Once, all humans were ordinary.
No powers. No magic. Just life as we knew it.
But then, everything changed.
A spark ignited.
Strange, unique humans began to emerge — each with abilities the world had never seen.
Soon, 99% of all humanity developed supernatural powers.
But these powers weren't random.
They traced back to the very first —
The original ten.
The first to awaken.
Known as the Guardians of Magic, each one possessed a unique trait.
Together, their abilities formed the blueprint of all supernatural power known today.
But not all power stayed in balance.
One of them turned.
The Guardian Flame — once a symbol of light and leadership — was cast out.
Consumed by bitterness and isolation, his power twisted and darkened.
In time, he became a creature of vengeance… a monstrous being known only as the Beast.
He returned with wrath, wielding corrupted power, determined to destroy the others.
The war that followed shook the world.
It ended with the Beast sealed away…
But the price was unimaginable.
The Guardians were gone. Every last one.
And though their essence lived on in the powers of generations,
The age of the originals had ended.
Years passed.
Legends faded.
Magic evolved.
But not a single fire-borne soul had risen again…
Until now.
"Yo! Hold up! Before we get into the crazy stuff — lemme introduce myself real quick.
Name's Nesshou Genta.
Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking.
'That loud kid?'
'The one always doing something dumb?'
'Didn't he break his arm racing a cat once?'
Guilty.
I'm not the smart one. Not the serious one. I'm just… me.
A little wild, a little reckless, a lot of awesome.
I live with my gramps — old dude, big beard, yells a lot. Parents? Not in the picture. Car crash, long time ago. Sad, I guess... but I don't like sad stuff.
So I laugh. I run. I shout.
That's how I live.
Anyway — today's the day.
Sixteen.
The big one.
Everyone around the world gets their powers when they turn sixteen.
It's called the Awakening.
Doesn't matter if you're rich or poor, top student or class clown — when that clock hits, boom, your magic flares up.
What power will I get?
Who cares?!
All I know is this:
Whatever it is... I'm going to be number one.
Simple, right?"
PREVIOUSLY ON CLASS 24
Nesshou Genta was just your average loudmouth teen — until the day of his Awakening finally arrived.
With his grandpa by his side, he headed to the Bloom Clinic for the moment that would decide his future.
But things didn't go as planned.
The tests — all eight of them — failed to read his power.
Not weak. Not unstable. Not anything.
Completely blank.
The last time that happened?
It was with the Flame Guardian — the most feared and dangerous of the original ten.
The doctor panicked. An alert went out.
Security closed in.
Then Grandpa revealed his own hidden gift — the Paralysis Eye — freezing their pursuers just long enough to escape.
Now, hidden away in a deserted place, Grandpa wrestles with the impossible thought:
Could his grandson be tied to the one power the world swore would never return?
Grandpa was pacing, muttering under his breath, his eyes darting around like the shadows might reach out and grab us. I'd never seen him like this — not even that time I set the kitchen on fire trying to "improve" instant ramen.
I just stood there, confused. Completely lost.
What was going on?
While I was trying to piece it together, I didn't realize something else was happening.
We weren't alone.
Somewhere, far beyond the line of trees, engines rumbled. Not loud enough to be obvious, but steady. Purposeful.
Whoever it was… they were coming straight for us.
Grandpa stopped pacing. Looked me dead in the eye.
"Nesshou… ninety-nine percent of people in the world have powers. Even the ones without active abilities still make the Bloom Orb react. Weak, strong, strange — it always registers something."
He took a step closer.
"But yours…" He shook his head slowly. "…Yours showed nothing. Not even a flicker. That's never supposed to happen."
I opened my mouth to ask, but he kept going.
"I don't know what's happening to you, but if my guess is right, we need to get you far away before—"
He stopped.
The faint hum in the distance was now a roar.
Shapes emerged between the trees — black-armored soldiers, moving in perfect formation.
Before we could even take a step, we were surrounded.
A sleek black transport rolled up behind the soldiers, its engine purring like some kind of predator that knew it was already on top of the food chain. The back hatch hissed open, and out stepped a man in a long dark coat, his boots crunching over the gravel.
His presence hit harder than the soldiers' guns.
Sharp eyes. Calm, but dangerous calm.
The kind of calm that only comes from knowing you're the one holding all the cards.
"Mr. Genta," he said, his voice steady and cold, "you know why we're here."
Grandpa's shoulders tensed. "If you think for one second I'm handing him over—"
The man raised a hand, and instantly, every rifle around us clicked into position.
"If you don't," he continued, "then I'm afraid you leave us no choice but to neutralize both of you. Orders are orders."
My heart was pounding, but Grandpa didn't move. He stepped in front of me, his left eye narrowing — the faint shimmer of that strange power I'd seen earlier flickering there.
"You'll have to go through me first."
The commander smiled — not kindly, not mockingly… just like he'd been expecting that answer.
"Then I suppose," he said, "we do this the hard way."
The man's gaze lingered on Grandpa for a moment before he stepped back toward the transport.
He climbed inside without another word. A low hum followed, and then a sharp flick of his hand — a signal.
The soldiers moved instantly.
One by one, they jumped down from the trucks, black armor glinting under the sunlight, boots pounding the earth in perfect rhythm. In seconds, they were charging straight at us.
Grandpa's stance shifted — low, solid, like a wall that couldn't be moved. I'd seen him chop wood, fix engines, even chase a stray dog off our porch, but never like this.
His left eye snapped open wider — and two of the front-line soldiers froze mid-stride, their bodies locked like statues. The others swarmed around them, blades flashing, stun-batons crackling with electricity.
