It began with a shimmer under my desk.
At first, I thought it was just sunlight bouncing off the polished floor tiles — a reflection, maybe from someone's watch. But it grew brighter. Too bright.
White light. Not the warm kind that fills a room. Cold. Pure. Empty.
"...Huh?" I leaned down, squinting.
The shimmer wasn't light at all. It was spreading. The floor itself was being painted over, slowly turning blank, as if someone was erasing reality with an invisible brush. The lines between the tiles vanished. The texture faded. Only white remained.
I kicked my chair back and stood up, heart hammering in my chest.
"Dian," I whispered, voice shaking. "Do you see this?"
He looked up from his notebook, eyes wide. "Yeah… what the hell is—"
He didn't finish. The whiteness surged upward.
It devoured everything — desks, chairs, walls, windows. Even the sound of our screams. The air turned thick, unbreathable. My pulse stuttered and vanished into the silence. For one terrifying moment, I couldn't even feel my heartbeat.
And then — nothing.
Just white.
---
When I opened my eyes again, I was standing on stone.
Cold, uneven stone that scraped my palms when I pushed myself up. The air smelled sharp — iron and incense and something faintly floral. My breath steamed in front of me, even though the sun above burned bright and gold.
We weren't in school anymore.
"Where… is this?" a voice whispered behind me.
I turned.
My entire class was there. Thirty-six students — uniforms, backpacks, confused faces — all staring around a courtyard that looked ripped straight out of a fantasy novel.
Massive marble towers rose around us, their surfaces carved with glowing runes. Flags fluttered overhead, each bearing a symbol that looked like a sun pierced by a sword. The sky stretched impossibly wide — deeper blue than I'd ever seen.
Figures in shining armor stood around the perimeter. Spears planted. Eyes hard. Behind them, robed officials murmured to each other, their faces hidden beneath hoods.
And then, from the far end of the courtyard, a man stepped forward.
He was tall and broad, his shoulders draped in a crimson cloak. A golden crown sat on his head, jewels catching the sunlight like shards of fire. The gem-encrusted chestplate gleamed as he raised his arms high.
"Welcome, heroes of another world," he proclaimed, his voice echoing across the courtyard. "Welcome to the Kingdom of Altradon."
---
A ripple ran through our group.
Some gasped. Some cried out. Others just froze, their brains refusing to catch up.
As for me? I just stood there, numb.
A kingdom. Another world. Summoned heroes.
Of course. Of course it had to be this cliché.
The exact setup I'd mocked a thousand times before. Arifureta. Shield Hero. Konosuba. Take your pick. And now, the joke was on me.
I could almost hear my own sarcasm echoing: "Wow, congratulations, Rivan, you've officially become the protagonist of the most overused plotline in existence."
The king kept talking, every word practiced, every gesture perfect.
"Our world is in peril," he said, spreading his arms wider. "The Demon King rises once more, commanding forces that threaten to consume us all. In our desperation, we turned to the ancient rite of summoning. And the gods have blessed us — for you have come."
He gestured toward us as if unveiling a painting. "You are our hope. You are the chosen ones. And today, you shall begin your journey. The Awakening Ceremony awaits."
Murmurs filled the courtyard.
Some of my classmates looked thrilled. Their faces glowed with excitement — like children at a fair. Others clutched their sleeves, trembling. A few whispered prayers.
Dian stood beside me, still pale. His lips moved soundlessly.
"Dian," I said quietly, "this can't be real. It's… like one of those stories."
He gave a humorless laugh. "Yeah. The kind you always said were trash."
"Guess fate has a sense of irony."
---
A new figure appeared from the side — a thin, wrinkled man draped in gray robes. His body looked as if the wind might carry it away. The skin on his hands clung to bone, and his eyes glowed faintly blue.
He stepped forward and spoke in a voice like brittle paper.
"It is time," he said. "The heroes must awaken."
The armored guards straightened. The robed attendants bowed.
