Silence Before the Storm
Ron withdrew his hand from the crystal, the cold sensation of its surface lingering on his fingertips.
The hall was dead silent.
For the first few moments, there was nothing—just a void of disbelief. Every other student had received something, whether powerful or weak. But Ron…
He had received nothing.
Then, the silence cracked.
A single scoff. A snort. A chuckle.
And then—
Laughter.
It started as a murmur but quickly built into a deafening roar of mockery.
"Did you see that?!"
"He actually got nothing!"
"The crystal didn't even react! That means he has ZERO potential!"
"He's worse than a D-Rank—he's literally nothing!"
Students doubled over in laughter, some clutching their stomachs, tears in their eyes from the sheer absurdity of the situation. Even the instructors, trained to maintain neutrality, exchanged uncomfortable glances, their expressions betraying a hint of pity.
Ron remained standing before the crystal, his posture straight.
His face was blank. Emotionless.
But inside, something cold burned.
Leo Graves' Mockery
A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the hall.
Leo Graves stepped forward, his golden eyes shining with amusement. Electricity still crackled faintly around him, a residual effect of his newly awakened Thunder Tyrant ability.
"Wow." He shook his head, grinning. "I didn't think it was possible for someone to be even more pathetic than they already were."
His words cut through the hall like a knife, making the laughter grow even louder.
Ron said nothing.
Leo leaned closer, lowering his voice so that only Ron could hear.
"Did you really think you'd get something? That somehow, fate would suddenly favor you? Face it, orphan—you're worthless. No system. No power. No future."
He straightened up, throwing his arms out dramatically.
"I mean, look at me!" Lightning crackled around his fingers, illuminating his smirk. "This is what true talent looks like. And you? You're nothing but a speck of dirt beneath my boots."
The crowd roared in approval.
Ron's eyes remained calm, but inside, a memory surfaced.
Memories of the Past Life
The laughter around him blurred, fading into distant echoes as his mind drifted back.
In his past life, he had also been underestimated. Mocked. Humiliated.
People had once looked at him the way these students did now—with condescension and scorn.
But in the end, those same people had trembled before him.
Back then, he had risen through sheer will, transcending mortality, defying the heavens, shattering expectations.
And now?
He could feel it—the same path unfolding before him.
"Let them laugh," he thought. "Let them mock me. I'll carve my destiny on my own terms."
The burning cold inside him intensified, but outwardly, he remained indifferent.
The Instructors' Reaction
At the podium, Instructor Reynolds, one of the academy's senior mentors, furrowed his brow.
He was an older man, his sharp features weathered by years of training awakeners. His golden robe signified his status as a high-ranking academy official. He had seen countless students awaken over the years. Some were prodigies, others disappointments.
But Ron…
"For the crystal to not react at all…"
Reynolds stroked his beard, deep in thought. Even those with the weakest potential would still produce a reaction. But for the crystal to remain completely inert?
"Either he truly has no potential… or something else is at play."
He exchanged a glance with the other instructors. Some looked amused, others uninterested.
But one—Headmaster Eldric—was watching intently, his piercing eyes narrowed as if seeing something beyond the surface.
Reynolds made a mental note. He would keep an eye on this boy.
The Weight of Scorn
The ceremony continued, but to the students, Ron was already forgotten.
Or rather, he was now nothing more than a joke—a name that would be whispered in ridicule for years to come.
"The guy who failed to awaken."
"The only student in Titan Academy history with zero potential."
He walked through the sea of students, their sneering faces surrounding him.
A few bumped into him on purpose, shoving his shoulder.
"Oops, my bad, weakling."
"Oh, wait, do I even need to apologize to someone who doesn't exist?"
The insults bounced off him. He had endured worse.
But among the sea of ridicule, there were two types of people who stood out.
One group was silent.
They weren't laughing.
Some looked uncomfortable, others seemed deep in thought. These were the few who weren't completely blind, the ones who felt that something was off.
And then there were the ones who looked at him with pity.
A delicate voice broke through the noise.
"Ron…"
He turned his head slightly.
Standing a few feet away was Evelyn Starcrest, a fellow student.
She had long silver hair, violet eyes, and a gentle presence that contrasted with the cruelty around them. She was from a prestigious family but was known for her kindness—one of the few who never mocked the weak.
Her expression was hesitant, her gaze conflicted.
She looked as if she wanted to say something—perhaps words of comfort, or even an apology on behalf of the others.
Ron met her gaze for a brief moment.
Then he turned away.
He didn't need pity.
A Quiet Departure
As the ceremony ended, students filed out, chatting excitedly about their awakenings.
Ron walked alone, his footsteps slow but firm.
He could hear whispers trailing behind him.
"I bet he won't even show up to class tomorrow."
"What's the point? He has no power."
"Might as well drop out now."
He ignored them.
The path ahead was uncertain.
But that didn't matter.
Because deep inside him, he already knew.
He didn't need a system.
He would walk his own path—one that none of them could ever comprehend.
And when the time came, they would all regret ever looking down on him.