I pored over the guide, absorbing every detail until the instructions burned into my mind. It was unorthodox, to say the least. To jumpstart the awakening, I had to draw blood, a physical sacrifice to bridge the gap between the natural and the supernatural. The guide was specific: as the blade bit in, I had to shout the first word that surfaced from my subconscious.
My eyes fell on a kitchen knife resting on the counter. It sat there with an eerie, polished gleam, looking less like a household tool and more like it had been staged for this exact moment.
"Please," I whispered, my fingers tightening around the hilt. "Make this work."
I didn't hesitate. I drew the edge across my arm with the frantic resolve of a desperate man. As the sharp sting flared, a single image flashed behind my eyes. The golden lion symbol from that mysterious shop.
"Auron!"
The air fractured. A shimmering, golden status window erupted into existence, hovering in the dim light of the room. It displayed my name, my age, and a set of vitals that made my breath hitch.
I gasped, my eyes scanning the data. My Luck was astronomical, far higher than any other attribute, followed closely by my Intelligence. But it was the designation in the top-left corner that stopped my heart:
Class: Mastermind
I'd never considered myself particularly brilliant, just a man fueled by spite and survival, but the system clearly saw a different potential. The rest of my stats, however, were a grim reminder of my current physical reality.
Strength: 0/200
Agility: 1/200
Intelligence: 100/200
Luck: 150/200
I was effectively a glass cannon without the cannon. I had the mind to plan a revolution and the luck to survive a lightning strike, but in a physical fight, I was as fragile as a dry leaf. I wasn't...a fighter. Not yet, anyway.
But I refused to let the numbers discourage me. "I need to focus on my strengths and play the hand I've been dealt," I muttered. I stopped, surprised by the cold, razor-sharp logic in my own voice. There was no panic, no lingering fear, just a clinical assessment of my situation. It had to be a perk of the Mastermind class; my emotions were being filtered through a lens of pure strategy.
I couldn't stay holed up in this cramped room forever. If I were going to take revenge, I needed assets. I needed a team to provide the muscle I lacked, and I desperately needed to start training this weak body before a stiff breeze snapped me in half.
I turned my attention back to the website. In my head, I named it the "Guide Book", a lame name, I know; I've never been good at naming. But as I scrolled further down the page, my breath hitched.
The site had updated. Below the initial instructions was a list of names, and the level of detail was staggering. It wasn't just a directory; it was a database. I could see their Classes, their Strength, their Agility, their Intelligence, and their Luck.
It was unsettling. The interface was tailored so perfectly to my new Class that it felt intentional. It was as if someone had known exactly what I would need, when I would need it, and how I would use it. I wasn't just looking at a website anymore; I was looking at a map for a revolution.
I scanned the list until a name stopped me cold: Ezekiel Brown.
Class: Warrior
Strength: 159/200
Agility: 120/200
Intelligence: 150/200
Luck: 0/200
I didn't know him personally, but his face was etched into my memory from the old world's news cycles. He had been one of the government's most effective "living weapons", a powerhouse who was ground down by the very system he served. He'd spent his life trapped in a predatory contract he signed as a youth, a legal cage he could never break.
Looking at his stats now, something didn't add up. With an Intelligence score of 150, he should have been able to see the trap from a mile away. He had the brainpower of a scholar, yet he was notoriously naïve; a genius who couldn't navigate the malice of others. A typical hero.
He was a masterpiece of potential, wasted and exploited. And according to my "Guide Book," he was out there right now, likely before the ink on that soul-crushing contract had even dried.
A Warrior with that kind of raw power but no luck? He was the perfect candidate for a hero. I didn't just want to save him from his fate; I wanted to recruit the man who would eventually become the world's strongest vanguard.
The question was: how do I convince a genius-level Warrior to trust a "Dormant" with zero strength?
I brushed the question of recruitment aside for the moment. I had more immediate concerns, like finding the Golden Lion store.
As I stepped out, I glanced at the phone in my hand. On a whim, I closed my eyes and whispered, "Inventory." The device vanished into a ripple of distorted air. It was a convenient trick and a necessary one, considering this phone seemingly defied the laws of physics by never needing to charge. I couldn't risk having such an anomaly stolen.
I spent hours scouring the city. I returned to the exact same alleyway, the same coordinate where the shop should have been, but the Golden Lion was nowhere to be found. Just as the weight of frustration began to settle in, I spotted a scene that stopped me in my tracks: a young boy surrounded by a group of men in sharp, predatory suits, clutching a thick stack of legal papers.
