The man woke up within a dream.

The first sight that greeted him was a bustling cityscape filled with towering buildings and countless people.

Paved roads lined with cars, fragrant coffee houses beneath skyscrapers, men heading to work, elderly individuals strolling with canes, exhausted working moms, and children with flushed cheeks holding their mothers' hands.

It was a scene full of life, yet it was not reality—it was a dream.

Nothing moved in his vision.

Like a paused scene in a movie, everything in this world was frozen.

‘...Not a particularly high-level dream. Were they in a hurry?’

The man observed the frozen landscape for a moment, standing up with a faint thought crossing his mind.

He was neither alarmed nor afraid. It wasn’t his first time in such a dream.

‘The one who summoned me… must be in the east.’

Weaving through the frozen people, he began to walk toward the eastern part of the city.

Crossing stopped intersections and cutting across unmoving traffic for what seemed like ages, he finally arrived at his destination.

A beach stretched before him, strangely out of place in the urban setting.

At first glance, the horizon seemed like the ocean, but it wasn’t the sea.

It was one of the Great Lakes Americans call Lake Michigan, home to Chicago’s heart—and the enormous dimensional gate known as the Chicago Dimensional Rift.

Standing on the beach, the man fixed his gaze on the vast expanse of the lake.

To be precise, his eyes were drawn to the brilliant dimensional gate glowing atop a massive artificial island crafted by dwarves.

In this frozen dream world, only the gate pulsated with life.

[Why are you late?]

A thunderous voice boomed from beyond the gate the moment he looked at it.

“For someone dragging me into a dream unannounced, that’s an interesting first question,” the man replied, frowning.

The gate emitted a flash of light, almost apologetically.

[The matter is urgent. Too urgent to allow time for explanations.]

“Urgent, is it? Fine, then. Let’s hear how urgent it is.”

His tone was skeptical, arms folded as he waited. The voice hesitated before responding weakly.

[It’s useless.]

“...Useless?”

[It’s already too late.]

The man immediately realized this wasn’t just any situation. His frown deepened, and he pressed further.

“I command you, as a contractor. Explain—what is too late, and how?”

The entity beyond the gate didn’t answer.

Instead, an invisible force gripped him.

“…What are you trying to pull?”

[I lack the capacity to explain in your human language. You must see for yourself.]

See what?

The question barely formed in his mind when his body was suddenly lifted skyward.

The speed was so great that by the time he looked down, Chicago and Lake Michigan had shrunk to the size of thumbnails.

“At least tell me where we’re going before hauling me off like this.”

Surprisingly composed, he asked this while crossing the Pacific Ocean, far beyond the Americas.

By the time Australia came into view, the voice answered.

[We’re heading to a place Earthlings call Lord Howe Island.]

Lord Howe? The man scratched his chin, recalling the academy.

What could have gone wrong at a place that seemed fine just this morning?

Before he could finish his train of thought, the invisible force set him down on solid ground.

Despite the lack of explanation, he knew he was in Lord Howe.

The sheer concentration of potential here was enough to distort the dream world—a phenomenon unique to very few places in existence.

[Do you see it?]

The voice inquired. The man shook his head.

“No, the potential is too dense. I can’t see anything.”

Squinting, he scanned his surroundings.

All he could perceive were chaotic outlines and blended colors, like a child’s messy crayon drawing.

It made sense. Potential, like gravity, distorted its surroundings as it accumulated, swallowing nearby dreams and twisting them.

[Humans, always so limited.]

With a sigh, the voice imbued the man with unseen power.

The purpose was simple: to neutralize the overwhelming potential and clear his vision.

The man steadied himself against the surge of power and looked ahead.

[Now, can you see?]

“…Yeah, a little.”

The first thing he saw was a patch of grass, possibly on the outskirts of the academy, where a man and woman sat side by side.

Though the outlines were distorted, one thing was clear: on a dark night, the pair sat close, their faces nearly touching.

It wasn’t hard to guess what they were doing.

[What do you think? Should we act now?]

Unlike the man, who seemed amused, the voice was deadly serious.

He sighed.

“All I see is two shameless kids making out in the middle of the night.”

[…]

“What kind of action do you expect me to take? Should we distribute breath mints at the academy? Or condoms?”

The moment he mocked the voice, it retaliated by pouring more power into him.

[Look more closely.]

Whoosh!

The sudden surge nearly shattered the dream itself. The man’s vision finally cleared enough to spot something he hadn’t seen before.

Above the heads of the couple was a small, glowing orb.

“Potential? To be visible even in a dream… That’s…”

[At that level, it’s more fitting to call it destiny.]

As the voice pointed out, potential so concentrated that it manifested visually in a dream could only be described as destiny.

Just as massive gravitational forces form black holes that consume everything, such potential would inevitably draw in all around it.

“Yunseong? No, that’s not Yunseong…”

The man squinted, trying to make out the faces of the pair.

But the light of their shared destiny was so intense that their features remained obscured in darkness.

[Their identities are irrelevant. What matters is that orb. Observe it closely.]

Following the voice’s command, the man focused intently on the glowing orb. Soon, he noticed something unusual.

[Do you see it?]

“…Yeah, I see it.”

It wasn’t a single orb.

One side bulged outward, revealing the shape of two orbs fused together.

