The Awakener's Standard
The afternoon practical class wasn't held in the classroom but in the training hall. Each homeroom teacher stood at the front, leading their students. As we walked down the corridor toward the hall, our footsteps echoed louder than usual. It wasn't tension so much as unfamiliarity with the space.
Class D's training hall was far larger than expected. The ceiling rose higher than any gymnasium, and the walls were lined with mana-absorbing panels at regular intervals. The floor bore a grid of magic patterns etched for combat use, faint light pulsing slowly along the lines. Shock dispersion systems. Protective barriers that activated automatically during excessive mana use. Even detection-type magic formations prepared for emergencies.
Typical Korea Academy. At least the facilities left no room for complaint. With this level of equipment, no one should die from injuries—at least not according to regulations.
Homeroom teacher Kim Young-soo walked to the center of the hall. His expression remained one of utter boredom. His shoulders sagged, and his gaze didn't so much look at the students as scan them like numbers on a list.
"Right," he said in a low, dry voice. "First practical today."
He swept his eyes over the class. There was no sense that he was actually seeing people—just confirming presence or absence, like taking attendance.
"You've been admitted, so now we check your skills. Middle school records, recommendation letters—none of that means anything here."
A brief silence followed before he added, "Though the odds of any of you being particularly outstanding are low."
Someone swallowed. His tone was too indifferent to sound like a joke, yet his face looked too bored to seem sincere.
"Words mean nothing here. What you show is all that matters."
He continued, "You'll spar in pairs. Use only training equipment, and don't go overboard. If things get troublesome, I'll end it immediately."
The air in the hall grew heavier. Then—
"Hey." A low, rough voice. Min Jae-hoon. He stood near the center with his arms crossed, posture suggesting he knew exactly where he belonged. "Even after coming all the way here, you're still the same."
His gaze turned toward me. "Always alone in the corner."
The guys behind him snickered. A familiar laugh.
"Still, gotta admit it's impressive. Making it to high school without even awakening."
Jae-hoon spoke with deliberate admiration. "A miracle. A real miracle."
I slowly raised my head. The sensation from yesterday's classroom floor still lingered in my body—the pain in my back, the memory of struggling to breathe, the feeling of lying there staring at the ceiling. Even so, I didn't want to avoid this.
"If my being here is a miracle," I said, my voice clearer than I'd expected, "then isn't yours a miracle too?"
The air in the hall seemed to freeze. My voice rang out sharply against the training hall's natural echo. Min Jae-hoon's eyebrow twitched.
"What?"
"You've awakened," I said, meeting his eyes. "If you're still stuck in Class D with someone who hasn't, doesn't that just mean your talent only goes this far?"
It was precise. Too precise.
After a moment of silence, someone snorted. "He's got a point."
"Awakened and still here... that does say something."
The laughter turned toward Jae-hoon. His face flushed visibly.
"You little—"
"Ah," I cut in. "Sorry. Guess that struck a nerve."
The moment the words left my mouth, I felt it. This was a fight I could win with words. And at the same time—Maybe I should've stopped here.
Just as the thought crossed my mind, Min Jae-hoon clenched his teeth.
"Teacher," he called to the homeroom teacher. "Can I spar with Han Do-yoon?"
Kim Young-soo lifted his head with clear annoyance. His gaze moved from Jae-hoon to me.
"You," he said, pointing at me. "You agree to spar with him?"
All eyes turned to me at once. This was the last chance to back out. If I refused, I could avoid it. Probably. But from that moment on, I'd spend the rest of the day—or maybe much longer—reliving this scene. Running away. Avoiding Min Jae-hoon. Avoiding an awakener. In that way.
I drew a short breath. "Yes."
Kim Young-soo didn't ask again. "Fine. Then do it."
With those words, any path of retreat vanished.
I walked toward the weapon rack. Training swords. A weight my hands had gripped countless times. The balance, the center, the length—my palms remembered it all. Grasping the hilt brought a measure of calm.
If I lose here, it's over.
He's still Class D, after all. Same class. Same standing. I tried to think that way. I had to think that way.
Min Jae-hoon slipped on training knuckles. The metallic click lingered oddly in my ears. He smirked.
"If you apologize now, I'll go easy and just rough you up a bit."
Laughter rose from behind him. I raised my sword.
"I'm fine," I said. "Holding back is something you do when you're stronger than your opponent, isn't it?"
I looked straight at Jae-hoon. "Doesn't sound like something you should be saying."
