The air inside the grand hall of Hunter Academy vibrated with excitement. Hundreds of students, freshly graduated from their high schools, filled the long rows of seats, whispering, laughing, and nervously adjusting their uniforms. Above them, crystal chandeliers glowed faintly, shedding soft light on polished marble floors that reflected the pride of every family present.
Today was the day.
The Awakening Ceremony—the event that determined the future of every aspiring hunter.
It was not an exaggeration to say that a single moment in this hall could decide whether a person became a hero, a leader of guilds, or merely cannon fodder for dungeons.
At the center of the hall stood a raised platform. A glowing ritual circle had been engraved into its surface, lines of silver and blue runes interwoven like a spider's web. In the middle of the circle rested a crystal pillar, its surface shimmering with mysterious power. This was the Awakening Stone.
One by one, names would be called. Each student would step forward, place their hand on the stone, and awaken their class.
And once your class appeared, it was permanent.
There was no turning back.
Whispers buzzed among the gathered students as the instructors called the first few names. A boy from the northern province stepped up, trembling, and placed his palm on the stone. The runes glowed brightly before announcing his result:
"Knight – Tier B."
Cheers erupted from his classmates, and the boy himself wept openly, dropping to his knees in gratitude.
A girl followed, her long braid swinging behind her as she pressed her hand against the crystal. A moment later, her result appeared:
"Healer – Tier A."
The hall gasped. A rare and high-demand class!
The instructors congratulated her, noting that guilds would soon line up with offers.
But while others celebrated, eyes often drifted toward one figure seated calmly near the front.
Jin Suho.
His name alone carried weight within his generation.
In middle school and high school, Suho had been an unmatched genius. He always ranked first in exams, solving problems others found impossible. His grasp of mathematics and science made even professors shake their heads in disbelief. He calculated complicated probabilities in seconds, designed strategies in games that left opponents baffled, and spoke rarely but precisely.
Teachers praised him, peers admired him, and rivals secretly hated him.
To many, Jin Suho was the kind of person destined for greatness.
And in the world of hunters, greatness meant only one thing: awakening a powerful class.
"Do you think he'll get an S-tier?" one student whispered.
"No, maybe even higher. He's Jin Suho—he's different from us."
"Some say geniuses always awaken something legendary. I bet he'll be a Mage or a Swordmaster."
Their words flowed around him like a river, but Suho didn't react.
He sat straight in his chair, his sharp green eyes half-lidded, his short crimson hair neat, styled in the popular comma cut that framed his face. His expression remained cold and indifferent, giving the impression of someone completely unaffected by expectations.
Yet, inside his mind, calculations spun like gears.
The average chance of awakening a Tier A class is 3.4%. Tier S… less than 0.1%. For me, the odds are no different than for anyone else. Probability does not bend for reputation. Still… I can't deny there's an unknown factor in awakenings. Perhaps it involves genetic predisposition, latent potential, or simply luck.
His fingers tapped lightly against his knee, a small rhythm only he noticed.
I can't predict what will happen. But whatever class I awaken… I'll adapt. Strategy can overcome talent. Precision can overcome power. That's what I believe.
It was this calm, analytical nature that set him apart.
Cold, distant, yet—despite appearances—his heart was not cruel. Only last week, Suho had carried an injured classmate to the infirmary, though he brushed it off as "wasted effort" when thanked. He helped quietly, never allowing kindness to soften his outward demeanor.
"Next! Park Minjae!"
The ceremony continued, names called one after another. Each result drew cheers, gasps, or sighs of disappointment. Some students even collapsed when they received an F-tier class, doomed to obscurity.
Minutes passed. Then, finally:
"Jin Suho! Step forward."
The hall fell silent.
Every pair of eyes locked onto him.
The genius. The prodigy. The boy who seemed born to lead the next generation of hunters.
Even the instructors straightened their posture. Some exchanged knowing looks, silently wondering how much funding the Academy would gain once Suho's powerful class was revealed.
Suho rose from his seat without hesitation. His steps were measured, calm, echoing faintly across the marble floor. The cloak of his uniform swayed gently behind him as he ascended the platform.
Dozens of whispers filled the hall:
"That's him… Jin Suho…"
"He looks so composed. Not nervous at all."
"As expected of a genius. He's probably calculating the odds in his head right now."
They weren't wrong.
When Suho reached the center of the ritual circle, he paused briefly, studying the engraved runes.