The old man continued, "This world has many paths of power. Seven, to be precise: Swordmaster, Magician, Martial Artist, Shadow User, Necromancer, Holy Energy, and Demonic Energy. Each represents one side of the eternal balance. But you—" He pointed at us. "—you are heroes. Your fates are chosen by the goddess herself. She will grant you the class most suited to your essence."
A collective murmur ran through the group.
"Class?" someone repeated.
"Yes," the man said. "The Awakening will reveal your calling. Approach the crystal, place your hand upon it, and your destiny shall unfold."
He gestured, and a massive crystal sphere rose from the courtyard floor. It hovered in the air, radiating gentle light. Runes spiraled around it like constellations in motion.
I swallowed hard. This was it. The classic awakening trope.
"Guess we're really doing this," Dian muttered beside me.
"Yeah," I said. "Let's see what the goddess thinks of a kid who doesn't even like fantasy stories."
---
One by one, the students were called.
A girl from the front row went first. She stepped forward nervously, placed her hand on the crystal — and light flared around her. The old man read from a glowing tablet.
"Cleric of Holy Flame!" he announced.
Applause echoed through the courtyard. The girl's uniform shifted, turning into a flowing white robe adorned with golden sigils. She gasped, tears of awe streaming down her face.
Next went another boy.
"Knight of the Silver Blade!"
The crystal flared silver. His uniform transformed into light armor. He swung his new sword experimentally, grinning like a maniac.
One after another, names and classes filled the air. "High Magician." "Spirit Archer." "Shadow Dancer." Even "Saint of Purity."
It was a parade of power.
Then came the student council president — tall, calm, the type who always knew how to stand straight even when everyone else panicked. She placed her hand on the orb.
The light turned gold.
"Hero of Dawn!" the old man declared, voice trembling with excitement.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Of course. She was the main protagonist. Beautiful, confident, born leader — the goddess would obviously choose her.
I almost laughed. Predictable.
Then, finally, it was Dian's turn.
He looked at me nervously before stepping up. "Wish me luck."
I gave him a thumbs-up.
He placed his hand on the orb. The light flickered — not bright, not dark, just a faint glimmer. The old man squinted at his tablet.
"Jeweler," he said after a pause. "A rare craft class. The power to identify and enhance gems. Support type."
Some of the students snickered. Dian's shoulders tensed.
I frowned. Jeweler, huh? Not flashy, but still useful. Better than nothing.
Then it was my turn.
I hesitated. The orb pulsed gently, as if waiting.
I reached out and touched it.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then — faint light. A dull gray glow. The old man leaned closer, frowning. The crystal cracked slightly.
"Stone Blacksmith," he said finally. His tone was flat, almost pitying. "Can craft stone-based weapons and armor. No combat affinity."
I blinked. "That's it?"
The crowd murmured. Someone laughed. Another whispered, "What kind of garbage class is that?"
The old man turned away, already calling the next student.
I stepped back, numb.
So that was my fate.
---
By the end of the ceremony, everyone had awakened. Swordsmen, healers, mages — a full party of shining heroes. Everyone except two.
Dian, the Jeweler.
And me, the Stone Blacksmith.
Two support classes. Two useless tools in a world that only worshipped power.
The king rose again, his smile tight. "Our heroes are revealed! May the goddess bless your journey!"
But his eyes flicked toward us — and something colder passed through his gaze.
A whisper spread among the guards.
Then an order.
"Those two… remove them."
Before I could react, hands seized me. Iron chains clamped around my wrists. I struggled, shouting, "Wait! What are you doing?!"
Dian tried to fight too, but a guard struck him in the stomach. He doubled over, coughing blood.
"You cannot—!" I started, but a blow to the back of my head cut me off.
The old man's voice echoed faintly as consciousness slipped. "They are unworthy. The goddess has rejected them. Banish the impurities."
The world spun. My vision darkened.
The last thing I saw was Dian's terrified eyes before they covered my face with a cloth that smelled of iron and ash.
Sound faded next. Then sight. Then everything.
A final thought drifted through the void as darkness swallowed me again:
In another story, I'd be the hero. Here… I'm just the trash they threw away.