It was when the third week post-class designation has arrived.
The sixteen students of the second-year's higher class stood in the training ground, with the standard uniform instead of a more relaxed fit. This meant that they weren't here for another physical exercise.
Maren Solke stood with her ledger under her arm. Unlike the usual, there was another figure beside her: Andrias.
Andrias was typically in charge of the elite class, and in fact, it was the first time after the Mechanism Room that Isaac got to see the professor once more.
Andrias stood at the platform's edge with the attitude of someone who had been given a task and was waiting for the appropriate moment to execute it.
Maren looked across the sixteen students.
"It has already been two weeks since the commence of the higher class," she said, without preamble, "Today, there will be no practical session."
From Isaac's side, Cassiopeia's hand twitched. He could tell that she was jovial to hear that.
"Starting today, you are given a week-long assignment."
She reached into her ledger and took out a small cloth pouch. Held it up.
"Take the pouch. One for each student."
She emptied the content inside the pouch, holding it upside down. The content—copper coins—landed on her prepared palm.
"There are ten coppers inside each bag. Each of you will receive the same. Your task is to convert this into as much money as possible by the week's end."
The training ground produced the noise of sixteen students processing an instruction that didn't fit their existing framework.
"The rules," Placing the bag back into her ledger, Maren continued, before the noise could develop into questions. "You may not borrow from family resources. You may not leverage connections. You may not use your institutional status as a student of the Aetherion Academy's higher class as a mechanism for acquiring money." She looked across the group. "None of your social standing is available to you this week. You are sixteen practitioners with a skill, a week of time, and ten copper."
She paused.
"Friends are connections. That restriction applies."
Magnus looked at Isaac. Isaac was looking at Maren.
"The assessment will be conducted by Master Andrias," Maren said, "whose skill will provide the monitoring infrastructure for the week."
Andrias stepped forward. He raised both hands.
A-rank: [Mana Mimicry]. The skill that had built the Mechanism Room's wristband architecture, sustained the constructs for three days, and now produced, without visible effort, the specific economy of a practitioner who had been using this skill for long enough that the effort had become invisible—a flock of birds.
Not real birds. Mana constructs in the form of birds, manifested at a resolution that the upper tiers of the training ground found indistinguishable from the real thing. They scattered upward from Andrias's hands with the behavior of birds startled from cover, dispersing in multiple directions, finding altitude, circling.
Sixteen birds. One per student.
"They will follow you," Andrias said. His voice had the flat precision of someone accustomed to explaining technical systems. "They observe without interfering. They record. The record is what Master Solke will use for assessment at the week's end."
Several students looked upward at the birds already finding their individual targets. Silas's bird circled him at a distance, more wary than the other birds. Isaac's settled on a nearby wall and looked at him with the patient attention of something that had been given one job and intended to do it.
"The results will be ranked," Maren said. "The top performers will receive priority selection from the Academy's physical training arsenal before we begin the combat-integrated practical sessions next month." She looked across the group with the expression of someone ensuring the incentive had landed. "The arsenal contains equipment relevant to skill enhancement and physical combat integration. Priority selection is not a trivial advantage."
She closed her ledger.
"The week begins now. The pouches are on the platform table." She looked at Andrias. He stepped back. "You have until the seventh day's evening bell. Use your time well."
The sixteen students moved toward the platform table with the specific energy of people who had received an instruction and were already running calculations about how to execute it.
…
Isaac picked up his pouch. Felt the weight of it. Ten copper.
He stood at the platform's edge while the others dispersed, the specific stillness of someone who had been given a problem and was looking at it from a distance before committing to a direction.
Ten copper. One week. No family resources. No connections. No institutional standing.
The constraint was the point. Maren hadn't designed this to test how much money sixteen students from noble and wealthy families could extract from their networks. She had designed it to test what they could produce from themselves, whether they could think as leaders and pioneers instead of as common foot soldiers.
He looked at his fingertip. Formed a droplet. Let it fall.
[Condensation]. F-rank. The Academy's most dismissible result. The skill that the kingdom had built no economic framework for because nobody had ever needed one.
He looked at the city beyond the Academy's walls.
"Well… damn." Then, Magnus, close by, grumbled. "I was thinking of asking you for tips. Connections aren't allowed… all that's left for me now is to go work in utility for the week."
"That's one possibility, but," Vesper shook his head, exasperated by Magnus's laziness. "Why don't you try to think of an alternate means?"
"Yeah, no thanks. It's not like I am gunning for that 'priority selection' anyway."
