LMSAH – 17

After dozens of loads and retakes, I finally figured out every single question and answer.

Then I returned to my first save slot, right to the moment when I’d told the kids to wait for me. I shook my head like I was already sick of this.

There’d been the written exam, made up of questions from politics, economics, and social studies, and the situational assessment measured crisis management skills.

Sure, you might say—what could possibly be so hard about an exam meant for 7 to 15-year-olds?

But let me clear that up right now.

Didn’t I say it already? The Elite Ability Training Academy gathers geniuses from across the Empire.

The questions were meant for kids like them.

Me? I wasn’t a genius. I was just a regular person born with a busted ability.

Honestly, I’d lived a bit longer than most kids, sure, but my brain? I could confidently say it wasn’t particularly sharp.

…And thank the heavens it was all multiple choice. If those had been written-response questions, I’d have been screwed without save point abuse.

Uuughhh. I sighed deeply, only to have Raspie look at me with a puzzled expression.

“You said you were going to take the test, but now you’re saying it was difficult…?”

I just shrugged like it was nothing and played it cool.

“Well, since you’re so eager to go in together, I’ll make an exception.”

“What? Didn’t you just say you had to gather intel—”

“Oh, that? Turns out I don’t need to anymore.”

Because I already got it.

“From now on, I’m going to tell you the answers I got using foresight. Just memorize everything and write them down in the right order.”

I lifted one corner of my mouth into a sly grin.

Come on. I’m literally handing you the cheat sheet—there’s no way you’re going to fail, right?

…Right?

✦ ✦ ✦

“Miss Tania, please proceed to Exam Room One.”

I stood up from the waiting area and glanced over at Raspie.

We had already taken the written exam right after registering—just filling in the answers we’d memorized.

To avoid suspicion from matching scores, I had told Raspie to get a bare-pass score and Rosemary to score high. So Raspie needed to score well in both the ability assessment and crisis-response test.

“Raspie, you remember everything I told you, right?”

He looked at me with a face full of anxiety.

“To be honest, I still can’t believe my sister and I could possibly pass to get into a place like this.”

“Don’t worry. Even if you get nervous and completely bomb the test, it’s fine—just take it easy.”

“…Thank you for the encouragement.”

And I really meant it. Even if they failed, I could just load a save point and try again.

Well, not that I thought they’d fail anyway.

“Alright then. I’ll be back.”

When I opened the test room door and stepped inside, the three evaluators for the ability ranking exam all looked up at me.

The Elite Ability Training Academy kept its doors open 365 days a year.

Which meant the evaluators weren’t full-time examiners—they’d probably been pulled away from their usual work. I likely wasn’t someone they were thrilled to deal with.

Which was exactly why first impressions mattered.

I gave them a bright smile and made eye contact with each one.

As I stood in front of them, the evaluator on the far left spoke first.

“You checked ‘Awakened Abiliter’ on the registration form, but didn’t specify your ability. You left that section blank.”

“Yes. I figured it’d be better to explain it in person.”

If I wrote down ‘foresight’ as my ability, their expectations would skyrocket from the start.

It was better to drop that bomb when they least expected it.

The examiner asked mechanically, his expression uninterested.

“What kind of ability is it?”

“Hmm, I can glimpse the near future. For the distant future, I can see it faintly—though with lower probability.”

For a moment, the air itself seemed to freeze.

The stony-faced evaluators—who looked like nothing could shake them—suddenly shot up from their seats, hurling questions at me all at once.

“My goodness! Are you saying you have foresight that lets you see specific points in the future?”

“An Abiliter with foresight? That’s unprecedented!”

“Miss Tania, you’re not a noble from another country seeking asylum, are you?”

“If she’s not from another nation’s nobility, then she’d be a massive asset to House Papiope. Foresight, of all things!”

I lifted one corner of my mouth in a calm, knowing smile.

Right—people I’d met until now had just reacted too mildly.

This was the normal reaction.

The evaluators, who had literally stood up from hearing my ability, finally regained their composure.

“No, no. First, we need to verify the level of ability manifestation.”

“Right. Foresight is certainly impressive, but its practical use depends entirely on how much power the user has.”

Since it seemed like they were starting to get bored, I figured I might as well explain something properly for once…

Abilities are shared among people who have the same kind.

What that means is simple: the more people there are with a particular ability, the weaker it gets overall.

It’s like one pie—eaten alone, it’s yours. Shared with others, everyone gets less.

Of course, the size of the pie varies wildly depending on the original strength of the ability…

But in general, the fewer Abiliters there are with the same type, the stronger the power becomes.

Here’s the catch: abilities are hereditary.

That’s why noble families strictly limit their offspring and tightly manage their bloodlines—to keep their powers from weakening.

It got to the point where the noble class monopolizing abilities became a major societal issue.

Which explained why they were so quick to suspect I might be a noble who’d fled from another country.

After all, in our country—the Lagrass Empire—there were no known families with the foresight ability.

One of the evaluators, looking sheepish about his earlier reaction, cleared his throat and spoke again.

“Ahem! Miss Tania, how far into the future can you see?”

“Up to about a month at most. I can technically look further, but I choose not to.”

“And why is that?”

“I use my lifespan as a medium to look into the future. Seeing far ahead costs a lot more of it.”

“Ah…”

A round of sighs rippled through the examiners.

Some abilities come with side effects when used.

Of course, I had none. I was just lying.

The only future I could see was within the next twelve years…

If they asked about anything beyond that, I needed a good excuse.

“And the further into the future you go, the more variables there are. A small change can alter everything—because that’s what the future is.”

There’s a reason people talk about the butterfly effect, after all.

At my comment about how unpredictable the far future is, I saw a flash of disappointment cross their faces again.

But I still hadn’t played my best card—the one that would force them to rate my ability highly.

“However… things like earthquakes or floods—natural disasters—those fall under the category of unchanging futures, right?”

“…!”

Their eyes widened, exchanging silent glances. It looked like they hadn’t thought of that.

Which was understandable.

Most people, when they hear ‘foresight,’ think about how to get rich quick.

“I see what you’re trying to say. Despite your young age, your grasp of your own ability is very advanced.”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

I bowed politely, and the satisfaction on their faces was obvious.

“So then, is it correct to say your accuracy is higher for near-future events?”

“Yes. For events occurring within ten seconds, I can predict them perfectly—and it barely affects my lifespan.”

“Then, how can you demonstrate your foresight ability to us?”

“Ah, I’ve never once lost a game of rock-paper-scissors. Want to give it a try?”

Nothing simpler or clearer than that, right?

“Rock-paper-scissors…?”

“Ha! That’s an interesting verification method.”

The examiners, startled at first, quickly remembered I was a child and readily agreed.

And I smiled like a little devil, ready to let them taste bitter defeat.