The drone of the history teacher, Mr. Abe, was the perfect soundtrack for a sleepy Thursday afternoon. Outside the windows of Class 2-B, the sun beat down on the athletic field, and the faint shouts of a gym class were a distant call to a freedom we couldn't yet have. I, Kaito Tanaka, was jotting down notes, not on the Meiji Restoration as I was supposed to be, but on the aerodynamic inefficiencies of the paper airplane that had just crash-landed on the windowsill. The weight distribution was all wrong.
To my right, Kenji Yamamoto, the ace of the baseball team and the undisputed king of our class, was barely awake, his head propped up on a brawny arm. To my left, Emi Sato was listening intently, her pen scratching neatly across her notebook. She always took things seriously. She was kind, quiet, and possessed a sort of gentle gravity that made you want to be a better person just by being near her.
It was a perfectly ordinary, mind-numbingly normal day. And then, it wasn't.
It began without sound. A golden light, brighter than the sun, bled through the windows. It didn't cast shadows; it consumed them. Mr. Abe's lecture on industrialization faltered, his chalk falling from his hand with a soft clack. Everyone stared as intricate, glowing patterns, like a circuit board designed by a god, spread across the floor, the walls, the ceiling. It enveloped our desks, our bodies, a warm and terrifying light that hummed with an impossible power.
"What... is that?!" someone screamed.
Panic erupted. Chairs scraped against the floor. But there was nowhere to run. The light intensified, and the sensation of falling rushed over me—not down, but in every direction at once. The world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of gold, and then, blackness.
When awareness returned, it was to the scent of incense and cool stone. My classmates were groaning, picking themselves up from a polished obsidian floor. We were no longer in our classroom. We were in a vast, cavernous hall, the likes of which I'd only seen in fantasy movies. Towering marble pillars held up a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations I didn't recognize. At the far end of the hall, seated on an ornate throne, was a man with a golden crown and a severe expression. He was flanked by knights in gleaming silver armor and stern-faced individuals in opulent robes.
"They have arrived, Your Majesty," one of the robed men said, his voice echoing in the silence.
We were all there. All thirty-two students from Class 2-B, and even a bewildered Mr. Abe.
Before any of us could fully process the situation, a voice, serene and powerful, echoed not in our ears, but directly in our minds.
" Welcome, brave heroes from another world. "
A woman materialized in the center of the hall, composed of shimmering, ethereal light. She was beautiful in a way that defied description, her presence both calming and overwhelmingly powerful.
" I am the Goddess Elysia. I have answered the desperate prayers of the Kingdom of Elysia and have summoned you to save this world, Aethelgard, from the encroaching darkness of the Demon Lord. "
The mental speech was a torrent of information. She explained the war, the suffering of the people, and our role as prophesied heroes. To aid us, she would bestow upon us a gift—a divine protection known as the "System."
" With this power, you will grow in ways you cannot imagine. You will have classes, skills, and levels. Now, awaken to your potential! "
A wave of gentle warmth washed over us. I felt a strange tingling sensation, like my very soul was being scanned and cataloged. Around me, gasps of astonishment erupted.
"Whoa! I can see something! It's like a game screen!" a boy shouted.
"Status Open!" Kenji Yamamoto boomed, a confident smirk already on his face. A translucent blue panel, visible only to him, clearly lit up his eyes. His smirk widened. "Heh. My class is... [Hero]. Seems about right."
A murmur of excitement rippled through the class.
"I'm a [Mage]!" "I got [Swordsman]!" "Look, I'm a [Saintess]!" Yuna Suzuki, the class president, cried out, a soft, holy light enveloping her.
Everyone was shouting out their newfound roles, their stats, their unique skills. It was a cacophony of joyous discovery. Even Mr. Abe looked stunned, muttering that he had received a class called [Strategist].
I closed my eyes, took a breath, and focused inward, mimicking the others.
Status Open.
I waited.
Nothing.
I tried again, with more force of will. Status Open!
Silence. No screen. No voice in my head. No feeling of power. There was just me, Kaito Tanaka, in my school uniform, standing on a cold, foreign floor.
