Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!-Chapter 66 - 67. Rank 1

The principal’s voice rang clear and slow, savoring the moment.

"And now," he said, his tone taking on a grander timbre, "for our top scorer in the academic section—with a resounding perfect score of one hundred marks..."

The auditorium erupted into gasps.

One hundred?

A perfect score. Flawless. Impeccable.

Unheard of.

The tension within the massive hall coiled like a drawn bowstring. Whispers flew like arrows through the audience. Even the examinees seated in the distant upper tiers leaned forward, struggling to hear more clearly.

On the stage, the four girls turned toward the principal with visible astonishment. Their own scores had already shattered long-standing records. And yet... someone had gone even higher?

’Perfect,’ Mia thought, her heart pounding. ’Who the hell managed a perfect score?’

Even Celeste’s usual smug confidence wavered, and Evelyn’s composed face betrayed a flicker of surprise. Amelia’s gaze narrowed with quiet curiosity.

The principal waited just long enough for the tension to settle over the crowd like a blanket.

Then, with a soft chuckle, he delivered the name.

"With one hundred marks, securing first place... Miss Verena!"

The name echoed.

And for a moment, the hall fractured into two kinds of reactions.

The upper tiers—filled with commoners and lesser nobles—erupted in applause, cheers, and even a few whistles of admiration.

But the lower sections—the front-row seats reserved for the prestigious houses, high-ranking nobles, and elite families—fell into stunned silence. The contrast was deafening.

Miss Verena.

No surname.

No house name.

No title.

Just... Verena.

It didn’t take much to understand what that implied.

In this world, surnames held weight. A noble family carried its regional domain in its name. The Everharts of Everhart Valley. The Fontaines of Fontaine Province. The Lancasters of the northern Lancaster Territories.

But this girl... Verena, had none.

No land. No legacy.

A commoner.

And yet, she had scored higher than everyone else.

Mia felt the shift instantly. Dozens of expressions soured around her—hidden scowls behind polite masks, barely-contained indignation. Their fragile pride had taken a direct blow.

A commoner had surpassed them.

Even Evelyn’s eye twitched imperceptibly. Celeste’s lips parted, then pressed together in a thin line.

The principal must have sensed it too.

Because the next moment, his amused smile vanished.

He turned toward the front seats—and with a wave of raw, unrestrained power—released a suffocating wave of pressure.

The air around him pulsed violently, distorting space for a breathless moment.

Those seated closest to the stage—many of them nobles from influential houses—suddenly gasped. Their lungs squeezed tight.

A few clutched their chests. Others stumbled to their knees. The air itself felt too thick to breathe.

"Should I remind you all—" the principal said, his voice now devoid of warmth, "this is not your manor, nor your private estate."

He took a step forward, eyes burning with quiet fury.

"This is Rose Academy. Not a place where your birthright shields you. Not a court of inherited pride. But a sanctuary of merit."

His voice echoed across the stadium, sharp and cold like winter steel.

"You brats—remember your place."

The silence that followed was terrifying.

Then, like soldiers in formation, the front-row nobles began to clap.

Their hands moved awkwardly at first, but under the weight of the principal’s gaze—and the crushing pressure still lacing the air—they clapped louder.

Fiercer. Their faces flushed with shame and submission.

Only when the applause had lasted a full ten seconds did the pressure ease.

The principal smiled again, as though nothing had happened. "Good."

And at last, from the backmost row of the examination hall, a figure began to descend the massive staircase of the auditorium.

It took time for her to arrive. But as she came closer, her presence—unlike anyone else’s—began to register.

She wasn’t like the elegant nobles or delicately poised daughters of prestige. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

She was tall—easily the tallest girl present. Her posture was upright, disciplined, almost military.

Her blue hair shimmered faintly under the lights, tied back in a long braid that swayed with every step. But it was her eyes that captured everyone’s attention.

Golden. Sharp. Unblinking.

Not the eyes of a noble.

But of a warrior.

Mia narrowed her eyes.

’She doesn’t look like someone who aced an academic exam.’

Verena reached the stage without a word. And instead of simply standing beside the others, she lowered herself to one knee in front of the principal, bowing her head in a gesture of respect.

Gasps rippled across the crowd.

Even the principal blinked for a moment, surprised by the formality.

Then he smiled—genuinely, deeply.

"Well done, girl," he said, his voice proud. "I hope to see better things from you in the days to come. Break more records. Push further."

Verena raised her head, her golden eyes meeting his. Her voice, when it came, was soft. Subtle.

"I’ll try my best, Principal."

He nodded, clearly pleased.

Then he turned to the rest of the audience. "Now, I ask all five of you to remain on stage a bit longer. We’ll be moving on to the next part of the announcement."

He paused, glancing at the crowd with mischief in his eye.

"It’s time to reveal the results of the physical examination."

The crystal boards, which had moments ago been gloriously glowing with Verena’s name in radiant gold, began to shift.

The letters shimmered, dissolved, and realigned themselves in real time, forming new runes and configurations.

