'Welcome to Awakener Supreme, the Academy where the gifted Awakened of our world master the power of Grace to hone their talents! We stand as the shield against the encroaching evil of Gehenna and the corrupting touch of Gloom.
Hundreds of legends graduated from this very institution! Soros the Great Pyromancer! Leobard the Heavenly Knight! Theron the Star Maker! Dav—'
BAM!
Max slammed his phone face-down onto his duvet.
"No surprise that there are no female legends because they've all been fucking wasted!" he shouted at the ceiling. "It's so stupid!"
He grabbed a pillow and screamed into it, muffling a string of curse words that would have impressed a sailor.
Max wasn't just angry; he was unbearably frustrated and exhausted. He was a man with a very specific, burning grievance.
After reading hundreds of light novels and consuming thousands of manga chapters, he had come to the conclusion that no matter how unique the magic system, no matter how detailed the world-building, they all suffered from the same terminal illness.
Something he called the Romance Nerf.
This thing was a plague. A character assassin.
You'd have a female character introduced as the "Ice Witch of the North," a woman who slaughtered legions of demons with a snap of her fingers.
For the first few chapters of her introduction, she would be cool. She would be terrifying. She would be competent.
Then, she meets the Main Character.
Suddenly? Her IQ drops fifty points. Her legendary magic becomes "support skills" for the MC. And her only personality trait shifts from "Genocidal Warlord" to "Blushing Mess."
She falls in love with him even if he's her mortal enemy, even if he has the charisma of a damp cardboard box.
The thing was, Awakener Supreme was supposed to be different.
Initially, Max had loved it. It had everything: the structured Class Groups, the Academy politics, the terrifying lore of the Second World trying to merge with Earth.
For him, it was dark fantasy done right especially in a world where the trope was a dying art.
But then came the popularity polls. Then came the editors. And slowly, the grimdark masterpiece turned into a harem-collecting simulator for gooners.
Hating a novel was easy. But there was a different kind of hate one feels when a novel they really love does something so stupid it destroys the entire experience.
That was exactly how Max felt.
"Why?" he groaned, staring at his ceiling fan. "Why destroy a masterpiece for fan service?"
Almost everyone didn't have the power to change these issues in their favorite novels. They just had to get over it and continue reading.
But Max wasn't just a reader. Until about four hours ago, he had been a Junior Assistant Narrative Editor at Onyx Digital, the publisher responsible for Awakener Supreme.
He wasn't high up the food chain—mostly he just checked for typos and continuity errors—but that didn't stop him from making his criticism heard.
Everyday, at work, he tried his best to steer them away from destroying female characters by sending them down the harem path.
Just last Tuesday, he presented some new female characters he had made to introduce into the story. Astensia, Thor, and many others.
He'd given them a strong back story, motivation, plot and a purpose that didn't involve the MC.
The lead writer flat out rejected him, ordering him to stick to his job and let them deal with the creative.
Max had swallowed his pride and frustration.
But today had been the last straw.
The latest chapter dropped, and in it, the last remaining promising female heroine tripped over her own feet, landed in the MC's arms, and stuttered, "P-Please teach me how to be strong."
Then they kissed.
They fucking kissed.
Max snapped.
He stormed into the lead writer's office and delivered a ten-minute rant on character integrity and personalities. The monologue ended with him calling the lead writer a "simping hack."
It felt amazing. Until it didn't.
Because now, he was unemployed.
However, the firing only fueled his anger, and unemployment just meant he had more time for the internet.
Max rolled over, grabbed his phone, and tapped furiously. He was currently on his forty-second throwaway account.
He gave the light novel another 1 Star Rating, then dropped his review below.
'This is absolute trash. You have ruined the ecosystem of this world. Why does every woman lose 90% of her brain cells within a 5-meter radius of Renan? It's insulting! I could write this better in my sleep. If you want a real story, give the female cast AGENCY. Make them VILLAINS. Make them HEROINES. Don't make them TROPHIES. The Grace/Gloom dynamic is wasted on this harem garbage. Do better.'
In a few minutes, likes rolled in from fellow disgruntled fans as they responded on how much they agreed with him.
