The battlefield had quieted. The spells were cast. The arena scorched. Every grimoire was closed.

  Now came the judgment.

  We stood once again at the center of the coliseum floor—forty or so candidates left after the grueling tests. Some bruised. Some burned. Most wide-eyed and praying for a miracle.

  Above us, twelve captains sat like gods on a stone pantheon.

  Behind them, the banners of each squad fpped in the high wind:Golden Dawn. Crimson Lions. Bck Bulls. Silver Eagles. And the rest, each carrying its own weight. Its own legacy.

  The head proctor stepped forward, scroll in hand.

  “Now begins the final phase of the Magic Knight Entrance Exam,” he called. “When your name is read, step forward. Any captain interested in recruiting you will raise their hand. You will then choose your squad.”

  You could feel the tension in the air. Mana buzzed like static. Even the birds had gone quiet.

  And then, the names began.

  One by one, they were called.

  Most got silence.

  Some got one or two hands—usually from lesser-known squads.

  One noble candidate got three.

  But then—

  “Yuno of Hage Vilge.”

  He stepped forward, calm and silent, wind brushing his cloak.

  Every. Single. Captain. Raised their hand.

  The entire arena erupted into murmurs.

  “All twelve…!”

  “Isn’t that the kid with the four-leaf?!”

  “Unbelievable…”

  Yuno didn’t look proud. He didn’t gloat. He simply raised a hand toward Golden Dawn’s Captain, William Vangeance.

  Vangeance nodded. “We are honored.”

  Yuno turned and walked back to his spot, quiet and focused.

  Next…

  “Asta of Hage Vilge.”

  I braced for it.

  He stepped forward, grinning like a lunatic, one hand on his giant bck sword strapped to his back.

  No one raised their hand.

  Not a single one.

  Asta’s grin faltered. His fingers twitched slightly. I could feel the disappointment rippling off of him like heat from cracked stone.

  He opened his mouth to speak—maybe to ugh it off—but then—

  Yami Sukehiro stood up.

  He leaned forward, scratched his chin, and casually raised one hand.

  “...He’s weird,” Yami said. “I like weird.”

  Gasps. Laughter. Disbelief.

  “Bck Bulls!?”

  “Why would he—?”

  Asta blinked. “Wait, seriously?!”

  Yami smirked. “You got guts, kid. That’s good enough for me.”

  Asta grinned so wide I thought his face would split. “HELL YEAH!”

  He saluted—poorly—and stomped back beside me, shaking with excitement.

  “Can you believe it?! A captain picked me!”

  “I’m shocked,” I said, deadpan. “Truly.”

  Then her name was called.

  “Iris Rhoswen.”

  She walked like a fme in human form. Controlled. Confident. Hair tied, grimoire tucked at her hip. No sign of the burns we’d both suffered.

  Three hands rose.

  Silver Eagles. Coral Peacocks. And…

  Crimson Lions.

  I watched as she made her decision without pause.

  “I accept the offer of Captain Fuegoleon Vermillion.”

  The Crimson Lion himself inclined his head slightly, arms folded, firelight dancing in his eyes.

  Of course she chose them. Her magic was fire, her pride a furnace. The Lions were a natural fit.

  She stepped back, and then… the scroll shifted again.

  “Vriksha of Houter Vilge.”

  My legs moved before I could think.

  I walked forward slowly. No cheers. No murmurs. Just silence, stretching like a taut wire.

  I saw the doubt in their faces.

  A three-leaf grimoire. Wood affinity. Low mana. A bastard.

  I stood in the center of that arena with nothing but roots beneath my boots and fire still singed into my sleeves.

  And for a long, painful moment—

  No one raised a hand.

  My grip tightened around the spine of my grimoire.

  I refused to bow. Refused to flinch.

  If no one picked me? I’d walk away. I’d keep growing. Even in the cracks.

  But then—

  A single hand rose.

  Strong. Steady.

  Fuegoleon Vermillion.

  Gasps again. But fewer this time.

  Hushed.

  Surprised.

  “Crimson Lions…?”

  “Did he just…?”

  I looked up, meeting his gaze. Eyes like molten gold. Face like carved stone. A man who burned without raising his voice.

  “Seems,” I said, “like I don’t have much choice here, huh?”

  He didn’t smile.

  But he nodded.

  I turned, walked back to Asta’s side, heart still hammering, and let myself breathe again.

  Chosen. Not by pity. But by a lion.

  After the final names were read, the crowd thinned. Rejected candidates were escorted away. The chosen ones—us—were called to gather at the base of the coliseum, where squad leaders waited.

  Asta bounced in pce. “Man, I can’t wait to see the Bck Bulls’ base!”

  “You’ll regret that,” I muttered.

  Yuno stood silent, already in deep thought. His eyes never stopped moving. Calcuting.

  Then I felt a presence beside me.

  Iris.

  She didn’t speak at first. Just looked at me.

  I stared back.

  “You fought well,” she said finally.

  “You too.”

  “I meant it. About putting you in your pce.”

  I smirked. “Seems like my pce is next to yours now.”

  Her lips twitched. Not quite a smile. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

  “After we both recover from turning the arena into a forest fire?”

  Her ugh was quiet but real. “Fine. Truce. For now.”

  Fuegoleon stood before the few of us he had chosen—only five total. Iris. Me. Two other boys, a girl with sand magic. All sharp. Focused.

  “Crimson Lions,” he said, voice like distant thunder, “do not chase titles. We do not serve pride for pride’s sake.”

  We straightened. Even Asta stopped bouncing to listen from nearby.

  “We serve the kingdom with fire in our hearts and steel in our discipline. I did not choose you to babysit you.”

  He looked directly at me.

  “I chose you because you burned, even when others expected you to rot.”

  My breath caught.

  He turned. “Now come. Your squad awaits.”

  We were escorted through the capital, banners swaying above us. The streets parted around us like waves before a fme.

  People stared. Some cheered. Others scowled.

  I didn’t care.

  I followed Fuegoleon’s burning back through stone arches and past guard towers, deeper into the noble district, until we reached a rge crimson-gold fortress adorned with lions carved into every surface.

  The Crimson Lion Base.

  Guards opened the doors.

  Inside, squad members stood waiting—seasoned mages in red robes, lined up with disciplined pride.

  One stepped forward with a tray holding five new robes, folded with the sigil of the lion stitched in gold.

  Fuegoleon nodded to them.

  “Put them on.”

  We did.

  The fabric was warm, enchanted—meant to shield and support. As I slipped it over my shoulders, I felt something shift in my chest.

  Not pride.

  Not yet.

  But something close.

  Belonging? Maybe.

  Purpose? Closer.

  Fire? Definitely.

  The squad members raised their fists.

  “Welcome to the Crimson Lions!”

  The sound echoed through the hall.

  Iris stood beside me, cloak settling around her shoulders like royalty.

  I adjusted mine, looking at the emblem stitched into my chest. My name might be unwanted in the noble house that birthed me, but here?

  Here I had burned my way in.

  And fire remembers its own.