# Chapter 1 — The Last Awakening Ceremony
The air inside the Grand Awakening Hall of the Xendra Military Academy was suffocating.
Rows upon rows of teenagers sat in silence, pure terror on their faces. Some fidgeted with their academy-issued uniforms, others stared blankly, their eyes white and empty like laves that had accepted their fates.
Michael Norman—or rather, the soul that now inhabited Michael Norman's body—sat near the middle of the hall, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a trapped bird. The memories of the original owner were still settling, fragments of a life lived in poverty and desperation filtering through his consciousness like sand through fingers.
*So this is it,* he thought, watching the ornate awakening orb pulse with ethereal light at the front of the massive chamber. *My second chance at life, and it all comes down to this one moment.*
The hall itself was a marvel of post-apocalyptic architecture—towering pillars carved with intricate runes that supposedly channeled origin energy, walls reinforced with materials brought from the Gods Domain itself, and a ceiling so high it disappeared into shadows. Holographic displays floated above the stage, cycling through statistics that only served to heighten everyone's anxiety: success rates, class distributions, survival probabilities. Cold, clinical numbers that reduced human potential to mere percentages.
"Settle down!" A sharp voice cut through the murmurs rippling across the hall.
Instructor Kane—a grizzled veteran with a scar running from his temple to his jaw—stood before them like a monument to survival. His muscular frame was encased in the distinctive midnight-blue uniform of the Federation's Awakener Corps, and the insignia on his chest marked him as a Level 47 Berserker. The man radiated power, the kind that made ordinary people instinctively step back.
"Today marks your final opportunity," Kane began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the cavernous space without need for amplification. "For those of you who are eighteen, this is your last awakening ceremony. Your last chance to join the ranks of Espers and step beyond the limitations of ordinary humanity."
Michael felt his throat tighten. Eighteen. The original Michael Norman had just turned eighteen two months ago, forcibly enrolled in this academy along with every other child in Mega City No. 3090 who fell within the awakening age range. It was mandatory. It was law. And it was his only hope of escape from a life of mediocrity—or worse.
"I won't sugarcoat it," Kane continued, pacing before the stage with measured steps. "Most of you will fail. The statistics don't lie. Out of every hundred candidates, perhaps three to five will successfully awaken a class. The rest..." He paused, letting the silence hammer home his point. "The rest will return to ordinary lives. Manual labor in the mega cities. Perhaps, if you're dedicated enough, you might pursue the path of a Genetic Awakener—but that requires resources most of your families cannot afford, and decades of grueling cultivation to reach even basic competence."
A girl two rows ahead began to sob quietly. Others shifted uncomfortably, the harsh reality settling over them like a funeral shroud.
"However," Kane's expression softened slightly, "for those who do awaken, your lives will change irrevocably. You will gain access to the Gods Domain. You will receive Federation support, training, resources, and opportunities beyond anything available to normal citizens. You will become humanity's shield against the threats that still plague our world. You will become *valuable*."
Michael's hands clenched into fists on his lap. Valuable. That single word carried the weight of everything the original Michael Norman had dreamed of. No more scraping by in the lower districts. No more watching his guardian, Mia, work herself to exhaustion just to keep food on the table. No more wondering if they'd make rent each month.
"We will now begin," Kane announced, gesturing toward the awakening orb. "When your name is called, approach the platform. Place both hands on the orb and focus your mind. The process takes exactly thirty seconds. If you possess the potential for awakening, the orb will react. Your class, grade, and initial stats will be automatically registered with the Federation database and the Espers Association."
The instructor pulled out a holographic tablet, its blue light casting eerie shadows across his scarred features. "First candidate: Lilian Stone."
A girl from the front row stood on shaky legs. She was petite, with short black hair and determination blazing in her eyes despite the fear evident in every line of her body. The hall fell into absolute silence as she approached the platform, every eye tracking her movement.
Lilian placed her hands on the crystalline surface of the orb, and Michael found himself holding his breath along with everyone else.
Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.
The silence stretched like torture.
Twenty seconds.
Someone whispered a prayer.
Twenty-five seconds.
