Awakening Buried in the Accident

The academy remained closed for several days after the incident. The official reason was an inspection following the accident that occurred during the mid-term evaluation. The notice was brief, offering no explanation. There had been an accident. An investigation was underway. Classes would resume after the safety inspection. That was all. No names were mentioned. No one was listed as dead. That only fueled the rumors faster. They spread through group chats, internet communities, and social media.

— I heard someone actually died.

— Word is a non-awakened killed an awakened.

— That doesn't make any sense.

— An accidental death at a Korean academy? Facts and speculation mixed together, inflating into meaningless stories. Then the academy reopened.

Passing through the main gate, the air felt different. It was quiet. Normally the hallways would have been loud with skill talk and sparring chatter from morning onward, but that day everyone kept their voices low. Some walked faster for no reason. Others glanced around as they moved. The way people looked at me had clearly changed.

Before, I was treated as invisible. No one met my eyes, or they smiled and passed by, or openly ignored me. Now they avoided me. If our eyes met, they looked away first. When I drew closer, they put a little distance between us. Whispers followed.

“Is that him?”

“Yeah.”

“They say it's true.”

“I don't know, but that day—”

The words trailed off. Their reactions felt strange. Not unpleasant, not exactly pleasant either. Just… ah, so things have changed. That was all.

Class D was more blatant. The bullying had vanished completely. No one picked fights. No one cracked jokes at my expense. Instead, there was an emptiness. Conversations stopped when I entered the classroom. The seat beside mine stayed naturally vacant. Only the sound of turning pages and pens scratching paper filled the room. Some stared out the window for no reason. Others kept their heads down. Their awareness of me was so obvious it became more distracting. Still, I thought it was better than before. Better than being hit, better than being laughed at. This was easier.

I said nothing. There was no need to explain or make excuses. When class ended, I headed straight for the training hall. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠It was a time when few people were around. Maybe because of the incident, the hall felt especially quiet. The air inside had settled. The mechanical hum of the ventilation and the faint vibration of the floor's magic patterns were the only sounds. I stood before a practice dummy. A mana-infused training target. It was built to withstand ordinary strikes and skills without breaking easily, though it could still be damaged.

I gripped my sword. The familiar weight. The familiar balance. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠After one steadying breath, I drew up my mana, very slowly. Then I activated it. Crimson Trace. It felt less like using a skill and more like switching something on. In that instant, a red line appeared in the air. Thin, perfectly clear, a trajectory. More like the line itself had been carved into space than actual light. A line only I could see.

I fixed my eyes on its exact start and end. Then I swung along the red path.

— Swish.

The sound was different. Not the clang of metal or a dull impact. It was short and sharp, like paper being sliced. A thin line appeared on the dummy's surface. At first it seemed like that was all. But a beat later, the target split cleanly along that line, following the exact path the red trajectory had traced.

“……”

I lost my words for a moment. With a normal slashing skill, only the part that received the force would have been damaged. But Crimson Trace was different. The result after the trajectory overlapped mattered more than the moment of the cut. Cutting power. That was the first phrase that came to mind.

I raised the sword again. This time I deliberately swung off the red line. Same motion as Crimson Trace. Same strength. Same speed.

— Thud.

The sound was dull. A mark remained on the target, but it didn't split cleanly like before. The wound was shallow, little more than a surface scratch. I compared the two results and slowly pieced it together. Alignment with the trajectory. The difference between perfect overlap and misalignment was stark. Crimson Trace didn't care about the amount of force. It didn't care about speed. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Only accuracy.

I reset my stance. This time I didn't push more mana into it. Instead I felt the flow. From the sword to my wrist, from wrist to elbow, through the shoulder into my torso. Mana moved naturally and gathered at the tip. In that moment the red trajectory grew sharper than before.

Crimson Trace.

I held my breath and read the angle of the line, down to the smallest tremor. Then I cut.

— Swish.

Nearly half the dummy sheared off cleanly, as if the structure had been designed that way from the start. I stood there for a long while without moving. This skill wasn't violent. It was obsessively precise. Miss even slightly and the power dropped sharply. But if the trajectory aligned perfectly… if I could hit it at one hundred percent… I could force a critical wound on any opponent, human or monster.

I swallowed without realizing it. This wasn't a skill that could be used carelessly. Yet at the perfect timing and perfect angle, Crimson Trace could become a single, flawless strike. I lowered the sword and looked at my hands. They weren't shaking. My mind was strangely calm.

“……”

I still didn't know when I should use this skill. I didn't fully understand how to use it either. But one thing was certain. Crimson Trace was a skill that tested its user. And if I couldn't handle this power properly, an unfortunate result might find me the moment I needed it most.

I exhaled slowly and raised the sword again. Another red trajectory appeared in the air. Crimson Trace. Once more I swung along the line. Even after lowering the sword, the sensation lingered in my hands. It was different from before. Not the feeling of power draining away. It was the sensation that came when mana had been almost completely spent. I leaned against the wall to rest. After catching my breath, I slowly opened the status window. A blue screen rose in the air. A sight that no longer felt unfamiliar. Beneath my name, everything I possessed.

I stared at the number. 0/10. No explanation. No description of what the condition even was. Just a single empty digit.

“…Ten times,” I muttered. This was common. Things an awakened could do, or had to do, usually involved dungeons. My thoughts naturally drifted that way. Dungeons… a place I'd never entered even once. In middle school there had only been training, and even after entering high school, actual dungeon practice wasn't possible until at least the second year. So then—

Ten dungeon clears? Or defeating ten monsters? Simple conditions like that were possible. I ran through the usual ones that appeared in every hunter story. Overcoming danger, defeating enemies, surviving real combat. The processes every awakened was expected to go through.

Then… right now it could only be zero. I'd never entered a dungeon. I'd never fought a monster. The training hall was just a training hall, and the dummies were only dummies. They probably didn't count toward the actual tally. Thinking that made the number 0/10 feel less strange.

“…Then that's that.”

I just had to enter a dungeon. I just had to face real combat. Time would solve it. I tried to reach the same conclusion I'd reached while waiting for my awakening. Yet a quiet unease lingered in one corner of my mind. The condition was too clean. My own awakening condition had been the same. No one had predicted it, not even me. So was the additional skill really this simple? I looked at the number on the status window again. 0/10.

What if…

The thought rose naturally, cautiously. But it didn't finish. I shook my head and spoke as if to myself.

“No.”

That was going too far. It was excessive. The awakening condition and the skill unlock condition didn't have to be the same. They were more likely to be different. This was probably just the growth condition for a hunter. Real combat experience. Overcoming danger. Battle achievements. Nothing more, nothing less.

I deliberately pushed the thought away. There was no need to connect it to something ominous. Surely not… right? I closed the status window. The blue light vanished, and the reality of the training hall filled my vision again. The smell of metal. Lingering mana. The cold floor beneath my feet. There were many things I could do now. Dungeons, real fights, the stages ahead. For now, I just had to prepare for them. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I picked up the sword again. The condition was still 0/10. But that number wouldn't stay zero forever. One way or another, it would eventually be filled. I decided to believe that. And for now, I decided not to think about how precarious that belief might be.