Life in the village flowed quiet and slow.Uneventful, yes—but peaceful. Kana liked it that way.
Her friends, less so.
Every so often, one would poke her head into Kana’s home, curiosity tugging at the hem of their patience. What could Kana possibly be doing all day indoors? But once they saw her hunched over ink-smudged pages, mouthing out syllables with furrowed brows, their curiosity wilted like a flower in dry soil. Reading? Writing? That wasn’t worth their time.
Except for Suri.
Suri didn’t care what Kana was doing. She bothered her anyway, throwing herself onto Kana’s mat with theatrical sighs and asking questions she already knew the answers to. Occasionally, she stayed long enough to ask what a certain word meant. Kana told her. Suri never said thank you.
Weeks passed. Then, one morning, Kana’s mother noticed.
She stood at the threshold of the small study alcove, arms folded, watching as Kana flipped through a weathered book. At first, she thought her daughter was only pretending again—children often did, mimicking their elders, tracing letters like they were drawing patterns in the dirt. But this was different. Kana wasn’t just looking.
She was reading.
Quietly, her mother stepped inside, pulled a thick volume from the upper shelf. Its spine was cracked, its pages dense with small text. Not an easy one, she thought. She set it on the table with a gentle thud.
“Read this aloud,” she said.
Kana blinked, took the book in both hands and studied the cover. “Plants: Function and Classification, by Rafaelli Downs.”
She opened to the first page, her voice slow but steady. “Thunder plants, found at the peak of the mountains where there are often thunderstorms. Characteristics: small leaf with bluish glow, often used as light source. Must not touch with bare hands. Easier to find at night.”
She read on, stumbling now and then. Her mother corrected her gently, only when necessary. By the time Kana turned the final page, sunlight had shifted across the room.
“Aren’t you going to be late?” Kana asked.
Her mother didn’t answer right away. She was watching her daughter, something unreadable in her eyes. She was impressed, but didn’t show it, “When did you learn?”
Kana hesitated. “Since the first day?”
Her mother raised an eyebrow, then sighed—half-resigned, half-impressed. “Don’t get full of yourself. Read aloud, and only at home. Do you understand?”
Kana nodded. “Alright.”
She kept reading. Day by day, word by word, the lines on the page stopped being strangers. Even Suri began picking things up—though she’d never admit it. Learning, it turned out, was addicting.
… … … .
Nearly two years had passed since Kana first traced the shape of words and pulled meaning from them. What had once been a slow crawl through strange symbols was now second nature.
At twelve years old, every child in the continent would be granted access to the System—a gift from the gods, or so the stories claimed. From that moment on, they would begin to shape their futures: classes, skills, even professions, all laid out for them. Fated paths.
The administrator arrived from the capital in a creaking carriage, its wood lacquered and its wheels muddied from the long journey. He stepped out wearing dark cloaks embroidered with silver thread, the crest of the kingdom stitched over his heart: a sword piercing through a red sun.
He surveyed the group of children gathered in the central square, eyes sharp beneath his hood.
“These are all of them?” he asked.
The village chief nodded. “Yes, Administrator.”
The man gave a curt nod and stepped forward, unrolling a scroll sealed with the royal insignia. His voice carried with authority.
“I am Fred, a low silver mage and your administrator for this year’s Awakening. The classes listed on this scroll are recognized by the Crown. Any child who receives one will be offered a place at the Academy in the capital. You will be trained, supported, and prepared for service to the kingdom. Be honored.”
He let the words settle over them, for a few seconds.
Boris leaned toward Kana with a smug grin. “Hey, Kana. Wanna bet who gets the better class?”
She gave him a glance but said nothing.
“What? Scared?” He nudged her elbow, still grinning. “You’re no fun anymore.”
Kana ignored him. She was used to that kind of talk from Boris.
“Suri,” she said, turning to her friend instead. “When your turn comes, tell me what classes you get, but don’t pick yet. I’ve read a lot about them—I can help you choose. You trust me, right?”
Suri shrugged. “I guess. My mom said her class was the same as Grandma’s. Probably I’ll get it too.”
“I don’t think it works that way. They say everyone gets two or three to choose..”
Suri sighed but nodded. “Alright. I’ll wait.”
There were only a dozen children this year—more than last, but still few enough that each turn felt close, immediate, watched. The first child stepped forward and placed his hand on the Blackstone. Moments later, the administrator announced: “[Thief] and [Rogue].” Whispers rippled through the crowd—common classes, useful in some villages, but not marked on the kingdom’s scroll.
Boris went next.
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He strode forward with a swagger only half-earned and pressed his hand to the stone. “[Swordsman] and [Spearman],” Fred called out. Both were listed on the scroll.
“I’ll take [Spearman],” Boris said, loud enough for the others to hear. The crowd cheered as they have now one child that would be sponsored, there was none last year.
Suri followed. She stepped forward quietly, placing her palm on the Blackstone.
“[Illusionist] and [Shaman],” Fred said after a pause. He looked at her for a beat longer than the others, but made no comment. Neither class appeared on the scroll.
And then it was Kana’s turn.