*She's going to fail,* Michael thought, his heart sinking for this stranger whose name he'd just learned.
Then, at the twenty-eight-second mark, the orb exploded with brilliant golden light.
Gasps erupted throughout the hall as combat auras manifested around Lilian's body—crackling energy that made the very air vibrate with power. Her posture straightened, her eyes widened in shock and disbelief, and for one beautiful moment, pure joy transformed her features.
"Lilian Stone," Kane announced, his voice carrying notes of genuine approval. "Martial Artist class. Grade: Uncommon. Congratulations, Awakener."
The hall erupted in chaotic applause, relief, and vicarious excitement. If she could do it, maybe others could too. Maybe they weren't all doomed to failure.
But hope, Michael soon learned, was a cruel mistress.
"Marcus Chen."
Failure.
"Elara Rodriguez."
Failure.
"Thomas Wright."
Failure.
One after another, names were called. One after another, teenagers approached the orb with desperate hope and walked away with crushed dreams. Some accepted their fate with quiet dignity. Others broke down immediately, tears streaming down faces too young to bear such disappointment. The guards stationed around the hall—grim-faced men and women in Federation armor—watched everything with detached efficiency, ready to intervene if anyone became too unruly.
Michael tracked the numbers with growing dread. Twenty candidates. Thirty. Forty. Fifty.
Only Lilian had succeeded.
The emotional atmosphere in the hall had shifted from anxious hope to something approaching despair. The air felt heavier now, thick with the weight of dashed expectations and uncertain futures. Michael could practically taste the bitterness, could feel it seeping into his own bones despite his attempts to remain calm.
*This isn't like the light novels I used to read,* he thought, a hysterical laugh trapped in his throat. *This is real. These are real people whose entire lives are being decided in thirty-second intervals. And I'm one of them.*
His transmigration had been sudden—consciousness simply snapping into this body during the wait for the ceremony. The original Michael Norman's memories were there, accessible but somehow distant, like watching someone else's life through frosted glass. He knew the basics: orphaned young, raised by Mia who'd taken him in out of kindness (though their relationship seemed far closer than simple guardianship), poverty that meant skipping meals regularly, dreams of becoming an Awakener as the only viable path to a better life.
"Candidate seventy-three: Jessica Moore."
Michael watched another girl approach with trembling steps. She couldn't have been more than sixteen—one of the younger candidates still with time for future ceremonies. But that didn't stop the tears already forming in her eyes, the premature acceptance of failure written across her young face.
Thirty seconds passed.
Nothing.
She walked away, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, and Michael felt something cold settle in his chest.
*What if I fail too?* The thought was paralyzing. *I've been given a second chance at life, transmigrated into a world with game-like systems and supernatural powers, and I might waste it all because of bad luck at awakening?*
No. He couldn't think that way. Wouldn't think that way.
The ceremony continued its brutal procession. More names. More failures. Occasionally, someone would awaken—a Warrior here, a Scout there, even a Mage that caused excited murmurs. But the successes were so rare they only seemed to highlight the cruel lottery of it all.
Michael lost track of time, lost in the rhythm of names called and hopes destroyed. His mind wandered through the fragmented knowledge he'd absorbed: the apocalypse over two thousand years ago, the space rifts, the transformation of Earth into something called the Aurora Realm, the rise of Espers and Genetic Awakeners, the Federation's iron grip over humanity's surviving mega cities.
This world was harsh. Unforgiving. And he was about to discover whether he had any place in it beyond being another faceless worker in the endless machinery of survival.
"Candidate one hundred forty-seven: Michael Norman."
His heart stopped.
The voice seemed to come from very far away, even though Instructor Kane stood only meters distant. Michael's legs moved automatically, carrying him toward the platform through an aisle that felt miles long. Every eye in the hall turned toward him—some curious, most simply numb from witnessing so much failure.
The awakening orb loomed before him, its crystalline surface swirling with hypnotic patterns of light. Up close, he could feel it humming with energy that made his skin tingle and his teeth ache.
*This is it,* Michael thought, raising his hands toward the orb. *Everything changes here. One way or another.*
His palms made contact with the cool crystal surface.
And his thirty seconds began to tick away.