The Failed Prodigy
Time passed quite naturally. Even while receiving gifted education at the elementary academy, the seasons changed and grades advanced. It was around the upper grades of elementary school—specifically, around fifth grade—that the first awakeners began to appear.
At first, there was only one. A child who wasn't even in the same class or on the same curriculum. One day, the training hall buzzed with the news that a skill had suddenly appeared on their status window.
"They awakened, apparently."
"Already?"
I didn't think much of it at the time. Ah, it'll happen for me later. That was all.
By sixth grade, the number of awakeners had slowly increased. One per class. Two in some. The teachers spoke cautiously.
"It's the season for the early ones. Usually, it happens in middle school."
No one felt anxious at those words. I was no exception. I was still receiving gifted education, still receiving excellent evaluations, still considered a promising candidate. The saying that everything would be fine once I awakened remained valid. So I wasn't impatient.
I didn't awaken even after finishing elementary school. But until then, no one made an issue of it.
"Most people do it once they get to middle school."
"If anything, awakening too early might be a burden."
Those words sounded perfectly reasonable. Then I moved up to the middle academy.
First year of middle school. Until then, I was still Han Do-yoon. The kid who had received gifted education. The one with solid fundamentals. The one who simply hadn't awakened yet. The teachers showed some consideration.
"Since you haven't awakened yet."
"Your basics are still the best, though."
Those words still sounded like comfort. Still. That word didn't feel so heavy back then.
And that year, Tae-geon and Eun-seo awakened.
Tae-geon awakened in the summer of first year. During training, a skill suddenly appeared on his status window, and the school was turned upside down that day.
"It's combat-specialized."
"His output is ridiculous, isn't it?"
Tae-geon had always stood out, but after awakening, he was on an entirely different level. Motor skills. Judgment. And the skill itself.
"Wow, you really look like a hero."
When someone said that, Tae-geon smiled awkwardly.
"What are you talking about? That's not it."
Even as he said it, Tae-geon was always the first to step forward whenever someone needed to stand at the center of the training ground. That was why the nickname wasn't undeserved.
I was genuinely happy for him.
"Dude, that's insane. I'm really glad for you."
Tae-geon clapped my shoulder.
"You'll do it soon too."
He spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Then the three of us will be set."
I was grateful for those words. Truly, at the time.
Eun-seo's awakening was even more shocking, though quieter. In the winter of first year, someone got injured during training, and Eun-seo instinctively reached out. In that moment, light spread. A status window. Healing type. Recovery, stabilization, support.
"Isn't that a healer class?"
"With that level, the growth potential must be enormous."
The teachers held their breath. Eun-seo stared at her own hand with a bewildered expression.
"What… is this?"
She had only reached out to help someone, as usual, and light had come from her hand.
I smiled that day too.
"It suits you."
Eun-seo looked at me.
"Really?"
"Yeah. You've always been that type."
"What type?"
"The type who nags people into taking care of themselves."
Eun-seo stared blankly for a moment, then gave a small laugh.
"Is that a compliment?"
"Probably."
Even those words came naturally back then.
When the three of us gathered, we were excited.
"This is really the beginning, isn't it?" Tae-geon said.
"If we coordinate our combination well, it'll be pretty good, right?"
"Not pretty good—broken, probably," I replied playfully.
Eun-seo nodded with a smile.
"Do-yoon has solid fundamentals, after all."
She said it so easily. No—we all believed it too easily back then.
"You'll probably be terrifying once you awaken."
That sounded natural. I believed it too. Until the end of second year.
Once second year began, the atmosphere changed noticeably. Awakening was no longer something only the "early ones" did.
"You still haven't?"
"It's about time you did."
It didn't take long for those words to shift from concern to confirmation, and from confirmation to comparison. One month. Two months. News of awakenings came regularly. During morning assembly. During training class. Or right after lunch.
"Hey, that kid awakened too."
"They said their skill is pretty good this time?"
Teachers would call the awakened student out for a brief explanation, and the class would applaud. Even as I clapped, my palms felt weak.
Next will be me.
I'd lost count of how many times I'd thought that in a single day.
By the middle of the first semester of second year, the number of unawakened students in the class could be counted on one hand. And I was always among that "countable number."
"Han Do-yoon. Still?"
At first, it really sounded like they were just saying it without thinking.
"Weren't you a prodigy?"
"Must be the late type."
That was the extent of it. But when words accumulate, their meaning changes.
"What does being a prodigy matter if you can't even awaken?"
"Weren't their parents S-class?"
"Then shouldn't they be even better?"
From the moment those words started reaching my ears, I could no longer smile the way I used to. My concentration wavered even during class. When I made mistakes during training—
"Oh, sorry. Is it because you haven't awakened yet?"
They tossed it out like a joke. Laughter followed. But it wasn't laughter directed at me. Not yet.
The fact that I'd received gifted education was no longer something to boast about.
"What a waste of money spent on that kid."
"Isn't that national support being squandered?"
Those words spread quietly. Every time I heard them, I lowered my head. I said nothing. I couldn't make excuses, and I couldn't refute them either.
Tae-geon was still by my side.
"Hey," he always said simply. "Don't mind it."
Simple words. But strangely, when Tae-geon said them, I could endure just a little longer.
"I've seen how hard you worked, right next to you."
He looked straight at me.
"You're just late. It's not that you can't."
I was grateful for those words. And that made me feel even more sorry.
Eun-seo was more sensitive to it.
"Do-yoon," she said quietly one day in a corner of the training ground. "You've been pushing yourself too hard lately."
