The hallway was silent when the door closed behind him.
Two unfamiliar guards flanked him—not aggressive, but alert. Aryl walked between them, calm as ever. But inside, something coiled tight in his chest.
No mana detected. That machine had labeled him a ghost. A normal. Powerless.
But they'd felt it. Back at the school. The flare during the fight. The agents from Creedshift hadn't shown up over a prank.
The door at the end of the corridor opened with a pneumatic hiss.
The room was wide—circular, lined with layered glass walls that pulsed faintly with reinforced barrier runes. The air carried a sterile sharpness, like a hospital built to contain monsters.
And seated in the center, behind a narrow silver desk, was a man in an obsidian jacket. Older, sharp-eyed, and far too calm for someone reading Aryl's file.
He didn't offer a name. Didn't ask for one.
"Sit."
Aryl did. Wordless.
The man tapped the screen again, scrolling past the empty results.
"No mana. No trace. No registration. But two agents verified your awakening in the field." He looked up, eyes narrowing. "You see the problem?"
Aryl leaned back. "You're the ones with the machine that's broken."
The man didn't smile. Didn't frown either.
"You used force strong enough to warp local energy readings. You withstood a classmate's attack. Your body shows signs of unnatural reinforcement—fast-twitch muscle growth, bone density shifts, minor tissue regeneration."
He tilted the screen toward Aryl.
"You're awakened. But this—" he gestured at the red warning line "—says you don't exist."
A beat of silence passed.
Then the man asked, "What's your power?"
Aryl held his stare. He didn't answer.
Not out of defiance—out of caution.
Because he wasn't sure what his power was.Not yet.Just a system that no one else had. A screen only he could see.
"I don't know," he said.
The man watched him a little too long at that.
Then leaned back.
"You'll attend evaluation classes. Combat training. If anything surfaces—we'll find it."
He tapped the console once more.
"Until then, you're on probation."
A few minutes later, Aryl stepped out onto the academy's upper terrace.
It was afternoon now. Sunlight bathed the sprawling campus. Towers stretched into the sky, glass and stone curving around open-air platforms. Transport rails arced above the distant training domes, while wind stirred the golden banners emblazoned with Creedshift's emblem.
The students here looked like they belonged in picture books. Polished. Bright-eyed. Laughing like they didn't know what war felt like.
Aryl stepped out , the steel doors hissing shut behind him.
He was drained. Not physically—but something in that room had left a strange weight on his shoulders. Not being able to use mana, watching the instructor's subtle shift from interest to wariness... It left a mark.
He just wanted to go back to the home. Rest. Think.
But then he saw a guy .
He looked harmless—almost too harmless.
Leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world, the guy wore a loose-fitting jacket that swallowed most of his frame, hands tucked into his pockets like this was just another lazy afternoon. His hair was a shaggy mess—unbrushed, too long in some places, a little too short in others. And his smile?
That damn smile never reached his eyes. His posture screamed slacker, but his eyes didn't.
Those eyes were narrow. Sharp. Calculating.
Like someone who already knew how you'd move three steps before you did. he was handsome though
Nothing threatening. Nothing noteworthy.
Except the eyes.
For a split second, they met Aryl's. Not just a glance—a look. Focused. Still. Like he was watching a ripple in glass.
Aryl kept walking.
He pushed off the wall and passed by without a word, hands still buried in his jacket pockets. A toothpick flicked slightly at the corner of his mouth, shifting with every quiet step.
No introductions. No smirk.
And for reasons he couldn't explain, Aryl felt it again—that low pulse in the air. He turned back once. But the guy was already gone.
Aryl stopped halfway down the hall, eyes narrowing slightly.
Why the hell was that guy even leaning there?He just stood like a final boss in a hallway cutscene—and the moment I showed up, he walked off like it was nothing.Not a word. Not a glance back. Nothing.
Aryl ran a hand through his hair, annoyed without knowing exactly why.
And what was with that face?Sharp jawline, clear skin, that annoying half-smile like he'd just woken up from a ten-hour nap and still looked better than ninety percent of the academy.
He clicked his tongue under his breath.
Still, Aryl couldn't shake the feeling in his gut.
That guy hadn't just been there. He was waiting.
And now that he was gone, the hallway suddenly felt less sharp. Less... charged.
Something about him wasn't right.
But Aryl had more immediate problems than mystery hallway weirdos.
He turned away and kept walking, his footsteps echoing down the corridor—silent, steady, and alone.
