The white, sterile light of the Lobby didn't just fade; it snapped.
Dev's eyes shot open. He wasn't in the Nexus. He was in his bed. The 7:00 AM sun was streaming weakly through his dusty curtains, and his cheap alarm clock was buzzing, a pathetic, annoying sound.
He sat up, his heart hammering. His first sensation was exhaustion. Not a physical tiredness in his muscles, but a deep, profound soul-fatigue, as if his very consciousness had been run ragged. He'd "slept" for eight hours, but he felt like he'd just survived a war.
But beneath the fatigue... there was something else.
He looked at his hands. They were his same, skinny 14-year-old hands. But the feeling... the feeling was different. His CON stat, now doubled from 2 to 4, had solidified his soul. And that tiny, 1.0% [Soul-Body Synchronization Rate] was now leaking 1% of a denser core into his physical vessel.
The constant, sickly ache in his bones, the one that had been his companion since childhood? It was gone.
He didn't feel strong. He didn't feel fast. He just felt... normal. For the first time in his entire life, his body didn't feel like a cage of weakness. It just felt... present.
He stood up. He wasn't winded. He wasn't dizzy.
'It's real,' he thought, his mind crystal clear. The night, the woods, the pain... all of it.
'And this... this is the reward.'
He clenched his fist. It was still a small, weak hand. The 1% of his STR: 3 was statistically zero. He was still a Dreg in this world. A "normal" Dreg, maybe, but a Dreg nonetheless.
The real world was still his cage.
"Dev? You're up already?"
His grandfather's voice from the kitchen. Dev flinched. The sound was too... normal. Too... alive.
"Yeah, grandpa," he called out, his voice a low, rough rasp. He cleared his throat. "Just... slept well."
He walked into the small kitchen. His grandfather, a kind man with a face etched in worry lines, was pouring him a bowl of cereal.
"You're... feeling okay, son?" his grandfather asked, not turning around. "You've been... quiet. Ever since you... fell... the other day. You look tired."
Dev looked at the back of the old man's head. He felt... nothing. No guilt. No love. Just a vast, cold disconnect. This was a man from a world he was no longer a part of.
"I'm fine, grandpa," he said. The words came out cold, flat. "Never felt better."
He took the cereal and went back to his room to get dressed, leaving the old man alone in the kitchen.
He had work to do.
He sat on his bed, his school uniform in his lap.
'Selina said... a store.'
He closed his eyes and focused. 'Faction Store.'
A new screen, different from the System-blue, shimmered into his vision. This one was a deep, bloody crimson, the color of the Ebonguard Faction.
[Ebonguard Faction Store (Provisional Member Access)]
[Shards: 127]
Below, there was a short, pathetic list of items. Most were greyed-out, far beyond his price range.
[Minor Health Potion (500 Shards)], [Standard Leather Armor (1,200 Shards)].
Then he saw the only two items available to him.
1. [Rusted Iron Sword]
Cost: 120 Shards
Class: Dreg-Tier (Damaged)
Description: A chipped, poorly-balanced piece of scrap. Better than your fists.
Bonus: STR +1
2. [Padded Cloth Jerkin]
Cost: 120 Shards
Class: Dreg-Tier (Worn)
Description: Stiff, quilted cloth. Smells faintly of mildew. Better than your shirt.
Bonus: CON +1
The choice Selina had given him. Offense or defense.
He had 7 Soul-Essence left for healing, and 127 Shards.
'The jerkin...' His first, instinctive thought. The old Dev, the victim, screamed for it. 'It gives CON +1. My CON is 4. This would make it 5. It's a 25% boost. I could take another hit. I could survive longer.'
The memory of the Sapper's needle sinking into his leg, the [Soul-Integrity at 85%]... he shuddered. Defense was smart. Defense was safe.
But...
'My strategy... it wasn't defense,' a new, colder part of his mind argued. 'I didn't tank those hits. I used them. I survived by making them fight each other. I survived by being vicious.'
