Arcadia City – Awakening Hall
Frank's boots scuffed against polished marble, the kind that made dirt look like sin. He stood third in line now—two more names, then it was him. The crowd buzzed behind him. Families in flashy robes. Recruiters with visors flicking through profiles. News drones hovered above, catching angles that made it all look like a celebration.
It wasn't.
Not for him.
The first kid stepped forward—a red-haired guy with nerves bursting out of his jawline. The Awakening crystal pulsed blue. Light swirled up, scanning him. The moment it dimmed, a golden crest shimmered in the air.
"A-Rank! Shadow Assassin class!"
The hall exploded. Screams. Applause. Three guild agents surged forward at once. Frank barely flinched. He just scratched the scar under his chin and kept his eyes on the floor. His turn was close. His stomach, empty. His throat, dry.
The girl in front of him stepped up.
The scan started.
"B-Rank—Ember Witch. Subclass: Infernal Needle."
Another burst of cheers. One of the agents whispered something and handed her a glowing card. She looked like she might cry. Or explode.
And then… silence.
"Next."
Frank stepped forward.
No family clapping. No recruiters leaning forward. Just the mechanical voice of the Awakening crystal humming like it didn't care.
He stood still as the light scanned his chest. It was warm. Tingled a little. Then—nothing. No flash. Just a dull green flicker.
"F-Rank. Trader class."
Silence. Then a ripple of laughter.
Someone coughed, loud on purpose. Another voice, young and bored: "Dude got a job class."
"Hey man," another guy chuckled from the sidelines. "You gonna sell socks in the dungeon?"
Frank said nothing. He stared at the screen that popped in front of his face. It followed him like shame
____
▌CLASS ASSIGNED▐
Class: Trader (F-Rank)
Skills:
– Bargain (S+)
– Appraise (D+)
– Trade Intuition (Dormant)
Stats:
Strength – 4
Agility – 5
Stamina – 6
Mana – 3
Perception – 11
Charisma – 14
Combat Power – 8
_____
One of the recruiters shook his head. Another didn't even look up from his pad.
Frank stepped down without a word.
His boots felt heavier now. Or maybe the floor hated him more. He walked past the rows of benches, past a girl trying not to laugh into her sleeve, past a boy who offered him a pitying thumbs-up.
No one followed.
No one stopped him.
Except for a short vendor near the exit, holding a box of "Starter Gear for Real Hunters." The man held out a chipped sword and a leather strap.
"You'll need it out there," the vendor said.
Frank looked down. The price tag read 900 credits.
He looked back up.
"I awaken as a Trader."
The vendor paused.
Then pulled the sword away.
"Right," he muttered. "Sorry."
Frank didn't reply.
He pushed through the front doors. The noise of the Awakening Hall didn't follow him. Outside, the air was thick with smog and neon. Holo-screens floated above the square, announcing awakenings in bold text:
"C-Rank Paladin Emerges in West Sector!"
"New Summoner Joins Zenith Guild!"
"F-Class Trader… never mind."
Frank walked past each one.
One step. Then another.
Each footfall echoed louder than the last.
He passed a group of warriors taking photos with their first weapons—brass-tipped spears and flame-stone hammers. They didn't see him. Or pretended not to.
A girl in healer robes rushed by with her guild contract in hand, laughing like the future had already signed itself.
Frank's hand tightened inside his coat pocket. His knuckles popped.
When he reached the transport tunnel, he didn't board. He just stood there, watching the rail line flicker to life and vanish again down the rails.
The whole city was moving.
And he wasn't.
He blinked slowly, once.
Then turned and started walking again.
His neighborhood wasn't far.
And neither was rock bottom.
The lock didn't catch the first time. Frank shoved the door harder until the swollen frame gave way with a groan. Inside, everything smelled like mold and leftover rain—dripped down from the cracked ceiling two nights ago and never left. One lightbulb flickered near the sink, buzzing like it hated the socket.
He tossed his jacket over the busted chair. Didn't care that it slipped to the floor.
