The courtyard of Bronze Haven Academy buzzed with the clamor of young System Wielders, their laughter and shouts mingling with flashes of fire, gusts of wind, and the occasional spark of something grander. Kael Varn stood at the edge, his tattered gray cloak flapping in the breeze, clutching a single, mismatched sock. It was green, with a hole in the heel, and it smelled faintly of mildew. Another masterpiece from his pathetic Skillforge System.
"Oi, Sock Boy!" a voice jeered. Kael's shoulders tensed, but he didn't turn. He knew that voice—Dren, a burly third-year with a Rare Fire Manipulation System. "Got any new laundry to show off? Or is that the same stinky rag from last week?"
Laughter erupted from Dren's cronies, a mix of second- and third-year students who orbited him like vultures. Kael's fingers tightened around the sock, his knuckles whitening. He was sixteen, three years into his time at Bronze Haven, and he'd heard every insult in the book. Sock Summoner. Threadbare Trash. Useless. He'd learned to let the words slide off him, but the sting never fully faded.
"Leave me alone, Dren," Kael muttered, eyes fixed on the cracked cobblestones. His voice was low, steady, but it carried the weight of a thousand suppressed retorts. He wasn't stupid enough to challenge Dren—not with his Common-rank Sock Summoning System against Dren's blazing fireballs.
Dren swaggered closer, his red hair glinting like the flames he commanded. "What's that? You gonna fight me with your laundry?" He snapped his fingers, and a fist-sized fireball materialized, hovering above his palm. The heat made Kael's skin prickle, even from ten feet away. "Come on, show us your mighty skill, Kael. Summon a sock. Save the day."
The crowd's laughter grew louder, drawing more students. Kael's cheeks burned, but he kept his gaze down. He'd awakened his Skillforge at thirteen, like most Wielders, but while others got systems that bent elements or boosted strength, he got… socks. Random, useless socks. The system's interface, a faint blue glow in his mind, mocked him even now:
System: Sock Summoning (Common)
Level: 5
Stats:
Power: 4 (Socks lack punch, kid.)
Control: 8 (You're decent at aiming your laundry.)
Resilience: 6 (You've taken a few punches.)
Insight: 12 (You're smarter than you look.)
Skills:
Sock Summon (Active): Summon a random sock. Cost: 5 Mimic Energy (ME).
Sock Sense (Passive): Detect socks within 10 meters.
Forge Points (FP): 200/1,000 to Level 6
Kael had read that interface a thousand times, hoping for a glitch, a hidden skill, anything to make him more than a joke. But the Skillforge didn't lie. He was stuck summoning socks until he died—or until the world stopped laughing.
"Fine," Kael said, lifting his eyes to meet Dren's. The crowd hushed, sensing a spectacle. "You want a show? Here's one."
He focused, feeling the faint hum of Mimic Energy in his veins. Sock Summon. A flicker of blue light sparked in his hand, and another sock appeared—a pink one this time, polka-dotted and slightly damp. The crowd roared with laughter, some doubling over. Dren grinned, tossing his fireball from hand to hand.
"Terrifying," Dren said. "What's next? You gonna strangle me with it?"
Kael's lips twitched into a half-smile, a spark of defiance igniting. He'd spent years dodging bullies, and he'd learned one thing: socks weren't much, but they were his. He flicked his wrist, using his decent Control stat to send the pink sock sailing toward Dren's face. It hit with a wet slap, sticking to his cheek.
The laughter died. Dren's face reddened, the fireball flaring brighter. "You little—" He hurled the fireball, a blazing streak aimed at Kael's chest.
Kael dove to the side, the heat singeing his cloak as the fireball exploded against a stone pillar, sending sparks flying. The crowd gasped, some cheering, others shouting for a teacher. Kael scrambled to his feet, heart pounding. His Resilience wasn't high enough to tank a direct hit, and Dren knew it.
"Stay down, Sock Boy," Dren growled, summoning another fireball. "Or I'll burn that smirk off your face."
Kael's mind raced. He couldn't fight back—not directly. His system had no offensive skills, and his ME was too low to spam Sock Summon. But he'd survived three years at Bronze Haven by thinking fast. His eyes darted to the courtyard's edge, where a pile of training dummies stood. An idea clicked.
