Orientation night at Orion Academy was supposed to be unforgettable—for the right reasons. The lights, the drones, the banners unfurling from steel towers that lined the arena, all screamed ambition. Three thousand first-year students sat in neat, color-coded bleachers, a carnival of classes and crests. It was the Academy's grand spectacle, the annual reminder that the future of the Federation's strength was being forged here, in a city-sized campus.
And I, Ethan Vale, was about to be remembered for the wrong reason.
The dean spoke in soaring rhetoric about potential and frontiers, but nobody was listening by the time Mira Cho, Alpha Class silver draped over her shoulders, walked onto the stage and stole the mic with the certainty of someone who never failed.
Her words cut through the reverb: "Ethan Vale, you're a decent person. But I can't keep pretending. I can't be dragged down by mediocrity."
The crowd hushed, then roared. Three thousand phones rose to immortalize my public execution. The LED wall above flashed in giant, unforgiving type: MIRA CHO DUMPS ETHAN VALE.
My seat in the Omega Class bleachers suddenly felt like a coffin.
Jay, my best friend and fellow Omega, leaned in with wide eyes. "Congrats, bro. You're trending."
"Like food poisoning," I muttered.
The laughter that rippled across the stadium hurt worse than Mira's words. Strangers howled. Some applauded. Someone shouted, "Omega forever!" like it was a curse.
Mira gave me the coup de grâce: a sympathetic smile. Pity—the most toxic emotion of all. Then she turned, graceful as a dancer, and walked back into Alpha territory.
The dean tried to salvage order, but Lucas Drake—Student Council President, heir to the Drake Consortium, walking jawline advertisement—stepped forward, polished to perfection. "Brave honesty," he said, nodding at Mira. His eyes turned to me. "And resilience, I'm sure, from our Omega peers. Right, Vale?"
My chest burned. My mind wanted to run, to disappear. But my mouth said, "We bounce. Like defective products."
Laughter, sharper this time. Phones zoomed in. I'd given them another meme.
Lucas wasn't done. He turned to the dean, then back to the crowd. "Perhaps we can demonstrate Omega resilience with a friendly exhibition. After the keynote. Two minutes on the sparring stage. I'll take an Omega volunteer."
The arena purred with anticipation.
Jay hissed, "Don't. Don't you dare."
I stood. "I volunteer."
Silence fell over the Omega section. The jumbotron locked on my face, broadcasting my stupidity. Lucas's smile sharpened. "Brave indeed. After the keynote, then."
He winked at Mira. The phones screamed.
⸻
The Arena
Minutes later, the central platform blazed under stadium lights. Orion blue and white constellations painted the mat. Alpha students crowded the front rows, eager for blood.
I walked the tunnel to the stage, Jay trailing like a panicked parent. My nerves were static. My fists clenched and unclenched.
Then—the blackout.
The entire arena went dark. Gasps. A thousand phones flicked flashlights. For a heartbeat, silence swallowed everything.
And then it appeared.
A line of glyphs burned across my vision, not on the LED, not AR. Inside me.
INITIALIZING…
SUPREME SYSTEM v1.0
USER: ETHAN VALE
STATUS: UNDERQUALIFIED. UNDERVALUED. UNDER-ESTIMATED.
TUTORIAL QUEST: SURVIVE TWO MINUTES.
REWARD: +3 LEVELS. +1 REPUTATION.
FAILURE: PUBLIC DEATH (METAPHORICAL OR OTHERWISE).
I froze. My pulse thundered. "Jay," I whispered. "Do you see that?"
"See what?"
So—only me.
The lights snapped back. Brass fanfare roared. Lucas stood center stage, exo-brace glinting on his wrist. Mira watched, arms folded, expression unreadable.
The HUD flickered again.
SCANNING OPPONENT: LUCAS DRAKE.
AUGMENT: CLASS II EXO-BRACE (SHOW MODE).
RECOMMENDATION: ACCEPT FIRST HIT. LEARN HIS RHYTHM.
The referee signaled. Two minutes on the clock.
Lucas moved. Not rushed—deliberate. His fist touched my chest like a hammer wrapped in silk. My body flew.
