Zane went straight home.
On his way back, he passed by the Rusty Mug Tavern, now shuttered and silent.
This place will always be something special, he thought, lingering for a moment. I met that strange old man here… and got the system that helped me awaken.
For the next two days, Zane stayed close to his grandmother. He spent every waking moment with her—helping with her vegetable stall, shopping, chatting, and doing whatever small tasks he could.
He tried everything just to make her smile.
He wore his usual smug grin, but deep down, his heart was heavy. These would be the last quiet days he would get with her for a long time. He knew it—and treasured every second.
She had raised him when no one else would. Her love was irreplaceable.
Zane brought it up a few times—asking her to come with him. To leave this worn-out place and join him on the journey ahead.
But each time, she just smiled and shook her head.
"I'd love to go with you," she said one evening, her tone firm despite her warmth. "But I have to wait for my daughter here."
She gave him a light slap on the arm and added with mock annoyance, "You're so adamant about joining that stupid Academy. Now that you've awakened, go on. Don't bother this old lady anymore. I don't need your help."
Zane looked at her—those weathered hands, the familiar creases around her eyes, and that stubborn, unyielding spirit.
He didn't argue. He knew he couldn't change her mind.
He just smiled.
And somewhere deep inside, something ached.
The next morning, he stepped out of the house with a single backpack slung over his shoulder. Before leaving, he kissed his grandmother gently on the cheek. She said nothing, but her hands trembled ever so slightly.
He didn't look back.
He couldn't.
If he did, he knew his resolve might falter—especially if he saw the tears that were no doubt slipping down her wrinkled cheeks.
As he walked down the dusty path, Zane whispered to the wind, "Just you wait, Mimo. I'm going to find and bring back your daughter. I promise. Until then… eat well, stay healthy."
And with that, Zane disappeared into the morning light—carrying more than just a backpack. He carried a vow.
The town had changed since the last time he walked these streets.
None of the townspeople dared make eye contact with him. They had heard the rumors—whispers about what had happened inside the Pre-Academy temple just days ago. Now, they feared him. They avoided his gaze like he carried some curse.
Zane ignored them all.
As he passed by the shuttered Rusty Mug Tavern, a voice thundered out, sharp and uninvited.
"Are you leaving?"
Zane halted and turned his head. It was Pudge—the burly tavern owner.
The man stood outside, dressed in a garish Hawaiian shirt and matching shorts, arms covered in faded ink that hinted at a life steeped in trouble. Around him were dozens of suitcases stacked haphazardly, as if he, too, was preparing to vanish.
"Yes, I've awakened," Zane replied curtly. His voice held no warmth, no need for courtesy. This was only their second meeting. They were strangers, really—nothing more.
But the way Pudge looked at him said otherwise. There was something in his eyes, something unreadable.
"Mr. Pudge, if there's nothing else, I'll take my leave," Zane said, his tone indifferent, and continued walking.
Long after Zane had vanished down the road, Pudge let out a heavy sigh and grumbled under his breath, "Tch… Do I really have to protect this brat? I hate this. I hate this. You stupid old man... why'd you choose this lousy kid? He's got no sense of appreciation for his elders."
He scratched his head and glared at the horizon. "Ugh… why does it always fall on me?"
In front of the Pre-Academy Hall, twenty-seven youths stood waiting in anticipation. Their luggage rested at their feet, dust swirling gently around them as the wind blew across the open plain. They had all gathered here for one purpose: the journey to the Academy.
Among them, one figure stood out effortlessly—Shawn Bracewell.
It wasn't just the mop of striking green hair that drew attention, nor the long, linen-wrapped object slung across his back like a sacred relic. It was the aura around him—calm, calculating, detached.
He didn't belong here.
He wasn't from Whistler Town.
And unlike the others who had awakened recently, Shawn had awakened years ago. At the young age of eleven.
Whispers floated around him like dust in the air.
"That green-haired brat… I heard he's from a Super-Family."
"They say he trained in a private domain—somewhere normal folks can't even dream of."
"What's he doing here, with us?"
"Probably scouting the competition."
Shawn stood still, eyes half-lidded, ignoring the rumors. He didn't need to defend himself. He was used to the noise.
He wasn't here to prove anything.
He was here to see who might be worth his attention.
And maybe—just maybe—to find out if the Academy held anyone even remotely interesting.
Suddenly, the heavy iron gate creaked open. Shelby stepped out, his presence enough to command silence.
All twenty-seven youths turned toward him in unison. Yes—they had been waiting for him.
Everyone expected him to lead them into the teleportation hall.
But Shelby didn't speak.
He simply scanned the group with calm disinterest… and then looked past them—down the dusty road, as if still waiting.
No one dared speak. The silence grew heavy.
That was, until Shawn Bracewell stepped forward, his voice calm and assertive. "Sir, it's getting late. Why don't you bring us into the teleportation hall? I believe all of us here have already registered with the Hero Association Society."
Shelby's eyes flicked to him, blank and cold. Then, he looked away, ignoring the boy entirely.
Shawn hesitated, then added, "Sir, you might recognize me. I'm from the Veyloris Dynasty."
That earned him a glare.
Shelby's voice cut through the air like a knife:
"Shut up. I don't give a shit whether you're from the Veyloris Dynasty or Astraelan. One more word, and I'll slap you so hard your ancestors will flinch."
The warning was clear—and very real.
Shawn flinched. Though tall and proud, he was still a child in many ways. He bit his lip, scowled, but didn't dare speak again.
Around him, the others were stunned.
The Veyloris Dynasty? That's one of the Three Super-Families…
Why would someone from such a powerful house get talked down like that?
Who's Shelby waiting for?
Just then, the sound of steady footsteps approached.
A handsome youth appeared in the distance, walking with a calm, steady pace. Despite the morning sun behind him, his presence was sharp and commanding.
Shelby's entire demeanor shifted.
A grin stretched across his face, the complete opposite of his earlier coldness. "You're late."
"Is that the evil-spawn, Zane Carter?"
The other youths turned toward the newcomer—and their reactions were immediate.
"Why is he here?"
"That's Zane Carter?"
"I thought he was some thug."
"They're letting him into the Academy?"
Their whispers were not kind—disgust and ridicule painted their faces.
Meanwhile, Shawn Bracewell clenched his jaw, his fists tightening. His pride still smarting from Shelby's rejection, he shifted all his pent-up frustration and bruised ego onto the boy calmly walking their way.
Onto Zane.
Unknowing to himself, he had just gained another enemy—one from a Super-Family, no less.
Zane kept walking, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the silent tension clinging to the air like a blade waiting to drop. His face betrayed nothing. No fear, no arrogance—just the calm indifference of someone who had already walked through fire.
Shelby clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning. "You're late. I was starting to think you chickened out."
Zane glanced sideways. "And miss your charming welcome committee? Never."
That earned a laugh from Shelby.
But the others were not amused.
The tension in the group rose. Many of the youths eyed Zane with thinly veiled contempt. Some had heard the rumors—others had only heard enough to judge.
Shawn Bracewell narrowed his eyes, already imagining how to crush this new face.
Let's see how long you last.
Zane, oblivious to the venom being directed his way, just adjusted his backpack and followed Shelby toward the hall.
He didn't know that in stepping forward, he hadn't just entered the Academy.
He had stepped into a battlefield.
One where names, bloodlines, and legacies weighed more than talent—
—and he carried none of them.
Just himself.
And whatever it was inside him that refused to bow.