Two hundred and eighty-one years after the System arrived, the world had finally agreed on one thing: this was normal now.
Not the old kind of normal. Not the kind people in history videos talked about—no levels, no classes, no floating windows in front of your eyes. That world was gone, filed away into documentaries, museums, and long comment threads where people argued about whether life had been better or worse before the change.
This world had levels. It had skills. It had dungeons that were licensed, mapped, and in some places, even turned into tourist attractions.
And still, people went to work. They complained about rent. They waited for late trains. They argued about movies.
Ban stood on a crowded platform, holding a paper cup of coffee that had already gone cold, and tried not to look like he was thinking too hard.
His real name—the one the System insisted on using—was Brandon Allen Gallen.
But nobody called him that.
To his friends, to casting staff, to the few people who remembered him between auditions, he was just Ban.
A translucent window hovered at the edge of his vision, small and unobtrusive, like a digital clock you eventually stopped noticing.
[ Name: Brandon Allen Gallen ]
[ Level: 1 ]
[ Class: — Unawakened — ]
[ Status: Civilian ]
He didn't need to open it to know what it said. He'd seen it thousands of times.
Level 1.
Unawakened.
At twenty-two years old.
In a world where most people awakened their class before they finished high school.
Ban took a sip of coffee, immediately regretted it, and made a face. "Cold," he muttered. "Of course."
Around him, the platform was full of people who weren't level 1.
A security officer near the gate had a faintly visible status line hovering above his shoulder: Level 89 – Guardian. A woman in a clinic uniform across the platform was scrolling through her phone, her window briefly flashing Level 134 – Medic before she minimized it. Even a couple of students laughing too loudly had already awakened—one a Ranger, the other a Support Caster, judging by the icons that flickered when they gestured too much.
They all had paths.
Ban had… auditions.
He shifted his backpack on his shoulder and glanced up at the massive holographic billboard mounted on the building across the tracks. It was advertising a new action drama, all explosions and slow-motion hero shots, starring a Level 400+ Vanguard-Class actor whose name Ban saw everywhere these days.
The tagline read: REAL SKILLS. REAL DANGER. REAL EMOTION.
Ban looked away.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Sure."
The train arrived with a soft hum of mana-assisted brakes. The doors slid open, and the crowd began to move.
Ban got on, found a spot near the door, and stared at his reflection in the window as the city started sliding past.
He didn't look special.
That wasn't self-pity. It was just… fact. Average height. Dark hair that never quite did what he wanted. Tired eyes from too many late nights and early mornings. No faint glow of passive buffs. No subtle pressure that high-level people seemed to carry around with them without realizing it.
Just a guy.
"281 years," he whispered to his reflection. "And I'm still stuck at level one."
It wasn't that he hadn't tried.
He'd gone to three Awakening Clinics. Taken two aptitude tests. Even paid for one of those sketchy "potential unlocking" programs that promised results in thirty days or your money back.
The System's answer had always been the same.
[ No compatible class detected. ]
[ Status: Unawakened. ]
Some people said late awakeners just needed time.
Others said if you didn't awaken by twenty, you probably never would.
Ban didn't know which one scared him more.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw a message from his sister.
Sarah: Don't forget to eat today. And don't forget you're coming by this weekend. Mom's old place isn't going to clean itself.
Ban smiled faintly and typed back.
Ban: I know, I know. Audition first. Then food. Probably.
A few seconds later, another message popped up.
Sarah: "Probably" isn't a meal.
He chuckled and put the phone away.
Sarah Gallen—Level 112, Medic—had awakened early, taken a stable path, and built a life that made sense in a System world. She worried about him the way older siblings always did: quietly, constantly, and with a growing fear that one day she'd be proven right.
The train slowed and stopped. Ban got off with the rest of the crowd and followed the flow of people into the street.
Studio Twelve took up almost three full blocks, all glass and pale metal, with thin lines of light running along the walls like veins. Holographic posters floated above the entrance—heroes, villains, monsters, all played by people with glowing status windows and absurd levels.
Ban stopped across the street and checked the address again.
Studio Twelve – Casting Hall C.
Open Call: Minor Roles (Drama/Fantasy Hybrid)
"Minor roles," he murmured. "Yeah. Sounds about right."
He crossed the street and went inside.
The lobby was colder than he expected, the air clean and faintly metallic. A long line stretched from the reception desk along the wall, full of people who looked like they belonged to very different worlds.
Some were obviously Awakened. You could tell by the way they stood—too balanced, too controlled—or by the faint effects that clung to them like afterimages. Others looked normal, but in this era, that didn't mean much.
Ban took his place at the end of the line and tried not to stare.
A guy a few spots ahead turned around, looked him over, then smiled.
"Hey, man. You here for the open call too?"
"Yeah," Ban said.
"I'm Leo," the guy said, sticking out a hand. "Leo Park."
Ban shook it. "Ban."
Leo had an easy smile and the kind of confidence that came from being good, but not great. A faint icon flickered near his shoulder when he moved.
"Performer class," Leo said, noticing Ban's glance. "Level 67. Stuck in side roles, but, you know. Gotta keep trying."
"That's… still pretty high," Ban said.
Leo laughed. "In this city? Not really. But hey, it pays for rent."
He paused, then asked, a little more carefully, "You awakened yet?"
Ban shook his head. "No. Still unawakened."
"Oh." Leo didn't look judgmental. Just surprised. "Huh. That's… kinda rare these days."
"Yeah," Ban said. "So I've heard."
"Well," Leo said, grinning, "they said they want 'natural' this time. No skill effects, no overlays. Just acting. Maybe that's your edge."
"Maybe," Ban said, not entirely convinced.
At the reception desk, a woman with short hair and a tablet was checking people in.
"Name?"
"Class?"
"Hall C. Wait for the green light."
When Ban's turn came, she looked up at him. "Name?"
"Ban. Brandon Allen Gallen."
Her fingers moved quickly. "Ban Gallen. Role is civilian witness, scene three. Short monologue. Some emotional range."
She glanced up again. "You're unawakened, right?"
"Yeah."
"That's fine," she said, already moving on. "They're not checking levels for this. Stand by the door. When the light turns green, go in."
"Thank you," Ban said, stepping aside.
As he waited, he felt it again—that familiar mix of hope and quiet dread.
He told himself, for the hundredth time, "I don't need a class to act."
Whether that was true or not…
The System, somewhere deep in its records, was already paying attention.