He thought of Selina's words. 'You need real prey. Not just bugs. Stop fighting with your bare hands.'
'Defense is for people who expect to get hit. It's for prey. Offense... offense is for people who plan to hit first.'
He thought of the Gutter-Scab in his trial. He thought of the Sapper he'd smashed against the tree. He thought of Devis's sneering face.
His blood ran cold. His choice was made.
He was done being a victim. He was done being prey. He would be the one who hunts.
He selected the [Rusted Iron Sword].
[Purchase Confirmed: -120 Nexus Shards]
[Remaining Shards: 7]
[Item: Rusted Iron Sword] added to [Nexus Inventory].
A new icon had appeared on his System screen: [Inventory]. He willed it open. It was a small, simple grid, like in a cheap RPG. The sword icon sat in the first slot. He mentally "touched" it.
[Item can only be manifested in a Nexus Zone or Designated Lobby]
'Good.'
He closed the store. He finished dressing, a new, cold resolve settling in his chest. Tonight, he wouldn't be running. He wouldn't be hiding in a tree.
Tonight, he had an edge.
He walked to school. The walk itself was the first proof of his new power. He wasn't winded. His chest didn't ache. His legs, no longer 'sickly,' just... worked. He felt the gazes of the other students, the Crows and the Vipers, as he passed through the gates.
He saw Devis, standing with his crew.
The moment Devis saw him, his face twisted. The fear from yesterday was gone, replaced by a burning, humiliated rage. He'd been made to look like a fool by his own victim. He was going to re-establish the hierarchy.
Devis and two of his friends—big, thuggish kids—detached from the group and started walking toward Dev, cracking their knuckles. This was it. The confrontation.
Dev stopped. His heart beat, not with fear, but with that same, slow, cold rhythm. thump... thump... thump.... He was still weak. He knew that. But the fear... the fear was just gone.
"You got brave, roach?" Devis spat, getting close. "Yesterday was a fluke. I don't know what you—"
"Dev. Wait."
The voice was clear, strong, and female.
Dev turned. Devis and his crew froze.
It was Mina. The class president. She was standing there, holding a textbook to her chest, her dark hair perfectly in place, her beautiful, intelligent eyes fixed right on him.
She walked right up to them, her heels clicking on the pavement, completely ignoring Devis and his thuggish friends. She stopped directly in front of Dev.
"You weren't in first period yesterday afternoon," she said. Her voice was level, professional. "Are you okay? You looked... pale... when you left."
Dev was thrown. He didn't know how to interact with people, especially not her. She was from a different world, a world of popularity and power he'd only ever seen from the outside.
"I'm fine," he said. His voice was cold, short.
Mina didn't flinch. She just studied his new, dead eyes, her head tilted slightly. "You don't look fine," she said quietly, for only him to hear. "But... you also don't look scared. And that's new."
A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of her mouth. "I'll see you in class. Don't be late."
She turned and walked away, her "duty" as class president fulfilled.
Devis was left standing there, his moment ruined, his fists clenched. He couldn't—or wouldn't—start a fight in front of her. Her "rank" in the school's social hierarchy was absolute.
He shot Dev a look of pure poison. "You're lucky, you little roach. Next time. I swear, next time."
Dev just walked into the building. He hadn't been saved. He'd been... shielded.
He sat in class, the teacher's voice a meaningless drone. He thought about Mina. She hadn't been "kind." She'd been curious. She'd used her power, her social "rank," to stop Devis. It was a different kind of power. A different kind of weapon.
'In this world, I'm still the Dreg,' he thought, his gaze drifting to the window. 'I'm still weak. My fists are useless. I have to rely on a girl's social standing to not get beaten to death.'
He looked down at his own hand, hidden under the desk.
'But tonight...'
He clenched his fist, a grim, cold anticipation building in his chest.
'...tonight, I have a sword.'