3 - 3

On the console, like any other, a digital set of numbers was displayed.

Upon reading it, it was clear that it was indeed a clock. On the other hand, the young man to which the console possessed didn't seem to be looking at it, instead immersed in a weather report on the south-eastern peninsula in the country.

'A hurricane, huh? I guess it's that time of year...'

The weather report gave the young man an internal train of thought. Closing the weather portal on his console, then proceeding to close it, a tight, authoritative male voice directed at him spoke.

"It's nearly 20 minutes away from the start of the ceremony. You must be new here."

At first, the black shoes and the pants of the male academy uniform came into the young man's line of sight. Just after, a black glove worn on the left hand.

Unusually, the black glove was only worn on the left hand, while a white one was adopted by the right. It was clear that the gloves weren't meant for thermal containment, for the sun was currently shining at its brightest.

Differentiating in colors, the two gloves were Thread Holders, particularly newer models designed to take the shape and appearance of normal apparel. It wasn't totally abnormal for people to wear gloves in the sun, attempting to trap the heat *outside* of the material, however gloves with different colors was never a fashion choice.

Everything had to be perfect in the eyes of the world. Every action mattered and was accounted for. Adopting such an unorthodox method of fashion would never be executed without reason.

Thread Holders, also known as Puppet Auxiliaries in the United States; a technological component that replaces the use of voiced chants, blood sacrifices, mystic branding, and other traditional methods.

For any Puppeteer specializing in specific areas of Puppeteering, namely a common one of Projectile Types, owning a Thread Holder was a great auxiliary asset.

The few specializations in need of a Thread Holder consisted of Projectile Types, Repulsive Force Subtype, and Emission Types.

That being said, Thread Holders were only used in competition. Due to the limit on the types of Filo Thread Holders could effectively aid, using them in combat was foolish since it would basically be announcing what type of Filo the user specialized in.

Generally, the only time Thread Holders were used was during confrontations of which the opponents knew exactly what the other person specialized in, thus giving the individuals no need to cloak themselves.

Currently, all invocations of Puppeteering were done without words or any other mystic actions. The average shortest invocation time with traditional means was about 12 seconds, while the average longest invocation time was no shorter than two minutes depending on the Filo.

For comparison, the gloves' entire family of Thread Holders was capable of invocating Filos in under a second.

These Thread Holders were highly regarded as competition-using treasures, and for good reason.

Among the Puppeteers who strived to become pure Puppeteers, training in the specialty of using their bodies as a medium instead of mechanizations in order to perform phenomena, only a small amount actually converted back to the technologies' aid.

Thread Holders were however useless to anybody who did not have the ability of a Puppeteer. Although it was rare, individuals did indeed possess Thread Holders despite their inability to perform or awaken a type of Filo.

This was obviously a false external front; nothing but a façade.

Thread Holders provided the needed pattern for the use of the Puppeteer's Filo and nothing more. It was the Puppeteer's job to input the correct amount of manipulated energy and then form it according to the Thread Holder's instructions.

"Filo" was the term used for the ability of a Puppeteer. So if the Puppeteer were to control sand freely, they would possess a Movement Type Filo. The entire system of Filo types was to be memorized by any and all students attending a Puppeteer academy. If this task was not completed, their enrollment for the academy wouldn't even be acknowledged.

Therefore, it was clear as to why the individual standing before the young man wore such a form of attire.

'Someone bold enough to not only speak with the authority of an executive, but also expose the specialty of Filo they practice?'

If the young man's memory served, only administrators, the Student Council, and specific committee associates were allowed to persistently carry a Thread Holder around campus, so the other party's tone was in fact validated.

"Yes, sir. I'll be on my way."

To answer the inquisitor's statements, the young man spoke in a very formal tone, maintaining his erect posture.

On the other party's chest was indeed the black widow emblem.

When the young man spoke, he did not show shame in his blank emblem.

He did not hide it.

He did not crumble with embarrassment.

There was no lack of confidence in his posture. On the other hand, it would be falsified if he didn't completely hold ill feeling.

Not a shred of his mind even began to imagine himself even interacting with a higher-up, especially a potential executive.

"Hmm... Is that a monitor type?"

The individual to whom the young man spoke to held a gaze of curiosity on the latter's three-folded console. It seemed as though the other person didn't pertain the same thought process as the young man did.

In fact, the person almost seemed, if only slightly, appeased.

The unexpected inquiry from the person left the young man no choice but to take in his questionnaire's appearance.

At a straight height, the male that stood before him was about two inches shorter than the young man.

The freshman was five feet, 10 inches tall, so the other person wasn't particularly short compared to the relative average, of course that would be the case if he was the same age as the freshman.

It still required the other party to look mildly downwards in order for them to see the young man's status as lower class student.

Surprisingly, the expression that he wore was not of criticality, but innocence and a dose of... analysis.

"I'm a little surprised, you see. It is rare to see someone using a monitor type. The academy prohibits the use of lineal type consoles, for many reasons, but it's still quite rare."