"Sock Sense," he whispered, activating his passive skill. A faint tingle in his mind pinpointed every sock within ten meters—his own summoned ones, plus a few lost by students. One was tangled in the dummies' straw. Perfect.
Kael sprinted toward the dummies, Dren's fireball sizzling past his ear. He reached the pile, grabbed the stray sock—a grimy athletic one—and tied it around a dummy's leg. With a grunt, he yanked the dummy into Dren's path, using it as a shield. The next fireball hit the dummy, setting it ablaze but leaving Kael unscathed.
The crowd murmured, impressed despite themselves. Dren snarled, advancing. "Cute trick. Won't save you."
Kael backed away, his Insight stat working overtime. Dren's Fire Manipulation System was strong, but it relied on line-of-sight. If Kael could distract him, he might escape. He summoned another sock—a woolen monstrosity—and tossed it at Dren's feet, aiming for a puddle from last night's rain. The sock landed with a splash, soaking Dren's boots.
Dren stumbled, cursing, his fireball fizzling as his focus broke. Kael seized the moment, darting toward the academy's main hall. He didn't need to win—just survive until a teacher intervened. But as he ran, a figure stepped into his path: Instructor Veyra, a stern woman with a Rare Wind Manipulation System.
"Enough!" Veyra's voice cut through the courtyard, a gust of wind extinguishing Dren's flames. Her eyes narrowed at Kael. "Varn, you know better than to provoke a duel. And Dren, attacking a weaker student? Pathetic."
Dren smirked, unrepentant. "He threw a sock at me, Instructor. I was defending myself."
Veyra's gaze flicked to the pink sock still clinging to Dren's face. A few students snickered, and Kael bit back a grin. Veyra sighed. "Kael, detention. Dren, report to the headmaster. Now."
As the crowd dispersed, Kael trudged toward the detention hall, his cloak smoldering slightly. He'd survived, but barely. His system was useless in a fight, and everyone knew it. Bronze Haven was a dumping ground for Common-rank Wielders, the rejects who couldn't make it to Olympus Academy or Triton Hall. Kael had dreamed of proving himself, of rising above his system's limits, but three years of bullying had worn him down.
In the dim detention hall, Kael slumped into a chair, staring at his hands. The Skillforge interface flickered in his mind, taunting him with his meager stats. He'd heard stories of god-tier Wielders—Zeus System users calling down lightning, Poseidon System users flooding battlefields. And here he was, summoning socks.
But Kael wasn't done dreaming. He'd grown up in the slums, dodging gangs and scrounging for scraps. If he could survive that, he could survive Bronze Haven. His Insight stat—higher than most—had kept him alive, letting him outsmart bullies like Dren. Someday, he'd find a way to turn his system into something more. Or maybe the Skillforge itself would surprise him.
As he sat, a faint hum echoed through the hall. Kael frowned, glancing around. The sound wasn't coming from the Skillforge—it was external, like a vibration in the walls. He stood, curiosity overriding caution, and followed the noise to a locked door at the hall's end. A sign read: Restricted: Experimental Wing.
Kael's heart skipped. The Experimental Wing was off-limits, rumored to house dangerous Skillforge research. Students whispered of crystals that could amplify systems—or destroy them. He shouldn't be here. But that hum… it called to him, like a promise.
He glanced at the door's lock, then at his Skillforge interface. Sock Summon. A ridiculous idea formed. He summoned a thin, stretchy sock, twisting it into a makeshift lockpick. His Control stat made his fingers steady as he worked the lock, the hum growing louder. With a click, the door creaked open, revealing a dark corridor lined with glowing blue crystals.
Kael stepped inside, the air crackling with energy. His Skillforge interface flickered wildly, stats glitching. Warning: Unstable energy detected. Before he could retreat, a crystal pulsed, and a surge of blue light engulfed him. Pain seared through his body, his vision blurring as the Skillforge screamed in his mind: System Rewrite Initiated.
Kael collapsed, the last thing he saw a new interface line: Skill Mimic System (Mythic) Unlocked.