The plaza fell quiet after the laughter died down, the echoes of mockery still hanging in the damp air. The turtle at Nika's feet wheezed pitifully, its cracked shell dull and mottled, its tiny limbs barely able to support its body. It looked so fragile that a single careless step could end its life.
For a long moment, nobody moved. The students whispered, the instructors frowned, and even the crystal at the altar dimmed, as if ashamed of what had just been summoned.
Nika lowered his gaze. His own reflection stared back at him in the faint puddle forming at his feet.
Seventeen years old. Messy black hair, strands falling over his forehead no matter how much he tried to brush them aside. His eyes were gray—not the clear silver of noble bloodlines, but the dull shade of worn-out stone. His face was narrow, forgettable, the kind you would pass by in a crowd without sparing a second glance.
His body wasn't much better. He was lanky, his frame still growing, with long arms that lacked muscle. His uniform hung loosely over him, patched too many times to count, the faded silver trim barely clinging to the fabric. Compared to the other students with bright eyes and confident stances, Nika looked like he didn't belong here at all.
And maybe he didn't.
But his hand, trembling though it was, reached down anyway. His fingers brushed over the turtle's shell. Rough. Cold. Alive.
This is it, he thought. This is where everything starts.
He remembered clearly: in the novel, the Nika Arlen of this world had recoiled. He had abandoned the turtle, humiliated and broken, and had walked straight into his death. But this wasn't that Nika. Not anymore.
When his hand lingered, the turtle's head shifted weakly. Its tiny black eyes blinked, and for just a second, Nika swore he saw a faint glow within them. A light so faint most people would miss it—but he didn't.
The crowd's whispers turned into open jeers.
"Hah! He actually kept it?"
"What an idiot. That thing won't even last a week."
"He should have broken the contract and tried again."
The instructor overseeing the altar cleared his throat, his expression a mix of pity and annoyance. "Student Nika Arlen,do you accept this beast as your partner?"
His voice carried the weight of ceremony, but even he seemed to expect rejection.
Nika didn't hesitate. "I do."
The laughter erupted again, sharper this time, but Nika ignored it. The contract seal glowed faintly on his hand, binding the turtle to him. A pulse of warmth spread through his veins—not strong, not overwhelming, but steady. A fragile bond, yet undeniable.
The turtle let out a wheeze, then tucked its head into its cracked shell. The bond was sealed.
"Very well," the instructor said, shaking his head. "Step back."
Nika rose to his feet, cradling the turtle carefully in his arms. It was heavier than it looked, and every step he took was accompanied by more whispers and chuckles from the crowd. But beneath the mockery, beneath the humiliation, his heart beat with a stubborn fire.
Because he knew. He knew the truth hidden in the novel's lore.
This "sick turtle" wasn't worthless. It was the seed of something greater.
The ceremony continued. Student after student stepped forward, placing their hands on the altar, summoning beasts that shone with brilliance. A boy in the front row called forth a crimson hawk, its wings blazing with fire. The crowd gasped, applauding. Another student summoned a silver wolf pup, small but brimming with vitality and strength.
Every new summon was met with cheers, admiration, envy.
Nika stood silently in the back row, his turtle curled against his chest, shivering with every noise. Compared to the vibrant creatures filling the plaza, his partner looked like a dying ember in a sea of fire.
He could feel eyes on him. Pity. Amusement. Disdain. He didn't need to hear their words to know what they thought.
Loser. Trash. Dead weight.
In the novel, this was the turning point. This was where the world decided who would rise and who would fall. And Nika Arlen had been destined to fall.
But Masato—the soul inside this body—refused that ending.
He ran his hand gently over the turtle's cracked shell. "Don't listen to them," he whispered under his breath. "You're not trash. You're just waiting."
The turtle stirred faintly, its eyes blinking up at him again. For the briefest moment, Nika thought he saw a flicker of something—recognition, or maybe trust.
The plaza erupted once more as the protagonist stepped forward.
He recognized the boy instantly. Tall, broad-shouldered, with golden hair that gleamed even under the gray sky. His eyes were sharp, confident, glowing with that unmistakable aura of someone chosen by fate. The crowd went silent in reverence, as though the very air bent around him.
This was the novel's hero. The "Star of Dawn."
When his hand touched the altar, the light was blinding. Gasps echoed as the figure of a majestic beast appeared—a white lion cub with golden markings, radiating divine energy. Even in its young form, its presence dwarfed every other summon.
The plaza erupted into cheers.
"Unbelievable!"
"A Divine Beast!"
"He really is chosen!"
Nika forced his eyes away. He already knew this scene by heart. He had read it a hundred times. This was the moment the novel's story began, the rise of the true hero.
But this time, Nika wasn't a reader. He wasn't an outsider watching from beyond the pages.
He was inside the story.
And he refused to let it play out the same way.
By the time the last student finished, the rain had stopped. The clouds remained, but a faint light broke through, illuminating the plaza. The instructors dismissed the students, instructing them to care for their new beasts and report to training the next day.
The crowd dispersed quickly, clustering around the lucky ones with flashy summons. The air was full of chatter and laughter, buzzing with excitement for the future.
No one approached Nika.
He stood alone at the edge of the plaza, holding his turtle close, the laughter of others still ringing in his ears. His body ached—his limbs too long, his frame too thin, his reflection still screaming mediocrity. His dull gray eyes, his messy black hair, his patched uniform—all of it marked him as a nobody.
But inside, his heart burned.
"This world thinks you're useless," he whispered to the turtle. "But I know better. I know what you'll become. And I'll be with you every step of the way."
The turtle made a faint sound, a tiny "hrrk," before burrowing deeper into his arms. Nika smiled faintly.
For the first time since waking up in this body, he didn't feel like a stranger.
He felt determined.
The Beast Selection was over. The world had already judged him.
But he would prove them wrong.
And this "nobody," forgotten by the story, would begin to carve his own path.