A sharp voice cut through the haze of his thoughts.
"OI! Are you even listening?!"
The acrid scent of cheap perfume and chalk dust filled his lungs. Gone was the battlefield, the blood-soaked corpses, the mocking faces of his betrayers. Instead, he found himself staring at the fluorescent lights of a classroom ceiling.
The voice snapped at him again, filled with barely concealed contempt.
"Edgar middleton !!!Just because you're the top scorer doesn't mean you can sleep through my lecture, you insufferable brat!"
He blinked, his gaze shifting downward. Standing before him was his homeroom teacher, Miss Luthra, her arms crossed and eyes glinting with amusement. She was a woman in her mid-forties, dressed in a stiff, formal suit that did little to hide her ambitions. The overpowering scent of synthetic jasmine clung to her—a poor attempt to maintain an air of grace in the presence of her wealthier students.
His classmates snickered, their sneering faces all too familiar. Rich heirs and heiresses, pampered by generations of power and wealth, watching him with barely restrained amusement.
Miss Luthra gave a small, knowing smile. "Do you think sleeping through my class will help you awaken a talent? Top scorer or not, there's no guarantee, after all. Who knows? You might not receive anything at all. That would be quite the shame, wouldn't it?" She gave a slight shake of her head, her tone carrying just the right amount of pity. "The world isn't always kind, especially to those without… ..the right foundations."
The classroom erupted into quiet laughter.
He didn't react immediately. Instead, he lowered his gaze to his chest, pressing a hand over where the fatal wound had been just moments ago. His breath remained steady. No pain. No mark.
So it wasn't a dream.
He had died.
And now, he was back.
His fingers twitched. There was only one explanation—one of the Lords he had absorbed before his fall must have possessed a unique ability related to time or fate. Whether this was a gift or a curse remained to be seen.
Slowly, he pulled out his phone. The date flashed on the screen.
Three days before his 18th birthday.
Three days before the Awakening Ceremony.
Three days before his path was decided.
Every individual received their qualification on the day they turned 18. The world had long divided them into three categories:
1. Lords – The rarest of all. Only one in a million awakened as a Lord, receiving not only immense power but their own personal estate—a vast land under their control, where they could summon subjects, build cities, and command resources. Some Lords even gained standing armies, making them forces to be reckoned with. With wealth, military might, and the autonomy to rule, they were respected, feared, and sometimes even worshipped. Nations fought to claim the favor of even a single Lord.
2. Adventurers – While not as rare as Lords, these individuals awakened with a unique talent and gained access to Vaeloria, the otherworldly realm teeming with opportunities and dangers. Some joined kingdoms, others formed guilds, and a few remained as lone wanderers, carving out their own paths.
3. Common Awakeners – The most frequent outcome. These individuals gained access to Vaeloria but received no unique talent. Their future depended entirely on their own effort, often forcing them into various professions—merchants, artisans, soldiers.
He knew which one he would be.
Even if the entire world denied it, even if fate itself tried to stop him, he knew.
The snickers around him grew louder as Miss Luthra continued, her voice smooth, casual—yet sharp enough to cut.
"Of course, it's always good to hope. After all, even those without strong backing sometimes manage to find a way. It just takes… a little extra effort." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "But one must always prepare for reality. The world is not so easily conquered by talent alone."
That was it.
His chair scraped against the floor as he stood.
A hush fell over the room.
He met Miss Luthra's gaze, his sharp golden eyes glinting with something dangerous.
Then, he spoke.
"Oh, fuck off, will you?"
A collective gasp rippled through the students. Miss Luthra's face remained frozen for a second before twisting in sheer outrage. "You—! How dare you—!"
He didn't wait for her to finish. With lazy strides, he walked toward the door.
"You—YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!" Her voice cracked, losing its previous smoothness. "HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT?! YOU THINK BECAUSE YOU CAN ANSWER A FEW TESTS, YOU'RE ABOVE US?! YOU'RE NOTHING! NOTHING!"
He paused at the doorway. Slowly, he turned back, his gaze sweeping over the classroom.
Pathetic.
These people, these insects, had looked down on him for years. A scholarship student among the elite. A nobody who dared to stand among royalty. He had tolerated them because, at the time, he had no other choice.
But now?
Now, he had seen their future. He had seen where their arrogance led them.
And he had conquered it.
A smirk tugged at his lips. He tilted his head slightly. "And yet," he said, voice smooth, "in three days, I'll still be worth more than all of you combined."
With that, he walked out, leaving behind stunned silence and a fuming teacher.
The moment he stepped past the school gates, the weight of reality sank in.
He was back.
And this time, he wouldn't be a mere player in getting played by all those he considered his own.
Since it was still middle of the day , He decided to give the school library a visit. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts, to truly accept what had happened.
And there was something he needed to do , and prepare for.