Chapter 0 - The Selection Ceremony in Albat Village

The day of the Selection.
A rite of passage into adulthood.

In this world, there exists something called "aptitude."

Every person is born with an aptitude for something.
It might be easier to think of it as "talent."

Swords, spears, and countless other aptitudes exist in this world, but today is the day to confirm ours.

The most coveted is a "magic-related aptitude."
Swords, spears, and the like can be honed even without innate talent.
Even without natural ability, effort can compensate and nurture skill.

But "magic" is different.
To put it bluntly, you can’t use magic without a "magical aptitude."

Those with a "magical aptitude"—mages—are exceedingly rare, making it a high-paying, prestigious profession.

I suspect this Selection Ceremony exists primarily to identify children with "magical aptitude."

Or perhaps even rarer aptitudes like "Unique Species"—something even scarcer than magical talent.

I’ve heard of "Heroes" and "Champions," but those stories have nothing to do with a backwater village like ours.

"Form a single line."

Not that there are enough of us to form a proper line.
The soldiers from the city take their duties seriously.

This year, Albat Village’s Selection Ceremony includes only three participants: me, my friend Naabal, and Sheron, who’s a year older.

At fifteen, a child is finally recognized as an adult after undergoing this ritual.

But our village has few children.
The ceremony is only held here if there are three or more participants. Otherwise, you must travel to the city or wait until enough children come of age. Sheron had to delay hers by a year for this reason.

Technically, it’s a national obligation—every citizen undergoes this Selection.

In the village square, the chief stands beside two soldiers.
Adults eyeing the celebratory alcohol and children salivating over the feast watch us three candidates.

—I hate being the center of attention. Let’s get this over with.

Maybe it’s my nature, but others’ stares make me uneasy. Especially in crowds like this…

Well, this’ll be the first and last time I’m this noticeable.
I just want to finish the ceremony, eat, sleep, and return to my quiet, unremarkable life tomorrow.

"Hey, Eil."

While the chief drones on about the "significance of adulthood," Naabal whispers beside me.

"I’ll get a better aptitude than Horn. Watch me."

Horn.
My sister.

"Good luck."

That’s all I can say. Not like effort matters much here.

"How’s Horn doing now?"

Sheron joins in. Guess I’m not the only one bored. Our chief’s speeches are notoriously long-winded. His passion for lecturing always misses the mark.

"Dunno. Probably lazing around in the royal capital."

Two years ago, my sister Horn drew the rare aptitude of "Darkhunter Warrior."

Born with divine blessings, resistant to evil—a warrior suited to combat darkness.
But "aptitude" is just potential. Whether she becomes one depends on her.

It was the first time our village had seen such a rare aptitude.
Children like her are taken to the royal capital by the attending soldiers.
They meet the nobility directly and, if deemed useful, get employed by the crown.

Horn hasn’t returned since leaving for the capital.
Her occasional letters say she skipped palace work to become an adventurer—a freelance odd-jobber.

My sister is my polar opposite: energetic, outgoing, and too lively.
The villagers always said, "Horn’s too big for this tiny village."

I agreed.
She’s destined for greatness, maybe even beyond this kingdom. Palace life? Never suited her.

"Sheron of Albat Village! Step forward!"

"Y-yes!"

The chief’s speech finally ended. The Selection begins.

Sheron is called first.

"Place your hand here."

The soldier holds an unpolished crystal lump, roughly the size of a human head—the Selection Stone.

Touching it reveals your aptitude through letters glowing deep within the crystal.

How many times have I watched this scene?
I’ve seen my childhood friends grow up this way. Now it’s my turn.

Naabal seems eager to land a rare aptitude like Horn’s. He’s always wanted to escape this boring village.

Me? I don’t care.

Whatever my result, I’ll keep living as a hunter.
I already work as well as any adult. The meat I catch is tasty, and the solitary life suits me.

I’ll replace my aging mentor as the village hunter someday.
Horn’s destined for greatness, but I’d rather live quietly here.

At best, I hope for a hunter-friendly aptitude.

——

Sheron’s aptitude: "Healing."
Naabal’s aptitude: "Lumberjack."

"Predictable…"
"So boring…"

Sheron’s mother is a pharmacist; Naabal’s father is a lumberjack. Inheriting parental aptitudes is normal—too normal to be interesting.

But that’s how aptitudes work.
Mine will probably be equally dull—my dad’s "decent cook" or mom’s "superhuman farmer." Horn was a fluke.

"Eil of Albat Village! Step forward!"

I glance at the disappointed duo. My turn.

My mentor hunted a splendid black goat for today’s feast. It’ll be delicious. That’s my only excitement.

Let’s hurry through this tedious ritual.

——

"Me…ga…ne…? ‘Glasses’…?"

The soldiers and chief squint at the crystal.

The raw, misshapen stone obscures the view, but the letters glowing within are unmistakable.

Me. Ga. Ne.

"Glasses."

……What does "Aptitude: Glasses" even mean?