The person noticed the slight unexpectedness in the freshman's gaze and efficiently gave an elongated response to explain the vexing remark.

"Yet, before you even enrolled, you're already using the monitor type... why is that?"

"I was just looking over the weather. It seems that the south-east peninsula's underwater, so I was looking into it. The lineal type is not suitable for text-based activities."

Of course, the young man's reasons corresponded with the qualification the console held. Seeming to realize that, the person shifted the topic.

It would seem as though the young man's earlier thought of not imagining himself interacting with some with such authority was about to be contradicted.

It was clear that the young man's response was delicately thought out. If he were to say be exponentially blunt, his outlook on manners would have been assumed to be that of an ungrateful student.

On the other hand, if he were to give a response that only focused on the other party's remarks directly, it would seem as though the freshman was almost attempting to deflect the situation.

His answer was met with a rather surprising statement. Judging from the person's straightforwardness and lack of belittlement, it was safe to label him as the "abnormally cordial" type.

"Please, forgive me for my lack of manners. I am the Student Council President of this academy; the name is James Kreel."

Following the introduction, the other party put out his hand with a small grin. This grin, however, didn't portray a lick of innocent wonder like before. Around him, the atmosphere radiated with authority. His status as the Student Council President, as well as his looks, no doubt attracted young women and flustered young men.

Although he certainly knew and was aware of this, it didn't seem he was arrogant with his status.

'One of the Prime Orders... and to top it off a Kreel no less.'

Puppeteers' mastery with their Filo was mostly determined by heredity.

A Puppeteer's lineage was the recipient of the future generations, in whichever way it was reflected.

In the United States, their were a dozen families which had the honor of carrying a number of the Prime Orders.

Among the 12 Prime Orders, Kreel currently held the Ninth Order. Despite this low number relative to the total number of families, the Kreel Family was special. The Kreels, if given motivation, had enough power to influence entire regions in the United States of America, and potentially bring down the 11 other Prime Orders if given enough time, power, and information.

In other words, the young man that stood before the freshman was most likely a direct generative production of the head of the Kreel Family. He was a master among masters. It would have been completely validated to state that he was officially the opposite of the freshman.

In reply to the Student Council President's introduction, and as to not leave him hanging in an awkward situation, the freshman gripped the other's token of potential acquaintanceship. It took a small effort to restrain a caustic mumble and convert it into a civilized smile as he returned his name.

"My name is Vyrin Wellington. Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise."

Following the Student Council President's latest word, the two young men separated their hands. After a moment, the young man who introduced himself as James subconsciously widened his eyes in a small degree before speaking again.

"Vyrin... Ohh, I see."

The freshman, whose unique name of Vyrin, respectably remained silent as James implied to know the name.

'He probably recognizes me as the one who couldn't even use Filo in the entrance exam,' Vyrin bitterly thought. It wasn't like he could blame James; it wasn't often for someone with almost a worst score to even get into the academy.

About that:

"So you're the guy that's been in everybody's heads lately. I've gotta say, the teachers have quite a subject with you around."

The expression James wore was disturbingly light, not critical in the slightest, only holding positive messages.

The belittlement that Vyrin deserved from his entrance exam was in no way displayed in the Student Council President's facial illustration.

"Let's see... If I remember correctly you scored perfect marks across the board. That's unbelievable. Mostly, when it came down to Thread Visualization and Filo Speculation, the scores would've gone higher if they could have. I specialize in those categories as well, and I don't find myself acing those essay-based questions.

It's incredible."

Vyrin had to blink hard to make sure the praise he was receiving wasn't just an unnatural shift in his emotional character.

Yet, less than a second later, he grounded himself and set his head straight.

There was a reason as to why such appraisal was exactly deserved.

"Those are the written portions," Vyrin pointed out politely. "They are just words written down and then transferred to a technological arrangement."

It was true that Filo Speculation and Thread Visualization were difficult topics, however more emphasis was, rightfully, placed on the higher class students due to their talent in practical Puppeteering.

With a sourly-courteous lifting of the lips into a smile, he pointed to the empty space on his chest, which in contrast was accompanied with a black widow spider on James' blazer.

Clearly, if anybody could understand the message Vyrin was implicating, it would be James Kreel.

Somehow, completely going against how Vyrin imagined a confrontation like this would be, the Student Council President shook his head in denial.

"I think you don't give yourself enough credit, Vyrin. Too much is arrogance, the right amount is modesty, however too little is derogation."

"I'm sorry... but it's about time. Excuse me."

Without waiting for a word back, the freshman walked off. Lingering in the back of his brain was a cloud, and Vyrin was wary of it, ready for it to strike lightning... but it didn't.

The innocent grin of the Student Council President etched itself dangerously in Vyrin's head, and he didn't know what would happen if he prolonged the conversation.

Unfortunately, he couldn't pinpoint the source of the wariness.

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