First Impression
After Samael Kaizer Theosbane was sent away, the Question Hall settled into a thoughtful quietude.
The circle of light at the center of the room expanded, driving away the shadows and illuminating the spacious chamber.
Seven Grandmasters sat behind a curved table on a raised platform, its black wood immaculate and polished.
The room had no other furniture or decorative items, save for the tapestry and engravings on the marbled walls.
It was a plain room — almost spartan, considering these men and women were the strongest and wisest across the lands.
The Grandmasters were clad in austere black robes — no embellishments, no splashes of color, no intricate designs.
Their faces were concealed behind nearly identical golden masks that were masterfully crafted to resemble the visage of a fearsome demon with a single horn jutting out from its forehead.
Underneath their carved lips were numbers, from One to Seven.
One of the Grandmasters, a woman judging by her slender build and graceful curves, slouched back in her chair.
She breathed heavily and made an inarticulate gesture. "Wasn't he supposed to be… I don't know, a hooligan?"
Another, a woman with the number Seven inscribed on her mask, nodded in agreement. "Yes! My sources said he was nothing special — just a bit smart with a knack for trouble and a complete disregard for authority. A rebel without a cause. A delinquent."
She scratched her head and shrugged. "Everything special about him was supposed to be his Origin Card. With his potential, he could become a powerhouse in the future… if he doesn't get himself killed first due to his own idiocy."
"Well, your sources were obviously wrong this time," the first woman retorted, her voice dripping with condescension. As the holder of number Six, she felt justified looking down on her junior. "That boy is smart – far from an idiot. Did you see the haughty look in his eyes? Infuriating, yes, but he was clever and calculating."
"All nobles are haughty," someone chimed in with clear amusement in their voice. "But most of them are dumb when it comes to anything outside of combat or flaunting their wealth."
"What I personally can't understand is why the Duke of Luxara — his own father — didn't send a recommendation letter for him if he is so brilliant and smart," the one who spoke with the quaver of an old man this time was number Three.
Everyone paused in consideration and started murmuring their agreements… until they heard number Seven sigh exasperatedly.
"I've told you all to keep up with current affairs, but god forbid anyone listens to me!" she cried out with the flair of a practiced drama queen.
Others rolled their eyes at her… or at least she thought they did. No, she knew they did!
Number Two sounded weary when he spoke, his tone even. "Just get to your point, Seven."
Sighing again, Seven replied, "The youngest son of the Luxara Dukedom was banished by his father recently. There was a duel and everything. What do the Theosbanes call it? Right to Valor? A guy recorded it and uploaded it online. The video is trending on all social media. If you guys weren't living under a rock, you all would know about it."
"Banished?" number Four echoed, surprise creeping into his gravelly voice. He was already opening his comm device to check the video.
"Yeah, banished. You know, cast away? Disowned? Thrown out?" Number Seven listed off synonyms in a tone that suggested she was talking to a dumb child.
"Doesn't matter," number Five interjected, his voice distorted through his mask, sounding mechanical and robotic.
A holographic screen was opened in front of him, displaying various files of the examinees.
Number One added, his presence naturally commanding, "Right. The overall assessment is going just as expected. The talent disparity among Cadets this year is too wide. At this rate, a few are set to outshine the others so brightly that it won't even be a competition."
"Exactly," number Five agreed. "That's why any change is welcome. Samael Kaizer Theosbane was an unexpected surprise – a pleasant one."
"I like him," number Three said simply.
"I liked how his theory provoked a reaction from Two! You don't see that often!" number Six laughed, eliciting chuckles from the others.
Two threw up his hands. "I was surprised to hear it! A few years back, after the conflict in Ishtara ended in a Phase-4 disaster, I came up with a very similar theory. When people – or Spirits, for that matter – die, their Essence is released into reality. But until now, I never considered the idea of deaths across time causing a Portal. It's a bold, if not outright daring, theory. I should've thought of it, given my powers."
Number One, seated closest to him, placed a consoling hand on his shoulder.
"Don't beat yourself up. It'll take time to prove or discard that theory — probably the latter. But even I didn't think of it," he paused, tapping a finger against his head. "And I'm smarter than you."
Two turned to One, incredulity evident in his stance.
If there were no masks, everyone would've witnessed Two's deadpan expression and One's shameless grin.
"Huh?!" Two shouted in mock indignation. "Like hell you're smarter than me! The only thing you're better at is bedding women and leaving them disappointed!"
Although he was shouting and throwing obscenities, he was doing it in such a passive tone that it sounded almost comical.
"Huh?!" One shot back with the same energy. "So uncouth! Is this how you speak to your superiors?!"
"I told you we should kick him out! A peasant sitting with us nobles? Eww!" number Six exclaimed, waving a hand dismissively.
"Who are you?! No, who is this woman?! What has she done for this world besides waste its oxygen?!" number Two retorted, hurling insults.
"I've killed an Angel! People worship my real identity! What have you done?!" number Six shot back defiantly.
"I've killed an Angel, too! People worship me, too! I'm just not shameless enough to flaunt my accomplishments like you all!"
The debate devolved into chaos.
…Before long, they dissolved into another banter.
Only number Five remained focused, analyzing Samael's interview, grading it against his notes, all the while silently cursing these people around him for always making him do all the work.
At last, he sent a fee order to the Admission Office, barely paying attention to the ensuing banter.
The chaos only grew, until the light dimmed again and the shadows returned.
Everyone turned silent, wearing a deep and powerful persona, instilling the room with a stifling tension in preparation for another examinee's arrival.