The sound of rain hit the roof in uneven beats. The exam hall smelled of old paper, sweat, and tension. Hundreds of students waited in silence, each one staring at the crystal sphere glowing in the center of the room. One by one, they placed their hands on it, hoping it would flare with color.
Blue meant strength.
Red meant magic.
Gold meant genius.
Blank meant failure.
The boy standing next in line looked half awake, like he'd wandered into the wrong place. His name — Kael Draven. He didn't come from any noble line, didn't have a master, and didn't carry a single blessing. He had only the faint memory of falling asleep on a bus back on Earth — then waking up here, in a world that decided your worth before you could even speak.
The instructor barked his name again.
"Kael Draven. Step forward."
He did. The other students whispered. The noble-born ones leaned back in their seats, already smiling.
Kael placed his palm on the crystal.
It shone bright for a heartbeat—then dimmed to nothing.
The crystal turned pale white.
The silence that followed was colder than the rain outside.
The instructor's voice dropped. "Blank Crest."
Someone laughed in the back. Another muttered, "Figures. Commoner trash."
Kael pulled his hand back slowly. The surface of the orb had gone smooth and dark again, as if it had never lit up. He looked down at his palm. A faint, almost invisible mark had appeared — a hollow ring, like a circle missing its center.
Blank.
That was it. No blessing. No talent. No future.
The instructor scribbled something in his ledger and waved him off. "Next."
Kael walked toward the exit. His steps echoed louder than the others. The door opened to the academy courtyard — wide stone paths, marble towers, and rows of banners with crest emblems. Students stood in clusters, showing off their new marks like medals.
He found a quiet corner under a cracked statue and sat down.
"So this is how it starts," he muttered. "Born useless. Again."
A small orb on his wrist — part of the academy's identity system — flickered to life. It displayed his name and rank.
Kael Draven — Crest: Blank (Non-ranked)
A small message blinked below it.
Report to Dorm C, Room 17 before sunset.
The academy didn't even give Blank students proper housing. Dorm C was half a mile from the main campus, a place used for storing broken training gear and failed experiments.
Kael sighed, pushing off the statue. He'd been in worse places.
As he walked, memories drifted back — short flashes of another life. A crowded city, dim phone screens, caffeine and deadlines. Then a blinding white light. Then… this. No explanation. No choice. Just rebirth with a useless label.
By the time he reached Dorm C, the rain had stopped. The building leaned slightly, its windows fogged from inside. He opened the door and stepped into the smell of rust and dust.
A few other students were already there — all with pale, faintly glowing Blank marks. They looked up when he entered.
One girl with short silver hair grinned. "Another one of us. Congratulations on being born worthless."
Kael gave her a half-smile. "Feels great. Lifetime achievement."
That got a laugh. The tension dropped a bit.
The silver-haired girl gestured toward an empty bed. "I'm Ryn, and that snoring pile over there is Taro. Welcome to the rejects."
"Kael," he said, sitting down. "Thanks."
Taro, a bulky boy with a scar across his chin, opened one eye. "You got Blank too?"
"Yeah."
He snorted. "Then we'll get along. Nobody expects anything from us. Means we can do whatever we want."
Kael leaned back on the thin mattress. "Or get kicked out before next month."
Ryn shrugged. "Same difference."
That night, Kael couldn't sleep. The faint hum of mana stones in the walls pulsed like a heartbeat. Every student here was born with something — fire, ice, steel, wind. Something that defined them.
He had nothing.
Or so he thought.
Near midnight, a sharp pain burned across his palm. He sat up, clutching his hand. The ring-shaped mark on his skin glowed faintly — not white this time, but silver.
A strange whisper echoed in his mind. It wasn't a voice, more like thought taking shape.
Mimic Soul… active.
Kael froze. "What?"
Light spilled from the mark, drawing symbols in the air — quick, shifting, almost alive. Then it faded.
The sound of movement came from the next bed. Ryn was training even at night, her hands forming a pattern that made the air shimmer. Tiny sparks followed her movements — wind threads, a basic control technique.
Kael stared at her hands. The mark on his palm flared again.
Observed ability detected.
Wind Thread: Basic Level.
Do you wish to replicate?
He blinked. "This… can't be real."
But his instinct said otherwise.
"...Yes," he whispered.
A rush of energy spread from his arm to his chest, then up through his fingers. The air trembled. His hand moved on its own, tracing the same motion Ryn had made.
The air around him quivered — and a faint silver thread formed between his fingers before snapping like a broken string.
The glow vanished. His pulse raced.
Replication successful. Incomplete mimic formed.
Kael sat still for a long time. He didn't move, didn't breathe. Then, slowly, a grin crept across his face.
"Blank Crest, huh…" he muttered. "Sure. Let's go with that."
He lay back down, the grin refusing to leave.
Outside, the academy bells rang twice, signaling the start of the initiation week — where new students were ranked and tested publicly.
Tomorrow, everyone would see who the failures were.
And Kael planned to play his part perfectly.