CHAPTER 38: YOUNG MASTERS GOT A HEART ATTACK!

The names kept rolling out, each one straight from the story’s main cast.

Freya took sixth place, like I expected. She threw her head back and let out a loud, wild laugh—

"Hehe, only sixth? Guess it’s back to training in the volcanic plains!"

She moved with heavy steps, full of energy and raw power. It felt less like walking to the stage and more like stomping into battle. There was a wild spark in her eyes that made it clear she lived for this.

Then came Ray in fifth.

He had his blindfold on. A thin black cloth was tied over his eyes, yet he walked as if he could see everything anyway.

His back was straight, his head held steady, and his hands were calmly folded behind him, like a butler waiting for orders.

Every move he made was slow and careful, almost too calm, like nothing could shake him. Even without seeing his eyes, you could feel the quiet confidence around him.

And then Aurelia came in fourth.

She moved like a princess straight out of a storybook. Each step was light and graceful, with her chin slightly raised. She wasn’t too proud but sure of herself.

Her silvery-white hair shimmered under the lights, and every small smile she gave felt natural, like she’d practiced it until it became part of her.

She didn’t just walk; she seemed to float across the stage, calm and elegant.

And as they reached the stage, my mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

Only the top three were left to announce. Which meant one of two things: either I’d somehow outdone myself... or I’d completely screwed myself over.

If I didn’t make the top ten, that was it— I would have one whole year less to prepare to fight that damned "calamity".

Honestly, even I wasn’t sure what exactly "the epilogue" truly meant. But knowing the author, whatever he had planned, if I failed, wouldn’t be anything good.

Sigh~

I let out a long breath, my eyes drifting back to the stage.

And then...

"In third place, Louie Starcrest."

From the front row, he stood up like a royal who already knew the world was his by birthright.

Golden blond hair spilled in soft, messy waves around his face, catching the light in a way that made him look almost ethereal. His sharp blue eyes were cold and unbothered, as if this entire ceremony was nothing more than an annoying formality.

A dark uniform trimmed in gold hugged his lean frame, with a polished crest over his heart marking him as the younger brother of the Northern Duke. And in his hand, a faint glint of blue cards—his legendary nine-star grimoire.

He walked with the careless grace only the spoiled sons of great houses could pull off, chin slightly raised, gaze distant, as if the rest of us barely registered on his map.

A true young master to the core.

And just like that, the rival of the protagonist, Ray, took his place on the stage, every inch of him looking like the story’s golden child who had never known failure.

Then came the next name.

"In second place, Redmane Varian."

The moment I heard it, I froze. In the original novel, Redmane was supposed to take first place. But clearly... not this time.

From the back rows, he rose to his feet and began walking toward the stage. His pace was slow, almost lazy, and he didn’t spare a single glance at anyone around him. Completely aloof—like the whole crowd barely existed.

Redmane came from a fallen noble family, and it showed in the way the room reacted. As he walked, I caught the brief flashes of disdain in the eyes of the nobles. Meanwhile, the commoners shrank back, fear plain on their faces.

He didn’t truly belong anywhere—not with the nobles, who saw him as dirt, nor with the commoners, who didn’t know how to treat him.

Yet he kept walking, calm and unbothered.

And just as Asha prepared to announce the final name, I let out a quiet sigh, bracing myself.

"Finally, the last name," Asha said, her voice ringing out across the silent hall. "The one who stood above all others... who didn’t just pass the exam, but crushed it. Someone who will carry a title reserved for a single student each generation..."

A hush fell over the entire auditorium—every breath held, every gaze locked on her.

"The title of the Soaring Dragon."

My heart hammered in my chest. That title wasn’t just some fancy nickname. It meant you were recognized as the strongest of your year—the one the Empire itself had its eye on. The one expected to rise above everyone else.

Only one student from each generation earned it.

"And that title... goes to—"

She paused, letting the silence stretch, letting thousands hang on her next word.

"Loki Moe Lester."

For half a breath, the whole hall seemed to hold its breath.

And then voices exploded all around the place like fireworks:

"Did she just say... Moe Lester?"

"Wait, what? What?!"

"Who the hell has a name like that?"

If disbelief could kill, I’d be a corpse right now.

I pushed myself to my feet, feeling a thousand eyes stab into me—some horrified, some trying (and failing) not to laugh, and a few nobles already plotting how to legally exile me for crimes against naming sense.

Step! Step!

I took one step after another as I caught a glimpse of a noble girl covering her mouth, shoulders shaking. Behind her, a guy stood so still I half-expected him to pretend he hadn’t heard it.

Somewhere in the front row, a noble looked like he’d just swallowed a lemon whole.

Gossip echoed all around.

"That’s the Soaring Dragon? With that name?" Like it personally offended them.

And the commoners? Their faces were priceless—a mix of awe and pure, second-hand embarrassment.

Soaring Dragon.

The Empire’s brightest star of the golden generation.

And his name was?

Loki Moe freaking Lester.