The instructor, draped in a crimson armband labelled Evaluator, stood with an air of authority. Trailing behind him were figures adorned with green armbands emblazoned Assistant. Their uniforms suggested they were students—likely selected to aid the evaluators and oversee the practical exam.
Could Sister Si-eun be among them, wearing that armband and assisting with the trials? I recalled our recent exchange. She’d mentioned being swamped since before her inauguration as student council president, juggling her duties with the added role of assistant for this year’s practical exam. Though she wasn’t visible here, she must be working elsewhere, just like these assistants.
Then the evaluator spoke. “Bring it.”
At his command, several assistants hurried outside, only to return moments later, groaning as they pushed a cart laden with something heavy. A device? The small metal box seemed ordinary, yet their strained faces hinted it was no ordinary weight—compressed in size but retaining its mass, like a shrunken titan.
More assistants joined, heaving the box off the cart with visible effort. It was absurd, watching them struggle with such a tiny object, yet no one dared laugh. The assistants behind them glared, their eyes sharp as blades. Laugh, and you’ll regret it. That’s what their stares seemed to say. We’ll remember you. Survive the exam first, juniors.
The tension was suffocating. Even before the exam began, the candidates were already tiptoeing around the seniors’ wrath, suppressing every flicker of emotion.
Then it happened. A sudden “Pfft!”
Someone laughed.
In an instant, the assistants’ collective menace shifted to the offender. The next moment… Gurgle. The candidate collapsed, foaming at the mouth, unable to withstand the pressure. The evaluator clicked his tongue. “A faint-hearted candidate? You’ve underestimated us. Disqualified. Assistants, clear him away!”
“Yes, sir!”
The assistants dragged the fallen candidate away, their voices booming as if they’d been waiting for this.
Would Sister Si-eun act like that? She was the student council president—she wouldn’t be lugging boxes, but she might stand like those glaring assistants, radiating an aura that made one’s blood run cold. I could almost picture the exam halls under her watch, littered with disqualified candidates.
“Now, we’ll activate the device. Everyone, step back.”
The evaluator channelled mana into the small box. With a roar, it erupted into light, swelling in size until it became a colossal iron gate towering three stories high. I tilted my head, noticing something odd—the gate was segmented.
Five smaller gates were nested within it, each larger than the one below. The evaluator explained, “As you see, this gate is divided into five sections. Candidates need only open one to pass the first trial. Fail, and pack your bags. You’re free to wander the Academy City during your stay—travel agencies await at the main entrance.”
No one laughed at his dry remark.
While assistants installed additional gates, the evaluator continued, “Choose a gate you like. Any will do. The assistants assigned to each will evaluate you. The trial lasts until the second exam begins, so you may attempt it multiple times. But mind your order.”
And so, the exam begins.
At his signal, the crowd erupted. “Waaaah!” Candidates sprinted toward the gates, desperate to secure an early turn.
The gates were not merely tall—they were thick, too. Opening even one was no small feat.
“Grrrrrgh!”
Candidates who rushed to claim the first gates strained with all their might, their faces beet-red, yet the gates remained shut. After ten minutes, not a single one had succeeded.
“Why won’t it open?!”
Frustration mounted as candidates failed and were pushed aside. Those waiting in line muttered complaints.
I lingered at the back, observing. Of course, it’s hard. Even the smallest gate stood over six feet tall. Without channelling mana to amplify one’s strength, opening it was impossible.
Yet the candidates fumbled. Their mana flared wildly, dissipating into the air instead of anchoring to their bodies. The mana they channelled into their arms was unevenly distributed—some sections heavy, others light.
This isn’t just a test of strength, I murmured. It’s about how well one wields mana.
Yeon-ha chimed in, “It’s more than that. If it were only about control, one gate would suffice. Five seems excessive.”
“Then what?”
“I think it’s a comprehensive assessment of mana ability. When that candidate touched the gate earlier, it reacted—it must measure mana reserves, too. Maybe even more.”
