Aptitude Evaluation Hat
Professor Van Snake, instructor of the Lower Class core curriculum, held fast to a single guiding philosophy:
"For an inferior student, the greatest blessing this cursed academy can offer is being expelled as quickly as humanly possible."
His mission was simple: bring an end to their fraught academy lives while they were still freshmen, before these struggling students could foolishly advance a year and suffer true agony!
Of course, he understood full well that every student carried their own circumstances.
Some dreamed of standing at the pinnacle of their chosen field.
Some carried the crushing weight of familial expectations.
Some yearned to become heroes of their small homelands.
Some came merely to hunt for a high-status spouse.
Some sought to reform their underappreciated classes.
And some strove to rewrite the world's prejudice against their shunned races.
Having entered the academy for wildly different reasons, each bore their own dreams, duties, and ambitions.
Yet, if their abilities fell short...
If they stumbled blindly into their second year without the skill to survive...
Never. I refuse to witness such a tragedy ever again!
They would be subjected to horrors a freshman could never imagine—or, if they did, horrors that would morph into waking nightmares. Having once served as the head of student affairs for the second-year division, Professor Snake had resolved to take drastic measures for the students' own good.
As a result, he had taken up the post of head professor for the first-year Lower Class mandatory core curriculum, securing both the status and authority needed to fulfill his grim conviction.
"Do you understand, assistants?! In this upcoming practical exam, we must pour everything into expelling as many students as humanly possible! If only for the sake of these fragile freshmen!!"
At Professor Snake's impassioned roar, his teaching assistants paled, their expressions screaming: The psycho's off his rocker again.
"The entrance exam is over, but the true trial to survive this academy begins now! The mastery of mana, and the exam that proves it!"
Mana was a supernatural element that allowed mortals to surpass the physical limits of their species. Those who wielded it could become nothing short of superhuman.
Elemental mana.
Natural mana.
Divine mana.
Trait mana.
Whichever branch of mana a student harnessed, it granted them the right to strive for the world's summit.
And thus, talent had to be filtered once more.
Those who could grow strong swiftly, and those who could not.
A merciless crucible awaited to segregate the honor students from the failures.
That was the Mana Verification Test.
The very exam where first-year Lower Class dropouts were culled en masse.
"The test is simple. If you can control mana, you will easily pass. But if you cannot, you will face an insurmountable trial that demands inhuman training and sheer raw talent to overcome."
For instance, aspiring Knight Faculty students were tasked with crossing a bridge blocked by massive boulders.
Aspiring Magic Faculty students had to destroy scarecrows possessing extreme physical resistance.
Aspiring Administration Faculty students were presented with petitions from local citizens and required to devise practical solutions.
Aspiring Production Faculty students had to scan and analyze the internal structure of a designated object with absolute precision.
Aspiring Adventure Faculty students had to hunt down a hidden certificate of passing stashed somewhere on campus.
Five distinct faculties, five distinct trials.
Each student would be given two chances to choose and challenge. Recognizing that a gulf often existed between what one wished to do and what one was actually suited for, this gave them maximum leeway.
Pass even one, and the student succeeded.
Fail both, and their academic score would suffer a cataclysmic collapse.
Though the students fiercely disagreed—crying out that Professor Snake's exam was the true source of torment—he paid them no mind.
"It matters not."
If they could not even overcome this hurdle, dragging out their time at the academy would only subject them to far worse agony.
"Three days remain. The exam will take place this Friday. Prepare thoroughly so we can cull as many Lower Class underclassmen as possible."
The assistants bowed their heads, wallowing in the miserable realization that they had become the henchmen of a comic-book supervillain.
"I heard about it from a third-year senior working as an assistant. Isn't Professor Snake completely out of his mind? It's like he has a personal vendetta against freshmen."
Wednesday, during Developing an Eye class.
The ever-chattery senior Bigstone was practically itching at the mouth, offering up unsolicited rumors as usual.
"I mean, could be!" I chirped.
"Hah, look at this kid. You think you're safe just 'cause you're in the Upper Class, huh?"
"Drop it, Bigstone. Picking on a freshman just makes you look pathetic after spending your own first year in the Lower Class," Lizna cut in.
"...Lizna, you know your comments just make me feel worse, right?"
"Then shut up already. You're the one who almost flunked out of the first-semester core mandatory exam, Bigstone."
"Stop...! I don't know what I did wrong, but whatever it was, I'm sorry, okay?! Just please stop assassinating my character in front of the underclassmen!"
Snicker.
Beside me, Titocoga burst into giggles.
"Aren't you worried about the exam, Titocoga?"
"Not really? Lately, I've been taking the Adventurer's Nocturnal Operations course, so almost nothing phases me anymore."
"Aha..."
The sheer terror of that class must have fried our resident crybaby's ability to assess reality rationally. Well, by fifth period, she'd surely revert to her usual trembling self, so I wasn't too concerned.
The one whose future I truly worried for was Mob, who had suddenly been saddled with cursed gear.
Even if he could manage hygiene through Clean Magic, the thought of him living round-the-clock weighed down by cursed weight-training gear brought tears to my eyes.
Grow strong, Mob.
Until you can forcibly pry off those magically clamped gauntlets and boots with pure, unadulterated muscle!
"Welcome, everyone. It's time once more for Professor Bronze's Developing an Eye lecture."
Ever dashing, Professor Bronze waved with effortless grace, basking in the students' admiring gazes. Yet in his hand rested an unfamiliar briefcase.