The crowd roared with glee. Phones captured my humiliation in 4K.
The HUD ticked: -12% STABILITY.
GOOD NEWS: YOU FOLLOWED INSTRUCTIONS. BAD NEWS: YOUR RIBS AGREE WITH HIM.
WINDOW ACQUIRED: 0.9S AFTER NEXT FEINT.
I staggered up, pain radiating, but something inside me shifted. A defiance.
Lucas smirked. "Still playful?"
"Just warming up," I rasped.
He attacked again. This time I slipped sideways, body moving with HUD guidance. My fist drove into his ribs, four centimeters higher than before. The brace hissed, absorbing—but not enough.
Lucas's breath caught. Small, but real. Phones zoomed in. Commentary feeds exploded.
"Lucky angle," Lucas said, tight.
"Statistically reproducible luck," I shot back.
+1 WIT. NOT A REAL STAT. JUST KEEP TALKING.
The crowd noise shifted. Mockery fractured into curiosity.
⸻
The Fight Turns
Lucas grew serious. His tempo doubled, brace singing. For ten seconds, I was drowning. HUD screamed breath counts: four in, six out. I obeyed. The storm slowed. Patterns emerged.
High feint. Low strike. Micro-lag in the servo.
Window.
I struck, chaining jab-step-shoulder-hip-drive. The blow landed where his brace faltered. Lucas stumbled. The arena gasped.
Phones captured disbelief. A recruiter in the VIP box leaned forward.
Lucas, furious, rushed. Pride pushed him. I pivoted, used his momentum, leveraged physics, and threw him to the mat.
Silence.
Then chaos.
The crowd erupted. Mira's mask cracked. Jay exploded in Omega bleachers. The HUD chimed:
TUTORIAL COMPLETE: SURVIVE TWO MINUTES.
REWARD: +3 LEVELS | +1 CAMPUS REPUTATION.
NEW FEATURE UNLOCKED: QUICK STUDY (PASSIVE).
EFFECT: LEARN FASTER FROM HUMILIATION AND SMALL VICTORIES.
I laughed, half-shocked.
Lucas rose with careful dignity. The mic caught his strained voice: "Where did you learn that?"
"Orientation Night," I said. "Very educational."
The horn sounded. Two minutes. The ref raised our wrists, but the crowd had already chosen. The clip went viral before I even left the mat.
⸻
Viral
By morning, the campus net was on fire.
OMEGA VS DRAKE trended. Memes multiplied. Half mocked me, half idolized. "Trash-tier hero" was one headline; "Omega Revolution" was another.
Friend requests flooded. Some girls from Beta Class suddenly wanted to know if I needed "study partners."
Faculty noticed too. Dr. Havel of Practical Kinetics summoned me. His eyes dissected my vitals, confused. "Your metrics are… irregular. Where did you train?"
"Mostly the cafeteria," I said.
He frowned. Notes scribbled. Concern in his brow—cheating? Black-market augments?
Meanwhile, Lucas seethed. Alpha cliques whispered. And Mira—Mira found me by the courtyard fountain.
"You humiliated me," she said.
"You humiliated me first," I replied.
She paused, lips twitching. "There will be consequences. Recruiters, vultures, people who want to own you. Be careful."
"Thanks for the heartfelt warning," I said.
Her eyes softened just a fraction. "Unpredictability is dangerous. Even more dangerous than weakness."
Before I could reply, she was gone.
⸻
The System Speaks
That night, alone in the dorm, the HUD flickered alive.
NOTICE: ATTENTION ATTRACTED.
CERTAIN INFRASTRUCTURES DETECT NON-NATIVE AUGMENTS.
NEXT QUEST: INTENSIVE ADAPTATION — 72 HOURS.
FAILURE: SYSTEM MAY TAKE REMEDIAL ACTION.
Remedial action. The words chilled me.
I stared at the glowing pane, heart racing. This wasn't just survival anymore. This was a clock.
Three days. Upgrade or die trying.
And for the first time, lying in the thin dorm bed, I didn't feel like a joke. I felt inevitable.