By the time Aryl left the academy gates, the sky had already started shifting to that dull gray-orange—too early for sunset, but late enough that the wind had teeth.
The walk home was quiet. Too quiet.
Only when he stepped onto the cracked pavement near his neighborhood did it hit him.
…I haven't shown up at the store in five days.
He exhaled sharply through his nose. Not quite a sigh—just resignation.
The owner probably already replaced him. Not that he blamed them. Minimum wage didn't come with grace periods, especially for kids who vanished without notice.
His wallet was near-empty. His sister still needed dinner. And there were bills waiting like vultures back home.
He needed a way to make money. Fast.
Without slowing his pace, he brought the system interface to the front of his vision.
[SYSTEM INTERFACE]
A familiar transparent panel blinked to life.
Stats. Quests. Inventory.
But one icon caught his eye this time—one he hadn't bothered with before.
[SHOP]
He tapped it.
The panel shifted. A grid of items appeared—basic tools, strange trinkets, unfamiliar materials, each with strange names and vague descriptions.
But most of it was grayed out.
Locked until Level 3. Locked until Level 5. Locked until Higher Clearance.
Only a few were available under his current level.
"Cheap Healing Salve – 30 Credits""Faded Ring of Perception (+1 PER) – 90 Credits""Basic Combat Ration (1 Meal) – 10 Credits"
He scrolled through them with a furrowed brow.
This wasn't a cheat shop. It wasn't going to hand him cash or conjure food out of thin air.
But it was something. If he could figure out how to earn system currency... maybe he wouldn't need a part-time job at all.
"How do I even get credits...?"
Aryl closed the interface, his mind already shifting into calculation mode.
There had to be a way.
He just hadn't found it yet.
He was about to close the interface when another notification quietly blinked at the corner of his vision.
[Level 2 Reward – Unclaimed]
Aryl tapped it.
A soft hum echoed in his ears as the system materialized the item directly into his inventory.
[Rustborn Blade – A standard iron longsword. Balanced, reliable, and entirely unremarkable.]
The weapon appeared in his hands in a flash of light—cool to the touch, heavier than it looked. A simple hilt, a clean but dull edge, no runes or enchantments. Just a sword. Nothing more.
He turned it over in his grip.
No glow. No dramatic effect. No flashy name. Just iron and steel.
So this is my first weapon
eyes narrowing. "Looks decent. But do I need it right now?"
A blade could help him survive. Train. Fight.
But right now?
Right now, he needed money more than he needed another weight dragging behind him.
He didn't need to think long.
A few messages later, he was on the way to an underground buyer he remembered from old threads—someone who dealt with oddities. Weapons, gear, you name it.
The guy barely even blinked when Aryl pulled the sword out of the duffel bag.
"Looks basic, but this metal… where'd you get this?" the man asked, examining the blade under a yellow desk lamp.
"Family heirloom," Aryl lied without flinching.
The man nodded like he didn't care. He pulled out his phone, tapped around for a bit, then looked back.
"₩1,430,000. You want cash or transfer?"
Aryl didn't show it on his face. But inside?
What the hell?
"…Transfer," he muttered.
Moments later, the money hit his account.
He walked out with lighter hands and a heavier wallet.
And maybe, just maybe, a glimpse into how dangerous—or profitable—this system could really be.
This sword… that plain-looking sword…
He let out a breath. Slow. Calm. But his thoughts were anything but.
Alright. That's one way to pay rent.
The tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. The grind hadn't ended—but for once, he wasn't starting from zero.
And now… he had options.
The streetlights buzzed overhead as he stepped out into the night, bag empty, pockets full. Seoul's air was sharp with early spring chill, but it didn't bite like usual.
₩1,430,000.
Just like that, he wasn't starving anymore.
He could've walked home, but his feet turned toward a different direction. A familiar one. The neighborhood where lights stayed on late and the smell of grilled meat clung to the air like memory.
He stopped outside a cozy little shop. Nothing fancy—just red stools and steam-fogged windows.
His eyes scanned the menu taped to the glass.
Galbi. Bulgogi. Tteokbokki. Fried dumplings.
He pulled out his phone and glanced at the transfer again—still there, still real.
A ghost of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips.
Let's eat good tonight, Asha.
And for the first time in a while, he walked in—not just as a brother with responsibilities, but as someone who could actually provide.
Tomorrow would bring more tests, more eyes, more danger.
But tonight?
Tonight was for her.