The apartment was smaller than the storage closet at his old delivery job. One mattress on the tile. One mini-fridge humming like it had asthma. No shelves. No stove. Just a plastic folding table with a cracked screen tablet and two empty ramen cups stacked beside it.
He pulled the last clean cup from the cabinet. Rinsed it with cold water. Sat down.
The tablet screen lit up with one touch. He opened his browser and typed without thinking:
"Worst awakenings 2031."
The top post had 4,000 comments.
"I got assigned the Cook class. Not even battle cook. Just… Cook."
"At least you can feed a party. I got Historian. Literally can't do anything unless someone dies in front of me."
Frank scrolled. None of them beat Trader.
He tapped the edge of the tablet, letting the page auto-scroll as his mind drifted. The silence crawled in again, filling the corners of the room like mold. Outside, someone screamed at a vendor to lower his prices. A car backfired. Somewhere, another Hunter got their license.
His wasn't coming.
He leaned back in the chair. It creaked like it might fold under him. Then—
Ping.
Not the tablet.
Not the fridge.
A window appeared. Not on the screen—in the air.
Floating. Glowing. Blue and gold letters hovering like a system prompt straight out of a fantasy holo.
yaml
CopyEdit
▌ACCESS GRANTED▐
DIMENSIONAL TRADING SYSTEM ONLINE
→ Dimensional Tokens Issued: 500
→ Daily Purchase Limit: 1
→ Daily Trade Limit: 1
→ Access Tier: 1
→ Active Realms: Goblin Hollow, Ember Wastes, Beastkin Ridge… and 10 others.
He blinked.
Didn't move.
The window stayed.
"Okay…" he muttered. "Definitely not the ramen."
Another ping. A side tab unfolded itself—[STORE] in bright orange text. Below it, [CHAT], [INVENTORY], and a small coin icon marked Dimensional Tokens: 500.
Frank tapped the air instinctively. His finger passed through it, but the window reacted. The [STORE] menu opened.
Live Listings:
– "MANA BLADE – slightly bloodstained – 30 Tokens"
– "Goblin Tonic x3 (Caution: Digestive Side Effects)"
– "Hunter Boots (Left only)"
– "Broken Insight Shard (???) – seller assumes it's cursed"
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
"This is… what? Some kind of sick system update? Hallucination?"
He tapped again—MANA BLADE. A new window popped.
Seller: MOGGREL – Realm: Skitterfang Hollow
Rating: ★★★☆☆ (2,389 trades)
Item Condition: "Sharp enough. Previously lethal."
Description: "Cut things. Stab enemies. Mostly functions."
Below that, a chat icon blinked.
He tapped it.
A message was already waiting.
MOGGREL: "Good eyes, fleshwalker. Blade's hot today. 30 tokens only. No refunds. All sales cursed—uh, final."
Frank stared. Typed back.
FRANK: "Is it real?"
MOGGREL: "Is your blood real?"
FRANK: "I don't want junk."
MOGGREL: "Then buy expensive. But you? You look poor."
Frank frowned.
FRANK: "Send me a guarantee."
The seller replied with an image—a glowing green blade cutting through a thick log. The pixels looked compressed. The timestamp was last week.
He hesitated.
Thirty tokens out of five hundred wasn't much. And if this was real—even partially real—he had to know.
He hovered his hand near the [CONFIRM TRADE] button.
Pressed.
Everything went dark for one second. Then a sharp flash lit up the center of the room as a glowing orb appeared mid-air, spinning fast, then slow, then dead still.
It dropped like a stone onto the tile.
Clunk.
Frank stepped closer.
The glow faded. Left behind was—
A lump of rusted metal.
The "blade" was bent. The handle was rubber. A fake gemstone stuck in the hilt had already fallen off, rolling under the fridge. The blade itself? Barely the size of a butter knife. And chipped.
He picked it up.
It wobbled.
No weight. No magic. No aura. Just cold disappointment wrapped in iron rot.
His hand trembled—only a little. Then stilled.
"…That little green bastard sold me a cosplay prop."