This led to more bad reviews and hate comments filling up the lightnovel's webpage.
Lying in bed, scrolling through the comments was a satisfying feeling. His anger felt validated. He felt dignified. He was a martyr for good storytelling.
The best thing to do after ranting on the Internet was to get a good sleep; a reminder that all of this didn't really matter in the end.
"Whatever," Max yawned, his eyelids growing heavy. "Maybe I'll start my own light novel tomorrow. One where the heroines and villainesses are actually... badasses."
"But first… let me get a little shut eye."
The phone slipped from his hand and he dozed off.
— - - - —
"Shit! You killed him!"
Max heard a voice say. It was hazy, echoing as if it were coming from the bottom of a well.
"No I didn't! I barely touched him!"
"Look, he isn't moving."
"Fuck. I think he's really dead."
"Nigel, your dad works for the Brigade, right? He can clear this up. We can just say he fell. Or a Beast got him."
Max squinted. Who were the people talking and why did his entire body feel like it had been put through a meat grinder?
His head throbbed painfully, a stinging sound echoing in his skull. He tried to move, but his limbs felt heavy, like they were filled with lead.
"Wait," one of the voices shrieked. "He's squinting! Shit, he's alive!"
"Hey! Lancet! You're not dead, are you?"
Lancet? Max thought, the name floating through his confusion. Who the hell is Lancet?
He groaned, forcing his eyes open. Everything was a dizzy blur of grey and brown, he could barely form any image.
The pain was too much, and the smell of this place was nothing like his room. Wet dirt, sulfur, and unwashed bodies.
It smelled like poverty.
Max blinked, his vision was finally clearing. He snapped his head left, and then right.
He frowned, coming to the realization that he wasn't in his bedroom.
He was lying in mud. Above him, the night sky was a bruised purple color, choked with smog. Around him stood three teenagers dressed in cheap, modern street clothes—hoodies and worn-out sneakers.
"You idiot," the tallest one spat, kicking dirt at Max's face. "You can't just go faking death to scare us like that. Who are we going to beat up if you just die?"
Max pushed himself up on shaky elbows, the pain still thrumming in his skull.
He tried again to decipher where he was. But nothing he saw was familiar. Not the crumbling brick walls, the simple looking houses, or the massive, gothic spire looming in the distance, piercing the smog like a black needle.
'Where is this?'
One of the boys grunted. "I don't know how it is that he's the lucky one who gets to leave the slums and enter the A.S.I. And to be a Summoner, too. Why does this rat get to be lucky and not us?"
Max froze. 'Did he just say A.S.I?'
He looked up at the boy. "Excuse me," Max said, his voice sounding raspier than usual. "By A.S.I... do you mean the Awakener Supreme Institute?"
The guys looked at each other and burst into laughter.
Max stared.
"Did I hit your head that hard, Lancet?" the tall one sneered. "He's completely forgotten where he is!"
Max stared at them. This had to be a joke. Some kind of vivid dream induced by stress and too much spicy food before bed.
"I can't... I can't be in..."
The tall one flung the paper in his hand at Max, like he was returning something.
"Here, moron. You're lucky we're terrified of the Awakeners, or we would have ripped this into shreds and stuffed it down your throat."
It landed in the mud with a soft splat.
Max reached out immediately and picked up the paper. It was thick, textured, and smelled like processed timber.
'A letter? It really can't be…'
He unscrolled it with trembling fingers and read the elegant calligraphy.
'To Mr. Lancet Leogardt,
Subject: Admission to the Awakener Supreme Institute
Greetings. It is with the Authority of the Crown and Grace that we extend this invitation to you.
Your potential for Awakening has been detected by the Royal Seers. In accordance with the Grand Defense Act against the Second World, you are hereby conscripted to attend the Institute. Here, you will hone your talents, master Grace, and serve the Kingdom.
We expect great things from you.
Name: Lancet Leogardt
Class Group: Summoner'
Max's heart dropped like a stone into his stomach, leaving a cold, hollow pit of disbelief.
He had actually transmigrated into the lightnovel.