The design hasn't changed from last year. Seven outer circles, each linked to the central Awakening Stone. Energy flows clockwise, then channels into the individual's core. If I'm right, the reaction time is 4.6 seconds on average.
His lips twitched faintly—half amusement, half curiosity.
"Place your hand on the stone," the instructor ordered.
Suho extended his right hand.
His palm touched the cool, smooth surface of the Awakening Stone.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, a hum vibrated through the air. The runes blazed to life, threads of light racing across the platform like veins of molten silver. A brilliant glow enveloped his body, lifting his crimson hair with static energy.
The crowd leaned forward, hearts pounding.
This was the moment they had been waiting for.
Would it be Mage – Tier S?Would it be Swordmaster – Tier A?Or perhaps something even greater—an unheard-of legendary class?
Even Suho's parents, sitting among the guests, gripped their seats tightly, eyes wide with anticipation.
Inside the light, Suho's mind remained calm.
4.2 seconds. Slightly faster than average. The stone is reacting efficiently. That means the system has already locked onto my class.
He closed his eyes briefly.
No matter what it is, I will adapt.
The glow intensified, dazzling everyone in the hall.
And then—
The result began to form above the stone.
Letters slowly etched themselves into the air, shimmering with undeniable authority.
The crowd held its breath.
Suho's eyes narrowed slightly, catching the first faint strokes of the word.
[Class: … ]
The words had not yet fully appeared, but anticipation reached its peak.
This was it. The class that would define Jin Suho's destiny.
The silence in the awakening hall was suffocating. Hundreds of students sat in their seats, watching the shining circle on the platform where Jin Suho stood. A moment ago, the runes carved into the marble floor had blazed with a brilliant white light. The instructors had smiled, and even the Headmaster himself had leaned forward slightly, anticipating a grand announcement.
Everyone believed they knew what would be declared. It would be a high-tier class, of course. A prodigy like Jin Suho couldn't possibly awaken into mediocrity.
Yet when the light faded and the holographic script appeared above his head, silence devoured the hall.
[Class: Shadow Assassin – Tier E]
The letters glimmered like cold iron, sharp and merciless.
For a few breaths, no one spoke. The students' faces were frozen in disbelief. The instructors looked at one another, brows furrowing. The Headmaster's expression hardened.
Then the murmurs began.
"Shadow Assassin…?""Wait—Tier E?""No way. Did I read that right?"
It didn't take long for the whispers to become laughter.
A boy from the back snickered loud enough for the whole room to hear. "So even the 'genius' can be trash, huh?"
The laughter spread, brittle at first, then swelling like a wave. Students leaned forward in their seats, some covering their mouths, others too gleeful to hide their ridicule.
"Tier E… the weakest of the weak.""Isn't Shadow Assassin the kind of class kids reroll in games?""Heh, so much for the top student of the nation."
Even the instructors failed to hide their disappointment. One of them sighed audibly. Another shook his head as if mourning wasted potential.
Jin Suho stood still, his eyes fixed on the glowing text above him. His face betrayed no emotion. Not anger, not shame, not despair. His lips were pressed into a straight line, his shoulders square, his posture unshaken.
Inside, however, a storm rumbled quietly.
So… this is it.
His hands curled slightly at his sides, not from rage but from the cold weight of reality pressing against his skin. He had spent his entire youth outthinking everyone, building strategies no one else could match. He had been the student teachers pointed to as an example, the name parents told their children to emulate.
And yet here he was, branded with the lowest possible class.
It was almost laughable. Almost.
Another student shouted from the audience, his tone mocking. "Hey, Suho! Try calculating your way out of this one! No matter how smart you are, you can't change your class!"
More laughter followed.
Suho finally lifted his eyes and looked across the sea of jeering faces. His gaze was calm, unflinching. It swept across them like the edge of a blade—cold, precise, dismissive.
The laughter faltered. For a moment, those who met his emerald eyes felt a chill, as if they had looked into a predator's stare.
But Suho didn't speak. He turned away, letting the holographic script above his head flicker one last time before it faded. His footsteps echoed as he walked down from the platform, the sound sharp in the vast silence that followed him.
He passed rows of students who leaned back as he moved by. Their whispers clung to him like smoke.
"Pathetic…""Even a genius is useless with the wrong class.""What a waste."
Suho ignored them all.
He exited the hall without a backward glance. The heavy doors swung shut behind him, cutting off the chatter and laughter, sealing him in a quiet corridor.
