Takiomi stood before the mirror, adjusting his collar with practiced precision. His mother stood silently behind him, eyes soft but unsure, as if sensing something deeper behind her son's calm smile.

  "Wish me luck," Takiomi said, forcing a grin.

  She returned it with a gentle nod, unaware of the storm that brewed behind his eyes.

  Today was the entrance exam for the Hero Academy of Justice—and Takiomi Kessei was ready to blow it all up.

  The school grounds were packed with students. Thousands of hopefuls had gathered, their faces painted with determination, nerves, or blind excitement. Takiomi, however, remained indifferent.

  He noticed a few familiar faces in the crowd—former classmates who had also applied for the same hero course. His eyes paused on a pair of figures in the distance: his elder siblings, students in Year 2 of the academy.

  They didn’t acknowledge him, and he didn’t care to acknowledge them either. Without a word, he walked past them and made his way to the massive auditorium where the written exam would take place.

  Only a few hundred would be selected. The rest would be discarded—like the weak always were.

  The Hero Academy of Justice was divided into four distinct sections:

  The Hero Section, where students were trained to become frontline defenders.

  The Engineering Section, for those who would build weapons and gear to assist heroes.

  The Medical Section, where young minds were molded into battle surgeons and emergency healers.

  And the Commerce Section, training future strategists, economists, and political leaders.

  Takiomi didn’t care for any of the others. He only had eyes for the Hero Section.

  The written portion passed quickly. Takiomi barely flinched as he answered the questions. He wasn’t here for this part.

  It was what came next that interested him.

  A booming voice echoed through the auditorium. A commentator appeared on the floating screen above them.

  "Congratulations on completing the written test. Now begins the practical assessment. You’ll be entering the Grim Grounds—a controlled zone filled with real, captured Grims."

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  The crowd gasped. Murmurs erupted instantly.

  Grims?

  They were supposed to be just myths. Secret monsters—their existence buried by private organizations and governments. And now, they were being used as test subjects.

  “There are three known Grim classifications,” the commentator continued. “E-Class, D-Class, and A-Class. Today, you’ll face E and D-class creatures. Don’t worry… you won’t die.”

  Takiomi’s heart thudded once, then stilled.

  Grims… here?

  He clenched his fists. Something about this didn’t sit right.

  The massive gates opened. A red light pulsed.

  And the chaos began.

  Students rushed in from every direction, scrambling to prove themselves. Grims lunged out of the shadows—deformed beasts with eyes of hunger and skin like shadowy armor.

  Takiomi stood still, eyes scanning.

  A Grim leapt toward him.

  And then, he heard it.

  A familiar voice inside his mind.

  "Is that all you’ve got?"

  Takiomi smirked. His hand reached toward his back.

  “Mugen!” he whispered.

  A flash of steel.

  The blade shimmered with purple energy.

  Fifteen minutes passed, and the battlefield was unrecognizable. Blood soaked the earth. Shattered limbs and corpses of Grims littered the ground.

  Takiomi stood in the center—calm, towering, his body drenched in black blood.

  He had wiped out nearly half the arena.

  Then, the alarm blared.

  "Warning. A-Class threat detected. Level A+ Grim has broken containment."

  Panic erupted across the grounds. Screams echoed. Teachers activated emergency protocols.

  Takiomi’s eyes locked onto a scene in the distance.

  A monstrous A+ Grim was towering over a girl. She screamed, trying to shield herself.

  And in that moment—he recognized her.

  Her…

  The girl who once stood beside him. The one who had helped him escape after the school farewell massacre. The only one who ever showed him kindness.

  He vanished.

  In a flash-step, he appeared beside the Grim and sliced off its arm in one strike.

  Takiomi stared into the beast’s face.

  The Grim stared back.

  And then, it spoke.

  “You… you carry the Omen. You should know… the truth.”

  Takiomi’s heart sank.

  Grims can talk?

  "Omen," he called out in his mind. “Do you know anything about this?”

  No answer.

  Just silence.

  Until his body surged with power.

  A dark, violet aura exploded from him. His sword shone with an ominous light. The Omen symbol on his back—long dormant—glowed blood red.

  He gripped his blade.

  One strike.

  The Grim was obliterated, its body disintegrating into ash.

  Takiomi turned to the girl, unconscious but alive. He lifted her in his arms and carried her toward the central zone. The medical team had arrived, tending to the wounded.

  Gasps rippled through the crowd as they saw him approach—his body marked by the red symbol.

  “The Omen…” someone whispered.

  “That’s the Omen mark…”

  But then—cheering.

  It started slow.

  Then louder.

  “Omen! Omen! Omen!”

  Students and examiners alike clapped and shouted in awe.

  He had saved them all.

  Takiomi looked at their faces.

  And, for the first time in years… a faint light shone in his eyes. A flicker of emotion.

  A tiny smile.

  End of Chapter 3