At that moment, the director's voice spread through the hall once more, gently yet confidently interrupting the conversations.
"The interviews are complete."
The noise gradually began to fade. People did not fall silent immediately, but one by one the voices died away until only a faint, expectant silence remained in the space. Attention once again shifted toward the stage.
"Based on your answers, a preliminary ranking has been compiled," he continued in the same calm tone. "It reflects the current balance of your abilities and potential."
No unnecessary words. No pauses.
The walls of the hall responded to his voice.
The smooth surfaces lit up with a soft glow, as though a hidden structure beneath them had awakened. Lines spread across the walls, forming screens, and almost immediately names began to appear.
The list formed from top to bottom, precise and uninterrupted.
Lucia raised her eyes along with everyone else.
The screens continued to fill.
After the first few lines, the list did not stop — names followed one after another in strict sequence. Rows appeared continuously, without delay, without emphasis, as though the system itself placed no importance on who stood lower… or higher.
And yet the difference was already noticeable.
The first lines remained at the top, unmoving, as though fixed in place. The other names continued beneath them — dozens of them, gradually filling the screen.
None of them had titles anymore.
Only names.
Sometimes surnames that sounded weighty, or entirely unremarkable. But without additions. Without the words that accompanied the first four lines.
Einar Valmont — The One Who Does Not Bow
Fraxina Taris — The One Who Rose Against Unity
Darion Kallen — The One Who Walks Through Horror
Lucia Grimm — The Hunger That Does Not Remember Its Reason
And below them — everyone else.
The list continued to grow until it occupied the entire visible surface. It did not split into sections. It did not pause. It did not highlight anything.
But that was exactly what emphasized the difference.
Four names with titles.
And everyone else without them.
There was no obvious reaction in the hall, but people's attention grew sharper. Their gazes lingered longer on the top lines before continuing downward.
Lucia observed it calmly.
Her eyes passed over the first names, then lowered to the dozens of unfamiliar ones beneath them. She did not try to memorize them all, did not search for patterns, did not compare.
The list was simply a fact.
Information.
A record of the current order.
And yet… even without words, it was obvious that those first lines were already separated from the rest.
Not because they stood higher.
But because they were different.
A quiet tension settled over the hall — not enough to disturb the order, but impossible not to feel. A few voices still sounded softly, almost in whispers, though they quickly faded again.
The director did not comment on what they saw.
He allowed the information to settle on its own.
Lucia looked at the screen calmly, not distinguishing her own name from the others. There was no surprise in her gaze, no doubt, no attempt to fully process what was happening. She simply acknowledged the order, the names, the titles — as facts that required no immediate judgment.
A few seconds later, the screens changed.
The ranking vanished as though it had never existed, replaced by a new arrangement. Now the names appeared in groups, divided into classes. The structure had changed — no longer linear, but systematic.
People stared more intently at the lines, searching for themselves.
Lucia did not hurry.
Her gaze moved slowly across the lists, shifting from one group to another until it stopped.
Lucia Grimm.
The designation beside her name was short.
Class S.