Kael stared blankly ahead, the line in front of him stretching like a snake winding endlessly around the courtyard, the heat of the midday sun pounding against the back of his neck, as he tried to shake off the last dregs of whatever madness had possessed him that morning.
"Of all the dumb things I've done in this life… this has to be the top three. And the other two were done in my sleep." He mentally scolded himself. "Why am I—Kael, the magnificent nobody—standing in line to become a janitor at a school filled with magical elitists?"
He shifted on his feet, his tattered brown shoes dust-covered and barely holding together.
Kael stared at the iron gate before him, its noble crest looming overhead like some final judgment. He sighed.
"I can't believe I'm actually here."
"What kind of madness made me come to a place that spits on people like me?"
He stood in line—a line that stretched from one end of the massive backyard to the front lawn of a noble estate, which today served as the Grand Arcanum Academy's janitor selection site. A rented backyard. Not even on school grounds.
"A backyard," Kael mumbled, lips twitching. "I'm lining up in a noble's damn backyard to beg for a broom."
The academy had opened the janitor application to anyone, regardless of their star level, and yet Kael could barely believe the turnout. There were men and women of all ages, from scrappy teenagers barely out of school to rugged-looking veterans. And stars—by the gods, the stars. From glowing three-star auras to sad, barely-visible zero-stars like himself. All of them had come for the same thing: janitorial work at Grand Arcanum Academy.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I really must've gone insane."
A child behind him sneezed, and a three-star man in front of him snorted with annoyance.
"I should've stayed in bed. Ate dirt soup. Laughed at my own poverty. Why…why did I let Thomlin's words get to me?"
He could still hear Thomlin's voice from earlier, all noble and annoying: "Just go. It's free room and food, and you get to clean magic toilets—what's the worst that could happen?"
Kael wanted to slap himself. "I must've been possessed. Or cursed. Or maybe it was the lack of dinner talking."
At the front of the line, two knights of the academy stood stoically. Their white armor glimmered beneath the sun, the crest of a blue lion roaring proudly across their chests. They radiated superiority and the smell of expensive soap.
Kael watched as they handed forms to the hopefuls, each person receiving a pen enchanted with anti-cheat runes. It didn't matter if you had 0 stars or 3—everyone wanted in. Everyone wanted a chance to live within the capital. Even as a janitor.
Finally, it was his turn.
"Next," one knight said, eyeing Kael's chest.
Zero stars.
The knight blinked but said nothing. Kael could feel the moment of judgment in his silence like a slap.
"Fill this out. Sit over there. Return it when done," the other knight said dryly, as another person walked up to submit their own.
"And if you're approved, you'll get a letter. Probably in three weeks," the first knight added.
Kael took the form and the pen, nodding stiffly before heading toward the rows of wooden chairs set up nearby. He turned to find a seat but paused, the knight's words still echoing.
The capital. That's where the academy was based.
A month's journey by carriage.
A single day by magic portal.
And magic portals weren't exactly affordable for 0-stars.
"So even if I get this job… I'll have to move."
The thought hit him hard. He sat down with a thud, fingers trembling slightly as he read over the form.
The form was simple. Name, star rank, profession, items in inventory, and a blank space at the bottom for "Additional Thoughts About Grand Arcanum Academy."
He snorted.
Name: Kael
Star: 0
Profession: Cleaner
Inventory: Mob
Mob. That was the literal name of the only item he owned—a dull wooden broom blessed with the light spirit of decay. Mostly used for pushing dead leaves.
Then came the last section. He tilted his head.
"What's this supposed to mean?" he muttered. He looked around. Others were writing heartfelt messages.
He saw one girl writing, "A beacon of hope and excellence" with a bright smile on her face.
Kael rolled his eyes, leaned forward, and scribbled something quick.
He folded the form, walked back to the knights, and handed it over.
"Thank you," the knight muttered without looking at him.
As Kael walked past the academy gates and back onto the cobbled streets of the capital outskirts, the panic hit him full-force.
"Did I just willingly submit myself to the jaws of hell?!" he shouted at no one in particular, hands gripping his hair. "What am I thinking?! That place is literally where young monsters are bred!"
A passing vendor gave him a look and crossed the street.
"Have I gone mad? Maybe I am cursed. This is it. I've snapped. Kael the Mad. The Broom Berserker!"
Despite his outburst, Kael knew he had no choice. There were too many applicants. Even with 0-stars accepted, his odds were low. No one wanted a janitor who was also considered an unlucky omen.
He sighed, shoulders drooping, and made his way home.
Kael's home stood at the far edge of the city, nearest to the high outer wall. A small farm patch sat beside it—half-dead potatoes, limp onions, and maybe something that used to be a carrot.
He bought this house after being kicked out of the orphanage for "bringing down the mood." Or more accurately, for being a 0-star that no family wanted. At least Thomlin had once had a family. Kael never had anything but rejection.
