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

Chapter 2: Rankings and Reality

After checking their ranking, squads and mission. Recruits muttered as they drifted away, some laughing, some whispering about who would live and who wouldn't.

He joined the flow of bodies moving through the glass corridor that stretched along the academy's eastern wing. The cheers from the testing grounds were fading now, replaced by the shuffle of boots and muted conversations. Some recruits walked tall, proud of their placements. Others kept their heads down, their futures already heavy on their shoulders. 

Inside the crowd, he caught scraps of conversations around him. "That's Reed, right? Squad 9's doomed."

"Squad 9? That's Wild Zone recon…"

"Poor bastards. Half the recruits who go into that Zone don't come back. And with a mind-user dragging them down? They're already corpses."

"Dead weight to his team, and a dead assignment to boot. The Academy loves to pretend every squad has a chance, but we all know the bottom ranks are just fodder."

"Better to let the Zone eat them now than waste the Council's resources on training losers."

The words rolled off him. He had heard variations of them since the day his ability manifested. Weakest class. Background support. A liability when things turned ugly.

They weren't wrong, not if you looked at it the same way everyone else did. But Daniel didn't.

Slipping out of his thoughts, he took note of the recruits who were quick to dismiss him along with those that stood out. It wasn't to prove his worth to any of them or take revenge on people who spoke out of ignorance, but a habit he had picked up as a mind-user.

He was always observing his surroundings.

After he felt he had observed enough, he looked past the corridor windows where the city of Granton stretched into the distance. From here, the skyline looked almost peaceful, yet he knew that below the city was on edge — constant patrols, constant losses, and every day another squad failed to return from the Wild Zone.

***

They eventually reached a corridor opened into the Orientation Hall, a wide chamber lined with digital displays. Recruits clustered in groups, buzzing with restless energy.

A holographic board flickered to life at the front, casting pale blue light across the room.

"Listen up," an instructor barked. His voice had the weight of command, a tone that didn't ask for attention but demanded it. "Welcome to Central Academy. You've survived your Awakening and scaled through the evaluation. That puts you above the majority of the population. But don't mistake qualification for success."

The board shifted, filling with neat rows of text and glowing icons.

Merit Points.

"Everything you do here is tracked through Merit. Missions, training performance, behavior. Accumulate enough, and you gain privileges — Better dorms, priority gear, advanced missions. Lose Merit, and you lose standing — Food, equipment, even access to training facilities. Merit is the currency of this academy. Treat it like your life depends on it. Because it does."

Murmurs swept the hall. Some recruits looked thrilled, eyes gleaming at the thought of climbing the ladder. Others looked uneasy.

The display shifted again, this time showing a vertical ladder of ranks, each rung glowing brighter than the last.

Novice.

Apprentice.

Adept.

Expert.

The lower tiers. The foundation. Every recruit in the hall was stuck there, scraping for stability. A few straightened their shoulders as if they were already climbing. Most just looked uneasy, realizing how far they still had to go.

"You've all been classified as Novices," the instructor said, pacing in front of the holo-board. "Unstable control, unpredictable output — you saw it yourselves in the trials. Some of you might climb to Apprentice within a year, which means you'll gain more consistency."

"A handful will reach Adept, unlocking secondary functions you can't access at lower levels. And Expert? That's when the rest of the world stops underestimating you, and starts fearing you…"

He tapped the display, then the higher tiers flickered into view, each grayed out but blazing brighter than the rest.

Master.

Champion.

Legendary.

Mythic.

For a moment, awe lit a few faces. Others only scoffed, unwilling to believe they'd ever matter in that company. The instructor's eyes swept the hall, voice cutting through the silence.

"Above Expert? Don't waste time daydreaming. Entire armies field fewer than a dozen Masters. And most of you…" his eyes swept the hall, lingering on the weaker classes, "…won't make it past Adept."

The room fell into silence at that.

Daniel's gaze lingered on the glowing ladder. Not out of awe, but curiosity. The words felt like placeholders, a system of measurement designed by those who didn't know how far the limits actually went.

Daniel shrugged and tapped the side of his wristband. His Merit balance glowed: 25 points. Curious, he scrolled through the basic listings.

Basic meal (cafeteria) → 2 Merit. He could live off that… barely.

Dorm f*e (per week) → 10 Merit for the barracks. Twenty-five if he didn't want mold in the walls.

Medical patch / first aid → 5 Merit. Hopefully won't need this anytime soon

Basic weapon rental → 15–20 Merit. Out of reach.

Training modules (ability drills, simulator) → 30 and up. Impossible.

Field gear upgrade → Triple digits. Sure. Maybe if he sold a kidney.

His brow tightened. Other recruits were already whispering about new training modules, weapon rentals, even elective drills. He couldn't afford any of it.

Twenty-five points meant a week's worth of meals and just enough to cover the cheapest dorm. Nothing more. For real equipment, or the privileges that separated survivors from failures, he was already priced out.

Low Merit didn't just make life hard in this place. It made you expendable.

And Daniel had no intention of staying expendable.