"I'm fine."
I said that, but I wasn't. Eun-seo didn't believe me. But she didn't press further either. She simply held out a water bottle.
"Then at least drink this."
That was her way.
I increased my training time. I stayed behind alone even after gifted education ended. Mana control. Physical techniques. Weapon practice. I refined what had already become second nature, making it sharper, more efficient, more precise.
If I just awaken.
That thought now circled my mind like a spell. But nothing happened. The status window remained empty.
And by the latter half of second year, the words became outright.
"Hey, that kid really can't awaken, can he?"
"Maybe he's defective?"
Some said it while laughing, others made sure it was heard.
"Was the prodigy title a scam?"
The surroundings grew quiet at those words. That day, I clenched my fists for the first time during class. Not from anger, but from fear.
What if it's really…
I couldn't finish that thought. Tae-geon stepped forward.
"Hey." His voice had lowered slightly. "Watch your mouth."
Tae-geon wasn't smiling like usual. After that day, Tae-geon stood by my side more often. No one had asked him to, and I hadn't said I wanted it. He simply came to stand next to me during breaks and casually suggested we go together at lunch.
Eun-seo didn't leave me alone either. She spoke to me during every break and ate lunch with me. When I said I was fine, she didn't ask more, but she stayed by my side. That was comfort. And at the same time, it became an even greater contrast.
Those two had awakened. I still hadn't. That difference grew clearer with each passing day.
By the end of second year, I was certain. This wasn't simply being late. And from now on, no one would wait for me. There was no need to confirm it. Everyone already knew. And at the end of that "still," I was always there.
Early third year. Even the teachers' tone had changed.
"Do-yoon… your fundamentals are still good."
It was praise without expectation.
"Since you haven't awakened, there are bound to be limits."
Those words now sounded like a conclusion rather than an excuse. The instructor in charge of gifted education no longer spoke as they once had.
"Awakening is fundamental, after all."
With that single sentence, everything seemed settled.
In the training hall, I was still the last to leave. But now it looked less like "working hard" and more like "enduring." The gazes around me had completely changed.
"That kid still hasn't gotten a status window."
"But they're still doing this? That's actually impressive."
Laughter mixed in.
"If it were me, I'd just find another path."
Someone snickered at that. They didn't even bother whispering anymore. In the hallways, the cafeteria, the entrance to the training hall.
"Hey, Prodigy."
"Couldn't awaken today either?"
I didn't answer. There was nothing to say.
Tae-geon still stepped forward.
"That's enough." His voice was low. "Does that seem funny right now?"
But Tae-geon alone couldn't block everything. A clear line had formed between the awakened and the unawakened. And I was always on the outside of that line.
Eun-seo no longer spoke with a smile.
"Do-yoon," she said one day, looking at my face. "You… don't look well lately."
"I'm fine."
That answer came out automatically now. Even when I wasn't fine, saying I was fine was easier. Eun-seo would close her mouth for a moment each time. A face that wanted to say more. But in the end, a face that swallowed it down. That made me feel even more sorry.
Around the middle of third year, incidents that weren't really incidents began to pile up. During training, the kid I was sparring with deliberately put more strength into it.
"Oh, sorry," he said with a laugh. "I didn't know you were weak because you haven't awakened yet."
It was an apology, but it wasn't. Someone slipped a note into my locker.
— Failed Awakening
I said nothing and tore the paper up. That night, I couldn't sleep. I checked the status window dozens of times. There was no change.
From then on, I knew for certain.
This isn't a problem that will be solved by waiting.
That thought wouldn't leave my mind.
And then there was Min Jae-hoon.
Late third year. After physical technique class ended. At the entrance to the nearly empty training hall, he blocked my path.
"Hey, Han Do-yoon." His voice was laced with mockery from the start. "It's really fascinating."
He looked me up and down.
"To think there's still someone in our academy who hasn't awakened."
The guys behind him laughed.
"Hey, you might get hit by our prodigy if you keep that up."
"Scary. He's a prodigy, after all."
They snickered among themselves, mocking me. Jae-hoon leaned his head closer to my face.
"Be honest," he said quietly. "You know it by now too, don't you?"
A brief silence.
"That it's not happening."
I said nothing. So he came even closer.
"National support. Gifted education." My stomach churned at those words. "All that money was spent on you."
He gave a light laugh.
"What a waste. Seriously."
In that moment, my fist nearly flew. But it stopped. If I hit him here— That thought pressed down on my head. Jae-hoon saw it. That I had stopped. So he laughed.
"Right," he said slowly. "You should know your own place."
And he added,
"Since you couldn't even awaken."
That was the last thing he said.
After that day, Jae-hoon became more blatant. He didn't speak openly when others were around. Instead, he waited for when I was alone.
"Hey, Prodigy."
"Still working hard?"
I grew accustomed to that tone. I gradually lost my words.
And as third year drew to a close, I realized with certainty. This wasn't "lateness." I was already being left behind. No one would wait for me. That night, I stood blankly in front of the status window for a long time. There was nothing. No skills, no explanations, no hints. It was truly, literally empty.
Why…
Only that question circled my mind. Without knowing the reason, without knowing the criteria, without knowing where I had gone wrong. I simply felt like I was standing in the same place. Working hard, but continuing to walk without knowing if it was in the wrong direction. That made it even more frustrating, and that made me even more impatient.
If I at least knew the reason. If I at least knew what I was lacking. But the fact that there was nothing at all was the hardest thing to endure.