The Awakening Arena of Aroth Titan Academy was alive with anticipation. Thousands of students filled the circular stands, eyes bright, hearts pounding. Today was the day the academy would decide who would awaken their titan and who would fade into irrelevance.
Harold Vale stepped onto the platform, his robe hanging loosely over his thin frame, fingers trembling slightly. At eighteen, he should have been at the top of his class. Yet here he was—about to face the culmination of three years of effort, scrutiny, and ridicule.
The Awakening Crystal, a towering monolith etched with glowing runes, pulsed faintly before him. Students had already begun their awakenings. One after another, brilliant lights erupted: a winged lion, a crimson flame bear, a white griffin soaring above the arena. Cheers, gasps, and applause filled the air. Every successful awakening was a testament to power, bloodline, and potential.
Harold swallowed hard. He'd trained relentlessly, but his mana had always been lackluster, his resonance weak. The whispers had followed him like a shadow: "He'll fail." "Harold Vale is hopeless." And today, the academy principal himself, along with the teachers and students, would witness it.
He glanced toward the stands. Among the spectators sat Veronica, his ex-girlfriend. Blonde hair glinting in the sunlight, posture perfect, her expression icy, almost bored. They had been together for a short while, a shallow relationship built on appearances and status. He had spent every last bit of his sponsorship money on gifts for her, meals, and luxuries—hoping to impress her, to show that maybe he could be someone worth loving.
She wasn't impressed. She would break up with him today, and he knew it.
A flicker of warmth came from the crowd: Lysandra, daughter of an influential warlord, sat quietly to the side, watching him with unwavering faith. She had secretly admired him, believed in him even when he had doubted himself. Unlike Veronica, she saw potential beneath the failures, a spark that no one else could notice.
Harold stepped forward, hand raised toward the crystal. The energy thrummed faintly, responding to those who approached. He closed his eyes, focusing, feeling the pulse of the world around him. He reached deep into himself, summoning every ounce of mana he could muster, every fragment of hope he could cling to.
Then… nothing.
The crystal flickered weakly. No titan emerged. No light. The arena fell silent for a heartbeat—then erupted with laughter.
"Hahaha! Did you see that?"
"Harold Vale? Pathetic!"
"Even with a sponsorship, he couldn't awaken anything!"
The principal's voice cut through the laughter, sharp and unforgiving.
"Harold Vale," he said, each word striking like a blade, "awakening result: Failure."
Gasps filled the arena. Whispers spread like wildfire.
Red Code A. The lowest classification. A mark of shame.
The principal stepped down from the platform, eyes cold. "Effective immediately, you are expelled from Aroth Titan Academy. Furthermore, you will refund all sponsorship resources allocated to you over the past three years."
Harold froze. Refund? He had spent every coin, every blood stone, on Veronica—on her luxuries, her entertainment, her whims.
He turned his gaze toward her. Veronica's lips curved into a faint smirk as if the outcome confirmed everything she had ever thought of him. She had no words—her presence alone said it all. She was done. She had already moved on, her heart closed to him entirely.
Lysandra, however, did not look away. Her violet eyes were unwavering, filled with worry and concern, but also a quiet, burning belief.
Harold's chest tightened. Rage, humiliation, and despair twisted inside him like a storm. Every ounce of wasted effort, every hope crushed, every coin spent—it all came crashing down at once.
And yet, as the world seemed to collapse around him, something flickered deep inside—a voice he hadn't heard in years, a memory from another life.
"This body, this world… it underestimates you. Let them watch."
Luke. That was his name in his previous life, a life of strategy, ruthlessness, and power. And now, in Harold's frail body, he felt it all—the anger, the clarity, the determination to rise.
He swallowed the despair and let it turn into focus. He would no longer chase approval from shallow people like Veronica. He would no longer bow to ridicule. The world had made its judgment, but it had no idea what was coming.
The principal signaled the guards to escort him out. Harold walked forward, head high, ignoring the snickers, the pointing fingers, the whispers. Every step was heavy with failure, yet each step also marked a beginning.
Outside the arena, the air was thick with tension. Luke in Harold's body flexed his fingers, feeling the potential lying dormant in his weak shell. Somewhere, hidden, were the ingredients he needed to awaken a titan. Somewhere, the legacy of the Monkey King waited to be claimed.
And somewhere, Lysandra's hand brushed against the scroll of rare ingredients she had secretly purchased, her trust in him unwavering.
Harold's lips curled into a cold, quiet smile.
"They'll regret underestimating me. Every last one of them."
For Luke in Harold's body, this was the lowest point of his new life. But it was also the moment the legend of the Monkey King would begin.
The world had seen Harold Vale fail. It had not yet seen what he was truly capable of.