The first thing Marcel noticed when he came to was the sound.
A steady, rhythmic beep… beep… beep. It echoed faintly in his ears, dragging his thoughts up from the black pit of unconsciousness. The second thing was the smell—a sterile, almost chemical tang that clung to his nose. The third was the light, sharp and blinding when he cracked open his eyes.
Marcel winced, groaning as his vision swam.
"…What the hell…"
White walls. Fluorescent lights. A monitor beside his bed tracking his pulse.
He was in… a hospital.
For a long, silent moment, he just lay there staring at the ceiling. His mind spun, trying to piece together the last fragments of memory.
The warehouse. The screaming. The crashing Raiders tearing through steel and flesh alike. The desperate run for the exit. His coworkers leaving him behind. The pain—so much pain—that burned through every nerve as claws and fists slammed into him.
And then…
He shuddered, swallowing hard. His breath hitched as vague flashes replayed: a glowing window in the air, runes spinning, a wheel rolling rarities. Something about a summon. A name. Zeus.
And then—golden lightning splitting the air. A woman's silhouette bathed in stormlight. Her eyes blazing like thunder.
Marcel blinked rapidly, shaking his head. "No… no way. That… that had to be a dream. A hallucination. I was dying. My brain was just—just making shit up."
The beeping of the monitor sped up as his pulse quickened. He tried to sit up, but a sharp ache lanced through his ribs.
"Whoa, whoa—easy there."
A voice startled him. A nurse bustled in, clipboard in hand. She looked to be in her late twenties, sharp ponytail and tired eyes, the kind of calm professionalism that came from years of practice.
"You're lucky to even be conscious," she said, moving to his side. "We thought you wouldn't make it."
Marcel frowned. "What… what happened? How did I…" He gestured weakly to himself. "…survive?"
The nurse pursed her lips, flipping through her clipboard. "You were found unconscious at the site of the warehouse incident. The building was partially destroyed. Dozens injured, a handful dead. Raiders everywhere. But…" She paused, glancing at him. "All the Raiders inside were dead when first responders arrived. Torn apart, burned… fried, honestly. Looked like a high-ranking Ranger came through and cleared the area, but there wasn't a single witness who saw them leave."
Marcel froze. His mouth went dry. Fried? Lightning?
His mind instantly conjured the image of her again—the radiant woman crackling with golden stormlight.
"No…" he whispered to himself. "That… that's impossible."
The nurse raised an eyebrow. "You say something?"
"N-no." Marcel shook his head quickly, forcing a weak smile. "Sorry. Just… trying to remember."
The truth was, he did remember—at least in flashes—but it was insane. A glowing gacha screen? Summoning Zeus? No one would believe him. He barely believed it. The only thing that made sense was what the nurse said: a powerful Ranger must've intervened at the last moment, killed the Raiders, and vanished without recognition.
Yeah. That had to be it.
…..
Over the next few days, Marcel underwent several procedures. Scans, bloodwork, mana readings—he didn't even know half the names of the machines they strapped him into. But the strangest part was how fast he was healing. Wounds that should've taken weeks to mend seemed to knit within days. Bruises faded almost overnight.
By the end of the week, his doctor—a stern man with rectangular glasses—stood at the foot of his bed, arms crossed.
"Against all odds, you're back in peak health. No lingering internal damage, no fractures left untreated. It's as though…" He adjusted his glasses, squinting. "…your body simply accelerated its own recovery."
Marcel laughed nervously. "Guess I'm tougher than I thought."
The doctor didn't laugh. Instead, he tapped the chart in his hands. "That's not the only thing."
Marcel blinked. "What do you mean?"
The doctor handed over the results. At first, Marcel didn't understand what he was looking at—charts of energy readings, symbols, raw data. But then his eyes landed on the key phrase highlighted in bold.
«Mana Flow Detected».
Marcel's jaw nearly hit the floor. "Mana? That's—That's impossible. I've been tested before. I don't have mana. I—I've always been a non-awakened!"
"Not anymore." The doctor's voice was firm. "You have a visible mana signature now. It's faint, but it's there. Which means you've awakened."
Marcel's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "Y-you're joking, right? This is a mistake? Maybe your machine's broken? Maybe you mixed my chart with someone else's?"
The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "For the last time, young man, these results are accurate. You've awakened. Deal with it."
Marcel's head spun. His whole life, he'd been just another face in the crowd. Ordinary. Average. Powerless. And now—suddenly—he wasn't?
The doctor scribbled something on his chart and tore the page off, handing it to him. "Take this referral. Go to the closest branch of the Awakened Evaluation Association. They'll test you properly and classify your type."
Marcel stared at the slip of paper as though it were a death sentence. "…The AEA?"
"Yes. Don't delay. It's mandatory for all new Awakened."
The AEA.
The nurse explained it to him again later while checking his vitals.
Every awakened individual had to be evaluated and classified for both safety and regulatory reasons. With great power came responsibility—or, more cynically, government oversight.
There were types of Awakened, determined by how their abilities manifested:
Fighter (Close Combat): Enhanced strength, speed, martial abilities. The frontline warriors.
Vanguard (Versatile): Balanced between melee and ranged, often with weapon-enhancing powers.
Markman (Long Range): Precision attackers, often wielding guns or bows augmented with mana.
Tank (Defense): High endurance and durability, some capable of generating barriers.
Mage (Supportive):
Healers: Restore health, mend wounds, purify mana corruption.
Summoners: Call forth creatures, spirits, or constructs to fight for them.
Buffers: Enhance allies with temporary boosts.
Unique/Unknown: Rare, strange powers that defied categories—flight, telekinesis, shapeshifting, gravity manipulation, and other oddities still under study.
Classification wasn't just a formality. It dictated training, registration, even career paths.
And mandatory check-ins.
…..
When Marcel was finally discharged, he stepped out of the hospital with the referral paper still clutched in his hand. The cool air of the city hit him, smelling faintly of rain and exhaust. People bustled around, cars honked, life moved on as though the warehouse incident was just another footnote in a dangerous world.
Marcel stopped on the sidewalk, staring down at his reflection in a puddle. His brown hair was messy, dark circles under his eyes. Same old him.
But inside?
Mana.
He rubbed his temples. "Great… just great. My 'peace and quiet' is officially gone."
Because once you awakened, there was no going back. The government wanted regular reports. The AEA demanded monthly check-ins. It meant scrutiny. Expectations. Being forced to join battles he never wanted part in.
All he'd ever wanted was a normal life. Classes. Hanging out with his friends. Part-time work at the warehouse. Video games at night. Peace and quiet.
Now that peace was over.
He snorted bitterly. "Well… at least I get powers, right? Maybe I'll be able to shoot fireballs. Or… I dunno, fly."
But the doubt gnawed at him.
What if his ability was something lame? People had awakened to things like… floating a few inches off the ground. Or partially seeing through walls. Or sneezing lightning bolts. Not every power was flashy. Some were outright humiliating.
He squeezed the referral paper tighter, lips twisting.
"Please," he muttered under his breath. "Please don't let it be something that makes me stand out. Just… something boring. Something small. Let me keep my life normal."