Fate, it seemed, had a sense of humor, or was it my luck? It was Ezekiel Brown.
I broke into a sprint; my mind was already whirring. My Mastermind class kicked into high gear, simulating outcomes, analyzing body language, and drafting a strategy to make this kid mine. (Not in a romantic sense, obviously, I needed his sword, not his heart).
"Sorry, gentlemen," I said, sliding into the circle and slinging an arm over his surprisingly solid shoulder. "This man already has an appointment with me."
"I do?" Ezekiel asked, blinking with a look of pure, unadulterated confusion.
I suppressed a sigh. Use that 150 Intelligence, kid. Please.
"Yes!" I flashed a bright, practiced smile at the stunned suits and began steering Ezekiel away before they could object.
We ended up at a nearby café. The smell of roasted beans and sugar was intoxicating; it had been a lifetime since I'd tasted real sweets. I ordered my favorite coffee and a slice of cake, savoring normalcy.
"So... who are you, mister?" Ezekiel asked, eyeing me with deep skepticism. He couldn't have been more than fifteen, yet he already carried the frame of a seasoned athlete.
"Don't 'mister' me, kid. I'm not that old," I countered, catching my reflection in the window.
I looked barely twenty. I had sharp, black hair, thick brows, and deep-set "hunter" eyes shadowed by temporary eyebags. My lips were well-defined, and my features were striking, but I was painfully thin, a handsome skeleton in search of a meal.
"Okay. Then what do you want with me, sir?" He was clearly judging my lack of muscle.
"I'm Erik," I said, leaning forward with my most charming, persuasive smile. "And I'm looking for talented young men like you to join me."
Ezekiel recoiled slightly, shielding his face with his hands. "Mister... your smile is actually kind of terrifying."
I caught my reflection in the window again and winced. He wasn't lying. My attempt at a reassuring "mentor" look had come across as a predatory mask, the kind of expression a monster wears before it unhinges its jaw.
"Terrifying, huh?" I muttered, rubbing my face to reset my features. "I apologize, Ezekiel. I haven't... slept much lately. I meant no harm." I pushed a plate of pastries toward him as a peace offering.
"It's okay, mister," he said, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the sugar. The suspicion in his gaze softened, replaced by the simple hunger of a kid who hadn't eaten a decent meal in days.
"So," I leaned back, my voice turning serious. "Where are your parents? And what did those men in the suits want with you?"
Ezekiel swallowed a bite of cake, his expression turning somber. "I'm Ezekiel Brown. I just came from the Association. I... I awakened. I was trying to find a job because my mom is in the hospital. She was struck with the 'Curse of the Classless.' She's in a coma, and the bills are... they're too much. My dad went missing months ago, and I have no one else."
He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white as he fought back tears. "Those men said they could pay for everything if I just signed their papers."
I felt a cold surge of anger. The Curse of the Classless: a rare, devastating condition where the body attempts to mana-awaken but fails to manifest a Class, causing the internal energy to collapse the nervous system. In my past life, it was common knowledge that the government let his mother die while he was away on a suicide mission. They used her life as a leash until it wasn't useful anymore.
"I understand," I said, my voice low and firm. "Listen to me, Ezekiel. I will find a cure for your mother, and I will handle the hospital bills. All of them."
"Really, mister?" He looked up, hope flickering in his eyes like a dying candle.
"I give you my word. Don't sign anything from those men. I'll take care of it." I reached out and patted his shoulder, the Mastermind in me already calculating the cost of the best private medical suite in the city. "We just met, but it's not safe for you to be out there alone with those sharks circling. Why don't you stay at my place for a while?"
"Sure, mister!" he chirped, finishing the last of his treats.
We didn't have to walk long. We reached the gates of a sprawling, ivory-white mansion. I had almost forgotten that at this point in time, my family was still "Old Money." Before the corruption of the 21st-century presidents stripped us of our titles and the betrayal of our "allies" left us starving, I was a child of the elite. My golden spoon hadn't melted down for scrap metal yet.
"Mister, you're so rich!" Ezekiel gaped, his neck craning to take in the sheer scale of the estate.
"Of course, young man," I said, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips as we walked up the limestone driveway. "My father is the highest-ranked Awakened in the country. At least for now."
As the heavy oak doors swung open, I realized I had just brought the future's strongest Warrior into the heart of a doomed dynasty. My intelligence was 100, and my luck was 120; it was time to see if that was enough to rewrite a tragedy.