She stepped forward, heart pounding. Fred gestured to the polished slab of black stone set into the pedestal before her.
“Touch the Blackstone,” he said. “The System will do the rest.”
Kana reached out. The stone was cool beneath her fingertips—unnaturally so, like it had never known sunlight. And then, the world seemed to still. The breeze paused. The sky quieted.
She could hear her heartbeat pumping.
Then came the screen—floating, translucent blue, etched in glowing glyphs that shimmered like stars reflected on water. It reminded her of something she couldn’t name. A dream, maybe. Or… a game?
What are games?
[Name: Kana]
[Title: Incomplete Transcender]
[Class: None]
[Available Classes: Bookkeeper, Ranger]
The administrator stepped closer, his tone shifting, more serious now. “You won’t understand most of what you see yet. That’s normal. But I want you to focus on the text at the bottom—the strange script. You’ll hear the voice of God. When you do, repeat it aloud.”
Kana furrowed her brow and focused.
Words echoed in her mind—not spoken, not sung, just… rendered, like thoughts delivered whole into her head.
“[Bookkeeper] and [Ranger],” she said aloud.
Is this what they call the voice of the gods?
It sounds like a machine.
What… is a machine again?
The thoughts weren’t hers, but they came anyway. Sharp, fragmented glimpses of something else.
Fred gave a short nod. “Neither class is listed on the royal scroll, so your path is your own. Choose with care. And remember: you can access the System again at any time. Say the word status aloud—or even think it—and it will appear.”
He turned, scroll already rolled, cloak sweeping behind him. “Congratulations on your Awakening.”
That was it.
No blessings. No ceremony. Just strange words and choices that felt too big for children.
Fred left almost immediately, climbing back into the waiting carriage. Kana heard he had several more villages to reach before dusk, and he was already running late.
The others began to drift away, voices murmuring about what they’d seen and what they would become.
She could still feel it. That quiet pulse beneath the surface.
The System had seen her. Named her.
Incomplete Transcender.
She didn’t know what the title meant.
But somehow, it felt like the beginning of something much bigger than a simple class.
. … … …
“So, Kana, what should I choose?” Suri asked, her voice muffled by a mouthful of grilled rootcake. She sprawled across the floor of Kana’s home like she owned the place, crumbs scattering around her.
Kana didn’t look up from the book in her lap. “The [Shaman] class is probably tied to curse magic—old mana arts, dangerous stuff. You might’ve inherited your mother’s affinity for high-level mana control.”
Suri tilted her head, chewing thoughtfully. “And the other one?”
“[Illusionist] is... illusions, obviously. Trickery. Distraction. Shadow-magic, maybe. If I were you—”
“I already picked [Illusionist]!” Suri announced triumphantly, raising both hands like she'd won a game Kana didn’t know they were playing. “Sounds fun!”
Kana let out a long breath and finally looked up. “[Shaman] is rare. Powerful. You could’ve—”
“Too late!”
Of course it was.
“How about you?” Suri asked, still grinning, kicking her feet against the table leg.
“I picked [Ranger],” Kana said. “It’s... bows, traps, tracking.”
Suri wrinkled her nose. “That sounds boring.”
Kana didn’t answer. She’d already thought that too. But she’d also felt something when she picked it—like her mind had clicked into alignment with the choice. It didn’t feel fun. It felt right.
She opened her status screen with a thought.
Status
[Name: Kana]
[Title: Incomplete Transcender]
[Class: Ranger]
[Level: 1]
[Stats:]
Str: 3?Agi: 5?Int: 8
Health: 10/10?Mana: 20/20
[Skills:] [Marksmanship], [Awareness]
She stared at the glowing screen, then narrowed her focus on the title. Something about it pulled at her.
She willed it to open.
[Incomplete Transcender]
One who nearly succeeded in reaching beyond mortal limits but failed.
Perks:
Fivefold experience gain (As the one who already reached the pinnacle of mortal potential once, gaining experience again will be easier.)
Inventory access (Additional benefits of the few who transcend, size will be half because it is incomplete)
Kana blinked. “What...?”
She didn’t remember transcending anything. She didn’t even know what that meant. But the perks were real. Especially the experience boost. That alone could let her catch up—or surpass—people years ahead of her.
She pushed down the questions and turned her attention to her skills.
[Marksmanship] (Level 1)
Passive. High compatibility with ranged weapons. Attacks that strike their target have an increased chance to deal critical damage.
[Awareness]
Passive. Enhances all five senses. Heightens spatial and sensory perception.
Both were subtle, but she could already feel the difference. Her breath moved quieter. Her gaze tracked Suri’s idle movements without thinking. She could hear footsteps outside.
There was power here—something magical.
Kana closed the window with a thought, her mind still racing. She didn't know where this path would lead. But for now, she was ahead. Even if she didn’t know how.
“Hey,” Suri said suddenly, licking crumbs off her fingers. “You think there’s a class out there called Queen of the World?”
Kana gave her a flat look. “You’d pick that without knowing what it is..”
“Obviously,” Suri said, grinning. “Sounds fun.”