A new title burned across the top in blazing crimson:

’PHYSICAL.’

A hush fell over the crowd as the new category settled into view. Like before, the top five spots were mysteriously blank, waiting to be revealed.

The principal stepped forward once again, a bit of mischief dancing behind his half-lidded eyes.

"Now then," he began, brushing nonexistent dust off his coat, "for this next segment—our physical examination results—things will work a little differently."

He cast his gaze across the audience.

"These students are... shall we say... uniquely introduced. In order to provide a sense of impact, we will be summoning them directly here, from the monster zones where they completed their trials."

The crowd murmured with anticipation.

The principal smirked. "Yes. That means some of you might see some rather nasty things—bloody uniforms, broken bones, shattered pride... You’ve been warned."

The students leaned forward.

Excitement buzzed through the crowd. For most of them, the academic results had been thrilling.

But the physical rankings—that was where the real drama began.

The principal exhaled and continued, voice sharp and clear.

"Now, in fifth place—with a staggering, record-breaking 1,080 points... Mr. Art Alaris!"

An explosive cheer erupted from the stands.

Especially from the ladies.

A swirling azure portal bloomed open in the center of the stage, crackling with faint arcs of magical energy.

A gust of wind swirled through the auditorium.

Then, through the light, stepped a lean young man with blond hair and a confident smirk plastered across his face.

Art Alaris.

And unlike what many expected, he didn’t look half-dead or battle-worn.

There were some scrapes on his cheeks, a few superficial cuts on his hands, and some rips in his pristine Rose Academy uniform—but for someone fresh from a monster zone, he looked... fashionable.

Very much so.

Without missing a beat, Art raised his hand, brushed back his hair with flair, and struck a casual pose.

He flashed a dazzling smile at the crowd, as if he had just stepped off the stage of a modeling show rather than a battlefield.

The crowd roared even louder.

The principal chuckled, clearly amused. "You’re surprisingly well off. I had my doubts... but congratulations on securing the fifth position."

He nodded, motioning toward the others already on stage. "You broke the previous record of 900 points—commendable. But be mindful, there are still greater heights to climb. Now, take your place beside the red-haired lady there."

Art blinked, then nodded obediently. No witty remarks. No sarcastic comments. No smug declarations.

He simply moved beside the lady who arrived with the principal and stood quietly.

The heroine group watching from the front rows—Amelia, Celeste, Evelyn, and Mia—exchanged stunned glances.

"Did Art just... listen to someone?" Evelyn whispered in disbelief.

Celeste’s expression was deadpan. "I’m writing this day down. Historic."

Even Amelia looked faintly amused. "We may have just witnessed a miracle."

The principal moved on smoothly.

"Now, for the fourth position—with an impressive 1,200 points... Mr. Emris!"

Another azure portal opened at the opposite side of the stage, swirling with runes and flickering blue light.

From it emerged a tall, broad-shouldered young man with vivid crimson-red hair and sharp black eyes.

Unlike Art, there was no theatrical flair in his entrance. He simply walked through the portal and stood upright, his expression calm and composed.

Despite having just returned from the field, he too bore almost no injuries. A few smudges of dust. Some frayed cloth near the sleeves. But his aura was steady, grounded, and powerful.

"Another commoner," someone whispered in the crowd.

This time, though, the response was overwhelmingly positive. Cheers rang out, genuine and enthusiastic, echoing across the arena.

The principal smiled warmly and approached him. "Well done, lad. Fourth position... impressive. I expect even greater things in the future."

He clapped Emris on the shoulder, firm and approving.

Emris bowed his head respectfully and silently moved to stand beside Art. His presence was quiet, but it felt solid—like a mountain.

The principal’s expression grew more serious as he glanced down at the crystal board again.

"Now we move into the top three. The elite of the elite."

A ripple of tension ran through the hall.

"And in third place, with a thunderous total of 1,500 points... Zyon Gilance!"

Boom.

The portal this time felt different—heavier, pulsing with a low rumble. As it flared open, a young man stepped through, his boots hitting the stage with a quiet thud.

Zyon Gilance.

He had a tall, muscular frame and wore the bruised, battle-worn uniform like a coat of pride. But more shocking than his posture or aura was the fact that he was completely unscathed.

Not a single scratch marred his body. His fists were wrapped in black leather guards, and his stance carried the weight of someone who had not dodged his battles—but bulldozed through them.

A low whistle came from somewhere in the stands.

The principal walked forward, nodding with rare approval. "Excellent work, Mr. Gilance. Your condition speaks volumes."

He paused. "And I know of your circumstances. Don’t lose heart. Don’t ever back down."

Zyon gave a soft, serious smile and nodded once.

Without needing another word, he moved beside Emris and stood straight.

Mia frowned as she watched from her seat.

’He’s the one Arawn likes,’ she thought. ’Zyon Gilance... ’

The stage now hosted three fierce contenders of physical might, standing beside the top five academic performers.

But there were still two names left for the physical results.

And judging by the records already broken... the numbers were only going to get more insane.