The heavy oak doors of the interview chamber swung inward on completely silent hinges, revealing a room built entirely from polished obsidian and gray granite. I stepped across the threshold and immediately hit a solid wall of atmospheric pressure that nearly drove me to my knees.
Seven high backed wooden chairs sat arranged in a wide semicircle across the polished stone floor, each occupied by a master of their respective resonant craft. The faculty members occupying those seats generated a combined gravitational pull that warped the ambient acoustics of the room into a suffocating blanket. I locked my jaw tightly while pulling a desperate breath into the vacuum space at the bottom of my lungs, forcing my body to remain upright. Surviving the physical maze required raw endurance and a high tolerance for pain, but surviving this room demanded absolute biological defiance.
Headmaster Maxwell Tennyson sat in the center chair wearing a faded green shirt that completely belied his status as a retired grand admiral. The man held an SSS rank certification from the bloody climax of the Bell Wars, and his mere existence in the room felt like standing beneath a collapsing ocean wave. I forced a low baritone hum into my spinal column to counteract the crushing weight of his presence, paying the toll immediately as the friction burned through the cartilage in my neck.
Madame Endive occupied the seat to his right with imperious perfection, radiating a terrifying culinary authority that made the air smell faintly of ozone and crushed spices. She wore a tailored purple gown that rustled with suppressed kinetic energy every time she adjusted her posture. To the Headmaster left sat Professor Garnet, a towering woman hidden behind dark reflective shades who remained completely motionless while tracking my every micro expression. The other four chairs held various department heads who stared at me with varying degrees of academic curiosity and aristocratic judgment.
I kept my posture rigidly straight despite the phantom tremors shaking my exhausted quadriceps, refusing to show them a single ounce of weakness.
"Nigel Uno," Headmaster Tennyson spoke with a voice that rumbled like warm thunder rolling across a distant valley. He leaned forward and rested his massive elbows on the table, completely ignoring the suffocating tension in the air while he studied my bruised face. "You cleared the practical gauntlet in eleven minutes without engaging a single construct or triggering a single pressure plate."
"Engaging the constructs offered zero tactical advantage," I answered, keeping my vocal cords perfectly steady despite the agonizing strain of maintaining my internal barrier. "The objective required locating the exit safely, so I located the exit using the most efficient acoustic route available."
Professor Garnet twitched her head a fraction of an inch toward me, the movement so microscopic that most observers would have missed it entirely. The tiny gesture conveyed a profound understanding of tactical evasion over unnecessary conflict, signaling her silent approval of my methodology. She graded decision making above brute force, and my refusal to fight pointless battles clearly aligned with her specific combat doctrine.
"Efficiency is certainly a virtue in the scullery," Madame Endive sniffed delicately, her tone dripping with refined condescension that echoed sharply off the obsidian walls. "However, one expects the designated heir of the Sound Family to demonstrate a bit more martial pride during a public exhibition. Your cousin Kevin shattered three granite golems into absolute dust before crossing the finish line, proving his physical dominance to the entire observation deck."
"My cousin enjoys turning stone into dust because his alloy skin absorbs the kinetic recoil," I replied smoothly, refusing to take the bait or apologize for my survival instincts. "I prefer to conserve my cellular energy for actual threats rather than destroying expensive academy property just to earn a round of cheap applause."
Headmaster Tennyson chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that caused the heavy inkwells on the table to vibrate ominously and sent a shiver down my spine. He reached beneath the heavy wooden desk and produced a large crystal bowl filled entirely with brightly colored lollipops. He placed the bowl directly in the center of the table with a heavy thud, the sugary treats looking completely absurd surrounded by lethal combat instructors.
"Take a candy," Max offered generously, gesturing toward the bowl with a thick calloused hand that had likely broken countless jaws during his military career. "Sugar helps stabilize the nervous system after a heavy adrenaline dump, and you look like you are about to pass out from the pressure."
