The Laziest God Mortal Reincarnation

( Theoran Vale’s POV )

Inside Zenith Academy, an important discussion was taking place.

The meeting room had existed longer than most kingdoms.

At least, that was what new professors liked telling students.

I knew better.

The western wall had been rebuilt twice.

The ceiling once.

And the enormous circular table occupying the center of the room had been replaced eighty-three years ago after two professors decided a disagreement over magical theory required demonstrating their arguments physically.

I knew because I had been one of the students watching through the window.

Some things changed.

Others did not.

Arguments among powerful mages belonged firmly to the second category.

"The upper-ranked class will need another combat instructor."

"We’ve already assigned three."

"Three isn’t enough if the admissions predictions are accurate."

"It has always been enough."

"It has never had five SSS potentials entering in the same year."

That finally quieted the room.

For a moment.

Then everyone started speaking again.

I remained silent.

There were twelve of us seated around the table.

Department heads.

Senior professors.

The Academy’s disciplinary commander.

The admissions director.

And myself.

Every person here possessed enough power or influence that most nobles would consider merely entering this room an honor.

Yet today, none of their titles mattered.

Because five sheets of paper rested before me.

Five names.

Five children.

Five identical letters beneath the word Potential.

SSS.

I rested both hands over the head of my cane.

At eighty-one years old, people had a habit of assuming the cane supported me.

I allowed them to believe that.

People behaved differently around an old man they considered physically diminished.

It was useful.

The cane had never been necessary.

"Headmaster?"

I looked toward the admissions director.

He adjusted the spectacles on his nose.

"We need your decision regarding placement."

"Placement."

"Yes."

He gestured toward the reports.

"Under the normal system, all incoming students undergo preliminary evaluations before entrance. Their potential, combat ability, academics, core rank, and practical performance are calculated together."

I knew.

I had approved the current system myself.

"The highest-ranked students are placed in Class One, followed by Class Two, then Three, and so on."

Several professors nodded.

It was simple.

Efficient.

And, until now, effective.

The strongest students learned beside the strongest.

The weaker students were placed where instructors could teach at an appropriate pace.

Throughout the year, individual rankings determined resources, privileges, access to certain training facilities, and opportunities.

Competition encouraged growth.

At least, that was the theory.

"All five SSS students will almost certainly be placed in Class One," the admissions director continued.

"Not almost," Professor Darius said. "Unless one of them arrives incapable of walking, they’ll occupy the top positions."

A few people laughed.

I didn’t.

My eyes remained on the five reports.

Five.

Even now, seeing them together felt wrong.

Not impossible.

I had lived too long to describe much of anything as impossible.

But wrong.

Historically wrong.

Zenith Academy’s records stretched back hundreds of years.

Kings had risen.

Dynasties had vanished.

Borders had been redrawn so many times that some of the oldest maps in our library displayed kingdoms nobody remembered outside history lessons.

Through all those centuries, SSS potential remained extraordinarily rare.

Ten years.

That was how long it had been since the last SSS-potential student entered Zenith.

Before that?

More than fifty years.

There were professors who spent their entire careers here without teaching even one.

And now...

Five.

All born within the same generation.

All entering my Academy in six months.

I had seen strange things during my life.

This belonged near the top.

"The problem isn’t only that they’ll dominate Class One," Professor Halden said. "They’ll dominate the ranking entirely."

"Naturally."

"Which means the remaining students may simply stop competing."

Darius shrugged.

"If someone loses motivation because another student is more talented, perhaps Zenith isn’t where they belong."

A predictable answer.

I looked toward him.

"Darius."

He immediately straightened.

"Headmaster."

"What was your ranking during your first year?"

He hesitated.

"Thirty-seven."

"And your final year?"

"Third."

"Would you have become third if the three students above you during your first year possessed such an overwhelming advantage that defeating them was functionally impossible?"

He opened his mouth.

Then stopped.

Good.

Competition required the belief that victory was possible.

Five SSS potentials standing permanently at the top of an individual ranking would not inspire everyone.

For some students, perhaps.

For others?

It would teach them their place.

That was not what Zenith existed to do.

I looked toward the reports again.

An SSS potential did not guarantee an SSS core.

If it did, our history would look considerably different.

Since the creation of Zenith Academy, rare SSS talents had passed through these halls.

Only one had reached an SSS-ranked core.

One.

Hundreds of years.

Countless prodigies.

One success.

And even by the standards of monsters, that man had been abnormal.

Twelve years.

He had reached SSS core only twelve years after Awakening.

I still remembered the first time I read the report.

I read it twice because I assumed someone had copied the date incorrectly.

They hadn’t.

Twelve years.

No one before him had done it.

No one after him had done it.

But the others weren’t failures.

Far from it.

Several SSS potentials eventually stopped at SS rank.

And an SS-ranked core belonging to someone with SSS potential was something entirely different from an ordinary SS.

Mana capacity.

Attributes.

Titles.

Constitutions.

Efficiency.

Control.

