THUD.
The sound was not an explosion, but the closing of a massive, obsidian door. It echoed through the Grand Awakening Plaza with a finality that vibrated in the teeth of every sixteen-year-old present. It was the sound of a future being sealed. My future, it seemed, was to be a monumental joke.
"Leon Grey. Awakening result: F-Rank."
The announcer's voice, magically amplified, was utterly flat. It was a statement of fact that carried the weight of a tombstone. A wave of snickers and sharp, derisive laughter rippled through the crowd of a thousand initiates. I didn't need to turn to feel the hundreds of eyes on my back—pity, scorn, and cold amusement.
I stood on the elevated Awakening Platform, my hand still on the smooth, cool surface of the Awakening Crystal. The crystal, which had moments ago glowed with the bright, hopeful light of a new Awakening, now pulsed a sickly, dull grey. The universal color for failure. The color for F-Rank.
F-Rank. The words echoed in my mind, drowning out everything else. It was the lowest possible classification. It meant my physical stats were barely above a normal civilian's. It meant my mana pool was a thimbleful in a world of oceans. It meant any dream of becoming a Hunter, a revered protector of humanity against the dungeon breaches, was dead.
"Physical Enhancement: F-Rank."
"Mana Affinity:F-Rank."
"Combat Perception:F-Rank."
The system prompts, visible only to me, flashed in the corner of my vision in that same, pathetic grey. Each one was another shovel of dirt on the grave of my ambitions. I had trained. By the stars, I had trained until my muscles screamed and my bones ached. I'd memorized dungeon maps and monster weaknesses. All for this? To be this year's ceremonial fool?
I dared a glance towards the stands reserved for the elite. My eyes found her immediately. Elara Vance. Her silver hair seemed to capture the very light, and her eyes, the color of a clear sky, were wide with shock and a heart-wrenching dose of pity. She was the heir to the Vance family, a prodigy who had Awakened just an hour ago with an A-Rank in Mana Affinity and a rare A-Rank skill, [Frost Weaving]. We had been childhood friends, but the gap between an A-Rank and an F-Rank was now a chasm deeper than any dungeon. The romantic conflict was no longer just in my heart; it was a law of reality, carved into the cold, hard data of our rankings.
The announcer cleared his throat, ready to move on. "Next initia—"
DING!
A sound, pure and resonant as a crystal bell, chimed inside my skull. It was unlike the dull chimes of my F-Rank notifications. A new system prompt, blazing in a color I had only ever seen in history texts and legendary tales, burned into my vision.
[Unique Skill Analyzed...]
[Processing...]
[Skill Identified: Eye of the Mimic]
[Rank: SSS]
I froze. My blood turned to ice, then to fire. SSS-Rank? That was impossible. There hadn't been an SSS-Rank Awakening in over a hundred years. They were the stuff of legends, the ancient founders of the great Guilds. This had to be an error. A system malfunction.
The golden text shimmered, displaying the skill's description.
[Eye of the Mimic (SSS-Rank)]
Passive: Allows the user to perfectly observe and replicate any active or passive skill, technique, or mana pattern witnessed.
Limitation: Replicated skills are initially stored in a dormant state. Their progression and evolution are entirely passive and autonomous.
Note: No upper limit on skill storage or progression potential detected.
I stood there, paralyzed. The announcer was staring at me, his impatience evident. The crowd's laughter had subsided, replaced by confused whispers. They couldn't see the golden text. To them, I was just the F-Rank failure, frozen in shame on the platform.
"Leon Grey, please descend," the announcer said, his voice sharp.
My mind raced. Copy any skill? No upper limit? I scanned the crowd. Every Hunter, every guard, every elite in the stands... they were all carrying skills. And I could take them. All of them.
But... passive progression? What did that mean? I focused on the [Eye of the Mimic] screen, and a sub-menu unfolded. It was blank except for one line.
[Replicated Skills: 0]
Right. I hadn't copied anything yet. The skill was completely useless at this moment. I was still, in every measurable way, an F-Rank. The suspense was a physical knot in my stomach. The potential was that of a future lord, but my present was still that of a peasant.
This was my inciting incident. Not a loud, dramatic event, but a silent, world-shattering revelation for my eyes only. My road to lordhood had begun with a single, silent step, and the entire world was oblivious.
I finally forced my feet to move. I walked off the platform, my head bowed, perfectly playing the part of the dejected failure. But my heart was hammering a wild, frantic rhythm against my ribs. As I shuffled through the crowd, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I flinched.
It was Kael, a boy from my district who had Awakened as a C-Rank Pugilist. "Tough break, Leon," he said, not unkindly. "Don't worry, the Guilds always need support staff. Janitors, cooks..."
I just nodded, not trusting my voice. Then, as Kael turned to leave, a flicker of light caught my eye. A translucent, blue fist icon materialized above his head, visible only to me.
[Skill Detected: Fist of the Boulder (C-Rank)]
[Initiating Replication...]
[Replication Complete. Skill stored in Dormant State.]
I stumbled. It had happened automatically. Just by looking at him, by being near his awakened aura, I had copied his signature skill. A wave of vertigo hit me. This was real.
I quickly found a secluded bench at the edge of the plaza, my mind a storm. I focused inward, pulling up the [Eye of the Mimic] interface again.
[Replicated Skills: 1]
· [Fist of the Boulder (C-Rank)] - Dormant. Passive Progression: 0%. Evolution Path: Locked.
So, I had it, but I couldn't use it. It was just... there. Sleeping. And it was growing stronger on its own? How fast? What triggered its evolution?
The questions were endless, a thrilling suspense that coiled in my gut. I looked up, my gaze sweeping across the plaza. It was as if a filter had been removed. Dozens, then hundreds of skill icons began to pop into my vision like a field of mystical fireflies.
Above a fire mage, a flickering red flame icon: [Fireball (B-Rank)]. A swift scout had a green boot icon: [Wind Sprint (C-Rank)]. A high-ranking official in the stands had a complex, interlocking shield icon: [Aegis of the Loyal (A-Rank)].
DING! DING! DING! DING!
My head chimed incessantly as the system went into overdrive.
[Skill Detected: Fireball (B-Rank)] - Replicating... Complete.]
[Skill Detected: Wind Sprint (C-Rank)] - Replicating... Complete.]
[Skill Detected: Aegis of the Loyal (A-Rank)] - Replicating... Complete.]
I sat there, perfectly still, as my dormant skill list began to scroll, filling up with names and ranks that would make any Hunter weep with envy. And I had done nothing. I had simply seen.
A slow, genuine smile spread across my face for the first time that day. The laughter, the pity, Elara's sorrowful gaze... it all faded into meaningless noise.
They saw a failed F-Rank, sitting alone on a bench.
They did not see the future lord in the making, patiently waiting for his army of skills to awaken.
The pacing of my new life was set. A slow, deliberate ascent, masking a gathering storm of power. The dramatic opening was over. Now, the intriguing beginning had truly commenced. And I could not wait to walk this passive road to lordhood and see where it led.