The air was cooler here. The marble floor stretched long and empty beneath the glow of enchanted lanterns. Suho's footsteps rang steady as he walked, his shadow stretching ahead of him.
So this is my fate, he thought.
There was no bitterness in the words. No hatred. Just acceptance, cold and clear.
Shadow Assassin, Tier E… The weakest class. The weakest tier. To everyone else, it's nothing but garbage. But if that is what I have been given, then that is what I will use.
He remembered the instructors' disappointed faces, the mocking laughter of his peers, the way even the Headmaster had looked away as though ashamed. For an instant, a spark of pain lanced through him, but he buried it deep.
Emotions were distractions. Calculations were not.
They think intelligence means nothing. They think strategy cannot outweigh raw power. But they are wrong. Even the smallest number, when multiplied correctly, can outweigh the largest. Even the weakest piece on the board can strike the king if the plan is flawless.
His pace slowed as he reached the Academy's gates. Beyond them, the evening sun painted the city in hues of orange and crimson. Students in groups walked by, their laughter carrying faintly on the wind. Some glanced at him, nudging each other before looking away with smirks.
Suho kept walking.
He had no one waiting for him. No parents to greet him, no family to comfort him. When the news had reached them earlier that day, they had sent only one message:
"You're useless to us now."
Cold, final. A severed tie.
It stung, but not enough to break him. He had known their love was conditional long ago.
Suho's apartment was a small, quiet place tucked into the outskirts of the city. The walls were bare, the furniture simple. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and stood still for a long moment, listening to the silence.
Finally, he sat at the desk near the window. From here, he could see the fading light of the horizon.
He let out a slow breath.
"Shadow Assassin, Tier E…" he whispered the words aloud, tasting them as though they were poison. Then, slowly, his lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile.
"Fine."
His eyes hardened, their green depths glowing faintly in the dim light.
"If that is my class, then I'll master it. If that is my fate, then I'll carve a path with it. Genius means nothing without a battlefield. And if the world has given me the weakest battlefield, I'll simply build my own rules."
His mind began to race, not with despair but with calculations. He thought of the shadows he had glimpsed in the ritual, the way the dagger in his hand had shimmered faintly. Every weakness had a hidden strength, every flaw a hidden weapon.
An assassin may be weak head-on, but in the dark, unseen, a single strike can end even the strongest.
His fingers tapped the desk rhythmically, mimicking the sound of footsteps, the beat of an enemy's pulse, the rhythm of inevitability.
They could laugh all they wanted. They could dismiss him, mock him, abandon him. None of it mattered.
Because Jin Suho had never once in his life relied on luck. He had relied on logic, calculation, and an unshakable will.
And now, with the weakest class in his grasp, he would prove to the world that even fate could be outsmarted.
The small apartment was silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. Jin Suho dropped his bag on the floor and sat down heavily on the worn chair by his desk. The city lights glimmered faintly through the window, casting fractured patterns on the plain white walls.
He leaned back, exhaling slowly. His emerald eyes stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment before narrowing.
"System," he muttered.
At his call, a faint chime echoed in his ears. A translucent blue panel materialized before him, glowing softly in the dim light.
[Status Window]
Name: Jin Suho
Class: Shadow Assassin (Tier E)
Level: 1
Strength: 5
Agility: 7
Vitality: 4
Intelligence: 15
Luck: 2
Suho stared at the numbers for a long while, his fingers tapping against the desk.
So this is what I am worth to the system.
Strength barely above average. Vitality—the foundation of endurance and resilience—pathetically low. Agility slightly better, but far from extraordinary. Intelligence was the only stat that reflected his true self, but in a battle system built on force and survival, intelligence was often treated as a supplementary trait rather than the core of strength.
And luck… luck was laughable.
The average hunter in his age group would start with stats around 10. He was below the baseline in almost everything that mattered.
Anyone else would despair. Some might even give up. But Suho simply leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. His eyes sharpened, calculations already spinning in his mind.
This is a puzzle. Nothing more. If the numbers are low, then the variables must be changed.
He tapped the Strength stat. 5. That means below average. What does Strength measure in this system? Presumably force output—the product of muscle fibers contracting. In biology, muscle force is proportional to the cross-sectional area of muscle tissue. In physics, force equals mass times acceleration. If I cannot increase mass instantly, then I must increase acceleration. If my body is weak, then it must be trained, rebuilt, optimized.
His thoughts accelerated, branching into possibilities.
