[Luminar Chronicles] Chapter 3: Special Admission

Chapter 3: Special Admission (The Price of a Name)
—Admission is not salvation. It is the beginning of the chains of affiliation—

After the signal, the world became an "examination."
The temperature of the air changed.
Breathing was trimmed to fit the dimensions of the system.

From the courtyard to the corridor.
The stone floor was cold, and footsteps echoed clearly.
The echo felt similar to a heartbeat.

First was the physical examination.
Height, weight, lung capacity.
Next was the physical fitness test.
Running, jumping, lifting.
The labor of the Old City turns into "numerical values" here.

Luke ran.
His breath burned.
His throat was dry.
But his feet did not stop.
Because if he stopped, he would return to yesterday.

Boys were waiting by the wall.
Their clothes were different.
The leather of their shoes was different.
Their nail care was different.
And—the composure in their eyes was different.

“...Hey.”
He was called.

When he turned around, a boy with a small crest engraved on his arm was standing there.
A white jacket.
A high collar.
Refined features.
The mark of an ability user.
Or perhaps, the mark of that house.

“You, from the Old City... Vance, was it?”
The way he spoke his name felt like an appraisal.
Luke gave a short nod.

“Luke Vance.”

The boy laughed.
The way he laughed was as beautiful as a statue in a church.
In other words, it had no blood running through it.

“A special case, they say.”
“How interesting. When mud crosses the gate, the floor gets dirty.”

He must have meant it as a joke.
The boys around him chuckled faintly.
The laughter was lighter than breath.
Because it carried no responsibility.

Luke did not retort.
He had learned something in the Old City.
Words are cheaper than fists, but they sting longer than fists.
If he struck back here, the system would confiscate it as a "weapon."

“What is your name?”
When Luke asked, the boy puffed out his chest just a little.

“Cassius von Reisen.”
“My house is small, but my blood is true.”
“Unlike a beast like you.”

Beast.
Cassius’s eyes were not merely looking at something dirty.
They were looking at an "incomprehensible organism."
The arrogant analytical gaze peculiar to those on the side of reason and order.

(‘True,’ that’s a convenient word.)
In the Old City, truth does not fill your stomach.
Here, truth provides a seat.

Luke did not look away, and simply said,
“Let’s talk after the exam is over.”

Cassius twitches his eyebrows.
Surprise that "the words were understood."
And, a faint sense of caution.

"Fine."
"If you're going to fall, fall quietly."

Those words are not a threat.
They are an explanation of the world.

Next is the written exam.
Military regulations.
Geography.
Logistics.
Basic cryptography.
And the fundamentals of tactics—board calculations.

Luke gripped his pen.
His fingers trembled slightly.
The paper is light.
But here, paper decides one's fate.

He looks at the third question.
"Defense of an isolated stronghold. Enemy force is three times larger. Forty-eight hours until reinforcements arrive. State the tactic with the highest survival rate."

He knows the textbook answer.
Conserve supplies, utilize the terrain, and conduct a delaying action.
It is an "honorable resistance."

(But that would mean death.)
(Surrounded by three times the enemy for forty-eight hours. There is no way to endure that.)

In Luke's mind, a map rises.
Like the alleys of the old city.
Escape routes, dead ends, and blind spots.

Luke moved his pen without hesitation.
"Set fire to the stronghold. Use the smoke as a decoy, and while the enemy is busy with firefighting and suppression, withdraw the entire force through the sewers."

Abandon the stronghold.
Abandon the mission.
As a matter of military discipline, it is a zero.
But in terms of survival rate, it is close to a hundred.

(If the premise is that you don't have enough,)
(you have no choice but to reduce.)
(Narrow down what must be protected to only your own lives.)

The last part is the interview.
They are called in one by one.
The hallway is long.
The waiting time wears a person down more than the exam.

The door opens.
A name is called.
"Luke Vance."

When he stood up and entered the room, the examiner was on the other side of the desk.
An indifferent face.
A hard voice.
And—those eyes.

He knows them, like from yesterday.
Yet, he cannot remember.
Not being able to remember is terrifying.
It feels as if his own memories are being edited by someone.

The examiner was looking down at Luke's answer sheet.
The paper where he wrote that "arson and escape" plan.

"Burn the stronghold, you say? That is the worst possible answer for a soldier."

"I recognized it as a question about how to survive."

When Luke answered, the examiner looked up.
His gaze sharpened.
The sharpness is not anger. It is the sharpness of an "assessment."

Motivation for Application

Luke took a breath.
He didn't know the right answer.
But he knew even less about how to lie.

I want to become someone who can protect others.
My family. The people of the Old City.

The examiner's pen stopped moving.
The sound vanished.

In the military, family is a weakness. They can be taken hostage.
If your judgment is clouded by sentiment, your entire unit will be wiped out.
Can you cut off that 'dead weight'?

He was being tested.
If he said 'yes' here, he might pass as a soldier.
But he would die as a human being.

Luke spoke without hesitation.
I will not cut them off.
Because I have that weight, my feet stay on the ground. I can stand my ground.
If I didn't have anything to protect, I would have died in the gutter long ago.

Silence.
The air in the room became heavy as iron.
The examiner stared straight into Luke's eyes.

