Chapter 1: A Trope? Nah I’ll Win

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: A Trope? Nah I’ll Win

The academy gymnasium was packed to the rafters.

Rows of tiered seating ran down toward the central platform like the slopes of a shallow amphitheater. Hundreds of third-year students filled the seats, the air thick with nervous sweat, expensive perfume, and the low buzz of whispered speculation.

Bright crystal lamps hung from the high ceiling, casting clean white light across the polished floor where the awakening array had been carefully inscribed.

Michael sat near the middle of the second row, posture relaxed, one arm resting along the back of the seat beside him.

His uniform jacket was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a clean line of throat and the faint edge of collarbone. Even sitting still, he drew eyes. It had been that way for years.

A finger poked the back of his shoulder.

"Oi. Be honest." Felix leaned forward from the row behind, red hair falling into his green eyes, grin already in place. "What rank do you think you’ll pull? Don’t give me that humble crap either. Everyone knows the Class President isn’t walking out of here with anything average."

Michael leaned back, tilting his head against the headrest to look at his best friend. "How would I know, you idiot?"

"Bullshit. You’ve got that look. The one that says you’ve already won and the rest of us are just late to the party."

Before Michael could answer, the girl seated to his right finally moved.

Ivy Fox sat with her legs crossed, spine straight, her expression cold as frost. Ink-black hair, shot through with deep purple undertones, spilled over one shoulder, framing a face so refined it bordered on severe. And her silver eyes were currently narrowed into sharp slits.

She turned just enough to look at Felix.

"Can’t you see me?" Her voice was soft, almost polite — and somehow colder than the winter air outside. "Stop being so touchy with my boyfriend. I’m right here."

A ripple of deadpan stares swept through the nearby students. And as if sharing one mind, the same thought crossed most of their faces at once:

The ice queen’s as possessive as ever.

Felix raised both hands in mock surrender and leaned back, while chuckling. Michael only exhaled through his nose, then reached over and ruffled Ivy’s hair with casual familiarity.

The ice in her expression cracked just enough for her to lean into his arm, pressing the soft curve of her breast against his side as though claiming territory. The faint scent of her perfume—something clean and expensive with a hidden sweetness—curled into his lungs.

Michael shifted his gaze from her distracting form to the raised platform, where their principal, Mr. Diomande, stood with a hand raised. The low murmur of the crowd died almost at once.

Although Felix was known to also say whatever was on his mind, which always ended up being complete bullshit, his earlier words about Michael being confident about his awakening weren’t completely wrong.

Michael wasn’t exactly from a big family or someone who had drunk some heavenly elixir from the Third Heaven that could automatically make him awaken with an OP ability. It was that he had something no other person in this world had... he had a transmigrator system.

Eight years ago, he had died on Earth. One moment, he had been an unemployed shut-in with too many novels and too little ambition, living off the generosity of his successful older sisters. The next, a chandelier had come down during a rare family dinner and turned the world into darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, he was ten years old, mute, and trapped in the thin body of a middle-class boy in a world of rifts, monsters, and domes that kept the lethal energy of the higher heavens from erasing ordinary life.

The body had not stayed thin.

Whatever genes or luck had shaped this new vessel, they had been generous to the point of absurdity. By fifteen, he had already become famous on Insta-Tok without ever creating an account.

Women he had never met posted thirst edits of grainy street footage. Girls at school found excuses to brush against him in the hallways. Even some of the younger female instructors had looked a little too long. He had taken full advantage. Beauty, charm, and a transmigrator’s knowledge of human nature had made the last eight years very comfortable.

The system that had come with him, however, had remained silent.

Until today.

A faint, translucent window hovered at the edge of his vision, visible only to him. The countdown in the corner ticked steadily downward.

[00:04:58]

Four minutes and fifty-eight seconds until activation.

Principal Diomande’s voice rolled across the gymnasium, deep and practiced. He spoke of glory, of humanity’s long war against the rifts, of the chance every student now had to rise above mortality. Michael listened with only half an ear. He had heard variations of the same speech in dozens of novels. The important part came next.

A short Asian woman in a tailored charcoal suit stepped up beside the principal, tablet in hand. She adjusted the oversized glasses that nearly swallowed her cute face, the frames almost comically large against her delicate features.

A neat pixie cut framed her sharp, cat-like eyes as they flicked across the crowd, while her soft hourglass figure filled out the suit with subtle curves.

Nothing was exaggerated, but there was enough softness to make the fabric cling in all the right places.

The cute woman cleared her throat and began calling names.

The first student walked up on shaky legs, placed his hand on the massive crystal orb, and watched it bloom with soft green light. Wind affinity. Sword compatibility. Tier 5 Prospect. Respectable. The boy nearly wept with relief.

More names followed. Some failed entirely. Others scraped into the lower tiers. A girl with trembling hands managed a Tier 4 and burst into tears of joy. The crowd’s tension slowly transformed into restless excitement.

Then Felix’s name was called.

He smirked at Michael before swaggering up the steps like he already owned the place, slammed his palm onto the crystal, and grinned as brilliant golden light exploded outward. The numbers climbed fast.

"Tier 3 Prospect," the suited woman announced, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. "Light affinity. High compatibility with archery and precision weapons."

The gymnasium erupted. Felix turned, found Michael in the crowd, and shot him a peace-sign so smug it was almost radiant.

