The Awakening Stone loomed at the heart of the Grand Hall — a jagged monolith of obsidian, its surface alive with veins of cold, pulsing blue light. Each rhythmic flash echoed the pounding hearts of the eighteen-year-olds standing in line, as if the stone itself breathed in time with their fear.
For Leo Thorne, that pulse was a drumbeat of dread.
"Next! Kaelen Vance!" the Proctor called.
A tall youth with golden hair and the practiced confidence of privilege stepped forward. His uniform gleamed beneath the crystalline lights, a subtle mark of wealth among the simple linen tunics of his peers.
Kaelen was the son of City Lord Vance — a name that opened doors, silenced reprimands, and made arrogance indistinguishable from birthright. Even the Proctor straightened unconsciously as Kaelen approached the Awakening Stone.
The Grand Hall itself was unusually full that morning. Rows of noble representatives, guild officers, and robed elders filled the upper balconies — their jeweled insignias catching the blue light of the stone.
The Headmaster of Ardent Academy, Master Halric Dawnveil, sat with his arms folded, eyes sharp beneath silver brows. Beside him, the broad-shouldered Guildmaster of the Crimson Blades, Roderic Harth, tapped his fingers impatiently on the chair's armrest.
And between them, draped in violet armor that shimmered like amethyst, lounged Lady Seraphine Vale, the infamous Mistweaver Guildmistress — a name that carried both admiration and dread across the western provinces.
Normally, figures like these would never grace a provincial Awakening. But today, rumors whispered that a prodigy might be born.
"The Vance heir," someone murmured from the balcony. "If the legends are true, he inherited his mother's flame affinity."
"Hah! We'll see," another replied. "The nobles boast every year — let's hope this one doesn't faint from mana shock like the last one."
The murmurs grew into a low, electric buzz that rippled through the chamber.
Kaelen's lips curved upward, basking in the attention. He pressed his palm to the Awakening Stone.
The world exploded in crimson light.
A blazing broadsword of living flame materialized above him, heat washing across the entire hall. Even the Proctor stumbled back a step.
"Class: [Blazing Knight]! Grade: A-Rank!"
For a heartbeat — silence. Then, chaos.
"An A-Rank? In this city?" one noble gasped.
"Impossible — the mana density here can't produce that level!"
"Hah! The Vance line proves its superiority again!"
"Nonsense! It's luck — the boy hasn't trained a day in his life!"
The gallery erupted into overlapping voices, half awe, half envy. Even the dignitaries began snapping at one another — Roderic slammed his hand against the railing, barking about "talent wasted on politics," while Lady Seraphine only laughed softly, a melodic sound that cut through the din.
"Let them fight," she murmured. "The flames always burn brightest before they consume their wielder."
Kaelen turned, his smirk sharp as a blade, and locked eyes with Leo.
"Don't worry, Leo," he said, voice dripping with mock pity. "My family always needs someone to stable the horses. I'll make sure they save a spot for you."
Leo said nothing. His throat was dry, his palms slick with sweat. In this world, a Class wasn't merely a job — it was a sentence. A-Ranks became lords. F-Ranks became dust beneath their boots.
"Next! Leo Thorne!"
He stepped forward, every eye heavy on his back. His tunic was frayed, his boots worn thin from hand-me-down use. When his fingers brushed the Awakening Stone, the chill bit into his bones.
He prayed for fire. For lightning. For anything.
The stone flickered once — then sputtered out, coughing up a dull, colorless glow before falling still.
A single line of text burned into the air:
[Class: Appraiser]
[Grade: F-Rank]
Silence — then laughter, rippling through the hall like shards of broken glass.
The ranking system began with E as the lowest recognized grade. F-Ranks weren't even considered true Awakeners. And to be a support-type on top of that? The laughter wasn't entirely wrong.
Leo stared at the faint text, frozen. His lips trembled.
"T-That can't be right," he stammered, voice cracking. "There must be a mistake. Please — let me try again."
The Proctor arched a brow, exhaling through his nose. "Try again?" His tone dripped with disdain. "Do you think the Awakening Stone breaks just for you, Thorne?"
"I—please, I just—"
"Enough." The Proctor's quill scratched against parchment as he wrote down the result. "An Appraiser of F-Rank. Be grateful the stone didn't shatter from pity."
He sighed, clearly exhausted after a long morning. "An Appraiser," he muttered, scoffing. "Congratulations, Thorne. You've earned the right to spend your life counting someone else's gold. Move along — you're wasting the talented candidates' time."
Leo's face burned as he walked out of the Grand Hall. Outside, cheers and celebration echoed through the streets, but he turned away, toward the only place where no one would look for him — the Grey Streets, the city's lowest quarter.
"Appraiser," he muttered bitterly, kicking aside a rusted breastplate. "I can't even afford a loaf of bread, and the heavens expect me to value other people's treasures?"
He sank onto a pile of discarded metal, breath fogging in the cool evening air. His eyes caught on a small glint half-buried in a trash heap — a loop of twisted wire, blackened and warped, like the remnant of something long dead. A faint, ghostly shimmer pulsed from it, as if daring him to appraise it.
"Fine," he whispered with a hollow laugh. "Let's do my job, then."
He focused, invoking the one skill he'd been given. Every Awakened possessed a system interface — a strange, game-like connection to their inner power.
"[Identify]."
Normally, the result would be nothing more than:
[Rusted Wire – Value: 0.]
But this time, his vision shattered.
A blinding pain lanced through his skull, searing white and absolute. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his head as fragments of light burst behind his eyes.
His system came alive.
[WARNING: HOST ATTRIBUTES INCOMPATIBLE WITH TRUE SIGHT]
[FORCING SYSTEM OVERRIDE…]
[CLASS 'APPRAISER' RECONSTRUCTING…]
[HIDDEN STATS UNLOCKED.]
Blood traced slow, crimson lines down his cheeks. When Leo's vision cleared, the world had changed.
The dull scrapyard was gone — replaced by a landscape alive with golden text and spectral glyphs hovering over every fragment of debris. Each piece of junk shimmered with faint, divine luminescence.
He looked at the wire in his hand.
[Item: Eternal Shackle of the Abyss (Broken)]
[Current State:Generic Trash.]
[Hidden Evolution Path:]
1.Soak in 10 ml of Corrupted Mana Water.
2.Temper with the breath of a Low-Level Shadow Wolf.
[Result:] [Epic Rank] Ghost-Slayer's Whip.
[Market Value: 150,000 Gold Coins.]
Leo stared, breath stolen. Then, slowly, he looked around — the world he'd thought was garbage now glowed like a sea of uncut gems.
A cracked pot labeled Dead Sprout:
[Hidden Path: Celestial World-Tree Seedling.]
A chipped dagger of iron:
[Hidden Path: Vorpal Blade of the Executioner.]
The laughter from the Grand Hall still echoed faintly in his memory. But it no longer stung. It fueled him.
Leo rose to his feet, the F-Rank badge heavy on his chest. A faint grin curved his lips — wild, defiant, and hungry.
"They said I'd spend my life counting other people's gold," he whispered.
His eyes gleamed, reflecting lines of golden script.
"They were half right."
He wasn't going to count their gold.
He was going to take it all.