The heavy doors shut behind him with a dramatic finality that really didn't need sound effects — but got them anyway.
Silence.
Sam leaned toward Nyra. "Well. That wasn't traumatizing at all."
Onstage, the professor cleared her throat and tried to smile like this wasn't her 800th time watching a teenager's dreams get suplexed by reality.
"Next name."
Another boy walked up — this one with a slightly steadier gait, but not by much.
His face was pale, his shirt damp with sweat, and he looked like he was walking into trial by combat… against gravity.
He raised a shaky hand.
Touched the stone.
Seconds passed. Too long. Sam could already hear the mental spiral starting.
But then —
Faint glow.
The crowd collectively leaned in.
A gust of air rippled through the stone's surface, forming the barely-there shape of a wind rune.
Weak, flickering… but there.
Common-tier.
Wind Element.
Textbook mediocrity.
The professor lit up like the kid had just cured death.
"Congratulations!" she said, clapping.
"You'll be joining the Academy next month!"
The boy blinked.
Then burst into tears.
Not the pretty kind either. The ugly, snot-dripping, soul-purging kind.
Sam raised an eyebrow.
Is this… the happy breakdown phase?
The crowd clapped politely. As if they weren't watching the emotional lottery that would determine whether someone became a mage… or a cabbage farmer.
Another name was called.
Then another.
And just like that, the ceremony kept rolling — one life at a time, crushed or elevated under the cold, glowing hand of the Awakening Stone.
Sam stopped paying attention.
He knew how this part went — dozens of nobodies would awaken basic elements, a few lucky ones would pop off with a rare-tier or epic-tier, and the rest would leave with the same magical prowess as a wet sock.
His eyes scanned the crowd instead, searching.
Important characters from the novel were scattered all around, but there were just too many — young nobles with stupidly good hair, overhyped "geniuses," and anxious commoners trying not to pass out.
He didn't need to find all of them today.
The plot would shove them in his face eventually.
Sam sighed and shifted his weight.
A few students were cheering.
One girl awakened ice — rare-tier.
Another boy screamed joyfully after getting lightning, then fainted from the shock.
Literally.
Sam continued scanning the crowd, eyes drifting over faces like a bored security camera.
The hero? No idea where he was.
The novel had never given a description — just said,
"Imagine yourself in his shoes."
Yeah. Very helpful. Thanks, Author.
So Sam was left squinting at every other person his age, trying to recognize side characters from memory like he was speedrunning a trivia quiz.
Then — without warning — bam.
A shoulder slammed into him.
Sam stumbled back half a step, eyes narrowing.
A commoner boy stood there, taller than him, built like someone who could actually do manual labor, and annoyingly handsome.
"S-Sorry!" the boy said quickly, hands raised.
Sam didn't hear a word.
His instincts, however, heard a flashback.
And before the boy could blink—
Wham.
Sam's leg snapped out with an aggressive Brazilian kick straight to the shin.
The boy yelped and dropped like a sack of potatoes, clutching his leg.
He didn't fight back.
Of course not.
Commoner.
A few heads turned. A noble kicking a peasant?
Meh. Just another Tuesday.
Nyra arrived instantly, fussing like a worried hen.
"Master! Are you alright? Are you injured?"
Sam, looking completely unbothered, dusted off his sleeves like he'd just walked through cobwebs.
"I'm fine," he muttered.
Nyra glanced at the boy still on the ground, wheezing softly and glaring up with a mix of pain and righteous fury.
"What should we do with him, Master?" she asked.
Sam glanced down, shrugged.
"Cool. Just leave him."
Nyra nodded dutifully.
"Understood."
The boy watched them go, jaw clenched, pain radiating up his leg.
She asked if he was injured… while I'm the one on the ground.
What kind of world is this?
His fists tightened against the stone floor.
Sam didn't look back.
He had no idea that this very moment would spark the making of another key player in the game.
But that's a problem for future Sam.
And then he saw her.
White hair. Red eyes.
Clothes so worn they were probably one sneeze away from disintegrating.
She stood off to the side, half-shadowed by a column, as if the sun itself couldn't be bothered to acknowledge her.
Hair tangled like a bird's nest.
Eyes dull. Shoulders slouched.
Even the other commoners gave her space like she was cursed.
A walking "Do Not Engage" sign.
Lilith.
Sam's eyes narrowed with focus.
She was an important character in the novel.
Terrifyingly strong later.
Slightly… okay, violently unhinged.
But honestly, that just made her more relatable in this world. Compared to the rest of the lunatics out there, her brand of madness was practically romantic.
Sam adjusted his collar, plastered a gentleman's smile on his face — or at least what he assumed one might look like — and began striding toward her with purpose.
Behind him, Nyra sighed so hard it could've pushed a sailboat.
Why does Master look like he's stalking a rare beast for taxidermy?
As Sam drew closer, preparing to introduce himself with maximum charm and minimal creepiness, he saw someone else.
That guy.
The commoner boy.
The one he'd just roundhouse-kicked into character development.
Limping. Sweaty.
And — gods help him — moving toward Lilith.
Sam's entire posture changed.
From "charming noble" to "murderous velociraptor."
His smile twitched.
His eye twitched.
And in his mind, he just heard one thought:
That bastard's trying to take what's mine.
Without a word, Sam broke into a full sprint.
Nyra blinked. "Oh no."
She bolted after him, nearly tripping on her dress.