Away from two friends of his, Isaac turned his head the other way, to someone else who was near him for some time—Randal Ursula. B-rank: [Monstrous Strength], broad-shouldered. He was looking at the pouch in his hand with the expression of someone doing arithmetic that wasn't resolving cleanly.
"Cassiopeia Terra has the clearest advantage here," Randal then said, to no one specifically. His voice had the carrying quality of someone who had opinions and didn't feel strongly about keeping them internal.
He then looked at Cassiopeia, who had already opened her notebook and was writing something. "Three C-ranks. [Bedrock] alone can do lots in the lower districts. [Ferrous Bind] handles the metalwork. And [Fuse]…" He shook his head. "She could spend a week doing whatever she wants and come back with more than anyone else."
Cassiopeia looked up from her notebook. Her expression wasn't that of denial; she knew that Randal's judgement was accurate.
"It's a reasonable assessment," she said.
"It's an obvious one," Randal said and shrugged. He looked at his own hands, where [Monstrous Strength] produced its baseline enhancement. "I can move things. I pack a punch. I can break whatever you manifest with your skills, more useful in battles. But, when it comes to puny things like this… meh, I can do some physical labors, I suppose."
"That, I don't agree."
Randal looked at Cassiopeia, questioningly.
"Which part?"
"I won't say more. It violates the rules that Master Solke spoke of."
"Tch, smartass."
Randal snorted. Unbothered by his words, Cassiopeia returned to her notebook.
He then peeked at Isaac.
"As for [Condensation]…" A pause. Randal's mouth closed in realization that Isaac was someone who defeated Silas just two to three weeks ago. He eventually murmured, "What am I saying. You aren't typical enough for me to make a guess even."
He picked up his pouch and walked toward the gate without further elaboration.
Isaac watched Randal go. It was the first time he saw this fellow classmate talking.
B-rank: [Monstrous Strength]. Crude augmentation of one's physical strength. Strong because it's simple.
Isaac had an idea of what Cassiopeia was thinking of.
However… if I were to ask if that skill is sufficient enough to defeat the collective skills of Cassiopeia, my answer would be no.
Cassiopeia's [Bedrock], [Ferrous Bind], and [Fuse] complemented one another so well that Isaac could think of numerous applications.
He knew that when she said "That, I don't agree," she was talking about Randal's words on how he held a combat advantage over her.
Looking around and noting how other students were leaving as well, Isaac decided to return to the matter of the assignment.
"—aren't typical—"
Randal's previous comment gave him an idea worth testing out.
"Well then," Seeing that Isaac was about to leave, Cassiopeia looked up and nodded at him. "Good luck on your assessment."
"You as well."
Isaac turned to leave, before pausing a bit upon noticing Vesper's gaze from some distance away.
Vesper scratched his head as he averted his eyes in an embarrassment. Knowing what this was about, Isaac formed a light chuckle before walking.
His bird settled on his shoulder with the patient attention of a construct that had been given one job.
Isaac raised his eyebrow at it, but nevertheless, let it be.
…
Near the Academy's eastern gate, Silas stood with his pouch in one hand and the expression of someone for whom the framework of the assignment had already resolved into a single available option. There was a feral grin on his face.
"Gaming halls," Vane said, without looking up from his own assessment of the city's visible roofline. "Really, Silas?"
"The return rate on a single strong play. Theoretically, it offers the highest profit if I get lucky."
"Theoretically, you said it. And luck—it's something that you cannot control," Vane said. "S-rank: [Lightning Spear] does not improve your odds at a gaming table."
Silas looked at him. "Did I ask?"
"Well, no," Vane put his pouch in his pocket. "I was noting."
"Don't be surprised if I end up with gold coins, Vane."
"I won't, because that won't be happening."
Vane walked in a different direction from Silas. Silas watched him go with the expression of someone whose plan had been accurately criticized and who was going to execute it anyway.
Isaac ended up witnessing the scene by chance, upon walking into it.
Vane was long gone, but Silas noticed him.
"…What?"
Silas gazed into Isaac's eyes, who stared back at him in silence. Isaac noted that the hostility that used to exist in his eyes was no longer there.
"Gambling." Isaac decided to speak, "I would bet that you end up with the least value among the sixteen of us."
"Shut up," Growled Silas. "Whatever I do, it's going to be more than you and your—" He then paused, upon the memory of their duel resurfacing in his mind.
Supercritical fluid. Veil and bullet. Silas remembered the unprecedented application of F-rank: [Condensation].
"…Damn it."
Placing his hands in his pockets, he turned and walked away, grumbling.
Isaac watched as the tall figure left, blinking.