The Extra Wants Control

Disappointment hung heavy in the air as the instructors of Arcana Mysteria monitored the virtual battleground. The much-anticipated entrance exam wasn't quite living up to the hype. Sure, there were pockets of brilliance – some students displaying remarkable skill, others tactical genius. A few even exhibited raw, monstrous potential. But the vast majority were… underwhelming.

Poor technique led to wasted energy, foolish bravado turned fatal encounters with even low-tier beasts. Traps lay unsprung, ambushes poorly executed, and guards dropped like forgotten coins, leaving students open to opportunistic attacks from their peers. The lines between races blurred in this display of ineptitude.

Humans, elves, dwarves – all fell victim to the same pitfalls, their youthful arrogance and lack of experience laid bare.

A collective sigh escaped the assembled instructors. Were these truly the champions who were supposed to safeguard the world? The future of the races seemed… clumsy, at best. Disheartened murmurs filled the observation chamber.

"They're barely first years," a weathered elf instructor finally spoke, her voice laced with a hint of dry humor. "Give them some credit. They'll learn, adapt, or get eliminated."

Her words were met with a smattering of grudging nods. The instructors knew she was right. This was a crucible, after all. The weak would be weeded out, leaving the strong, the cunning, and the adaptable. The virtual world may not have drawn blood, but it was exposing the raw vulnerabilities of these fledgling heroes.

Their disappointment, however, was tempered by a flicker of hope. The truly exceptional were already making their mark. A beast girl, barely sixteen, was weaving spells of illusion that danced on the edge of brilliance. A dwarf, wielding a warhammer with surprising agility, was carving a swathe through the battlefield.

And in a secluded corner, an elven archer, unseen and unheard, was taking down opponents with pinpoint accuracy.

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Discontent simmered amongst the human participants in the virtual battlefield. A green-haired boy, Zehn, voiced the frustration gnawing at them. "Why are we forced to compete against these other races?" he roared, his voice echoing in the cavernous fire-lit cave they had found themselves in.

"We humans lack the inherent advantages of the elves, the dwarves – their strength, their mana, their lifespans!"

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A chorus of agreement echoed through the cavern. Humans, after all, were a diverse lot. While some possessed exceptional talent, many others found themselves struggling with low potential – C or D grades in a system that heavily favored those born with racial advantages.

"We need to band together," Zehn declared, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. "A human alliance, not just for this test but for the entire academy. We'll look after each other, support one another. No more being bullied by the other races!"

A young woman chimed in, her voice laced with apprehension. "I agree, but who will lead us? I don't even know most of you."

A weathered man lumbered forward, his chest puffed out in an attempt at authority. "I nominate myself! I'm 47, five stars, the oldest and most experienced here."

The crowd shifted uneasily. While experience was valuable, a five-star rating at 47 years old painted a grim picture. A five-star rating at his age meant his potential hovered around a C, hardly someone who could inspire hope in the face of the academy's true powerhouses. "But old man," a boy challenged, "if you're already reaching your limit, how will you protect us later?"

"With all due respect," a young lady added, "you won't be much help later on. We need someone who can grow stronger!"

The old man bristled, but Zehn intervened before an argument broke out. "Calm down, everyone. We don't need violence." He glanced around, spotting the young girl in the crowd. "This girl has a point. Our leader needs to be someone who can keep growing."

A hesitant finger pointed at Zehn. "Why not him? I heard rumors about him having A-grade potential!"

A girl's voice piped up, "Yes, Zehn seems trustworthy, and I heard the rumors too!"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Zehn, the lanky young man with nervousness etched on his face, stammered, "Me? Leader?"

"Yes!" the girl declared. "He seems like a good guy, someone who can grow strong enough to protect us all."

The suggestion sparked a wave of agreement. The crowd, tired of infighting, turned to Zehn. "Zehn for leader!" they chanted, their voices rising in a chorus of newfound unity.

Zehn, overwhelmed by the sudden thrust of leadership, stammered, "I… I'm honored, but isn't this too much responsibility? Shouldn't the leader be the human blessed?"

But the crowd wouldn't budge. "We'll support you, Zehn!" they cheered. "The blessed one doesn't care about us anyway. Where is he in this mess?"

"Yeah, we haven't seen the blessed anywhere!" someone shouted. "He doesn't seem to care about us regular folks."

The crowd erupted in a chant, "Zehn! Zehn! Zehn!"

Zehn, overwhelmed but touched by their trust, finally conceded. "If you all truly believe in me…" he began, his voice resolute despite the tremor in his hands, "I accept this responsibility. But remember, an alliance is only as strong as its members. We have to look out for each other, support each other, and fight for a better future for all humans in this academy!"

A sardonic smile played on Zehn's lips, hidden from the flickering firelight. "It worked," he thought, a private victory dance erupting within him.

Zehn wasn't entirely who he appeared to be. Hailing from a minor human noble family, his awakening at ten with A-grade potential had been a revelation. It was his ticket out of obscurity, a chance to escape the stifling expectations of his lower-class background. His family, once a burden he barely acknowledged, fawned over him – a meal ticket to elevate their own status.

His siblings, once ignored, began to simmer with resentment, but Zehn dismissed them as gnats around a flame. Greatness awaited him, and gnats had no place in his future.

The war, however, had cast a long shadow. The rise of the blessed further dimmed his shine. Now, at the academy, his A-grade potential, once exceptional, felt average compared to the racial advantages of elves and dwarves. He was no longer a towering giant, but a mere speck in a vast ocean. Refusing to accept this new reality, a hunger for power gnawed at him.

He wouldn't rule giants, but perhaps the sheep were more manageable.

His plan had been meticulously crafted. Arriving early, he'd woven a web of feigned kindness, welcoming fellow humans. Rumors, carefully disseminated in disguise, inflated his potential. A few strategically placed whispers, coupled with a handful of coins for enthusiastic endorsement, had propelled him to the forefront.

The notion of a human blessed attempting to unite their race was a minor irritation, thankfully so far unmaterialized.

Zehn's eyes scanned the cavern, seeking potential pawns. The naive, the strong, the ones with hidden potential – all were fodder for his manipulation. He wouldn't be a leader; he would be a puppeteer, pulling the strings from the shadows. This human alliance wouldn't be a force for unity, but his personal hunting ground, a pool of eager recruits to bolster his own power.

The future was uncertain, but for now, Zehn was content. He had his flock, and with careful orchestration, he would turn them into his most devoted – and unwitting – servants, slaves.