Their strength became absurd.

Some of the most dangerous individuals recorded in human history had never reached the maximum allowed by their potential.

They hadn’t needed to.

And now Zenith would receive five people capable of walking those same paths.

Five.

Why five?

That question returned again.

I had dismissed it several times already.

Probability occasionally created strange outcomes.

Living for eighty-one years made a person less impressed by coincidences.

I had watched lightning strike the same tower three times in one night.

I had witnessed identical twins awaken opposing attributes.

I once watched a mercenary survive being swallowed by a magical beast because the creature choked on his armor and vomited him back out.

Unlikely events happened.

Paranoid men found meaning in all of them.

Cautious men learned which ones deserved attention.

My finger stopped moving against the head of my cane.

Five children.

Born in the same generation.

And then...

The war.

The voices around me faded.

I pulled dates from memory.

Birth records.

Awakening records.

Border reports.

The first large-scale beastkin attacks.

Only a few years after those five children were born, the conflict had begun.

Perhaps unrelated.

Most likely unrelated.

Five unusual children could not cause a war simply by being born.

But that wasn’t the thought bothering me.

What if both were symptoms of something else?

I disliked that thought considerably more.

"Headmaster?"

I looked up.

The room had gone quiet.

Apparently I had been silent too long.

Professor Selene Ardent was watching me from three seats away.

Red hair fell over one shoulder.

Amber eyes studied me with the irritating sharpness that had made her simultaneously one of my best professors and one of my most frequent headaches.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"That our current system is inadequate."

The admissions director frowned.

"For five students?"

"For this generation."

Silence.

I slowly rose.

No one spoke.

Age had many disadvantages.

Being underestimated was one of its advantages.

But nobody in this room underestimated me.

Not when I allowed my mana to move.

I didn’t release any pressure.

I didn’t need to.

They simply waited.

"We will change the system for the incoming first years."

Several faces changed immediately.

The admissions director sat straighter.

"Change... the ranking system?"

"Remove it."

Silence.

Not ordinary silence.

The kind of silence produced when twelve highly educated people simultaneously wondered whether an eighty-one-year-old man had finally become senile.

Darius spoke first.

"Remove individual rankings?"

"Yes."

"Completely?"

"For the new first-year generation."

"But ranking is one of Zenith’s oldest traditions."

"Old does not mean correct."

"It encourages competition."

"Then we will give them competition."

He frowned.

"How?"

I looked toward the five sheets of paper.

"Five classes."

The admissions director blinked.

"We already have multiple first-year classes."

"Not like this."

I picked up the first report.

"Divide the incoming first years into five permanent classes."

That earned several confused expressions.

Selene’s changed first.

Her eyes moved toward the reports.

Then toward me.

She understood.

I continued.

"Each class receives one of the five SSS-potential students."

Now nobody moved.

Darius stared at me.

"You want to separate them."

"Yes."

"One SSS per class."

"Exactly."

The admissions director slowly removed his spectacles.

That was usually a sign he needed additional time to process something.

"And the remaining students?"

"Distribute them as evenly as possible."

"According to strength?"

"Partially."

I walked toward the table.

"If one class receives every high-potential student and another receives every low-potential student, we have simply recreated the old ranking system under a different name."

I tapped the reports.

"Balance them."

Potential.

Core rank.

Combat ability.

Support capabilities.

Academic performance.

Noble.

Commoner.

Experienced.

Inexperienced.

Not identical.

That would be impossible.

But close enough that no class could claim it had been designed to lose.

Professor Halden leaned forward.

"And these classes are permanent?"

"Yes."

"For the entire first year?"

I shook my head.

"For their entire time at Zenith."

That caused the first real uproar.

"Headmaster..."

"That’s never been done."

"Students normally reorganize after yearly evaluations."

"What if a student develops poorly?"

"What if there are conflicts?"

"What if..."

I tapped my cane against the floor once.

The sound was quiet.

Everyone stopped speaking anyway.

"Permanent," I repeated.

Selene leaned back.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"You’re not testing their strength."

I looked at her.

"No."

"You’re testing whether they can build something."

A faint smile touched my lips.

There was a reason she sat at this table.

"Precisely."

Darius still looked unconvinced.

"And the SSS students?"

"They lead."

Silence again.

"Lead?" he repeated.

"Each of the five will become the official leader of their class."

The admissions director finally put his spectacles back on.

"They’re fifteen."

"Yes."

"They have no leadership experience."

"Most likely."

"Then why put them in charge?"

"Because one day they may possess enough power to affect kingdoms."

Nobody answered.

I looked around the table.

"Power teaches terrible lessons when acquired alone."

My voice remained calm.

"I have met many powerful people during my life. Some believed strength meant nobody else mattered. Some surrounded themselves only with people weaker than themselves. Others never learned how to trust because every problem could be solved personally."

I looked at the five papers.

"That cannot happen with these five."

Especially if my suspicion was correct.

If something was coming...

If their generation meant anything at all...

Then raw strength would not be enough.