Grandpa moved fast.
Faster than I thought a man his age could.
A twist here, an elbow there, sweeping a soldier's legs out, disarming another before the man even knew what happened.
I just stood there, stunned.
This was my grandpa. The guy who fell asleep in front of the TV and complained about my music being "too loud." Now he was weaving through armored soldiers like he'd been doing this all his life.
But the Paralysis Eye wasn't limitless.
I could see his movements slowing after just minutes, the shimmer in his left eye dimming. He could only hold two soldiers at a time, and with each wave, more replaced the ones he dropped.
Ten minutes in, sweat was pouring down his face.
He staggered but kept swinging, planting himself between me and the advancing wall of black armor.
That's when the man returned.
He stepped down from the transport again — slower this time, deliberate.
The soldiers pulled back at his gesture, giving him space. His hands were relaxed at his sides, but the air around him seemed to bend, darkening.
From the ground, shadows began to stretch unnaturally, twisting upward into jagged shapes. They solidified — forming two towering silhouettes with glowing eyes.
Grandpa's jaw tightened.
He rushed forward, dropping the first shadow with a crushing blow, pivoting to cut through the second.
For a moment, I thought he had it.
But then the man himself moved.
He was fast. Too fast.
His fist slammed into Grandpa's ribs, knocking him back several steps. Another blow caught his jaw. The sound made my stomach twist.
I wanted to move.
I wanted to scream.
But my legs wouldn't listen.
Every strike the man landed on Grandpa felt like it hit me, too.
And when Grandpa finally dropped to one knee, blood trickling from his mouth but still glaring up at the man… something inside me started to boil.
It wasn't fear anymore.
It was rage.
The man stood over Grandpa, breathing steady as if the fight had barely warmed him up.
He looked down with that cold, crooked smirk.
"For an old relic… you put up a decent fight," he said, his voice low but carrying.
"But let's be honest — you're just a flicker in a world of storms. Your time was over long ago."
Grandpa spat blood at the ground, glaring but too drained to rise.
The man's boots crunched against the dirt as he stepped closer, slow and deliberate.
When he reached Grandpa, he crouched down, almost casual, placing a hand on his shoulder like he was about to console him.
But the weight in that hand was no kindness.
It was the setup for the finishing strike.
Something in me snapped.
The words, the way he stood over Grandpa, like he'd already won…
My chest tightened. My vision blurred — no, burned.
Heat rushed through my veins.
A pressure I'd never felt before roared to life inside me.
I gasped — and my hair, once its usual dark mess, bled into a blazing crimson.
My eyes lit up in the same shade, a deep, molten red that pulsed with power.
Then… the flames came.
They erupted without warning, swirling around me in waves, cracking the earth beneath my feet.
They weren't just hot — they were alive, coiling like serpents, lashing out in every direction.
The air filled with the sound of crackling fire and startled shouts.
The remaining soldiers screamed, stumbling back, their armor glowing red before they dropped to the ground.
Even Grandpa's eyes widened. The man's calm broke — just for a second.
The fire didn't spare anyone in its reach — not Grandpa, not the man, not even me.
It roared higher, wrapping us all in a storm of heat and light.
And in that moment… I saw it in their eyes.
The shock.
The realization.
They knew.
The thought they'd been afraid to say out loud — now burning right in front of them.
The flames had been reborn.
The screams had already stopped.
The ground smoked, the air thick with the stench of scorched earth.
Bodies lay still, armor twisted and blackened.
The soldiers were gone — every last one of them.
Only three of us were left in the burning wasteland.
Grandpa, one knee down, sweat and ash on his brow, staring at me like I was both his grandson… and a stranger.
The commander, shadows curling around his frame like living serpents, his face torn between rage and awe.
And me — standing at the center, the flames dancing along my arms, my legs, my very breath… like they'd always belonged there.
It didn't hurt.
Not even a sting.
If anything, it felt right.
Like my body had been waiting for this exact moment.
"You…" the commander's voice broke the silence, low and sharp.
His shadows twitched, recoiling from the heat.
"So it's true… The Flame lives."
I didn't even know what he meant.
But when he took a single step forward, the fire roared, forming a wall between us.
"Genta!" Grandpa's voice cut through the chaos. "Listen to me — stop this before it's too late!"
But the flames didn't listen.
They pulsed harder, hotter.
The commander's smirk returned, darker this time.
"You can't control it, boy. It'll eat you alive. Just like the last one."
He lunged, shadows forming into two jagged blades.
And before I could even move —
The fire moved for me.
The flames swirled, snapping and hissing like they were alive, inching toward Grandpa. For a second, I thought they might lash out at him — but he didn't back away. Instead, he stepped closer, his old coat singed at the edges, his face tight with worry.
"Genta… calm down," he said, his voice firm but trembling. "This isn't you. You're not a weapon. You're my grandson."
The heat wavered. My breath came in sharp bursts, every inhale feeding the blaze, every exhale cracking the air.
Behind him, the commander's voice cut through the roar, low and threatening.
"If he keeps this up, we all burn. Boy or not — I'll kill us all before I let that power run free."
Grandpa's eyes didn't leave mine.
"You'll have to get through me first."
The flames shuddered, then slowly began to sink, folding in on themselves until only faint sparks drifted in the wind. My body felt heavy… empty.
The world tilted. I staggered, my vision blurring at the edges. Grandpa caught my shoulders, but his grip felt far away.
The commander's shadows shifted, curling like snakes, waiting for the flames to rise again.
I wanted to say something — anything — but the strength was gone.
And before I knew it my head was hitting the ground.
NESSGEEORIGINAL