F meant almost no growth. F meant no one would bring you into a serious party unless they were desperate or cruel. F meant people would say, "At least you are alive" and then talk about you in whispers when they thought you were not listening.
He heard someone snort.
Then a stifled laugh.
Then another.
Like a dam breaking, the sound spread through the hall. A wave of murmurs, snickers, chuckles, barely contained.
"F-rank… Carrier…"
"You are kidding."
"Is that even real?"
"I thought they stopped assigning those…"
Lio swallowed. His cheeks burned, but his fingers were ice.
The priestess's face had frozen for a fraction of a second. It was there, a flicker of pity in her eyes before she smoothed her expression into practiced serenity.
"Lio Faren," she said, voice carefully neutral. "You have received the class of Carrier, rank F. All classes are blessings of the System. With effort, you may yet find your place in this world."
The words were meant to be encouraging. They sounded like someone placing a flower on a grave.
Lio forced his mouth to move. "Th… Thank you, Lady Priestess."
He drew his hand back.
The crystal felt colder now.
He turned to face the hall.
Hundreds of eyes were on him.
Rell's face was open shock, mouth slightly ajar. Tessa looked like she wanted to cry on his behalf. Some of the other students looked away, embarrassed as if they had personally insulted him.
Others did not bother hiding their amusement.
Lio's gaze drifted to his parents.
His mother sat very still, eyes wide, lips trembling. His father's jaw was clenched, gaze hard, not angry at Lio exactly, but at something shapeless and unfair and impossible to punch.
And then there was Aria.
She was staring at him, horror and disbelief mingling in her expression. Her eyes flicked to the letters floating above him, then back to his face.
He tried to smile.
It felt like his lips were made of wood.
The priestess cleared her throat gently. "Let us proceed," she said. "Next: Tessa Miren."
The hall's attention shifted away from him, as if someone had physically turned a spotlight elsewhere. The letters above the altar faded slowly, the word CARRIER dissolving into blue mist.
Lio walked back up the aisle on legs that did not feel entirely real.
He could hear the whispers now, sharp as tiny blades.
"A Carrier, seriously?"
"Maybe there was an error…"
"Errors do not happen. The System does not make mistakes."
"His poor family."
He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, on the way the polished stone reflected light in blurry streaks. He reached his row without fully remembering how and slipped into his seat.
Rell leaned toward him, expression desperate. "Hey. Hey, this… This does not mean… I mean…"
"It's fine," Lio said.
His voice came out too calm.
Rell flinched. "Lio, I—"
"It is fine," Lio repeated, more firmly. "You got a B-rank Shield Fighter. Aria got an A-rank. That is good. That is really good."
"Yeah, but you…"
"I am alive," Lio said. The words felt like stones in his mouth. "That is enough, right?"
Rell fell silent, eyes troubled.
The ceremony continued.
Classes and ranks flashed above the altar. C-rank. C-rank. B-rank. E-rank. More cheers, more applause. Every time a new set of letters appeared, it felt like a reminder that the world had sorted itself into winners and losers and placed Lio firmly in one of those piles.
He stopped paying attention to the specifics.
He sat still, hands folded in his lap, face carefully blank. On the outside, he looked quiet and composed.
Inside, his thoughts were a storm of questions and numbers.
F-rank.
Carrier.
He had read the growth tables. If the books were accurate, the average stat increase per level for F-rank classes was a fraction of even a normal C-rank. No special skills. No special abilities. Just a small boost to carrying capacity and maybe some minor resistances to fatigue.
Adventuring with that class would be suicide.
So what then?
Logistics worker? Porter for a merchant caravan? A permanent pack mule in a world built around strength?
When the last name was called and the final student received their class, the priestess raised her hands for attention.
"Today," she said, voice ringing, "you stand at the beginning of your true lives. The System has given each of you a path. It may be simple or grand, humble or glorious, but it is yours. With diligence, courage, and faith, may you walk it well."
"May we walk it well," the hall echoed.
Lio's mouth moved with the words, but his heart was not in them.