Yeon-ha’s insight into mana mechanics surpassed mine. I nodded, continuing to watch.
Then, it happened. The first gate opened.
Clank.
“Candidate 6321, one gate. Pass.”
The grey-banded candidate who’d opened the smallest gate erupted in cheers. Others soon followed.
“Candidate 282, pass.”
“Candidate 4389, two gates. Pass.”
“Candidate 3256, pass.”
“Candidate 1875, two gates…”
While frantic candidates failed, those who waited calmly opened gates with ease.
“See? Rushing doesn’t help! I knew this would happen. Time to go!”
The line thinned rapidly. Finally, Yong Hee-rang bounded forward, energized.
“I’ve watched enough to get the hang of it, and I can’t wait any longer. Jian-woo, Ha-neul! See you next time!”
“We’re going too!”
Goo Eun-bi and the triplets joined the rush.
“Should we get in line?” I asked Yeon-ha.
“Let’s wait for a shorter queue.”
Three gates opened so far—that’s the record?
I scanned the crowd for Yong Hee-rang. He’d joined the line earlier and was now near the front.
Before long, the evaluator called, “Next! Candidate 6666.”
“Yes, sir!”
Yong Hee-rang, who’d been cracking his knuckles impatiently, strode to the gate. His black exam badge and martial arts background drew stares. Even the assistants and evaluator turned to observe.
He pressed his palms to the gate, ignoring the attention, and focused.
Then, with a shout—“Ha!”—he began to push.
Clank…
The first gate creaked open, but sluggishly, far from impressive.
That’s not right.
Then I realized—
“He’s using brute strength?!”
“Without mana?!”
Gasps erupted as Yong Hee-rang, without a hint of channelled mana, pushed the gate open with sheer physical power.
Clank…
At that moment, the veins on Yong Hee-rang’s bare arms, protruding from his black uniform, bulged prominently, writhing like coiled serpents.
Then the second gate trembled.
At the sight, the evaluator stood speechless, his mouth agape as if he’d forgotten how to close it.
“Grrgh!”
But Yong Hee-rang hit a wall at the third iron gate—it wouldn’t budge.
It was then that he finally unleashed his mana.
“Ha!”
Wind erupted around him. The mana he channelled with sheer will exerted enough force to alter the air currents.
Clank.
With a smoother groan than before, the third gate shuddered.
No, not just the third…
“It’s moving…”
“…”
The fourth gate also stirred.
Someone gasped, and eyes widened across the crowd.
Impressive.
I shared their awe. Was this the power of the Martial Hero clan? Yong Hee-rang’s strength was unparalleled.
Thus, the evaluator announced, “Candidate 6666… four gates. Pass.”
Yong Hee-rang became the first in this exam hall to open the fourth gate. Even as the evaluator assessed his skill, disbelief etched his face.
“Phew… Ha!”
Meanwhile, Yong Hee-rang wiped sweat from his jawline with the back of his hand, gazing up at the gates he’d opened. His expression radiated the satisfaction of having given his all.
Then he spun around.
His footsteps led straight toward… me.
“Can you do this much?”
“…”
“I’ll be counting on you.”
With that, he lightly patted my shoulder and strode past.
Does he see me as a rival? I’d rather decline a sparring match with him…
It was an unwelcome situation. All I could do was fervently hope Kang Strong-bell would appear soon to divert his attention.
Afterwards, a handful of candidates managed to open the fourth gate. They were all scions of prestigious clans, raised from childhood to hone their skills relentlessly—hunter-hopefuls groomed by legacy. Compared to ordinary candidates, their prowess was expected.
Talent is key for hunters, but the environment and effort to nurture it can’t be ignored.
Moreover, those born into clans often possessed innate talent. Even if a non-clan member had exceptional ability, surpassing their advantages in skill, time, resources, and effort was nearly impossible.