“A shared destiny? There are few who possess such potential… but for two to merge? I’ve never seen this before. Has anyone determined who absorbed whose destiny?”

[No. By the time I detected the anomaly, one had already consumed the other.]

The man ran a hand over his forehead. Trials had only just begun, yet this had already occurred.

“…We might have to start over.”

It was hard to tell if his words were a sigh or a lament. He turned toward the source of the voice.

“We’ll only know how to respond once we identify them. For now, let’s figure out who they are—there’s still time to check their fa—”

He couldn’t finish.

His senses—and the power granted to him—suddenly reacted.

……

Silence fell over the frozen dream world. A long, oppressive silence.

“…Who’s there?”

Unable to endure it any longer, the man spoke.

His mind raced through a vast library of knowledge. Who could be orchestrating such events in this place, at this time?

“…Pasun? Or maybe Maoran Lerak?”

No answer came. Were they hesitating because they’d been discovered? Or was it just a bluff?

As the man deliberated, he stepped back.

Thud.

He bumped into something.

Something so unnervingly alien that even he, rarely unsettled, froze.

Slowly, he raised his head.

A massive shadow loomed over him, gazing down.

“A-ah…”

He opened his mouth, intending to scream, but—

『Shh.』

The figure raised a finger to its lips in a silencing gesture. The mere motion caused the dream to ripple, sealing his voice.

『This is the moment my chosen one claims their destiny.』

『It is not a trivial moment for interlopers to witness.』

『Forget everything you’ve seen here.』

The man couldn’t respond. He was already waking from the dream.

And like most dreams, he remembered nothing upon waking.

 

The first-year dormitory was quiet that morning.

No blaring alarms or lively student chatter disturbed the peace.

The physically fit or light sleepers had already gone to the training rooms, and aspiring mages had begun their morning meditations before the dorm supervisors made their rounds.

To an outsider, it might have seemed like the perfect image of an elite academy, but the truth was slightly different.

Special education.

This new program, announced by the headmistress just days ago, was the cause of all this diligence.

When the announcement first came, the students weren’t particularly enthused.

After all, the academy’s standard curriculum had proven itself over decades. Why would it need outside instructors now? Surely it was just a publicity stunt.

Or so they thought—until they saw the list of guest instructors.

The moment the names were revealed, attitudes shifted dramatically.

"Seva Lermontov? Infinite Style's master is teaching here?"

"Hoana Thule?! Didn't she retire as a Holy Knight ages ago?"

"Michele-da! The Michele of Michele's Equation!"

The list included not only famous alumni but also retired legends and renowned scholars from the academic world, all drawn by the academy's reputation.

Once they saw the list, the students, who had previously shown little interest, eagerly awaited the special classes. Some even spent idle time debating which instructor’s class they would attend, openly speculating during interim lessons.

But their excitement was short-lived.

When the academy distributed applications for the special classes, the students were met with a shocking revelation: students would not choose their instructors. Instead, instructors would choose their students.

The few students who understood the academy’s political climate realized what was happening.

The headmistress was consolidating power, and the special classes were merely a convenient pretext.

However, the majority of the students, unaware of the underlying politics, interpreted the situation differently.

The best instructors would select only the most exceptional students, initiating a fierce competition.

"They're picking only the most worthy students?"

"The headmistress is really raising the stakes!"

"Damn it, didn’t the exams end already?"

It was an inevitable outcome. Most of the students had spent their entire lives competing to become superhumans. They naturally threw themselves into the race, whether through training or studying.

"Stop cutting in line at the training room, you idiots!"

"Anyone interested in a group buy for energy elixirs?"

"Join my magic study group, sponsored directly by 'The Vessel' herself!"

Of course, some students stayed out of the competition altogether.

These included the Saintess, who had no need for additional instruction, Jeon Yunseong, who had private teachers dispatched directly from the United States, and...

Cheon Yeomyeong.

He stood out conspicuously for his refusal to engage in the special education frenzy.

If his turn came at the training room, he willingly gave it up. He declined invitations to study groups without hesitation.

He didn’t even bother looking into the guest instructor list. Instead, he quietly attended interim classes, maintaining a low profile.

Most students interpreted Yeomyeong’s attitude as confidence. To them, it seemed obvious—he didn’t need to compete because he could be chosen by any instructor he wanted.

After all, he was the central figure in the recent terrorist incident, the one whose prowess had been undeniably proven. With such accomplishments, why would he need to impress anyone?

Rumors even circulated that certain guest instructors had come specifically to see Yeomyeong. This only added to the general belief that he was above the competition.

However, a tiny fraction of students—those still inclined to view the world through rose-colored lenses—had a different theory.

"Maybe he’s planning to attend the same class as Seti?"

"Seti? What’s their relationship?"

"Isn’t it obvious? They’ve been glued together lately."

As is often the case with idle gossip, the romantic speculation didn’t gain much traction. Most students were too busy worrying about their own futures to care about someone else’s.

But there was one exception.

Inside the shrine of the girls’ dormitory, the Saintess had been offering repentance prayers for several days.

"Did you hear? Seti broke curfew the other night."

"The north island is still under repair, so it’s not like she went there to hang out… Could it be…?"

When whispers about Seti and Yeomyeong reached the Saintess’s ears, she abruptly ended her prayer.

Returning to her room, she packed a transparent cloak and her revolver.