MY LEVEL SYSTEM, WHO IS THE WEAK ONE NOW?

002

Theo vowed to make them regret, but for now, however, he could barely stand.

By the time Theo reached home, the afternoon sun had begun to sink behind the rooftops of the lower district.

His family lived in a cramped wooden house at the edge of the city, far from the magnificent estates occupied by the great martial families. The roof leaked whenever it rained, the windows rattled in strong winds, and the kitchen was barely large enough for two people, but it was the only place in the world where Theo did not feel completely worthless.

He paused outside the door and wiped the remaining blood from his chin before entering.

“Mother, I’m home.”

Mara Vale emerged from the kitchen with a bowl in her hands, and her face brightened when she saw him.

“You are early today, Theo. Did they finish the assessment sooner than expected?”

He hesitated before forcing a smile.

“Yes. It was nothing important.”

Mara placed the bowl on the table and studied him more carefully.

“Why are you holding your side?”

“I slipped during training.”

“You slipped?”

Her expression changed immediately as she approached him, but Theo stepped back before she could inspect his injuries.

“I’m fine, Mother. It looks worse than it feels.”

Mara did not look convinced, yet she had learned over the years that her son would rather swallow his pain than admit how cruelly the academy treated him.

She reached up and gently touched his cheek.

“Did you manage to improve your circulation today?”

Theo looked away.

“No.”

The disappointment that crossed her face lasted only a moment before she smiled again.

“Then you will try tomorrow. You have not come this far to give up now.”

Theo’s throat tightened because he knew how much those words cost her.

Mara worked long hours washing clothes and preparing meals for wealthier families, often returning home with aching hands and barely enough money to purchase their next meal. She had sold her jewelry, her finest clothes, and almost everything of value she owned to pay his academy fees, yet she had never once told him that he was a burden.

He could not bring himself to tell her that the instructors had already begun discussing whether he deserved to remain enrolled.

“Mother,” he said quietly, “what if I never become strong?”

Mara went still.

Then she placed both hands on his shoulders and looked directly into his eyes.

“Your father once told me that a person’s future is not determined by the circumstances of their birth. He believed that even the smallest flame could survive the darkest night if someone protected it long enough.”

Theo frowned because his father had disappeared when he was too young to remember him properly, leaving behind little more than a few belongings and a collection of unanswered questions.

“Then why did he leave us?”

Pain flickered across Mara’s face, but she quickly looked away.

“He did not leave because he wanted to abandon us.”

“Then where is he?”

“I do not know.”

The answer was so quiet that Theo almost wished he had never asked.

Mara returned to the kitchen and began arranging their meal, but Theo remained where he was, wondering how many secrets his mother had buried beneath years of sacrifice and determination.

He wanted to ask more questions, yet he could not bring himself to make her suffer any further.

Instead, he sat down and ate the modest meal she had prepared while pretending that the pain in his ribs was nothing more than an inconvenience.

After dinner, he helped her clean the dishes before retreating to the small room he used as a bedroom and study.

He had no intention of sleeping yet.

Not when the same humiliating result continued to haunt him, and not when he could still hear Cassian’s laughter echoing inside his head.

Theo lit the small oil lamp beside his bed and opened an old martial manual he had borrowed from a discarded collection at the academy.

The book was worn, its pages yellowed with age, but it contained dozens of techniques intended to strengthen the body and improve martial energy circulation.

He had studied it so many times that he could recite several sections from memory.

Tonight, however, he read every page as though his life depended on finding something he had missed.

The first technique required a steady flow of martial energy through the body’s primary channels.

The second demanded precise control over the meridians.

The third required a minimum level of internal energy before the practitioner could begin.

Theo turned another page, then another, until he reached the final section.

Every technique required functioning martial veins.

He closed the manual.

“Of course,” he muttered bitterly. “Why would anything in this world help someone like me?”

He leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling.

Since childhood, every healer and instructor who had examined him had reached the same conclusion: his martial veins were irreparably damaged, and no ordinary medicine could restore them.

Some claimed he had been born defective, while others believed an illness during infancy had destroyed his ability to cultivate. Nobody had offered a convincing explanation, and nobody had cared enough to investigate further.

Theo had accepted their judgment because he had no evidence to challenge it.

Yet something about the conclusion had always troubled him.

He could remember the day he had first tried to cultivate as a child, when a sudden pain had spread through his body and left him unconscious for hours. His mother had told him that he had been ill, but whenever he asked about it, she changed the subject.

What if there was more to his condition than anyone had told him?

Theo opened his eyes and reached beneath his bed for a small wooden box containing the few belongings his father had left behind.

Inside lay an old belt buckle, a broken pendant, and a fragment of black metal engraved with a strange symbol.

He had kept the fragment for years without understanding its purpose, and although it appeared worthless, he had never been able to bring himself to throw it away.

Tonight, as he turned it beneath the lamplight, he noticed a faint line running through the center of the symbol.

He rubbed the surface with his thumb.

For a brief instant, the metal warmed against his skin.

Theo froze.

Then the warmth disappeared, leaving the fragment as cold and lifeless as before.

He examined it from every angle, but nothing else happened.

After several minutes, he placed it back inside the box and lay down, exhausted by the day’s humiliation and the questions that refused to leave his mind.

He did not know that the same symbol had just appeared on a sealed document thousands of miles away, inside the heavily guarded estate of the Draven family.

He did not know that someone had spent years ensuring that his martial veins would never awaken.

And he certainly did not know that the world he had accepted as unchangeable was about to turn against the people who had built it.

Inside the Draven estate, a servant entered a private study carrying a black envelope sealed with dark red wax.

Lord Severin Draven sat behind an enormous desk, reviewing reports from the academy when the servant bowed and placed the envelope before him.

“This arrived through the private courier route, my lord. The sender requested that it be delivered directly into your hands.”

Severin dismissed the servant and examined the seal.

His expression changed when he recognized the symbol pressed into the wax.

He broke the seal, unfolded the letter, and read the brief message written inside.

Subject V-01 has demonstrated an unexplained response.

Possible awakening detected.

Confirm the condition immediately.

If the boy begins to awaken, eliminate him before the God Veins can fully reconstruct.

For several seconds, Severin remained perfectly still.

Then he rose from his chair and walked toward the window overlooking the estate’s training grounds, where dozens of young martial artists practiced beneath the supervision of elite instructors.

His fingers tightened around the letter.

“After all these years,” he murmured, “the boy is finally showing signs of life.”

He pressed a small button on his desk, and a moment later, a man dressed in dark armor entered the study.

“My lord?”

Severin handed him the letter.

“Send someone to Celestial Martial Academy. I want every detail of Theo Vale’s movements, his training, and his recent condition.”

“And if the reports confirm an awakening?”

Severin’s gaze hardened.

“Then make certain he never gets the chance to discover what he truly is.”

The armored man bowed and disappeared through the door.

Severin returned to his desk, where an old portrait rested beneath a glass cover. It depicted a younger version of himself standing beside another man whose face had been deliberately scratched away.

He stared at the damaged portrait for a long moment before covering it with a sheet of paper.

“Your son should have remained broken,” he whispered.

Far away, Theo slept uneasily in his small bedroom, unaware that his name had just been placed on a death order, and deep inside his body, beneath the damaged channels that had defined his entire life, a faint golden pulse flickered once before disappearing into the darkness.