Genre Selection is Crucial
Genre selection is crucial. No matter what anyone says, the fun of a romance fantasy lies in the conflicts between characters. Unpleasant encounters that begin even before enrollment. The prejudices and misunderstandings that arise from them. Then comes the clichéd realization that you'll have to see that guy's face for years in the same grade. Bickering and squabbling over trivial things. They grow close due to some incident, only to drift apart again, repeating the cycle. Until a decisive moment makes one—or both—fall head over heels. Hearts slowly changing through various incidents and accidents. That's romance fantasy.
"I really hate you. Disappear. Get out of my sight!"
But instead of slapping the heroine, she's hurling a fireball. And the male lead sneers, "Hah. I've held back until now, but a commoner's vulgarity is inevitable," blocking the flames with a wall of water from his fingertips.
'This is romance fantasy?'
Honestly, wouldn't anyone mistake it for a superpower story at least once?
Sitting between the two, holding an umbrella, Abel lamented his situation once more today.
There's something called intuition. A familiar situation. A flow you've experienced before. It guides you to the optimal action in that moment—a kind of survival instinct.
"This is a superpower story."
From that perspective, Abel trusted his intuition without a doubt. A world where all sorts of bizarre abilities beyond just magic ran rampant. Water, fire, lightning, cryokinesis, telekinesis, and so on. Listing them all might take hours of nonstop talking.
His sister Lumine had wielded clusters of light since childhood and even received a scouting offer from the church recently.
'Then what about me?'
Abilities weren't as common as roadside pebbles. Ability Awakenings were rare enough to count on one hand. But as a possessor in this body, being ordinary would be more unjust than anything. Having shouted "Status window!" a hundred times already, Abel felt it even more acutely.
He needed that power. Strength, fame, praise, envy—he craved them fiercely because his other self had never achieved them.
"Father. I want to become an ability user like Sis!"
"Don't worry, Abel. From the first family head to your old man here, we've all been ability users. You'll surely awaken too. Of course. As a Rothschild, it's only fitting."
Was it divine providence for Abel, who had been dropped into this unfamiliar world without reason? His origin was one of the kingdom's prominent noble families. One with a long history of ability manifestations, no less. Meaning he had plenty of means to awaken his latent talent early.
Countless experiments and tests followed, until finally, Abel realized he too possessed an ability.
So, what was the ability he had?
"Young Master Abel. Still training your stamina? It's already been ten hours!"
First: Endurance to push forward through any trial or hardship!
"You rascal, Abel. Where the hell did you disappear to? We were all worried sick."
Second: Survival skills so tough that even camping out for three days at age seven to awaken an ability left him unscathed...
'Wait, hold on, hold on! Isn't this just... no ability at all?'
That worry hit him at age ten, but Abel shook his head vigorously. A possessor with no ability to boast about confidently? It'd be like a red bean bun without filling, a sleepy-eyed character not hiding power, or a white-haired old man not being the world's strongest—what difference?
His intuition told him: This world's genre was undoubtedly a superpower story, no question.
In such a world, how could he navigate the future without an ability? For survival. For his family. He vowed to discover his power, over and over.
Thus, he forgot. That intuition could sometimes be wrong. Convinced because he'd read a superpower novel the day before possession.
Across the continent, countless nations lived under their own ways. Each with history, laws, rules, and systems. No one knew how meddling or infringing would end.
Yet there was one thing: All nations gathered, discussed, agreed, and acted together.
The establishment of the Continental Academy. A place to educate all officially recognized ability users from every nation.
Each one a vital human resource. Far more profitable to hide from rivals.
So why did every nation vote yes?
"Tensions between nations due to abilities are escalating."
"Experts say war within five years is increasingly likely."
Ignorance breeds fear, anxiety, excessive hostility. Continental abilities could become lethal weapons anytime. Misuse could annihilate not just a nation, but everyone.
