Kiran stirred, soreness crawling across his limbs like vines.
He sat up slowly, every inch of movement dragging a chorus of aches from his body. Still no sign of awakening. No spark. No surge. Just a body—sore, hollow, and slow.
But he had made a promise—to himself. He'd train every morning, no matter how wrecked he felt.
He dressed in silence. Tied his worn shoes, fingers fumbling from stiffness. Then dropped to the floor and started with push-ups. Each one felt like punishment. His shoulders trembled before ten. He forced twenty.
He shifted to sit-ups, then planks. His breath hitched in sharp bursts. Sweat collected on his brow, slicking down his back. His body screamed for rest, but he knew he didn't have the luxury.
After a shaky shower and a bite of stale protein, he slipped out the door. The path was the same as yesterday's.
The streets still filled with mutations—flashes of power everywhere.
Kiran didn't look up. Just kept walking.
At the school gates, the same orb scanned him.
DRONE: "Kiran Ren. Confirmed."
He entered "Mutation Theory & Applications I." Professor Rhys again. Good. He was the only person he met who saw him as a person and not as a class.
He took the same seat in the back.
Professor Rhys arrived not long after—coat fluttering slightly as he moved. Today, his mood seemed darker.
Rhys: "Yesterday we talked about evolution. Today we talk about regression."
He tapped the holo-board. A rotating image of a deformed beast—part human, part monster—spun slowly.
Rhys: "Mutation is power. But power without direction becomes instability. What happens when a mutation consumes the host? What happens when we as a species become overzealous?"
He flicked to the next slide—a series of blacked-out documents, blurred clan insignias, a series of redacted names and images.
Rhys: "There was a time, about a century ago, when a certain bloodline decided that natural evolution wasn't fast enough."
The screen flickered again, revealing distorted human forms—grotesque creatures with bulging veins and overgrown limbs, eyes split down the middle, mouths full of spiraling teeth.
Rhys: "They called themselves the Vey-Lorr Clan. Gifted researchers. Brilliant minds. But obsessed with the idea of forcibly advancing mutation potential."
Rhys continued: "They spliced dormant genes with demon beast genes. The results were horrifying."
He gestured to a final still image—security footage of a young boy collapsing mid-transformation. The timestamp blinked in red.
Rhys: "Some became monsters in body and mind. Others—far worse—retained human minds but lost the ability to feel."
The room was completely silent.
"They were said to be wiped out. Officially. But the point stands: evolution cannot be forced. Progress must be earned. Or it will turn on you."
He let that linger.
Then: "Dismissed."
In the hallway, students broke into discussion. Most shrugged the story off like it was folklore. Others nervously joked about the monsters.
Kiran passed a group of second years.
"Hey, did you see that guy in Class A? He was glowing through his skin. Probably Class D minimum."
"Yeah, must be nice. With our backgrounds, we'll be lucky to get a Class E."
Kiran walked on. Eyes forward. Words behind.
At lunch, he sat at the same back table.
He chewed through dry protein and grain bricks. His NexBand stuttered—screen artifacting. He tapped it, waited for it to stabilize, then dove into archived combat simulations. He scrolled through forums for mutation theory breakdowns, bookmarked training logs from known prodigies, and watched slowed footage of footwork patterns until his eyes burned. Movements he couldn't replicate. Not yet.
He memorized everything he could. During Physical Dynamics, he would attempt them. Fail, maybe. But try.
Then voices, again.
Student 1 (low): "That guy's still unawakened? Damn. I thought they'd weeded out the dead weight."
Student 2 (snickering): "Yeah, he's almost graduated. He won't be able to take the NMADEx if he doesn't awaken soon. Probably here as a joke case study."
Kiran didn't turn. Didn't flinch.
The words hit like stale wind—expected, dull, and exhausting. He kept chewing, forcing the tasteless food down.
By now, ridicule was routine. In this life, just like the last, his worth had already been measured and dismissed.
He wasn't able to change that in his last life, but this time would be different.
Physical Dynamics
Ajin Rok wasted no time.
"Line up."
Ajin's voice: "Three-phase assessment. Mutation or not—you're graded the same."
Phase One: Mobility Circuit
Obstacles formed in real time—a series of raised platforms, collapsible walls, and tilt-shifting floors under fluctuating pressure fields.
"Move!" barked Ajin.
A girl with wind-type propulsion launched ahead, vaulting off vertical panels mid-air. A tall boy phased through a turning wall. Kiran kept to the center path. Grounded, no fancy powers to help him.
He ducked, rolled, and timed his jumps. Slower, but deliberate. When a collapsing wall twisted his footing, he dropped into a slide and scrambled forward rather than stumble.
Phase Two: Reaction Grid
A dome of light formed. Drones hovered, blinking with randomized pulses. Each pulse triggered a ball to be shot at the students from any direction.
Ajin's voice echoed. "Dodge or take the hit. No shields. No counterstrikes."
One ball zipped past Kiran's ear. He flinched sideways.
Another slammed into his shoulder. Pain flared, but he stayed on his feet. He narrowed his eyes, reading the drones' rhythm.
Three volleys later, he ducked under one, sidestepped another. A final pulse grazed his side—but he stayed upright.
Phase Three: Endurance Dome
The final test was silent. A compression field activated within a shrinking kinetic dome. Gravity pressure increased with every second.
Most students called on their mutations. Kiran didn't have that luxury.
He widened his stance. Dug in his heels. His limbs shook under the strain, but he didn't drop. Not yet. Every breath grew heavier. A faint tremor spread up his spine.
The dome hissed—and increased its strength.
Kiran's knees buckled after withstanding 4 G's of pressure. He finally gave out and fell.
After the trial finished, the students lined up on the side of the gym.
Ajin walked the line, silent as he passed each student.
Ajin stopped at the front of the line. A holographic display blinked to life above his wristband.
"Scores," he said flatly. "Top ten posted now."
Names and rankings flashed into the air. Kiran scanned them quickly.
First place: Selene Vireth
Second: Aria Myrren
Third: Ral Vex…
Kiran's name didn't appear until well past the halfway mark.
67th out of 88.
Above him: mostly awakened students and children from local clans.
Below him: a scattering of unawakened students and a few F-rankers with unfortunate or unstable mutations—one boy who could only excrete resin from his fingertips, another whose bones became brittle under strain.
Ajin glanced once his way. Brief. Dismissive.
"Unawakened… a few surprises."
A few students turned toward him. He felt their eyes—curious, but not respectful. Just watching a flickering light, waiting for it to die.
He said nothing. He knew his name wasn't near the top, but he had no mutation to lean on, no clan to claim, no legacy to ride. For a flicker of a moment, he felt proud.
Evening.
He stumbled into his room. Collapsed. Stared at the floor. Shadows felt heavier than walls.
After thirty minutes of stillness, he rose.
He opened the combat sim video from lunch and mimicked the fighter's steps. Awkward, at first. His foot slipped. Then again. He practiced the stances. The transitions. The quick pivots. His body couldn't match the fluidity, but he tried.
He had no gift, no spark—only this. Only effort, and practice.
He studied. Strategies. Rift behavior. Training logs. Beast movement. Cadet tactics.
He meditated until his mind wandered. Then punished himself for that.
He rewrote his training schedule. Improving it based on what he learned.
And when he finally lay back in bed, every muscle screamed. His fingers were raw. His feet bruised. His neck stiff.
Day Two was done.
And he was still nothing.
But maybe that's where all monsters start.