From Weakest to Building a System That Made the World a Game

The testing grounds of Central Academy stretched across the eastern edge of Granton, a sprawling field of steel platforms, obstacle courses, and shimmering barrier domes.

Crowds of spectators leaned over railings on the upper tiers, their voices a constant murmur broken by bursts of cheers whenever someone did something spectacular. Somewhere overhead, a pair of drones buzzed, tracking every move for the academy.

Daniel Reed stood near the far wall with the last group of candidates, watching the chaos unfold in the trial zone.

A boy's arms bulged as he swung a slab of concrete overhead and launched it across the arena. It slammed into the target dummy, flattening it in a single blow. The crowd's roar swelled.

A moment later, a girl dropped from the wall, hair flaring like a torch and without slowing, sent a stream of fire punching through three metal targets.

The crowd roared again.

Daniel kept his hands in his pockets watching on.

His eyes weren't on the fire, the shattered dummies, or the raw spectacle. They moved constantly, cataloging the placement of obstacles, the timing of targets popping up, the way the automated drones reacted to each candidate.

He wasn't here to put on a show.

"Next," the instructor barked, voice amplified through the arena speakers.

Two more candidates went ahead of him, both drawing applause. When Daniel's name was called, the cheers dipped into murmurs.

Mind-user. The word carried weight, and not the good kind.

The instructors barely glanced at his profile on their tablets. Everyone knew the truth, mind-users were weak. They didn't make front-line soldiers. At best, they offered support, calculating trajectories, reading maps, spotting enemy positions. At worst, they were dead weight.

Daniel stepped onto the platform. A translucent barrier rose around him, sealing the trial space.

The course wasn't complicated.

First a fifteen-meter sprint, then a wall to climb without any support, three targets to hit, and finally a sprint to the exit. The catch? Automated drones would try to block him at every step.

The starting chime rang.

Daniel moved, but not like the others had. There was no explosive burst of speed or any visible outward showing. His pace was measured, his eyes noting the drones' positions before they moved.

The first drone shot forward on an intercept path. He veered just enough to make it adjust, then cut in the opposite direction. By the time its sensors recalibrated, he'd already passed.

The wall loomed ahead. Others had brute-forced their way over it but not Daniel.

Remember? He was a mind-user without any flashy powers.

He stopped for half a second, scanning the surface. His foot hit a barely protruding bolt, the only foothold that wouldn't trigger the shock plate embedded halfway up. He scaled it in two smooth motions.

He dropped down on the far side, rolling to absorb the impact, already angling toward the first target.

Without any visible powers accessible to him. He always carried a few items to help him gain an advantage at distance. It was just a throw — a small metal ball, aimed with almost casual precision. It hit the bullseye dead center.

The next two fell in quick succession.

He was halfway to the exit when the drones switched tactics. Two came in from opposite sides, forcing him to slow. He didn't panic, he stepped back, forcing them to adjust to his retreat, then darted through the gap when their paths crossed for a fraction of a second.

The crowd's murmurs shifted. It was not a flashy showing but it was good enough to catch their attention. The way he was able to clear the obstacles with his mind and wit alone was loud in a way that felt different.

You could almost say they were forced to use their brains for a minute and it felt interesting but a showing like that wouldn't still have changed their mind about his ability. Instead they'll think it was right he cleared the challenge like that.

Daniel crossed the finish line without a scratch.

The instructor glanced at his time, eyebrows lifting slightly. It wasn't the fastest run, but it was clean and wasted no movement. Exactly what you'll expect from a mind-user.

"Efficient," the man muttered under his breath.

From the sidelines, a sharp voice called out, dripping with mockery. "Efficient? Only sissies go through the course like that."

Daniel turned his head. The speaker was tall, broad-shouldered man, with a smirk plastered across his face, the same one who'd flattened the concrete slab earlier. The crowd laughed along with him.

Daniel didn't bite. He only met the man's gaze for a second, then looked away.

But someone else had noticed. Near the far end of the line, a girl with short dark hair and storm-grey eyes was watching him. She said nothing, but her gaze lingered.

When all the trials were over, the candidates gathered at the large digital board on the side wall. Names appeared in ranked order, each with a brief note on their assigned squad assignment.

Daniel scanned down the list. His name sat in the lower third.

Squad 9 – Wild Zone Reconnaissance.

The murmurs started immediately. Wild Zones were unpredictable at the best of times — warped landscapes, mutated beasts, Aether storms.

Sending a low-ranked mind-user there was almost cruel.

"Guess they're looking to trim the herd early," someone muttered nearby.

Daniel felt the stares. The unspoken verdict: He won't last a week.

He didn't argue or try to defend himself. He was used to this already.

Instead, he stepped back from the board, his expression the picture of calm and amusement. A small almost silent laugh followed as he thought of his next steps.

Dangerous or not, a Wild Zone meant one thing no classroom ever could.

Opportunity.

And if nothing else, he had always been good at finding ways to turn opportunity into advantage.