"Leonardo Spades."
"Awakened."
"Class—Arcane Scholar."
Tension swept through the plaza the moment Vice Guild Master Ian finished his announcement.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop. The youths stood frozen, eyes wide, mouths half open, too stunned to react.
Then laughter broke out.
Mocking laughter, the kind that grinds one's self-esteem to mere dust.
It spread fast, rolling through the crowd like a wave. Sharp, cruel, unapologetic.
"A scholar?" someone scoffed loudly. "What kind of class name is that? Sounds like trash."
"Be bold with your word," another voice chimed in. "That's not just trash—it's the trashiest thing I've ever heard."
More laughter followed.
In this world, combat classes stood at the absolute peak.
They were everything.
Strength. Wealth. Fame. Authority.
A combat class meant power that could be seen and felt. It meant shattering stone with bare fists, cleaving through monsters that towered over buildings, standing at the front lines while the world watched in awe. For the youths of this world, awakening a combat class was more than a dream. It was a promise of escape. A promise of significance.
Everyone wanted it.
Then there was the second most valuable branch: the creation classes.
These included alchemy, blacksmithing, tailoring, farming, and rarer, exalted variants like runesmithing and the like.
These classes didn't grant strength, but they granted wealth. Potions, weapons, enchanted gear, high-grade materials. Items that sold for obscene prices. In theory, a successful creator could live better than most combat awakeners.
But theory and reality rarely aligned.
Creation classes came with cruel variables: talent, experience, capital, backing. Without a powerful family or serious resources to nurture them, awakening such a class often became a slow, grinding failure. For the average person, it was a gamble they couldn't afford.
Which was why combat classes remained the most practical choice.
They were straightforward. Brutal. Honest.
And then there was the third branch.
Life classes.
The most useless of them all.
No combat ability. No creative value. Just mundane skills meant for everyday life. Classes people pretended didn't exist. Classes people wished they would never awaken.
Classes like Arcane Scholar.
"How predictable," a girl said with a smirk. "He really lives up to his reputation."
"When I saw the earlier reaction," another voice added, "I thought he might actually prove everyone wrong. Guess the heavens have a sense of humor."
Someone snorted. "Even the heavens couldn't change trash."
The plaza erupted again.
Laughter. Mockery. Open disdain.
On the platform, Leo knelt silently.
The splitting pain that had torn through his head earlier was gone. What replaced it was worse: a heavy, burning mix of anger and humiliation that settled deep in his chest.
Not far away, Vice Guild Master Ian watched the scene unfold.
A smile slowly crept onto his face.
The tension he had felt earlier finally melted away. He had been worried. Truly worried. If Leo had awakened something useful after rejecting the guild's offer, it would have been an embarrassment—for him. For the Golden Eagle Guild.
But now?
Relief washed over him.
"Truly worthy of the famous Leonardo Spades," Ian said calmly, his voice carrying across the plaza. "It seems the heavens listened well."
He turned slightly, his smile sharpening. "A class perfectly suited for trash yard work."
The words cut deep.
Laughter exploded across the plaza once more.
"That suits him!"
"Turning the guild's generosity into an insult. Of course he'd get a trash class."
"He really deserves it."
"So this is the son of a hero? What a joke."
The crowd fed on itself. Each voice sharpened by the last.
Leo clenched his fists.
Had the heavens truly abandoned him?
He hadn't hoped for something incredible. Not anymore. He would have accepted something ordinary. A basic warrior class. An archer class. Anything.
But this?
A life class.
The trashiest of the trash.
He would have preferred not awakening at all.
Slowly, Leo rose to his feet and stepped down from the platform. Every movement felt heavy. Every gaze burned. The plaza was vast, yet it felt suffocating, as though the walls were closing in on him.
Behind him, Ian watched with clear satisfaction.
The ceremony continued. More awakenings. More cheers. More disappointed sighs. The mood shifted again and again, yet Leo's failure remained the unspoken highlight.
Eventually, Vice Guild Master Ian stepped forward once more.
"That concludes today's awakening ceremony," he announced, eyes bright. "There were successes, failures, and some results more… humiliating than others."
His gaze flicked briefly toward Leo.
Laughter followed.
Ian continued, congratulating those who had awakened, reminding them to register with the Alliance, warning them of punishments for negligence. He spoke of Primordial Island, of danger, of opportunity, of ambition in a power-ruled world, and how hesitation was the fastest way to be left behind.
"For those who failed today," he added smoothly, "this is not the end. Opportunities exist for those willing to seek them."
And finally, he declared the ceremony officially ended.
Cheers erupted.
Ian vanished as abruptly as he had arrived.
The crowd began to disperse.
Leo stepped forward, but a booming voice suddenly echoed across the plaza.
"OI. THERE, TRASH."
He grimaced.
He didn't turn. He didn't need to.
Benson.
One of the bullies who had made his life miserable for years. Someone who never missed an opportunity to remind him of his place.
Today, Benson had awakened a unique Berserker class.
Today, Leo had awakened a trashy life class.
The outcome was obvious.
When Leo didn't respond, Benson grew angrier. He charged forward, fist swinging toward Leo's back.
A blue barrier flared into existence.
Benson's fist slammed into it with a dull thud. Pain shot up his arm, forcing a curse from his lips.
The surrounding youths immediately gathered closer. No one wanted to miss this.
"Tch," Benson spat, shaking his hand. "Still hiding in your tortoise shell like always. Trash will always be trash."
Leo clenched his fist and kept walking.
The barrier was his mother's doing—layers of protection she had insisted on after years of bullying. Physical harm didn't scare him.
But the words still hurt.
"Do you think that barrier hides the shame you brought to your late father's name?" Benson sneered.
Leo stopped. There they go again, bringing up his father.
But then energy burst from Benson's body. His muscles swelled. Veins stood out along his arms. His presence grew oppressive, wild, and feral.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Is he really using his ability here?"
"Isn't he afraid of punishment?"
The Alliance forbade the public use of awakened powers. Fines. Restrictions. Even sealing bracelets. Punishments that could halt progress entirely.
"What does it matter?" someone muttered. "It's Leonardo Spades of all people—who would care?"
"Fair point."
Leo slowly turned around.
Benson stood there, power roaring around him, eyes blazing with pride. "See the difference now?" he said loudly. "Trash like you, and people like me. The gap is too big."
His grin widened. "I'll crush you today and teach you how trash should behave. Especially when speaking to great people like Vice Guild Master Ian."
Immediately, the crowd understood the reason behind his actions.
He was sucking up to the vice guild master, hoping to earn some favor—maybe even a chance to be recruited into the Golden Eagle Guild.
But no one said anything or called him out for his shamelessness. After all, they all knew doing this was the minimum effort many made to gain a chance at entry.
With a roar, Benson charged.
Leo stood there, making no move, as if frozen in place.
Then the fist came flying toward his face.