The air in Seoul crackled with a residual energy, a phantom echo of the dimensional rifts that had torn through the sky five years prior. Buildings still bore scars – jagged gashes where otherworldly claws had ripped through steel and concrete, monuments to a terror that had reshaped their world. But life, resilient as ever, had found a new rhythm, dictated by the Awakened and the ever-present threat of interdimensional incursions.
For Kim Min-jun, however, the rhythm felt dissonant, a constant reminder of his own perceived inadequacy. Puberty had been the great dividing line.
For most teenagers in Korea, it was the dawn of extraordinary abilities, the moment their latent potential, stirred by the dimensional energies, bloomed into unique skills ranked from the coveted S-tier down to the often-mocked F.
Friends who had once shared clumsy jokes and late-night study sessions now wielded telekinesis, elemental manipulation, enhanced strength – powers that placed them on a higher rung of society, protectors and pillars of this transformed world.
Min-jun had waited with bated breath, a knot of anticipation tightening in his stomach as his own body changed. He'd imagined the possibilities: perhaps a minor telekinetic ability like being able to nudge small objects, or maybe even a weak elemental affinity, a flicker of flame in his palm.
But the months ticked by, each passing day a heavier weight on his young shoulders. His peers erupted in displays of newfound power, their System interfaces shimmering into existence like ethereal tattoos, displaying their ranks and skills for all to see. Min-jun's vision remained stubbornly clear, devoid of any such miraculous manifestation.
The school hallways had become a gauntlet of pitying glances and not-so-subtle taunts. "Still a Blank Slate, Min-jun?" Lee Jae-hyun, now boasting a flashy C-rank Flame Manipulation skill, would sneer, a tiny spark dancing on his fingertips for emphasis.
Park Sun-mi, her B-rank Telekinesis allowing her to effortlessly levitate her textbooks, would offer a condescending smile, her eyes laced with a mixture of pity and superiority. The whispers followed him like shadows: "Skill-less," "Useless," "A burden."
His father, a kind but ordinary man before the Invasion, had perished in the early chaotic months, caught in the crossfire of a sudden monster outbreak. His sacrifice was a painful memory, a constant reminder of the dangers of this new world and Min-jun's inability to contribute, to protect the only family he had left.
His Omma, a woman with a quiet strength that had only deepened after his father's death, was his sole source of solace. She would hold him close, her hand stroking his hair, and whisper words of comfort. "Min-jun-ah, the Awakening can sometimes be late. Don't lose hope. You still have a year."
But even her unwavering optimism couldn't fully penetrate the gloom that had settled over him. The one-year mark felt less like a deadline for a miracle and more like the expiration date on his last sliver of hope. The whispers in his own mind were the loudest: What if I awaken to something truly worthless? Something that will only invite more ridicule?
Ten months bled into the eleventh. While his former friends were being scouted by prestigious Awakener academies, institutions that promised to hone their skills and propel them towards greater power, Min-jun continued his mundane routine, the chasm between him and his peers widening with each passing day.
He'd started a rigorous physical training regimen, a desperate attempt to compensate for his lack of inherent power. Push-ups until his arms trembled, sprints until his lungs burned, clumsy attempts at basic martial arts forms he'd seen in old movies – it was a futile effort, he knew, but the act of trying offered a small measure of control in a world where he felt utterly powerless.
The one-year deadline loomed like a storm cloud. His Omma's comforting words became less frequent, replaced by worried glances. The silence in their small apartment grew heavier, punctuated only by the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against his desk as he tried, and failed, to focus on his schoolwork. His mind was a whirlwind of anxieties, a constant replay of mocking laughter and the crushing weight of his ordinariness.
Then came the day, a little over a year since the majority of his cohort had Awakened. Nothing. He woke up feeling the same dull ache in his muscles from his nightly training, the same familiar emptiness in his chest. No sudden surge of energy, no intuitive understanding of a hidden power, no shimmering blue notification in his vision. The world remained stubbornly, cruelly, unchanged for him.
The finality of it hit him like a physical blow. He walked through the school hallways that day, the laughter and displays of power around him feeling like a cruel mockery. Even the pitying glances seemed sharper now, tinged with a sense of dismissal. He was officially, irrevocably, left behind.
Sorrow clung to him like a shroud as he began his dejected walk home. The setting sun cast long, distorted shadows that seemed to mirror his own feelings of inadequacy. He barely registered the familiar sights of his neighborhood, his mind lost in a haze of disappointment.