This time the laughter was louder. Kim Young-soo raised his hand.
"Begin."
The moment the homeroom teacher's voice fell, I moved forward on instinct. The sensation of my feet on the floor was sharp—the training hall's unique springiness, neither slippery nor too bouncy. I inhaled. The training sword in my hand felt familiar. Weight, length, balance. A sensation I could handle with my eyes closed.
It's fine. This was the distance I'd practiced the most.
Min Jae-hoon stood across from me, knuckles equipped, his stance loose—as if he hadn't even prepared. That irritated me more than anything.
I moved first. Straight on. The most basic approach. The sword tip extended directly toward Jae-hoon's chest. I controlled the speed—not too fast, not too slow.
Clack. Metal struck metal. Jae-hoon's knuckle blocked the blade. A solid parry. The recoil through my wrist made my brow twitch slightly.
He blocked it. He didn't dodge. Didn't deflect. I immediately changed the angle, twisting my body to target his side. The sword grazed his arm. Not a clean hit, but still—It connected. Definitely.
Jae-hoon's gaze wavered for a moment. I didn't miss that brief opening. A continuous sequence—thrust, slash, thrust again. My body moved as memory dictated, without breaking rhythm. Jae-hoon stepped back. Just a little. But clearly.
I'm getting in. My heart raced. At this pace, at this distance—even without awakening—maybe I could do it. The thought flashed through my mind.
Then Jae-hoon's expression changed. The sneer vanished, his eyes turning cold.
"That's enough," he said quietly.
In that instant, the air shifted. My skin reacted first. Goosebumps rose.
Mana...?
Part Break
Mana erupted from Jae-hoon's right arm. The arm wearing the knuckle visibly thickened. Muscles swelled, pressure pushing the air aside. A skill. My body registered the warning before my mind could process it. I needed to retreat. But—
It was too late.
Thud! His fist struck the sword head-on. My hand went numb. The blade flew backward. This was different. The scale of power. Different.
Jae-hoon approached. No—before I even registered the approach, an impact slammed into my side.
"Ghk—!"
Air burst from my lungs. My body staggered. He didn't miss the opening. Another blow—this time to the shoulder. Strength drained from my arm.
No. I tried to regain my stance, but the rhythm was already broken. Jae-hoon's movements blurred. It wasn't speed. His reactions themselves were different. Before I could think and move, the next strike had already arrived.
Solar plexus. Thud! My breath cut off completely. My vision went white. I felt my body lift into the air—then the floor slammed into my back.
Crash. The impact spread through my entire body. I tried to breathe, but my lungs refused to obey.
Ah. The ceiling spun. Only a ringing sound filled my ears.
"Stop."
Kim Young-soo's voice came from far away. I couldn't move. My body was alive, but the commands wouldn't reach it. Jae-hoon's shadow fell over my vision.
"See?" His voice came from above. "Know your place."
Footsteps receded. I slowly clenched my fist. It hurt. My body did too. But something was harder to endure than the pain.
Again. This was as far as I could go. No matter how much I prepared. No matter how much I practiced. A single skill shattered everything. Anger welled up but never fully surfaced. Anger at myself for not awakening. The fact that I couldn't even hold onto that anger to the end—that was the most wretched part.
Murmurs rose around me.
"As expected, non-awakeners have their limits."
"Right. Knowing your level is a skill too."
The words sounded distant. Or perhaps close but far away.
Kim Young-soo walked over. He looked down at me. His eyes held no concern, no anger, no disappointment. Just assessment. One fallen student. One subject to evaluate.
"This is your current level," he said, the words settling colder than the training hall floor. "At this rate, you'll keep getting pushed back. Your practical scores won't look good either."
He paused briefly before adding, with clear annoyance, "Don't cause trouble by stubbornly holding on. Judge for yourself and act accordingly."
Those words sank deeper than any punch. Still lying on the floor, I clenched my fist tightly. The training hall lights were too bright. I wanted to close my eyes. But I didn't. I didn't want to avoid this moment.
Physical pain was bearable. Being hit, falling—those were already familiar. But the fact that no amount of preparation would ever take me beyond this point pressed harder against my chest. A world where a single awakening divided every standard. I still hadn't even reached that threshold.
I drew a breath. My lungs still didn't fully obey, but the sensation of being alive remained.
I didn't run away. At least not today. Right now, all I had was defeat—but I hadn't yet heard anyone say this was the end. I put strength into my hand. Painfully. As if that was the only way to keep my mind from slipping away.