The air in the vast training field of Ares Military Academy hummed with a chaotic symphony of power. The whir of robotic servos, the crack of energy-infused strikes, and the shouts of determined students blended into a constant roar. All around, young men and women in sleek black training uniforms moved with a power and grace that Icarus Morningstar could only dream of.
In a forgotten corner of the field, he gritted his teeth, his entire body tense. His opponent was a standard-issue training robot, its gray chassis scarred with the marks of countless spars. It was set to Level One, the absolute lowest difficulty, a setting most students outgrew in their first week.
For Icarus, it was a mountain.
Clang!
A metal fist, unpadded and unforgiving, slammed into his forearm as he fumbled a block. A jolt of painful static shot up his arm, making his fingers go numb. He stumbled back, his worn-out training boots skidding on the polished floor. The robot, following its simple programming, pressed forward, its optical sensors glowing a placid blue. It didn't need to be aggressive; its basic strength was more than enough.
This was his new reality. It had only been a week since he'd woken up in this body, in this world so different from his own. The memories were still a blur, a confusing mess of a past life on a peaceful Earth and a new one in a world locked in a permanent war for survival.
He had learned the terrifying history quickly. Three thousand years ago, the barriers between worlds had thinned. A hostile, magical reality that humanity called the "Diety World" began to overlap with their own, creating unstable pockets of space known as 4th Dimensions. From these wounds in reality, horrifying Mutated Beasts poured forth, creatures of nightmare that nearly drove humanity to extinction.
But humanity fought back, not with the technology of his old world, but with something new, something born from the crisis itself. Humans awakened extraordinary abilities, powers etched into their very DNA called Genetic Talents. They learned to harness the powerful and dangerous Nuclear Energy that now permeated the world, using it to fuel their bodies and their talents, becoming super soldiers capable of fighting the monsters.
Everyone had a chance. Everyone, it seemed, except him.
He had awakened no Genetic Talent. His body's ability to absorb Nuclear Energy was pitifully low. In a world where power was everything, he had none. His official rank was F, a civilian-level designation that, in a military academy, was a mark of absolute failure.
"Look, it's Icarus the Zero," a sharp voice cut through his concentration.
He glanced over. A few students had paused their own training to watch his pathetic struggle. The one who spoke, a burly student with a permanent sneer, pointed at him. "Can you believe it? He's been here a month and still can't beat a Level One bot. What a waste of a spot."
His friends snickered. The mocking laughter was like a thousand tiny needles, a pain far sharper than the robot's punches. He tried to ignore them, to focus on the fight, but their words echoed in his ears. Zero. Failure. Waste.
The robot lunged again. Icarus dodged, but his movement was clumsy, his feet getting tangled. He tripped and fell backward, landing hard on the ground.
"Still struggling, Icarus?"
A smooth, confident voice spoke from above. Icarus looked up into the handsome face of Damien Thorne. With his perfectly styled blond hair, chiseled features, and the easy confidence of the truly powerful, Damien was the star of their class. He was an A-rank, possessing a rare and powerful Genetic Talent that made him a prodigy. He looked down at Icarus, a smile on his face that never quite reached his cold, calculating eyes.
"That looks painful," Damien said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. "You're not learning anything by getting tossed around like that. Here, let me give you a hand. I'll help you train."
Before Icarus could even find the words to refuse, Damien moved. He didn't stroll over; he blurred, appearing right in front of the training robot and shoving it aside with casual strength. His focus was entirely on Icarus, who was still trying to scramble to his feet.
This was not help. This was an execution.
Damien didn't hold back. A faint shimmer of blue Nuclear Energy coated his knuckles as he threw a punch. It wasn't just a simple strike; it was a combat art, a technique that focused energy for maximum impact. The blow wasn't a spar; it was a hammer. It caught Icarus in the stomach, lifting him off his feet. The air whooshed from his lungs in a pained gasp, and his vision swam with black spots.
He landed hard in the gray dust, the world spinning. Through the haze of pain, he saw Damien standing over him, dusting off his hands as if he'd just done something trivial.
"See? You have to be aggressive. You have to commit to the attack," Damien lectured, his voice loud enough for the other students to hear. "That's how you do it. Maybe if you pay attention, you'll learn something."
The other students chuckled, impressed by the casual display of power. To them, Damien was a hero, teaching the class zero a lesson. To Icarus, he was just a bully, no different from the ones in his past life.
He lay there, the familiar taste of dust and blood filling his mouth. He had hoped, prayed, that this second chance at life would be different. But the universe seemed to enjoy laughing at him. He was still weak, still a target, still a failure. Despair was a cold, heavy blanket, threatening to smother the last embers of his will. He closed his eyes, wishing he could just disappear.
It was in that moment of absolute hopelessness, a darkness deeper than any he had ever known, that a voice spoke. It wasn't human. It was cold, precise, and echoed not in the training field, but directly inside his mind.
[Environmental conditions met: Host has reached absolute despair.]
[Ancient Matrix System activating...]
Icarus's eyes snapped open. The world was the same, but different. The sounds of the training field seemed distant, muffled.
[Searching for suitable host... Host found.]
[Binding to soul... Binding successful.]
[Host confirmed: Icarus Morningstar.]
A transparent blue screen, like something from a video game in his old world, shimmered into existence in his field of vision. It hovered there, glowing faintly, visible only to him. Lines of text scrolled across it with impossible speed before settling into a clear, readable format.
『 System Interface 』
══════════════════════════
┌──────[ Profile ]──────┐
│ │
│ [Host]: Icarus Morningstar │
│ [Level]: 0 │
│ [Rank]: F-Rank (Civilian) │
│ │
├──────[ Attributes ]───┤
│ [Strength]: 9 │
│ [Physique]: 8 │
│ [Speed]: 9 │
│ [Potential Points]: 0 │
│ │
├──────[ Abilities ]────┤
│ [Genetic Talent]: None │
│ [Skills]: None │
│ │
└─────────────────────────┘
He stared, his mind reeling. Was this a hallucination brought on by the pain? A dream? The numbers on the screen were a brutal confirmation of his reality. His Strength was a pathetic 9, barely enough to lift a heavy crate, while students like Damien were likely over 50. His Physique of 8 explained why every hit felt like it was breaking his bones. His Genetic Talent line was just two empty, mocking words: None.
He was, in every measurable way, a zero.
But this screen... this "System"... it was something new. The despair that had crushed him just moments ago began to recede, pushed back by a flood of shock and disbelief.
In its place, something new and sharp took root.
Hope.
And with it, a cold, burning determination.