I did not hesitate or question the absurdity of the gesture, recognizing the offer as a diplomatic test disguised as a simple treat. I walked forward through the crushing atmospheric pressure and selected a red lollipop, unwrapping it quickly before placing it in my mouth. The sharp burst of cherry sweetness flooded my tongue, providing an instant spike of much needed glycogen to my depleted brain while easing the throbbing ache behind my eyes. Accepting the candy established a baseline of mutual respect, proving I possessed enough situational awareness to take a lifeline when offered.
"Now then," Max leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he evaluated my demeanor and my steady breathing. "You possess the highest written score of the day and the fastest practical completion time in the recorded history of this institution. You have the pedigree, the raw acoustic power, and the terrifying family reputation to match your test scores. Why are you here, Nigel?"
The question hung in the heavy air, demanding a profound declaration of noble intent that would satisfy their aristocratic expectations. The standard answer required pledging my life to the defense of the crown or vowing to uphold the glorious legacy of my ancestors with honor and blood. I stared at the retired grand admiral, chewing the candy while considering the sheer violence I had witnessed over the past twelve years of my life.
"I want marketable skills, comprehensive dental healing, and a guaranteed pension," I stated with absolute, unvarnished honesty.
Madame Endive inhaled so sharply she actually choked on her own breath, her hands flying to her throat in pure aristocratic horror at my vulgarity. The sheer audacity of demanding practical compensation instead of spouting noble ideals offended her refined sensibilities on a molecular level. She coughed violently, her face turning a deep shade of crimson while the other department heads stared at me in completely stunned silence.
Professor Garnet did not choke; she simply twitched her head a second time, the corner of her mouth lifting into the faintest ghost of an approving smile.
Headmaster Tennyson stared at me for three long seconds before his broad chest began to heave with suppressed emotion. He threw his head back and unleashed a booming, catastrophic laugh that completely shattered the acoustic tension in the room and rattled my teeth. The sheer volume of his amusement shook the glass windows and vibrated the floorboards beneath my boots, filling the chamber with unbothered joy. He laughed like a man who had seen countless arrogant nobles lie to his face and finally found one willing to tell the ugly, pragmatic truth.
"Dental healing and a pension!" Max wiped a tear from his eye, his laughter slowly subsiding into a warm rumble that settled the ambient magic in the room. "You intend to treat the defense of the continent like a common trade guild apprenticeship, seeking benefits instead of glory. That is the most pragmatic, unromantic garbage I have ever heard spoken in this interview chamber."
"Romance gets people killed on the battlefield," I replied, pulling the lollipop stick from my mouth and standing my ground. "I intend to survive long enough to actually enjoy my old age without relying on a skeletal butler to feed me broth. That requires learning how to fight without breaking my own jaw every time I channel a high frequency."
"Fair enough," Max nodded, his expression shifting from amusement to a quiet, terrifying authority that reminded me exactly why he held the highest rank in the kingdom. "You will find no coddling here, Nigel Uno, because we will push your biological limits until your bones sing. We will teach you how to survive the recoil of your own power, and we will forge you into a weapon that does not shatter upon impact. Welcome to Carillon."
He stamped a heavy brass seal onto my enrollment parchment, finalizing the transaction with a definitive clack that echoed through the silent room. The interview was officially over, and my fate was sealed in wet black ink.
I bowed respectfully to the panel, turned on my heel, and walked out of the chamber with my head held high. The heavy oak doors closed silently behind me, cutting off the suffocating pressure of the room and allowing me to finally breathe freely. I leaned against the cool stone wall of the corridor and let out a long, ragged sigh as the adrenaline slowly drained from my system.
They actually wanted the ugly truth instead of a rehearsed speech, proving that raw honesty possessed a tactical value I had previously underestimated. The sheer disgust I felt at being rewarded for such bluntness was entirely overshadowed by the undeniable effectiveness of the strategy. I noted the lesson permanently in my mind; the unvarnished truth actually works when deployed against people who are tired of listening to beautiful lies. I rubbed my aching neck and started walking toward the main courtyard, mentally preparing myself for the chaos of the upcoming dormitory assignments.