bread and tough veggies all year long were now chowing down on whole roasted pig and guzzling ale, courtesy of the countess's deep pockets, throwing a wild festival.
"Hey, Flint! Thanks to you, we're having a meat party like this. You used to be such a little rascal, causing trouble all over the village! Kahahaha!"
My old neighbor, the blacksmith Braum, his face flushed red, clinked his ale mug against mine with booming laughter. Other village elders patted my shoulder, offering hearty congratulations as they passed.
I clinked mugs with a grin, bit into a hefty barbecue skewer, and nodded contentedly.
Then familiar, lively footsteps approached, and someone plopped down beside me.
"Look at you, Flint, grinning ear to ear."
"Oh, Anna."
"You're amazing. They say it's super tough for a commoner to get into the academy."
The smell of roasting meat mingled with the sound of laughter. I took a swig of ale and gazed up at the night sky.
"Still, your big sis is worried. I heard the nobles bully commoner students something fierce."
"Big sis? You think I'd just take it lying down from those guys?"
"Nah. You'd probably end up in jail for insulting nobility instead..."
"......"
Ah. Come to think of it, maybe I went a bit overboard with that Leonhardt kid yesterday. Whatever, it'll be fine.
"......You didn't already cause trouble, did you?!"
"Uh... haha... who knows?"
Smack! Anna laid into my back with spicy slaps.
"Ouch!! I'm done for! If something happens to you at the academy... if something happens...!"
"If something happens?"
Her ears turned beet red at my question.
"Hmph!"
Anna shot me a glare and stormed off. My back stung, but having someone worry about me so sincerely felt pretty damn good. I drained the rest of my ale.
Now for three years. Time to dive into the viper's nest of nobles.
A few days later. The Imperial Academy grand auditorium. Massive mana stone lights blazed like daylight inside.
Amid hundreds of new students in gold-embroidered premium uniforms, Flint's cheap T-shirt stuck out like a sore thumb. Sure, his wealthy backer, the Gos Merchant Group, had gifted him three custom uniforms of top-grade fabric as an enrollment present, but he'd left them stuffed in the wagon because they felt too tight around the neck.
Prickly stares stabbed at him from all corners.
That guy's the commoner who beat the Leonhardt heir, right?
Tch, filthy peasant. Must've pulled some dirty trick. Mana-less trash.
The nobles' blatant contempt and wariness. But Flint just lounged against the wall in the corner, yawning hugely, drawing all those glares without a care.
He'd scarfed too much of Anna's cheese as a midnight snack last night—stomach churning, drowsiness crashing over him.
"Next, the top enrollee of this incoming class will deliver the pledge."
The auditorium fell pin-drop silent at the professor's clear voice from the podium.
"Top enrollee: His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince, the Empire's sun and bearer of noble blood, Cadet Arsen von Aurelius!"
Thunderous applause erupted. A dazzling blond youth of refined features ascended the stage—the perfect imperial specimen who'd crushed a golem in five seconds flat with gravity magic during the exam.
But Arsen's expression as he took the podium was oddly stiff. His blue eyes swept the hall, locking dead-on with Flint slouched in the corner.
The crown prince's fist gripped the podium, knuckles white.
......Me, top enrollee?
Arsen muttered inwardly, blood boiling. He'd watched from the VIP seats as Kyle—the future of imperial swordsmanship—had his supposedly impenetrable Aura Shield shatter like sugar glass before that commoner's bizarre metal lump.
And the overwhelming destructive power that vaporized the golem in one second flat—a test that had even taken him five.
Top enrollee? Class rep? It was just a hollow shell forced upon him by his imperial blood, and he knew it better than anyone.
The real monster's over there.
At the end of Arsen's gaze, the true stage-worthy freak—in baggy cheap T-shirt—scratched his head, then boredly picked at his ear.
A posture screaming utter disinterest in this solemn ceremony. It made Arsen's own supposedly most honorable, glorious position feel grotesquely ugly, tainted by one commoner's apathy.
Grind. The crown prince clenched his molars in secret.
"Ahem! Cadet Aurelius?"
The professor coughed awkwardly at the prolonged silence. Snapping to, Arsen bit his trembling lip and unfolded the pledge script.
"I, Arsen von Aurelius, ......"
It was the moment inferiority complex first pierced the arrogant heart of the crown prince, who saw himself as near-perfect.
"This concludes the Imperial Academy entrance ceremony. Cadets, proceed to your assigned dormitories."
The boring event over, I bolted for the back door like my life depended on it.
"Gotta crash soon. Too much cheese—stomach's killing me, and I'm wiped."
But my simple, peaceful plan shattered against a wall of gaudy-uniformed goons blocking the back exit.
"Halt! His Highness the Crown Prince approaches!"
Through the escort knights, the blond crown prince who'd been posturing on stage moments ago advanced with sharp eyes.
Hundreds of passing freshmen gasped and parted like the sea.
"You're Flint, right."
Arsen growled down at me.
"Yes, Your Highness. Sincere congratulations on your top enrollment."
I dipped my head just enough to avoid trouble, packing it with laziness.
"Spare me the bootlicking. I don't know what dirty trick you pulled on Kyle at the Grand Tournament Grounds, but don't think it'll work on me."
Blatant hostility. Nearby nobles whispered, How dare a mere commoner irk His Highness.
A typical commoner would've groveled for mercy or puffed up with pride and clapped back.
But my response was anything but typical.
"Ah, yes. It won't work at all."
"......What?"
"No intention of fighting you, not even a pinky-toenail's worth. Why would the Empire's sun, Your Highness, bother with a hopeless commoner like me? Anyway, I'm beat—see you later. Have a peaceful day."
Grinning like a call-center drone handling a Karen, I sidestepped the dumbfounded Arsen.
Behind me, flunkies raged, "That insolent bastard...!" But who cares.
I'm exhausted—why's he picking a fight with his tough-guy act? I'm not tangling with you lot; gonna graduate quietly.
I marched on undeterred. The commoner dorms were shoved into a remote forest corner far from the academy entrance. Unlike the nobles' flashy marble halls, it was a gloomy red-brick building—but it looked great to me. A single room, no less. Looked like my moneybags beauty of a big-sis Laurie had pulled strings.
Money really is everything.
Insulation's cheap, facilities outdated, but the brickwork's solid. No collapsing during ammo experiments.
Engineer eyes giving it a pass on durability, I dragged my tired body to room 104 on the first floor and creaked the door open.
Screee-.
"Haa, finally... bed......"
Mid-dive for the bed, I froze stock-still.
A whiff of premium black tea hit me—in a bachelor-pad commoner dorm room that should've reeked of mold and solitude.
And on the rickety wooden desk by the window: someone floating midair, legs crossed, sipping steaming tea daintily.
Cotton-candy pink twin-tails, prominent horns.
"Kekeke. Later than expected, Cadet Flint."
"...Headmaster?"
The words slipped out dumbly. Why was this thousand-year-old ancient dragon—the academy's top authority—brewing tea in my dorm?
"Too many eyes at the Grand Tournament Grounds for an interview, but I couldn't ignore my burning curiosity."
She set down her cup, eyes crinkling like crescent moons in a smile. Behind that cute face lurked a creepy, sticky obsession.
"Now, lock the door. Time to strip bare that impudent 'thing' of yours all night long. Kekekeke!"
"......"
Day one: already on the original hero's shitlist, and now a dragon headmaster breaking in at midnight.
My quiet, peaceful academy graduation plan shattered to pieces before classes even started.