The Kingdom of St. Arlan, the harbor city—East Bay.
Inside the Royal Academy of East Bay, the Awakening Hall for senior students was packed with anticipation.
"Students, line up. The Awakening Ceremony is about to begin."
A thousand young men and women—each standing on the threshold of adulthood—had gathered here, ready to face the most decisive moment of their lives.
Among them stood Alex, fists clenched in excitement, blood surging with expectation.
This was the world known as the Continent of the Game Laws—a realm where reality and the rules of games intertwined. Here, at the age of eighteen, every youth underwent the Class Awakening Ceremony, the ritual that would grant them a profession of their own.
Professions were the pillars of this world.
They were divided into three great categories:
Combat Classes: the vanguard against the tides of monsters, such as Swordsmen, Mages, Rangers, Assassins.
Support Classes: those who blessed and strengthened the fighters, healers of wounds and hearts alike.
Life Classes: bound to the mundane and powerless, unable to ascend into true strength—doomed to fade into the crowd of ordinary lives.
To awaken as a Combat Class was the dream of every youth.
But dreams were fragile things.
Even after centuries of development, the success rate of Awakening remained barely at fifty percent. Of those, less than one in ten gained the coveted title of Combatant.
Which meant that, in this hall of a thousand, more than nine hundred would never step onto the path of battle.
At the center of the hall, pillars of white light surged into the sky. Under the careful hands of ritualists, the Awakening Array finally bloomed into completion.
"You have studied for three years," intoned Principal Whitney, his formal robes gleaming under the glow. His voice echoed like a great bell across the hall.
"Now comes the trial. Remember—Awakening is shrouded in the unknown. Your grades, your talents—none of them guarantee your destiny. Face it with courage, and embrace the choice of fate."
One by one, the students stepped into the array.
—
"Edric, Awakening failed."
"Phil, Awakening failed."
...
"Ward, Awakening successful. Class: Cook."
"Fleming, Awakening successful. Class: Mentor."
Cheers and despair clashed in the hall, the atmosphere growing heavy.
"This year's success rate… far too low," Principal Whitney muttered, brows furrowed with unease. If no remarkable professions emerged, both the Academy's reputation and its funding would soon be in peril.
Just then, a name echoed across the chamber:
"Alma."
In an instant, every gaze turned toward her.
She was the Academy's acknowledged flower, a young woman clad in white as pure as snow, her beauty sharp and cold as frost.
"It's Alma. She'll definitely awaken a combat class."
"I wager on Mage—she was born to command the elements."
With confident poise, Alma stepped onto the platform. Backed by her noble lineage, she had always known—her destiny was to become a Combatant.
And indeed—suddenly, a surge of violet light tore into the sky.
"Rare class!"
"By the gods, it's violet!"
Within the hierarchy of professions:
White marked the mundane Life classes.
Green for Common.
Blue for Advanced.
Violet for Rare.
Orange for Legendary.
And above all, crimson for the exalted Mythic.
"Alma, Awakening successful—Rare Class: Frostbinder Mage!"
The hall erupted.
Principal Whitney's eyes gleamed with hope. At last, the Academy had birthed a student worthy of legend.
—
The tide of excitement spread through the crowd, lifting the weight of despair.
Amid it, Alex stood silent, lost in thought.
What will my future class be…?
But his musing was cut short by a mocking voice.
"Well, if it isn't the top scholar of our class. What's wrong, Alex? Afraid you won't awaken at all?"
The sneer belonged to Garfield, the infamous wastrel of the Academy—son of one of East Bay's three great noble houses. Backed by wealth and privilege, he looked down most upon commoners who struggled upward through sheer effort.
"Awakening isn't about grades, but luck," Garfield jeered.
"And we nobles… we never rely on luck. We rely on gold."
Garfield leaned close to Alex, his voice low and venomous.
"If you fail… you'll be nothing but a worthless mortal. And when that happens, not even Principal Whitney will be able to save you."
Alex's expression darkened.
Insult him all you want—but to drag in the mentor who had raised him like family?
Unforgivable.
Smack!
The sharp crack of a slap echoed through the hall.
Silence fell.
No one had ever imagined gentle, even-tempered Alex would strike.
Garfield clutched his cheek, eyes blazing with fury. He was just about to lash out when—
"Next. Garfield."
The officiating deacon's cold voice cut through the tension.
"Consider yourself lucky," Garfield spat, grinding his teeth. Lifting his chin high, he strode into the array.
Boom!
Violet light erupted once more, surging toward the ceiling.
"Another Rare Class!"
"Our Academy… it's rising at last!"
"Garfield, Awakening successful—Rare Class: Berserker!"
The hall shook with thunderous excitement. On the stage, Principal Whitney's stern face finally broke into a grin of unrestrained joy.
But as Garfield stepped out of the array, he turned back toward Alex.
With deliberate mockery, he lowered his thumb in a reversed gesture, lips curling as he mouthed:
"You will die."