Mana leaves stains.
That was what mages found out after decades of experimentation on human embryos. Some of those experiments were so cruel that they became one of the major catalysts for the war between humans and mages.
Ordinarily, a magic core begins forming around the fourth month of pregnancy and continues developing until roughly the eighth. In some cases, however, the process fails midway. Whether because of incompatible parental attributes, environmental influences, or factors nobody fully understood, the core never completely forms.
The result is a child born between two worlds.
Neither human nor mage.
Such children develop the physical characteristics and magical aura of mages, yet remain incapable of properly practicing magic. At the same time, their incomplete magic cores continuously emit low levels of radiation, making it difficult for them to comfortably coexist within human communities.
Mages, above all else, were practical people.
Once they discovered that such births could occur, they adopted measures to prevent them entirely. The official reasoning was compassionate. Such children, they argued, would inevitably lead difficult lives filled with discrimination, scrutiny, and isolation. As a result, most mage marriages were carefully arranged based on compatibility of magical attributes in order to maximize the likelihood of producing healthy offspring.
Occasionally, the opposite happened.
Sometimes the attributes matched so perfectly that a child was born with extraordinary potential, far beyond what either parent possessed.
The Worshipers of Lord Shvek considered such children blessed.
Gifted.
Chosen.
Raudra was one of the rare examples.
Born to parents of entirely average ability, his future should have been ordinary.
Instead, fate had other plans.
His family was deeply religious. A miniature temple occupied one corner of their house, and every morning began the same way. At precisely six-thirty, hymns dedicated to Lord Shvek filled the home. According to the priests, the hours between six-thirty and eight were optimal for spiritual cultivation, and the family followed the recommendation faithfully.
Today was an important day.
Raudra woke to the familiar sound of his father turning on the music system. His mind free from distractions, he washed his face, changed into comfortable clothes, and sat down for meditation.
For the next ninety minutes, he did nothing but regulate his breathing and focus his thoughts.
Only then did he head downstairs for breakfast.
"Good morning, Father."
"Morning, son. Have some pancakes."
Before touching the plate, Raudra removed a small mana-sensing device from his pocket and held it above the food.
A few seconds later, the reading appeared.
"Hmm. Four hundred eighteen Cass."
He nodded.
"I'll have three."
Opening his mini-portal, he recorded the value in his food journal.
Raudra documented everything.
Calories.
Mana intake.
Training volume.
Sleep duration.
The measured output of his magic core.
His father often joked that if Raudra ever forgot his own birthday, he'd simply consult a spreadsheet.
Since his father's deployment to the Nico Islands, access to premium-quality nutrition had become more difficult. Still, Raudra never complained. Excellence wasn't about perfect circumstances. It was about making the best use of whatever circumstances existed.
"I took leave from patrol duty today," his father said while pouring himself tea. "We'll head to the test center together."
"There really isn't any need, Father. It's only the theory examination. The school has arranged transportation."
His father shook his head.
"You've spent too much time studying and not enough time outside. During entrance-exam season, these streets become chaos. Trust me, we're taking my patrol bike."
Raudra smiled.
There wasn't much point arguing.
After breakfast, he thanked the Lord for the meal and picked up the bag he had packed the previous evening. Inside were snacks, drinks, spare batteries for his portal, and several backup pens.
He was prepared.
Very prepared.
Yet one thing still bothered him.
The mystery candidate.
For the last two entrance examinations, a single participant had achieved a perfect score in the theory section.
Not an excellent score.
Not a near-perfect score.
Perfect.
Twice.
The fact that the same person had appeared in multiple years suggested they continuously failed the practical examination. Otherwise, they would've already been attending university.
That wasn't what bothered Raudra.
What bothered him was that he couldn't understand how it had been done.
Over the past three years, he'd completed countless mock examinations, solved every published test paper he could obtain, and thoroughly analyzed previous years' question patterns.
No matter how hard he worked, he inevitably missed one or two questions.
Sometimes more.
Usually trap questions.
Yet somebody out there had solved every single one.
Twice.
Raudra wasn't arrogant enough to believe he had nothing left to learn. In fact, he enjoyed discovering people who surpassed him. It gave him a direction to grow.
But this individual unsettled him.
For the first time in years, he couldn't see the path between where he was and where someone else stood.
And that realization left an uncomfortable knot in his stomach.
"Still thinking about that?"
His father was crouching beside the patrol bike, performing a routine inspection.
The vehicle was a standard-issue Department model, an Avenger 5000.
Raudra looked away.
"A little."
His father laughed.
"I told you before. You don't need to be perfect."
He stood up and wiped his hands clean.
"The theory examination barely matters as long as you exceed the minimum threshold. It's not like you're planning to become a researcher."
Then his expression turned serious.
"Comparison is distraction. Remove the thought from your mind and focus on yourself."
Raudra took a slow breath and nodded.
Whatever happened today, he would give his best.
The rest was in the Lord's hands.
The Avenger accelerated smoothly into the morning traffic.
As they traveled through Umria, Raudra saw all kinds of vehicles rarely found in the capital.
Older models.
Outdated designs.
Machines that would've been considered antiques in Dauria.
Life in the Nico Islands was different.
Slower.
Less prosperous.
Less important.
Unfortunately, his family hadn't come here by choice.
Five years ago, his father had made a slight mistake while handling a high-profile case.
The punishment had been immediate.
Transfer.
Demotion.
Nico Islands.
Raudra still remembered the day they packed their belongings.
His father never complained about it.
But he never spoke about it either.
*
"Can you repeat that, please?"
At the entrance of the testing center, Raudra looked up from his thoughts.
A young man stood at the registration counter.
"Neal."
The young man spoke slowly.
"N. E. A. L."
Raudra frowned.
The accent sounded unusual.
Foreign.
Then realization struck him.
A refugee from the war.
Wait.
Neal?
His eyes widened slightly.
Could this be the same Neal?
The one who had achieved perfect scores on the theory examination?
Before he could think further, the young man turned around.
Their eyes met briefly.
Neal immediately gave him a look that suggested he personally blamed Raudra for every bad thing that had happened since the beginning of recorded history.
Raudra blinked.
What did I do?
The receptionist interrupted the moment.
"Please remove your portal and place it in the collection box."
Raudra complied.
Like all participants, he was forbidden from carrying communication devices into the examination hall.
The use of mana was also prohibited.
Not that it would help much.
Most candidates their age hadn't yet learned to construct a mana wall or embed spells within it.
Those techniques remained restricted until university enrollment.
Even so, the authorities took no chances.
After all, entrance examinations had a way of convincing otherwise honest students to become surprisingly creative.