The world didn't collapse when the gates appeared. It adapted. When the first gates opened, humanity didn't know what mana was, didn't understand monsters, and certainly didn't expect the system to awaken within them. Cities burned, borders fell apart, and millions died before people realized the truth—this wasn't an invasion meant to wipe them out. It was a test. Those who survived awakened status windows. Mana flowed through human bodies. Strength, endurance, intelligence—things once abstract—became measurable. Some people's races changed. Others stayed human but grew far stronger than any soldier from the old world.
Ezra was fifteen when a gate rupture erased his family. There were no heroic last moments. No dramatic goodbyes. Just smoke, screaming, and silence where a home used to be. The incident was later categorized as early-stage gate failure. Compensation was issued. Memorials were built. Life went on. Ezra didn't.
Three years later, the world had reorganized itself around power. Schools stopped preparing students for careers and started preparing them for survival. Combat academies replaced traditional high schools, and status windows mattered more than grades ever had. Arclight Combat Academy was one of the best.
To enter, every applicant had to clear two entrance exams. The physical test came first. Ezra failed it completely. His strength was low, his endurance worse, and his mana output barely met the minimum requirement. The examiner didn't insult him—there was no need. The numbers spoke clearly enough.
The written exam came second. System mechanics. Gate behavior. Mana efficiency. Tactical analysis. Ezra ranked first. That single result earned him a place at Arclight—and a scholarship that kept him from sleeping on the streets.
He sat near the back of the classroom, earphones in, music playing quietly while the instructor spoke. Even so, certain words slipped through.
"In two weeks," the teacher said, voice calm and indifferent, "the evaluation phase will begin. Guild representatives will attend. Advanced combat universities will observe. Your performance will determine the direction of your lives."
Ezra's fingers tightened slightly around the edge of his desk. Two weeks. He glanced down and called up his status window out of habit, the numbers appearing clearly before fading again.
Ezra
Class: None | Race: Human
Strength: 6 | Vitality: 7 | Endurance: 6
Agility: 8 | Intelligence: 14 | Mana: 9
Nothing had changed.
A shadow fell over his desk.
"Give me some money."
Ezra didn't react immediately. He already knew who it was. When he looked up, Darren was standing over him, expression relaxed, almost lazy. Darren's level—30—placed him far above most of the academy. He didn't need to threaten Ezra. Existence itself did that for him.
Beside Darren stood his two friends. Leon, Level 28, wearing a faint, amused smile. Hale, Level 25, watching Ezra like something under his shoe.
Ezra reached into his pocket and handed Darren the folded bills without a word. Darren took them, glanced once, then struck Ezra lightly on the side of the head with the money.
"Still here," Darren muttered.
Leon suddenly kicked the back of Ezra's chair. The legs scraped loudly against the floor as Ezra fell, shoulder hitting hard enough to send a sharp jolt through his body.
Before he could fully recover, Hale stepped forward and drove a short kick into Ezra's stomach. Pain flared, stealing his breath, but Ezra didn't make a sound.
Darren leaned down, close enough that Ezra could smell his breath.
He spat directly onto Ezra's face.
"You fucking trash," Darren said quietly. "Know your level."
They walked away laughing.
Ezra wiped his face with his sleeve, stood up slowly, and returned to his seat. No one met his eyes. No one spoke. That silence stayed with him longer than the pain. The bell rang shortly after, and students streamed out of the classroom, carefully avoiding Ezra's gaze. He felt like an infected wound, something to be avoided lest the sickness spread. He gathered his few belongings, a worn notebook filled with System theories and a stylus for manipulating his status window, and left the classroom.
By the time he left campus, the sky had already darkened. Streetlights flickered, casting long, distorted shadows. The air felt heavy, charged with an unnatural energy. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself, trying to ward off the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. The academy was located on the outskirts of the city, near one of the more stable gate zones. It was a strategic location, allowing for quick response to any potential breaches. Tonight, however, the proximity felt more like a threat than a reassurance.
That was when the pressure hit.
Mana twisted violently, warping the air as screams erupted down the street ahead. The ground vibrated with an unnatural tremor.
A gate rupture.
Panic surged through Ezra. He knew the drill. He'd lived through enough of these. Find cover, stay quiet, and hope the responders arrived quickly. He ran, his weak legs burning with the effort. He dove behind a shattered concrete barrier, a remnant of the old world, his heart pounding in his chest.
Trained responders arrived within minutes, clad in specialized armor and wielding mana-infused weapons. They moved with practiced efficiency, dismantling the monsters spilling out of the ruptured gate. The fight was brutal but quick. The responders were well-equipped and highly trained, a testament to the world's adaptation to the gates.
When the dust settled, one creature lay near him—its body barely moving, life clinging on by instinct alone. It was small, reptilian, with flickering, pain-filled eyes. Its scales were torn, and a dark fluid oozed from its wounds.
Ezra stared at it for a long moment. In its eyes, he saw a reflection of his own helplessness, his own vulnerability. He saw a creature struggling to survive in a world that had no place for it.
Then he struck.
Driven by a sudden, inexplicable impulse, he grabbed a shard of concrete and brought it down on the creature's head. The impact was sickening, a wet crunch followed by a final, desperate twitch.
The system responded immediately.
EXP gained.
The world lurched.
Level increased → 10.
Ezra dropped to his knees, heart pounding. He stared at the notification, his mind reeling. He'd never killed anything before. He'd always been too weak, too afraid.
Another line appeared.
Race reroll available.
He stared at the words for a long time, the implications sinking in. The System was offering him a chance to change, to become something more than human. To escape the weakness that had defined his life.
For the first time since the gates appeared, Ezra felt something close to fear—not of death, but of what might change if he accepted what the system was offering. What would he become? Would he even recognize himself?
He looked down at his hands, his human hands. The hands that had failed to save his family. The hands that trembled with fear. The hands that had just taken a life.
He had a choice to make. A choice that would determine his destiny. A choice that could change everything.
The blinking notification seemed to mock him, its simple words carrying the weight of a world transformed:
Race reroll available?
He closed his eyes, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. The screams of the gate rupture still echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows. He was weak. He was vulnerable. He was nothing.
But maybe, just maybe, this was a chance to be something.
[Status Window]
Name: Ezra
Class: None
Race: Human
Level: 10
Strength: 6
Vitality: 7
Endurance: 6
Agility: 8
Intelligence: 14
Mana: 9
Race :None