The rain fell in relentless sheets against the window of Max Morgan's small apartment, blurring the neon glow of the city skyline beyond. New York—or whatever this world's version called itself—hummed with life below, flying drones zipping between skyscrapers like fireflies in the storm. At seventeen, Max had seen enough of it to know he didn't belong. Not really. He sat at his desk, staring blankly at the holographic screen projecting his school assignments, the cursor blinking mockingly at him. History of the Awakened Era. As if he needed a reminder of how the world had changed five hundred years ago, when the first monoliths appeared and shattered the illusion of normalcy.
Max pushed back from the desk, running a hand through his disheveled black hair. The apartment was quiet, too quiet. It had been that way since Elena left three months ago. His elder sister, the only family he had left after their parents' accident five years back, was an Awakened—one of the lucky ones who'd manifested her system at nineteen. She was out there now, raiding dungeons with her guild, the Vanguard Collective. "It's good money, Max," she'd said with that bright smile of hers, ruffling his hair like he was still a kid. "And who knows? You might awaken soon too. Before you hit twenty-five, right? That's the window."
He'd nodded, forcing a grin, but inside, it twisted like a knife. Elena was everything he wasn't: confident, powerful, surrounded by teammates who had her back. She sent him messages every few days—holo-vids of her laughing with her guildmates, showing off some new skill she'd picked up from a boss drop. "Fire Lance evolved to Inferno Spear today! Proficiency maxed out the hard way—spamming it on those goblin hordes. Wish you could see it, little bro."
Max glanced at the photo on his nightstand: him and Elena at the beach last summer, her arm slung around his shoulders. She was twenty-four now, a rising star in the guild circuit. He was just... Max. Unawakened. Ordinary. A loner by choice, or maybe by necessity. School was a blur of faces he barely registered—classmates chattering about the latest dungeon clears on the news, or bragging if one of them had awakened over the weekend. "It just hits you, man," one kid had said once, eyes wide with excitement. "Boom—system interface pops up, stats and all. No warning."
Max avoided them. Trust was a luxury he couldn't afford. Not after... well, not after everything. Flashes of his past life intruded sometimes, unbidden: the sting of betrayal, friends turning coats in a haze of gunfire and screams. Alex, he'd been then. A special ops agent, forty-seven years of loyalty repaid with a bullet to the back. Left to die in the dust. If this reincarnation was a second chance, he'd sworn it then—he wouldn't let anyone close enough to hurt him again.
A sharp ping from his wristband pulled him from the reverie. Elena's message: *Hey, squirt. Raid went smooth—two-star monolith, nabbed a core haul. Thinking of you. Awaken yet? Kidding. Love ya. Home in a week?*
He typed back: *Not yet. Stay safe.* Short, to the point. No need to burden her with his melancholy. She had her life, her power. He had rain-slicked windows and empty rooms.
Max stood, stretching his lanky frame. At seventeen, he was tall but unassuming, the kind of guy who blended into crowds. He wandered to the kitchenette, grabbing a protein bar from the fridge—tech-advanced world meant self-restocking appliances, at least. As he bit into it, a strange warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading like liquid fire through his veins. He froze, the bar tumbling from his hand.
What the—?
A translucent blue interface materialized in his vision, hovering like a hologram only he could see.
**[System Initialization Complete]**
**[Name: Max Morgan]**
**[Stats:]**
**Strength: 10**
**Vitality: 10**
**Mana: 10**
**Endurance: 10**
**Agility: 10**
**[Skills:]**
**[Administrator Rights (Unique)]**
Max blinked, heart pounding. This was it. Awakening. No fanfare, no ceremony—just like everyone said. Random. Unpredictable. But... Administrator Rights? He focused on the skill, and a description expanded.
**[Administrator Rights: Grants 1 Administrator Point (AP) per day at midnight. 1 AP can be converted to 1000 Stat Points or 100 Skill Points. Current AP: 1]**
His breath caught. This wasn't just any skill. Stat points? Skill points? People grinded for months in dungeons to scrape together enough cores for a handful of stat boosts. Skill points were mythical—ultra-rare resources whispered about in guild forums, capable of instantly maxing proficiency. And he got a point every day that could become a thousand stats or a hundred skill points?
A slow grin crept across his face, but it faded just as quickly. Power. Real power. The kind that could make him untouchable. But memories flooded back: Alex's team, laughing over mission briefs, sharing drinks after ops. Then the ambush. The betrayal. "Sorry, old man. Orders from above."
No. He wouldn't repeat that mistake. In this life, trust was poison. He'd hide it—all of it. Pretend to be the same unremarkable Max, the loner brother waiting for his sister to come home. Let the world see trash, while he built an empire in the shadows.
Max glanced at the clock: 11:58 PM. Midnight approached. His first AP was already there, but the next would come soon. He could convert it now—pump stats, feel the rush. But no. Patience. He'd test it quietly, away from prying eyes.
The rain drummed on, a melancholic rhythm matching the ache in his chest. Elena would be thrilled if she knew. But she couldn't. No one could. Max Morgan, the unawakened nobody, would stay that way. For now.
As the clock struck midnight, the system pinged softly.
**[AP +1. Current AP: 2]**
He exhaled, the weight of solitude pressing down. This was his path—alone, unbreakable. The world outside buzzed with Awakened heroes and dungeon conquests, but Max turned away from the window, retreating into the dim light of his room. Tomorrow, he'd face school, feign normalcy. But inside, the administrator stirred, promising a future forged in secrecy.