Every year, on the same day, the footage played across Orion City.
The Hunter Association projected it on floating holographic panels suspended between skyscrapers. Traffic slowed beneath them. Pedestrians stopped in the streets. Even people who had seen it a hundred times still looked up.
Flames swallowed entire blocks of the city.
Monsters poured from a torn sky.
Hunters retreated in disciplined lines, buying time.
Only one figure moved forward.
S-Rank Hunter Kang Taehyun.
The recording never showed his face clearly. Smoke and heat distorted the image. But everyone recognized the stance steady, unshaken, blade lowered at his side as if the battlefield in front of him were just another routine mission.
He stepped toward the collapsing dungeon gate.
The footage cut.
The explosion followed a second later, shaking the hologram with simulated static.
Ten years had passed since that day.
The crowd in Memorial Plaza still fell silent before applauding.
"On this day, we honor the sacrifice of S-Rank Hunter Kang Taehyun," the announcer's voice echoed through the square. "His actions prevented the destruction of Orion City and saved over three million lives. His legacy remains the foundation of our strength."
Applause spread outward like a wave.
Kang Jae-min stood near the front of the plaza, hands in his coat pockets, looking up at the screen.
He had memorized every frame years ago.
The way his father adjusted his grip before stepping forward. The slight tilt of his shoulders. The momentary pause — not hesitation, just calculation — before charging into a disaster no one else could survive.
Behind him, whispers drifted through the crowd.
"That's his son."
"Awakening ceremony's today, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Eighteen this year."
"With those genes? He won't be anything below A-Rank."
"Wouldn't be surprised if he hits S immediately."
Jae-min didn't turn around.
Awakening didn't work like that.
It didn't care about bloodlines. It didn't reward legacy. It didn't bend for expectation.
It measured potential once.
And that measurement never changed.
The hologram restarted from the beginning.
Before the explosion played again, Jae-min stepped away from the plaza.
The Awakening Center was only a few blocks from Memorial Plaza, but it felt like a different world.
The building's exterior was sleek and sterile. A digital banner rotated above the entrance:
AWAKENING CEREMONY – AGE 18RANK IS PERMANENTNO REASSESSMENT
That last line was always emphasized.
Inside, candidates stood in line beneath bright white lighting. Some looked excited. Others nervous. A few tried to hide how badly their hands were shaking.
Everyone knew the truth.
This wasn't a test.
It was a verdict.
"Next. Kang Jae-min."
The official at the registration desk glanced at his tablet. His expression shifted almost immediately.
"…Son of Kang Taehyun?"
"Yes."
The air in the room subtly changed. Conversations lowered. A few people straightened their posture.
Even the official adjusted his tone.
"Please step onto the platform."
The circular Awakening device stood at the center of the room. It was simple — a metal disc embedded into the floor with faint blue lines etched along its surface.
Jae-min walked to the center and stepped onto it.
The device activated instantly.
Blue light rose from beneath his feet, scanning upward across his body. It felt cool, almost clinical. No warmth. No power surge.
A countdown appeared above him.
The light intensified.
Data began to assemble in the air.
Everyone leaned forward.
Text formed.
[Awakening Complete]Rank: FCore Skill: Minor Reinforcement (F-Tier)Effect: Slightly increases physical output for 10 seconds. Cooldown: 5 minutes.
Silence.
Not shocked silence.
Confused silence.
Then a voice from somewhere behind him said quietly, "F?"
Another followed. "Minor Reinforcement? That's… that's it?"
"That's practically entry-level."
"An S-Rank's son?"
The official cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Awakenings are absolute. The result has been verified."
Jae-min read the display once more.
F-Rank.
Ten seconds of minor enhancement.
Five-minute cooldown.
No secondary trait. No hidden modifier.
Just F.
He stepped off the platform without saying anything.
There was nothing to say.
Outside, media drones were already hovering near the entrance.
A reporter approached him almost immediately.
"Kang Jae-min, do you have a statement regarding your Awakening result?"
Cameras focused. Microphones extended.
The memorial hologram was still visible above the skyline in the distance.
"My rank is mine," he replied calmly. "It has nothing to do with my father."
It was a controlled answer.
Still, the disappointment in her eyes was obvious.
They hadn't come for an F-Rank.
Within hours, the headlines would circulate across every major network.
S-RANK HERO'S SON AWAKENS F.
The drones drifted away once they had enough footage.
The spectacle was over.
By evening, the plaza had thinned out, but the holographic footage continued looping above the city.
Jae-min walked along the river that cut through Orion's center.
F-Rank.
Minor Reinforcement.
He activated the skill.
A faint tightening sensation spread through his muscles. It wasn't unpleasant. It wasn't impressive either. It felt like the difference between stretching properly and not stretching at all.
His steps felt slightly lighter.
His grip slightly firmer.
Ten seconds passed quickly.
The sensation faded.
A five-minute cooldown timer ticked down invisibly.
That was the ceiling assigned to him.
Permanent.
He stared at his reflection in the dark water.
For a brief moment, he imagined the headlines already spreading across social media. Comment threads. Comparisons. Disappointment disguised as sympathy.
Legacy meant nothing.
Potential had spoken.
He exhaled slowly.
Then something flickered at the edge of his vision.
He blinked.
It didn't disappear.
A thin blue interface line hovered in the lower corner of his sight, sharp and steady.
Text began to form.
[Skill Detected: Minor Reinforcement (F-Tier)]
He didn't move.
The city noise continued behind him distant traffic, faint sirens, the low hum of a stabilized dungeon gate several districts away.
More text appeared.
[Upgrade Available.]
The words remained there.
Clear.
Unmistakable.
Jae-min's expression didn't change.
But his breathing slowed.
Upgrade?
He focused on the text.
It didn't fade.
It didn't glitch.
It waited.
The river flowed.
The hologram replayed in the distance.
His father stepped into the flames again.
And for the first time that day—
Jae-min smiled.