Was it a prop prepared for today's lecture?
"I wouldn't say I cherish you all like prized disciples, but as your instructor, I would rather avoid the disgrace of seeing my students expelled over insufficient credits. Thus, today's session will be a special lecture."
At those words, the solitary Eastern swordsman, Sing, raised his hand.
"How rare. A question from Freshman Sing?"
Usually, Sing was the lone-wolf outsider who lurked in the corner of the classroom scoffing with occasional "Tsk," "Hmph," or "Heh," acing every exam before slipping away in silence. Seeing him show this much initiative was a first.
Unfazed by the curious stares pinning him from all sides, Sing spoke:
"This lecture offers zero benefit to Upper Class students. Would it not be better to proceed with the standard curriculum today, and offer this as a supplementary session later for those who actually want it?"
The Lower Class students' expressions curdled.
Arrogant though it sounded, Sing was an Upper Class student, meaning it was only natural for him to find no value in a remedial prep session. And even if he acted like an insufferable prick, he had the lethal blade skills to slice down anyone who dared complain.
"Fret not. I have prepared a lecture that will be well worth the time, even for an Upper Class student."
Setting the briefcase atop the podium, the professor clicked open the latch.
Psssssh.
White steam hissed into the air, and from within emerged a grotesque, bizarre hat fitted with a pair of tiny hands.
Wait. That's the hat they only use when you advance to second year!
Just like the enchanted sorting hat at a certain Western magic academy that evaluated students' potential, Gift Academy had its own artifact to assess faculty aptitude:
The Aptitude Evaluation Hat, equipped with [Talent Appraisal], [Aptitude Assessment], and [Status Window Inspection].
"Today's special lecture is an opportunity for you first-years to discover which faculty best matches your latent aptitude. Furthermore, bonus points will be awarded to anyone who correctly guesses their true aptitude—as proof that you possess an eye capable of discerning your own self."
There was no guarantee that the field one currently aimed for, the field one currently excelled at, and the field one was truly suited for would all align.
If all three happened to overlap, one would achieve a miraculous synergy where passion, talent, and career became one.
But what if all three pulled in completely opposite directions?
Effort was thrown down the drain, dreams dissolved into vanity, and daily work became a miserable slog—a total trainwreck.
Thus, being able to wear the Aptitude Evaluation Hat a full year ahead of schedule was an extraordinarily generous gesture on Professor Bronze's part.
"Inferior mortals... kneel before me at once and reveal your pathetic, insignificant talents..."
...Wait, the hat's tone felt a little off.
In the game, it was never such an obnoxious, creepy thing.
The hands sprouting from its brim weren't this grotesque, and its voice had been far more comical and harmless.
Did hats also come with a 0.1% chance of rolling a cursed personality variant?
I was a little baffled.
"Professor Bronze, can second-years try it on too?"
"Indeed. Seeing as the freshmen appear terrified by an unfamiliar artifact, perhaps you, Sophomore Bigstone, can set an example by going first."
"...Bigstone, you idiot. Why are you volunteering to be a guinea pig for a hat that looks suspicious as hell?"
"It'll be fine! It's not like putting on a hat is gonna kill me."
Brushing off Lizna's nagging, Bigstone took a seat and pulled the hat over his head.
The hat munched and nibbled on his scalp for a moment before abruptly smacking him upside the head with one of its little hands.
Thwack! Thwack!
"You absolute piece of trash!"
"Ow! Did this hat just hit me?!"
"A wishy-washy man who strings a poor girl along with his pathetic indecisiveness deserves to get NTR'd into oblivion!"
"Agh! Ow! Hey! I put you on to check my faculty aptitude, what in the hell are you analyzing?!"
For some reason, Lizna nodded along in profound, heartfelt agreement.
"Beat him more."
"...Whoa. A woman's grudge is terrifying. Bigstone should just hurry up and confess one more time, don't you think?"
"Right?!"
"Orknodi, let's make a promise never to date a frustrating guy like that!"
"Uh-huh!"
"...What on earth are you telling an eleven-year-old child?" Isabelle chided.
Despite Isabelle's scolding, Titocoga merely giggled. Thanks to her horror-survival training, the girl had definitely developed a whole lot more backbone.
"Production Faculty, you productive sack of garbage!"
"Magic Faculty! If you learned a spell that turned trash into trees, you'd be the very first magical sapling planted, you piece of junk!"
"Did you buy your way in with a donation? You're so equally devoid of talent across the board that you should just crawl into the Administration Faculty and fake it with pure elbow grease, you incompetent brat!"
"Waaahhh...!"
Having brought dozens of freshmen to tears with its vitriolic tongue, the hat finally found its way to me.
"Ugh. I don't wanna wear it."
Unable to hide my disgust, I pinched the brim between two fingers like dirty laundry, lifting it up—only for a pair of eyes to bulge from the fabric, blinking in shock.
"Oh? Look who it is. If it isn't the runt from before?"
"Have we met?"
"Ah. You were sound asleep back then, weren't you? Jona picked up an absurdly terrifying little monster that was way beyond his pay grade. Fascinating sight, that was."
...Why was Jona's name suddenly popping out of this thing's mouth?
A prickle of deep suspicion ran through me. I turned to look at the professor.
"Professor. This isn't the hat that belongs to the academy, is it?"
"I knew you'd recognize it."
Professor Bronze admitted it with effortless nonchalance.
"I stole it. Straight from the Weihimhai Foundation."