It wasn't an appraisal.
It was something deeper—a dissection of his soul.

A dead soldier cannot protect anything.

I will choose any means necessary to ensure I don't die.
Just like my answer just now.

The examiner's mouth twisted slightly.
Was it a smile, or was he just dumbfounded?
Then, he let out a short sigh.

Very well.

And with that, the interview was over.
The way it ended sounded like a door closing.

Evening.
Reassembled in the courtyard.
The sun was setting, staining the stones red.
Red is the color of sealing wax.
An unpleasant association, but a fitting one.

The examiner looked down at the lined-up candidates.
He took out a single document and read it aloud.

I will now announce the successful candidates.
Luke Vance.

For a moment, all sound vanished.
The next instant, the murmuring returned.
The gazes of those around him felt like needles.
The pain came before the joy.

(I made it.)
(...I actually made it.)

He looked at Cassius's face.
He didn't break his expression.
But his pupils were constricted.
He looked like a scholar facing a phenomenon he couldn't understand.

You've got to be kidding.
Someone mutters.

The examiner continues.
Cassius von Reisen.
—Passed.

Cassius catches his breath.
His pride returns.
And that pride immediately turns into a sharp blade.

(Entering the same place)
(But I won't let them mix me in)

The successful candidates were guided to a separate room.
Documents.
Oaths.
Guarantor section.
The pen for the signature feels heavy.

—Writing my name.
The name of the old city.
My father's name.
My own name.

It only weighs as much as a single sheet of paper.
Yet, it tips the scales of my life.

Once the documents were collected, the examiner said,
Luke Vance. Come with me.

The other successful candidates were led away by a different official.
Only Luke was left behind.

Deep in the hallway.
A room without a door.
There are no unnecessary decorations on the walls.
This is a place where things are not explained.

For the first time, the examiner took off his hat.
The light hit him, making his facial features clear.
And—I saw the eyepatch over his right eye.

In that instant, my memory jumped.
A rainy night.
After my father's funeral.
A man standing in front of our house in the old city.
A black coat.
Wet leather shoes.
He didn't enter the house, just gave a short bow to my mother.

…You are…

The man said calmly,
Claudio Werner.
I'm on the field side of the Ministry of War now.
I was your old man's… former subordinate.

My throat clicked.
There's no way I wouldn't know that name.

A letter on my father's desk.
An envelope addressed only to Werner.
No reply ever came.
It didn't come not because he was dead.
It was because he was doing work that required silence.

…That eye.

When Luke muttered that, Werner raised the corner of his mouth slightly.
It was less of a smile and more of a movement of a scar.

Did you remember?
Your written answers, they were just like your old man's.
Survival over mission. As a soldier, he was third-rate, but as a survivor, he was first-class.

Luke's chest feels hot.
Gratitude and fear come at the same time.
Salvation is always conditional.

Why go that far?

Werner does not answer. Military men become weak when they explain their reasons. Instead, he simply stated the facts.

Your father saved my life.
I am repaying the debt.
—However, in the form of the military.

In the form of the military.
In other words.
The repayment is not kindness, but conscription.

From now on, you are not in the standard officer training track.
You will proceed through the 'special track'.
If you fail, you cannot go back. The place you return to will be gone.

That is not a threat.
It is an explanation of the system.

Luke takes a breath.
…Understood.
I will survive. No matter what means I have to use.

A good answer.

Footsteps stopped outside the door. A knock.

It was Cassius who entered. He must have been guided by an attendant.

Cassius glanced at Werner and immediately straightened his posture. It was not respect. It was caution and calculation.

Then he looked at Luke. It was different from the contempt he showed earlier. It was the look of someone seeing an 'enemy'.

…What is this place?

Werner looked at Cassius and said briefly,
You are being called too.
But remember this.
A special exception is not a privilege. It is a trial period.
Whether you have ability or a good family background, useless tools will be discarded as unfit.

Cassius's throat moved. It was the first time he looked like he was swallowing fear. But he did not back down. He used the fear as fuel to reignite his pride.

Cassius turned to Luke and said quietly,
It seems you didn't pass just by luck.
Your eyes are the eyes of a beast.
But this is the military. Beasts are either put in cages or culled.
I will teach you that this is a place governed by reason.

It was not just a snide remark. It was a declaration of war from the 'righteousness' he believes in.

Luke replied,
I have no intention of being put in a cage.
…If it's to survive, I'll use reason too.

Cassius was silent for a moment. Then, he smiled faintly.
Good.
I hate boredom.

Werner said,
Both of you, training starts tomorrow.
If you feel like you can't spare the time to sleep, then don't.
But don't collapse. If you collapse, the military will not help you.

The words of the old town bookstore owner resurface in a different voice.
I will provide food and a place to sleep.
I will not protect your heart.

Luke stood up.
The joy of passing has not yet come.
It is better that it does not.
Joy leads to complacency.

Stepping into the hallway, there was a sunset outside the window.
It is a red that cannot be seen from the old town.
Beautiful, and cold.

(The door has opened)
(The price—is yet to come)

And then, Luke took his next step.
Beside him, Cassius walks with the same stride.
The same path.
A different world.

Which one will break first?
That alone felt strangely fair.