The ceremony ended. People stood, benches scraping, voices swelling into a chaotic mix of congratulations, reassurances, and excited planning.
"Lio!"
Aria's voice cut through the noise.
He looked up.
She was weaving her way through the crowd toward him, her new A-rank status drawing glances and whispers wherever she moved. A path opened instinctively in front of her, like the world itself already recognized her as someone important.
She reached him, slightly breathless.
Up close, he could see the redness at the corners of her eyes, like she had been holding back tears.
"Lio," she said again, softer. "Are you okay?"
He laughed.
It came out wrong, a short, brittle sound. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"
"Because everyone just saw…" Aria glanced back toward the altar, as if the word might still be hovering there. "Because it is not fair."
"The System does not do fair or unfair," Lio said, repeating something he had read. "It does calculations."
"That sounds stupid," Aria said. "You are not stupid. You know more about classes and stats than half the instructors. How can it give you that?"
"Maybe that is why," he said, forcing a smile. "Someone needs to carry all your fancy knight gear."
Her mouth twitched. "That is not funny."
"I am kind of laughing."
"I can tell."
She clenched her hands at her sides. "Lio, we will… we will fix this. There has to be a way. Maybe the crystal glitched."
"The priestess said the System does not make mistakes," he reminded her.
"Priestesses can be wrong," Aria snapped, then winced and looked over her shoulder as if expecting one to materialize behind her. "Look, I do not care what some glowing rock says. You are not…" She gestured vaguely at him, frustrated. "…this."
"Apparently I am," he said quietly.
She looked at him for a long second, eyes shining. "Even if your class is F-rank, you are still Lio. That does not change."
It was a nice thing to say. It was the kind of thing a good person would say to someone whose life had just derailed.
He wanted to believe it.
"Thanks," he said. This time, his smile was a little less forced. "You should go talk to your father. He is probably proud enough to explode."
Aria made a face. "He will just say, 'Good. You have no excuse to be lazy now.'"
"That is his way of saying he loves you."
"I would prefer words," she muttered. Then she hesitated. "Will you come to the feast tonight? After the formal part? Everyone is going."
He thought of a hall full of laughter and bragging, of people comparing classes and bright futures. Of the word CARRIER whispered like a curse.
"I might be tired," he said. "Ceremony and all."
"Lio…"
"I will see," he lied.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly hearing the lie and choosing not to fight it. Instead, she stepped forward and pulled him into a quick, tight hug.
He froze.
Her armor-less body was warm, solid, real. She smelled faintly of steel oil and the flower soap they both used, because it was cheaper in bulk.
"You are not alone," she said into his shoulder. "Do not go deciding everything by yourself, okay?"
"I will try," he said.
She let go and stepped back, cheeks a little pink.
"Good," she said briskly, like they had just agreed on a training schedule. "I am going to talk to my parents before they start planning ten years of my life in five minutes. Do not disappear."
"No promises," he said.
She narrowed her eyes at him, then turned and walked away, shoulders squared, head high. People stepped aside to let her pass, some nodding, some bowing slightly.
An A-rank.
Lio watched her go, his chest tight.
"Lio." His father's voice came from beside him.
He turned.
His parents stood there, closer now, the crowd thinning around them. His father's face was calm, too calm, like he was holding everything inside. His mother's eyes were red.
"Hi," Lio said. "So. That was…"
"It is not your fault," his mother said immediately.
"I know," he replied.
Did he?
His father exhaled slowly through his nose. "The world is what it is," he said. "We will adjust."
Lio nodded.
"We will talk at home," his father continued. "Opportunities may still exist. Not for a knight or a mage, perhaps, but work is work. You are not useless."
The way he said it made it sound like he was trying to convince himself.
Lio's throat tightened. "I know," he said again.
His mother reached out and cupped his face, thumb brushing his cheek. "You are still our son," she whispered. "That does not change. Not for any letters in the air."
He closed his eyes for a moment. The warmth of her hand cut through the cold that had settled in his bones.
"I will come home soon," he said. "I just… need some air."