A robed man, holding a crystal that glowed with a soft light, began to move down the line of students, appraising each one. "Class: [Hero]. An S-Rank rarity! Magnificent!" he declared at Kenji. "Class: [Saintess]. Also S-Rank! The goddess has truly blessed us!" he exclaimed at Yuna. "Class: [Archmage], A-Rank." "Class: [Holy Knight], A-Rank."
He moved methodically, his voice filled with increasing excitement. They were all incredible. Warriors, mages, assassins, tamers... a whole class of powerhouse heroes. He finally stood before me. The other students quieted down, noticing I hadn't yet shouted out a class.
The appraiser raised his crystal. It remained dull. He frowned, tapping it as if it were broken.
"What is your class, boy?" he asked, his tone laced with impatience.
"I... don't think I have one," I said, my voice sounding small in the vast hall.
The man scoffed and brought the crystal right up to my forehead. It remained as inert as a common stone. A flicker of confusion, then annoyance, crossed his face. He turned to the King.
"Your Majesty... this one has no class. No skills. No status. There is... nothing. He is a Commoner."
The word hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Commoner. In this context, it wasn't a descriptor; it was a verdict. A brand.
The King, who had been watching with a pleased expression, now scowled. "A defect? The divine summoning was flawless. How is this possible?"
The goddess of light, who had been observing silently, spoke once more, her voice lacking its earlier warmth.
" The summoning ritual targets souls with high potential. It is a statistical certainty that anomalies may occur. This boy is an unwanted variable, a statistical error. He possesses no aptitude for mana. He is useless to our cause. "
Useless.
The word struck me harder than any physical blow. Around me, the atmosphere shifted. The excited chatter of my classmates died. Their gazes turned towards me. I saw pity in some, like Emi Sato, who looked at me with worried eyes. I saw scorn in others. And worst of all, I saw indifference in most. I was a bug in the system. An error message.
Kenji scoffed audibly. "Seriously? Tanaka? Figures. He was always just a bookworm, useless in a real fight."
The King waved a dismissive hand. "Take the heroes to their quarters. Prepare a feast for them. As for him..." he gestured to me, "put him with the castle servants. If he can't fight, he can at least wash the dishes. Do not let him be a burden."
And just like that, I was separated. While my classmates were led away like honored guests towards a life of adventure and glory, two guards roughly grabbed my arms and dragged me in the opposite direction, down a cold, dark corridor.
As they pushed me into a small, musty room with nothing but a straw bed, the reality of my situation crashed down. I wasn't a hero. I wasn't even a warrior. I was a mistake. A powerless, 17-year-old boy, stranded in another world where power was everything, and I had none.
I sat on the edge of the lumpy bed, the stone walls cold against my back. Despair was a tempting abyss. It would be so easy to fall into it. To curse my luck, to cry, to give up.
But then, another feeling rose from the depths of my gut. A cold, sharp, and intensely focused anger.
They called me useless. A defect. A variable.
I clenched my fists. A variable is something that can change the outcome of an equation. The goddess, the king, my classmates—they were all looking at this world through the lens of their "System." They saw stats, skills, and classes. It was a predefined set of rules.
But I had no system. I was outside their rules.
They saw magic as a gift. I saw it as a form of energy yet to be understood. They had swords. I knew physics, leverage, and metallurgy. They had healing spells. I knew about biology, sanitation, and chemistry.
They had been given power. I would have to make my own.
I pulled a pen and a small, half-used notebook from my school blazer's inner pocket. They hadn't bothered to take it from me. It was worthless to them.
To me, it was everything.
I opened to a fresh page. The light from the small, barred window was faint, but it was enough. At the top of the page, I wrote my first entry.
Project Title: The Aethelgard Repatriation Equation.
Variable 1: A world governed by an observable, if misunderstood, energy source called 'mana'.Variable 2: A native population reliant on a divine 'System' that stifles innovation.Variable 3: Thirty-one summoned 'heroes' with immense power but limited understanding.Variable 4: Me. The anomaly. The outcast.
A grim smile touched my lips for the first time in this new world.
They were all playing a game where they could see the rules. I was the only one who knew it was possible to write new ones. My battlefield would not be one of swords and sorcery. It would be one of wits, logic, and the unyielding power of the human intellect. And I would survive. I would find a way home.