So, show your hand moderately, ease anxiety, avoid blind staring contests. Plus, let your ability users meet foreigners, gain experience. Ultimately, everyone's ability users grow stronger—win-win.
"Ridiculous. Why reveal our precious ability users' info to neighbors?"
"Quit whining and train them in secret."
Initial doubts and opposition were fierce. But when major powers united first, others followed. Simple calculus: Send ability users to gather enemy intel. Plant good impressions, maybe poach. Worst case, early joiners ally, leaving latecomers screwed.
Thus, sending ability users to the Continental Academy became the norm. If you had an ability, you went. Failing to enroll? Half-baked. Not even a real ability user!
"Enough. Stop there."
And today, another ability user underwent academy entrance screening.
"What do you think?"
Abel, hiding his anxiety, asked the five examiners seated nearby.
Real ability, or just slightly superior talent? After deliberation, they concluded.
"After thorough review and discussion, we, the Continental Academy examiners, recognize Abel Rothschild's Ability Awakening."
"We assess it as swordsmanship or Physical Enhancement. He'll refine it properly upon enrollment."
Finally. Finally!
Abel clenched his fist and thrust it skyward. New life. New family. New future. The path was open.
Far off, his family watched, overjoyed. Two ability users in one generation—rare. Not just parental pride, but family and kingdom pride.
"Good work, Abel. You really suffered."
"Our son is too great."
"Both little bros are ability users. Jealous, but bro's content with the title."
"So Bel's my junior? See you at the academy!"
Father. Mother. Brother. Sister. Retainers and servants who supported him. Now a proud ability user, time to meet expectations and shoulder responsibility.
Excel at the academy, graduate strong, become one of the kingdom's powerhouses.
"Abel Rothschild, raise your head."
His homeland even summoned him to the palace for the joyous news. Facing the king, Abel tensed and obeyed.
"Two ability users from the loyal Rothschild family in one generation. Truly joyous."
"We are deeply grateful, Your Majesty."
"Fortunate timing. I was pondering the new Continental Academy entrants."
Pondering? Head bowed, Abel guessed the implication. Probably not good. The "fortunate" part suggested trouble.
"The Empire's third prince qualified as an ability user and enrolled. Did you know?"
"Forgive me, I hadn't heard."
"Sons of continent's top pyrokinesis Akin Phoenix and hydrokinesis master Jecob Sparrow—your fellow freshmen?"
"...I learn now."
"Many more remarkable ability users enrolling. Abel, you'll represent our kingdom alongside them—our future face."
Trembling slightly, Abel felt indescribable tension. And a bit of excitement. Yes, this was the superpower story start. Gathering of elites. Destined to be called the golden generation.
"I trust you'll excel."
"Fear not, Your Majesty. Abel Rothschild pledges his all for the kingdom's honor."
Falling into a superpower world as a mere extra? Unacceptable. Protagonist didn't matter. This life was his; he was the lead.
He'd become the ultimate ability user. Glory, honor, and...
"I need your help with something."
"Command me; I'll give my utmost."
"Another kingdom freshman enrolling with you."
The king nodded; the chamberlain handed Abel a document.
'Seria Frijian?'
Ruled the kingdom's remotest fringe—a barony too tiny for the name. Lady with vibrant pink hair, nothing else notable...
"Note: Bears the name, but commoner birth."
"Your Majesty?"
"Baron, no heirs or kin, adopted an orphan, raised as daughter. Nobles' council approved succession."
"..."
"Tiny barony, commoner roots—hardly Rothschild caliber. But same kingdom. So Abel, look after her occasionally. Ensure no stain on our name. Best suited to you over others."
No prior awakenings from there; king distrusted this Seria. Academy was unity and competition. Last place? National shame. Rothschilds, storied ability producers—perfect backup.
"As Your Majesty wills."
"I won't forget your efforts, Abel Rothschild."
No wonder "gofer" and "errand boy." Abel left the palace, steeling for enrollment prep.
'What position's the pink-haired character in a superpower story?'
...With that one question lingering.