Ivy went up next.

She rose with the same cold grace she did everything, silver eyes half-lidded, as though the entire ceremony bored her.

When her hand touched the orb the temperature in the front rows seemed to drop. Pale blue light spiraled up the crystal, elegant and absolute.

"Tier 3 Prospect. Ice affinity. Exceptional compatibility with magical structures and binding arts."

Another wave of noise.

Ivy simply turned her head, found Michael’s gaze, and held it for a long moment before descending the steps. When she sat down again, she nudged him lightly and whispered, "Good luck."

Michael couldn’t help but smile at that.

One student after another went up to the stage, most of them awakening with decent ranks. With every successful awakening, the energy in the gymnasium climbed higher.

Until finally, it reached its peak.

The suited woman paused.

She glanced down at her tablet.

Then, after a brief hesitation, she spoke the final name. "Michael Kaiser."

The gymnasium went quiet.

For a long moment, nobody said a word.

"So, it’s the Class President’s turn, huh?"

"Guess we should go do something else. It’s obvious he’ll only awaken at Tier 1 or Tier 2."

"Lol, right? I find it pointless to even sit here. After all, he broke all the Pre-Hunter test records back at the academy."

"But what if he doesn’t awaken?" someone asked hesitantly.

"Well, does it matter? I bet if that guy doesn’t awaken, there’ll be a long line of women ready to fund his life."

Michael stood, ignoring the whispers, as he walked down the steps toward the platform.

In his old life, he had been a man of culture with none of the assets required to live like one. So, the first thing he did in this world, once he found out how capable this body was, was to make sure to etch his face and personality into the minds of everyone around him.

Looks, charisma, good grades, a loving family, loyal friends, a beautiful and dangerously possessive girlfriend, some side projects—he had made sure to build this life brick by brick so that, in case of anything, he would have somewhere to fall back on and wouldn’t end up becoming a victim of the breakup trope.

However, more than anything, Michael wanted to be strong.

Love alone would not keep them alive when the rifts widened or the dome shields failed.

Power would.

What he wanted wasn’t a life of hiding as a sugar baby, though he wouldn’t deny that it had its perks. Still, he wanted power. To be the strongest. And not just power—women too, and money. Then, at the very peak, if the stories about the Three Heavens were even half true, immortality waited.

Principal Diomande met him at the top of the stairs and clasped his shoulder with a heavy hand. "We have high expectations for you, Michael."

Michael offered the expected polite smile and stepped past him.

The woman with the tablet waited beside the crystal. Up close, she was even cuter, short enough that he had to look down at her. Her cat-like eyes blinked behind those oversized glasses, while her neat pixie cut rested softly against her neck.

The charcoal suit hugged a neat little hourglass, the modest swell of her breasts and the firm, hand-filling curve of her ass outlined just enough to make a man’s palms itch.

When Michael’s eyes met hers, something flickered across her face—too fast for most people to catch. Her fingers tightened around the tablet. A fine tremor ran through her shoulders, as though an old memory had just dragged its nails down her spine.

Michael’s smile deepened by a fraction.

He walked past her and stopped in front of the orb.

The countdown in the corner of his vision hit zero.

[System Activation Complete.]

[Good day, Host.]

At the same moment the system chimed, Michael placed his hand on the crystal with a grin.

Light flared—brilliant, pure, the same radiance that had announced every other awakening.

For a moment, the entire gymnasium held its breath.

Michael forced his eyes to stay open against the glare, searching for the numbers that would decide the next stage of his life.

Then the numbers appeared.

They climbed.

Then slowed.

Then stopped.

[87.]

[Tier 9 Prospect.]

The lowest of the low.

The rank people whispered about was barely better than failing outright. The rank that meant you would never truly rise past the bottom of Rank 9, no matter how hard you trained.

A cold, ugly feeling coiled in his gut.

The system window pulsed at the edge of his sight, new text already forming. Around him, he could already sense the first stirrings of confusion in the crowd. The suited woman’s lips parted. Principal Diomande’s brows drew together as he tried to make out the numbers written on the orb.

Michael’s jaw tightened.

’Tier 9? A public reaction scene? A young master laughing in the back? Absolutely fucking not,’ he thought.

He had read three thousand web novels. He knew how this went. First came the hushed whispers, then the broken engagement, then three Chapters of training in a trash dump while everyone mocked him.

He hadn’t spent eight years maxing out his charisma stats just to play the underdog.

’Yeah, no. I’m not falling for this obvious trope. Try again next time.’

He pulled his hand back just far enough, then drove his fist forward with every ounce of controlled force he could generate.

The crystal orb exploded.

Shards of luminous glass erupted outward in a glittering storm. The platform shook. Screams and shouts ripped through the gymnasium as students ducked and instructors lunged forward. Alarms began to wail.

The beautiful woman in the suit stumbled back, eyes wide, one arm raised against the flying fragments.

Michael stood in the center of the destruction, his fist still extended, blood dripping from his knuckle.

The system window expanded fully at last, calm and indifferent to the chaos.

[Mission System Online.]

[First Directive: Become the strongest.]

Michael lowered his hand, flexed his fingers once, and smiled at the stunned principal.

"Oh wow..." he gasped. "The orb just broke~"

Nobody spoke.

Michael blinked innocently. "That happens sometimes, right?"