The moment Nika stepped away from the altar, the laughter grew louder.
It wasn't just a few chuckles anymore—it was a storm. Dozens of voices rose at once, mocking, sneering, each word like a knife digging into his ears.
"Hah! A turtle? Seriously?"
"Not even a healthy one. Look at it—it can barely breathe!"
"Arlen's doomed. He'll be dead before the next Gate raid."
The plaza echoed with cruel amusement. Even the instructors struggled to hide their disappointment. One of them, an old man with thinning hair, shook his head and muttered something about "a wasted spot." Another instructor smirked behind his hand, as if the outcome had been inevitable.
Nika lowered his eyes, clutching the trembling turtle closer to his chest. Its shell felt rough beneath his palm, its tiny heartbeat weak but steady. The creature wheezed, curling into itself as if trying to escape the ridicule surrounding them.
His lips tightened.
So this is what it feels like… to be laughed at by the entire world.
Back in his old life, Masato had been invisible. People didn't mock him—most didn't even notice he existed. He wasn't strong, or handsome, or gifted. He was the guy who sat in the back of the classroom, the guy whose name even his professors forgot.
But here, as Nika Arlen, he wasn't invisible. He was a spectacle. A joke.
And strangely… it was worse.
Because every pair of eyes saw him now. Not as a person, not as a student, but as a failure to be laughed at.
His fingers dug into the turtle's shell. The crowd blurred at the edges of his vision. He forced his legs to keep moving, step by step, until he reached the end of the line.
Someone stuck out a foot.
Nika stumbled but managed to catch himself before he fell. The turtle let out a tiny squeak, distressed. Snickers erupted from behind him.
"Careful, Arlen. Wouldn't want to crush your precious turtle."
"Not like it matters. That thing's already half-dead."
Nika didn't turn around. He didn't answer. His gray eyes stayed fixed on the ground, but inside, his thoughts burned.
They think I'll break. They think I'll cry, throw the turtle away, and admit they're right. That's what the Nika of this world did. But I'm not him. Not anymore.
The ceremony continued, but nobody paid attention to the students who followed. Their beasts might have been rare or impressive, but the laughter surrounding Nika lingered like smoke.
He stole a glance at the protagonist—the golden-haired boy who had summoned the divine lion cub. Of course, the hero wasn't mocked. He stood in the center of attention, bathed in admiration, his beast radiating light. The hero didn't even look at Nika. Why would he? A star had no reason to notice a grain of sand.
Nika's chest tightened.
In the novel, this was exactly how it played out. The world adored the hero, ignored the villains, and crushed the nobodies beneath their feet. That was the flow of fate.
But Masato—no, Nika—had knowledge the others didn't.
He knew what the turtle could become.
When the ceremony finally ended, the students began to disperse. Some crowded around the hero, showering him with praise. Others boasted about their own beasts, eager to flaunt their future potential.
Nika stood apart.
A girl with long auburn hair brushed past him, wrinkling her nose. "Ugh. Don't bring that thing near me. It smells like it's already rotting."
Her friends giggled, tossing their hair, walking away without another glance.
He ignored them.
The turtle squirmed weakly in his arms, as if it understood the disdain directed at it. Its tiny eyes blinked up at him, full of something that looked dangerously close to fear.
Nika exhaled slowly.
"Don't worry," he whispered. "You're not trash. They just don't know yet."
The turtle blinked again. Its breathing steadied ever so slightly.
The walk back to the dorms was long and lonely. Students laughed and chatted around him, comparing beasts, bragging about contracts. None of them walked near Nika. He was an island, cut off from the tide of excitement sweeping the academy.
His dorm room was small and damp, the cracked ceiling dripping faintly in the corner. He placed the turtle gently on the bed. It curled up, tucking its head beneath its cracked shell, letting out a soft wheeze.
Nika sat beside it, resting his elbows on his knees. His reflection stared back at him from the window's darkened glass.
Messy black hair, dull gray eyes, narrow face. A body too thin, too fragile. Nothing about him screamed strength or greatness.
But the fire in his eyes was different now.
Let them laugh. Let them mock me. They can't see the truth yet. This turtle… you… you'll become something they can't even imagine.
His mind drifted back to the novel's lore. He remembered the obscure passages, the side notes most readers skipped over. The Eternal World Turtle—an evolution path so rare it had only been mentioned once. A beast that could withstand entire continents on its back, its shell said to be harder than divine steel.
And it started as this.
A sickly, cracked-shell turtle no one wanted.
His lips curved into a faint smile.
They don't know it, but today, I've already stolen the future.
The next morning, the plaza was alive again. Students gathered for their first training session with their new beasts. Excitement buzzed in the air. The instructors called for demonstrations, eager to see what each contract could do.
One by one, students stepped forward, showing off the strength of their summons. Firehawks screeched flames into the sky, wolves bared their fangs and howled, serpents coiled with venom dripping from their fangs.
And then—
"Nika Arlen. Step forward."
The laughter began even before he moved.
"Oh, this will be good."
"Can't wait to see the mighty turtle in action."
"Maybe it'll roll over and die on command."
Nika tightened his grip on the turtle, stepping into the circle. The instructors looked bored already.
He placed the turtle on the ground. It blinked slowly, looking around the circle of sneering faces. For a moment, it froze, trembling under the weight of every gaze.
Nika knelt beside it, lowering his voice so only it could hear.
"They think we're weak. They think we don't belong. But we'll show them. Not today, not tomorrow—but one day."
The turtle blinked again. Then, slowly, it extended its tiny legs, dragging itself forward a few inches. The movement was clumsy, weak, almost laughable.
And laugh they did.
The plaza shook with ridicule. Students doubled over, clutching their stomachs, pointing at the pathetic sight. Even the instructors smirked, making no effort to hide their disdain.
But Nika didn't flinch.
He crouched lower, his gray eyes locked onto the turtle, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Good job," he whispered. "You moved forward."
The turtle wheezed softly, its eyes glimmering faintly.
Nobody else saw it. Nobody else cared. But Nika did.
And that was enough.
Because he knew—this was just the beginning.
The laughter of the world didn't matter.
One day, they would choke on their own voices.