The human body adapts to stress. Apply a load repeatedly, and the body will respond by hypertrophy—muscle fibers increase in size to withstand the demand. That means training with progressive overload: gradually increasing weight, repetitions, or intensity so the body never stagnates.
His fingers clenched into a fist, testing the tension in his arm. His muscles were lean but not hardened, the body of a student, not a warrior.
If I begin training now, with proper nutrition and rest, muscle synthesis will occur. Myofibrils will tear microscopically during stress and repair stronger during recovery. It is mathematics at a cellular level—the balance of damage and repair. Training without recovery is useless; recovery without training is stagnation. The formula must be optimized.
He shifted his gaze to the Vitality stat: 4.
Vitality was more complex than strength. It wasn't simply muscle; it was endurance, organ resilience, stamina. In human biology, endurance relied heavily on cardiovascular capacity—the efficiency of the heart, lungs, and blood vessels in delivering oxygen.
VO₂ max. The maximum volume of oxygen one can utilize per minute. If I increase this, my stamina rises. Endurance athletes spend years increasing it through high-intensity interval training. So that is my path: not only lifting but running, sprinting, controlling my heart rate. If I can adapt my cardiovascular system, my Vitality stat will grow—even if it starts at rock bottom.
He leaned back again, closing his eyes. Numbers swirled behind his eyelids, graphs and equations forming.
Suppose muscle hypertrophy increases Strength at a rate of +0.2 per week under optimal training. Suppose cardiovascular adaptation increases Vitality at +0.15 per week. Within three months, my stats could rise by at least 2 or 3 points. That would already bridge the gap between me and an average hunter. Not enough to dominate, but enough to survive. Survival buys time. Time allows planning. Planning leads to victory.
His lips curled slightly. Yes… this is possible.
He opened his eyes and studied his reflection faintly mirrored in the status window. The boy staring back at him did not look like a hero. His frame was slender, his features sharp but not imposing. His comma-styled red hair fell neatly across his forehead, shadowing his green eyes. To the world, he looked fragile, destined for failure.
But beneath that surface was calculation, relentless and cold.
Even the weakest piece has value if moved correctly.
Suho stood abruptly. He walked to the small space beside his bed, cleared away a stack of old books, and dropped to the floor. His palms pressed against the cold wood as he straightened his back.
"Push-ups first," he murmured.
The motion was simple, but his mind dissected it as though it were an equation.
Push-ups recruit the pectorals, deltoids, and triceps. Core stability is maintained through isometric contraction. Each repetition tears a fraction of muscle fibers. With sets of progressive overload—first bodyweight, then weighted variations—the body will adapt. Calculate rest intervals at ninety seconds to maximize ATP regeneration without complete recovery. Maintain progressive tension. Efficiency is key.
He lowered himself, muscles trembling slightly, and pressed back up. The burn spread quickly through his chest and arms, but he welcomed it.
"One," he whispered. "Two. Three…"
By the twentieth repetition, his arms quivered. Sweat dotted his forehead. But he forced himself to continue, calculating the exact moment when his form degraded and his body screamed to stop. That moment, he knew, was the precise trigger for growth.
After collapsing to the floor, breath ragged, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. His heart thundered, pumping blood furiously through his veins.
Cardiac hypertrophy. Stroke volume increasing. My heart adapts as well. Even this pain is data. Even this exhaustion is proof of progress.
He sat up, wiped sweat from his brow, and stood again. His legs were unsteady, but his eyes burned.
"This is only the beginning."
He walked back to his desk and pulled out a notebook. The pages were blank, but soon filled with numbers, sketches of exercises, schedules, and nutritional plans.
Protein intake: 1.6 to 2.2 grams per kilogram of body weight daily. Carbohydrates timed before and after workouts for glycogen replenishment. Hydration maintained at 35 milliliters per kilogram. Sleep: at least seven hours, preferably eight, to maximize growth hormone release during deep cycles.
Line after line, his plan took shape.
Mathematics is the foundation of power. Numbers do not lie. If I input the correct values—training, nutrition, rest—the output will inevitably be strength.
He closed the notebook, eyes glinting.
The world had mocked him for being weak, for awakening into the lowest class. But none of them had his mind. None of them had the patience to turn weakness into strength, to craft a warrior's body from nothing but calculation and will.
And as the city outside sank into night, Jin Suho sat alone in his small apartment, already building the foundation of a future no one could predict.
His journey had begun—not with luck, not with talent, but with numbers.
And numbers never lied.