He trudged up to the door, stuck his key in—
—and immediately slammed it shut.
"Nope," he whispered.
He blinked twice, rubbed his eyes. Maybe he was hallucinating?
He turned slowly and checked the number beside the door. Yep. This was his house.
His eyes twitched. "No. I didn't just see that. That was a fever dream. Maybe I fell asleep in line and dreamed this."
He peeked again.
Sitting at his kitchen table was a woman shaped like a barrel with arms, her tightly-wound hair sitting on her head like a bun of judgment. She wore a bright green dress three sizes too small and had the eyes of someone who knew where your money was hiding.
"Kael," she cooed, eyes narrowing. "Fancy seeing you here."
He slowly stepped in. "Miss Grenalda. I didn't know you…teleported."
"I used my legs, you little cockroach," she snapped, crossing her arms. "Now tell me, why have you been avoiding me?"
"I haven't," Kael said innocently, inching toward the wall. "I've just been…running errands. So many errands. So much running."
"You jumped into a trash bin last week to avoid eye contact!"
"That could've been anyone."
"I saw you, Kael!"
He sighed. "Okay, okay, but in my defense—your face and your body are having two very different conversations."
She gasped.
Kael winced. Why did I say that out loud? No, wait. I didn't. That was in my head, right? Please be in my head.
Her squint deepened, but she said nothing. Instead, she slapped a scroll onto the table.
"Your rent is due. In three days. Or I'm keeping your broom."
"But Grenalda! That broom is family!"
She snorted. "Then your family better pay up."
With that, she stormed out, shaking the entire hallway as she left. Kael fell into his chair, drained.
"I'm so tired. Why am I cursed with comedic suffering?"
He didn't mention the job application. No point getting her hopes up… or his.
That evening, the sky bled gold and purple across the towering spires of Grand Arcanum Academy.
At the highest tower, in a lavishly quiet office, sat Headmaster Granford, the legendary 7-star magician whose name once made empires pause. His long white beard was braided with tiny runes. His robe shimmered like moonlight over a still lake, and the seven golden stars floated behind his head like a glowing crown.
At 75 years old, he was still sharper than a dragon's fang and twice as unpredictable.
His assistant, a woman named Delviara, entered the room carrying a large trunk of papers. She was in her mid-thirties, composed and strict, with silver-rimmed glasses and a 5-star insignia shining softly on her shoulder pin.
"You asked for all the janitor applications," she said, setting the trunk down.
Granford grinned. "Delviara, you're as efficient as ever."
She frowned. "But sir… Why not let the staff handle this? You're the headmaster."
"Exactly. And as headmaster, I want entertainment." Granford started flipping through forms with the energy of a child opening presents. "Let's see what dreams these poor souls scribbled."
He held up one form: "Grand Arcanum Academy is a paradise. A place of legend and wonder."
He rolled his eyes and threw it into the air. "Ugh. Too sugary. They'll cry on the first day."
Another: "It is my dream to serve in the same halls walked by heroes."
"Bah!" He crumpled it into a tiny ball and incinerated it mid-air. "Too dramatic."
Delviara stared, concerned. "Sir… you're rejecting people based on their… sentiment?"
"They're coming in to clean toilets, Delviara. I want someone with spine, not glitter."
His assistant giggled. "But it is a place of wonder. Is it bad for them to dream"
He deadpanned. "Not for the janitors. These people write things like they expect to find unicorns and warm cookies here. They'll last a day before a snot-nosed noble sets them on fire for not scrubbing the right tile."
She winced. "That only happened once."
He tossed another form. "Exactly. Once is enough."
After a while, he yawned and stood up, ready to call it a night.
That's when it happened.
A single form fluttered from the pile, landed face-down on the floor. Granford looked at it, curious, and lifted it with a wave of wind magic.
He read it, then blinked.
His lips curled into a grin.
"Now this... this is honest."
Delviara leaned over. "What does it say?"
He flipped the form to show her.
In messy but bold handwriting, the answer to "How do you view Grand Arcanum Academy?" read:
"A nest of stuck-up brats who think they own the world because they can float teacups. Arrogant, dangerous, and probably allergic to cleaning supplies."
Delviara gasped. "That's—! That's insulting!"
"That's hilarious," Granford corrected with a laugh. "This one… this one has teeth."
Delviara's brow creased. "But he's a 0-star. A cleaner."
"Exactly," the Headmaster murmured. "And yet he dared to insult this school in his application. He didn't pander. He didn't beg. He observed."
He leaned back in his chair, the form hovering in his hand like a spark waiting to ignite.
"Let's see if Kael is just as interesting in person."
And with a snap of his fingers, the wind shifted like a tsunami and carried Kael's form to a golden shelf marked: Accepted.