The gap between clan-born and commoners is set from birth.
Regrettably, the world has always been this way—unfair and unjust. Some are blessed without asking, while others yearn in vain. What’s natural for one is a privilege denied to another. Clan-born heirs perpetually enjoy authority and dominance, while others toil beneath them, sustaining and being exploited by their betters.
Especially in a world aiming to forge superior hunters.
Now it’s Goo Eun-bi’s turn.
Yet the world isn’t entirely sealed off. There’s a narrow path upward—for those with extraordinary talent or unwavering will and effort, the gap can be bridged.
Though the clan heirs may shine now, three years later, upon graduating from Golden Academy, the outcomes might shift.
“Hup!”
A prime example is Goo Eun-bi. Not clan-born, she’s currently an average ranger with slightly above-average skills, but her growth trajectory, shaped by story progression and the player’s agency, is remarkable.
That’s why she’s so fun to develop.
There she was, opening the gates.
Channelling mana to amplify her physical strength, she heaved the gates open with all her might.
“Phew, out of breath…”
Goo Eun-bi, her green exam badge visible, stopped at the third gate—a commendable feat for a non-clan candidate.
Well done.
I praised her silently, then sought out the triplets, who were also opening gates in tandem.
“If they pooled their strength, opening all gates would be child’s play…”
The triplets matched Goo Eun-bi’s record.
I clicked my tongue, reading their lips.
Yeah, that’s cheating.
Everyone knew they could open all gates together. Still, their synergy made them far stronger as a trio than as individuals. It would’ve been ideal if they’d opened the fourth gate, but assessing them as a unit, each reaching the third gate wasn’t bad.
Before long…
“Next candidate! Please step forward.”
As the crowd ahead dispersed, it was my and Yeon-ha’s turn.
The assistant called us, indistinct in line.
I told Yeon-ha, “Go ahead, Yeon-ha.”
“…Why me first? And am I your Pokémon? Treating people like Pokémon…”
“Yeon-ha, you’re chosen.”
“Ugh…”
No refusal accepted.
I gave her a nudge.
She gave up arguing, trudging toward the gates with a huff.
…
Just like Yong Hee-rang earlier, the exam hall fell silent.
Candidates forgot their own exams, fixated on Yeon-ha, while assistants stole glances. The evaluator hurried over, turning to face her.
“Ugh…”
“Ha-neul, you can do this.”
Yeon-ha seemed burdened by the attention. Unable to hide behind me, she kept glancing back or taking deep breaths.
I cheered her on.
Soon…
“I’ll take the exam.”
After a deep breath, Yeon-ha placed her palm on the gate.
“Phew.”
She exhaled steadily.
In sync, mana flared within her, swirling around her body.
Mana radiating from her palm enveloped the entire gate.
…
The density was palpable even to the naked eye.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
I heard nearby spectators catch their breath.
“Let’s go.”
Then, Yeon-ha pushed the gate.
Clank.
The first gate slid open effortlessly, without a creak.
Clank.
The second gate did the same.
She didn’t seem to exert much force, yet it moved smoothly.
Clank.
The third gate followed suit.
Eyes widened.
The evaluator gaped.
Clank.
When the fourth gate slid open, faces froze.
“Phew.”
Only then did Yeon-ha release her held breath, pausing her push.
But it wasn’t over.
“Phew.”
“…”
Regaining her rhythm, she resumed pushing.
The partially opened gates trembled—creak, creak.
The fifth gate had reacted.
Clank…
Less smoothly than before, but it moved.
From there, step by step, she pressed forward.
And so.
“Whew.”
“…”
Yeon-ha succeeded in opening all five gates.
She turned back, stepping beyond them.
“The gates are open.”
“…”
Her cheeks flushed with shyness.
She spoke to the evaluator.
After a stunned pause, the evaluator replied in a trembling voice, “C-Candidate 5,784… five gates. Pass.”
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