Two days later, as he lay listlessly on his bed, staring at the cracked paint on the ceiling, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer caught the corner of his eye. A translucent blue screen flickered into existence, so subtle he almost dismissed it as a trick of the light. But it remained, a single line of text that would forever alter the course of his life:
{Unique Skill Awakened: Lucid Dream Training (F-Rank)}
Lucid Dreaming? A wave of disbelief washed over him, quickly followed by a bitter disappointment.
After all this waiting, all this yearning for a power that could help him navigate this dangerous world, this was it? The ability to control his dreams? What possible use could that be against monsters with razor-sharp claws or Awakened wielding the very elements? It felt like a cruel cosmic joke, a final, mocking confirmation of his uselessness.
He barely mentioned it to his Omma that evening, mumbling something about a late Awakening of a minor, probably useless skill. He couldn't bring himself to voice the sheer anticlimax of it all.
Life at Jinhae Vocational School, a D-rank institution for late bloomers and those with less impressive skills, was a stark contrast to the gleaming academies his former classmates now attended.
The bullying, though perhaps less overtly malicious, persisted in the form of dismissive laughter and knowing glances. Park Sun-mi and Lee Jae-hyun, now shining examples of their former middle school's Awakened talent, were occasional, unwelcome visitors, their casual displays of power a constant reminder of his own perceived lack.
One particularly frustrating afternoon, while attempting to spar with another D-rank student whose E-rank Enhanced Speed left Min-jun constantly trailing behind, a group of upperclassmen, led by a boisterous C-rank Strength Enhancer named Kang Dong-chul, cornered him near the deserted training grounds. Dong-chul, known for his casual cruelty towards those he deemed weaker, smirked.
"Still flailing around like a fish out of water, Blank Slate?"
Fear, a familiar companion, coiled in Min-jun's gut. He braced for the usual taunts, maybe even a few shoves. But as Dong-chul's fist swung towards him, something shifted within Min-jun. A strange sense of focus descended, a clarity he hadn't felt before. In that split second, the countless hours he'd spent practicing basic blocks in his dream world, the phantom weight of an imaginary opponent, the precise angle of his arm – it all flooded back.
Instinctively, his arm rose, not with any significant strength, but with a surprising degree of precision, deflecting the brunt of Dong-chul's blow. A flicker of surprise crossed the bully's face.
It wasn't a strong block, and Min-jun still staggered from the impact, but it was… something. It was a movement he hadn't consciously learned in the real world, yet it felt strangely familiar, imprinted on his muscle memory.
The momentary surprise quickly faded, replaced by annoyance. Dong-chul and his cronies proceeded with their intended beatdown. Min-jun, despite the brief flicker of instinctive defense, was still physically outmatched. He crumpled to the ground, bruises blooming on his skin, the familiar taste of blood filling his mouth.
But amidst the pain and humiliation, a tiny spark of understanding had ignited. That block… it had come from his dream. His seemingly useless skill… perhaps it wasn't so useless after all.
Later that night, back in the quiet solitude of his dorm room, Min-jun tentatively focused his mind, recalling the faint blue shimmer from two days prior. This time, he willed it to appear, a silent plea for understanding. The translucent screen materialized before him:
{Name: Kim Min-jun}
{Rank: F}
{Level: 1}
{Strength: 5}
{Agility: 7}
{Stamina: 6}
{Mana: 2}
{Unique Skill: Lucid Dream Training (F-Rank) - Allows the user to perfectly simulate and learn skills and techniques within a lucid dream state. Proficiency gained in the dream world translates to real-world application. Current Focus: Basic Martial Arts}
Understanding dawned, slow but profound. His Lucid Dream Training wasn't about whimsical fantasies; it was a hyper-realistic training simulator within his own mind. Every hour spent practicing a sword stance, a precise kick, or a defensive maneuver in his lucid dreams could, theoretically, translate into real-world ability.
The F-rank likely indicated the current limitations – perhaps the transfer rate was low, or the complexity of skills he could learn was initially limited.
A fragile tendril of hope unfurled in his chest. It wasn't the explosive power his peers possessed, but it was something. It was a path, however arduous, towards becoming stronger.
The weight of silence that had clung to him for so long began to lift, replaced by a quiet, determined resolve. His training was about to begin, not in the harsh reality that had mocked him, but in the boundless potential of the world within his mind.