In this world exists a unique power evaluation system.

Ranks ascend from weakest to strongest: Apprentice Rank, Attendant Rank, Proficient Rank, Celebrity Rank, Lord Rank, Master Rank, and Overlord Rank.

This hierarchy largely mirrors social status at each level.

Overlord Rank experts haven’t surfaced in ages. Clan heads typically sit between Lord and Master Rank. Celebrity Rank marks the true threshold of strength—and most teachers at Saint Stephen Academy stand at this level.

Even the academy’s so-called prodigies mostly hover at Attendant Rank; reaching Proficient Rank is rare.

Teresa, for all her strength, has only just brushed the edge of Celebrity Rank. Loko, ranked second, remains firmly at Proficient Rank.

Loko studied the class schedule pinned to the living room wall, then rubbed her chin.

“Today’s morning training session… seems to be led by Teacher Ostia.”

She turned to Shilufei.

“Shilufei, do you need to practice martial arts?”

As the protagonist, Shilufei fought with sword techniques. Yet thanks to her family’s innate talent, she could manipulate ambient elements—effectively wielding magic.

“Mm.” Shilufei nodded.

Compared to Loko, her outfit today looked far more practical.

Loko’s attire struck outsiders as unnecessarily flashy—who wears a pretty dress to training? It’s not a date.

Shilufei wore a loose shirt and trousers, golden hair tied back, radiating crisp, heroic charm.

“I heard Teacher Ostia is a Celebrity Rank swordsman. I plan to ask her for guidance.”

“Then maybe we can spar afterward.”

As a Proficient Rank swordsman herself, Loko often served as Shilufei’s sparring partner in the original story.

“Oh, breakfast—I made an extra portion. It’s in the kitchen. Loko, help yourself if you don’t mind.”

Shilufei gestured toward the kitchen.

Loko’s face lit up.

*Extra?* She knew Shilufei’s appetite well. This was made *for her*.

Their bond really was improving. Her approach was working.

Blissfully unaware of Shilufei’s true thoughts, Loko happily headed to the kitchen.

By morning training, every student in Class One had shown up.

Elite students, last-place elimination system—no one dared admit weakness.

Even magic-specialized students attended, hoping to discuss close-quarters defense with Teacher Ostia.

The session was simple: Ostia demonstrated basic combat principles, then set students to paired drills.

Naturally, several approached her, eager to impress.

Ostia regarded them coolly.

“I’ve said all I’ll say. If it’s still unclear—learn through practice.”

She pulled one student aside, found clear space, and began live sparring.

All eyes locked on them.

“If I recall right—you’re Sherif. Ranked thirty-first in entrance exams.”

Though seemingly detached, Ostia remembered every student’s name and face.

“Work hard enough… maybe I’ll still see you here next year.”

She plucked a longsword from the rack.

Before Sherif could register her motion, the blade’s tip rested against his throat.

A cold bead of sweat traced his neck.

Ostia withdrew the sword.

“That was a warning. Now—you attack me.”

Onlookers watched, mesmerized, as she effortlessly deflected every strike, critiquing each move:

“Too slow.”

“Too flashy. Planning to use *that* against monsters?”

“A sword’s strength lies in versatile slashes, swings, thrusts. All slashes? Wastes stamina. Breaks balance.”

Her short hair swept gracefully with each motion.

Many stood frozen in awe.

True to her words, Sherif soon faltered, movements sluggish from exhaustion.

Ostia sidestepped, slapped the weapon from his grip—the bout ended.

“Your file says Proficient Rank swordsmanship. I expected more.”

Combat strength varied wildly within ranks: some Proficient barely surpassed Attendant; others neared Celebrity Rank.

“I’m sorry, Teacher. I disappointed you.”

“Go reflect on it.”

Her gaze swept the crowd.

“I called out every flaw loudly—not just for him. *You* listen too.”

“In under half a year, you’ll face real monsters. They won’t hold back like I did.”

She flicked the sword back onto the rack with pinpoint accuracy.

“Pair up. Train.”

Leaning against the wall, she observed her students with icy calm.

Just then, Shilufei tugged Loko’s sleeve.

Loko turned. Shilufei’s eyes burned with quiet determination.

“Loko… I… I want to spar with you.”

“With me?”

“Mm. Teacher Ostia’s critiques… I think I made those mistakes too. I want to test if I learned anything.”

“Sure.”

Shilufei’s reason made sense—and Loko was the only person she truly knew here.

Besides, Shilufei still lagged behind. Victory was certain.

They claimed an open space, gripped blunt training longswords, and faced off.

“Loko… your outfit. Is it expensive?”

“Huh?” Loko glanced down, shook her head. “Not at all. I have plenty. Want one? I’ll give you one.”

“No.”

“I mean… if it’s *not* expensive… I won’t worry about ruining it.”

Before Loko could react, Shilufei’s expression sharpened.

In a whisper of motion, she surged forward like the wind.