The Infinite Repairman

The heavy iron gates of the Awakening Plaza groaned, a sound like grinding teeth that echoed across the dusty, sun-bleached square. Thousands of teenagers stood in rows, a silent sea of anxious hearts and trembling hands. Daniel stood near the back, his palms slick with sweat, his eyes fixed on the monolithic Pillar of Manifestation towering at the front.

"Hey, you shaking, Danny?"

Daniel didn’t look toward the voice, but he knew the smirk that accompanied it. Kael, the neighborhood golden boy, stood three rows ahead, his shoulders broad and posture effortless.

"Just hot, Kael," Daniel muttered, keeping his gaze forward.

"Hot? Man, you’re pale as a ghost," Kael chuckled, glancing back. "You think you’re gonna get something useful, or are you hoping for a nice, comfy job in the fields? My dad says the Awakening only brings out what’s already inside. If you’re a nobody, you get a nobody’s class."

"Leave him alone, Kael," Sarah whispered from beside Daniel, her voice tight with her own nervous tension. "Everyone’s on edge. You don't have to be a jerk."

"I'm just keeping it real, Sarah," Kael shrugged, tossing his hair. "I’m betting on something combat-oriented. Maybe a Vanguard or a Spell-Blade. Something that actually matters in this world."

"And if you get something else?" Daniel finally asked, his voice steady despite the sinking feeling in his gut.

Kael turned fully now, his blue eyes flashing with casual cruelty. "Then I guess I’ll just have to deal with the disappointment, won't I? But let's be honest, Daniel. You spend all your time fixing broken chairs and scavenging for scraps. If the System has any sense, it’ll just give you a hammer and tell you to get to work."

The plaza erupted in a sudden murmur as the High Proctor stepped onto the dais, his robes shimmering with a faint, magical luminescence.

"Silence!" the Proctor boomed, his voice amplified by the System itself. "The time of truth is at hand. Step forward when your name is called. Touch the Pillar. Accept your fate."

Name after name was called. A girl from the academy screamed as a golden light enveloped her, the words ‘Pyromancer Rank: F’ manifesting in the air. A boy further down wept openly when his display showed ‘Farmer Rank: F.’ It was a chaotic mix of triumph and despair.

"Daniel Vance!"

Daniel’s legs felt like lead. He walked toward the Pillar, the ground beneath his boots feeling unstable. As he reached the pedestal, he felt the icy pressure of thousands of eyes boring into his back.

"Put your hand on the stone, boy," the Proctor commanded, his expression bored, as if he’d seen this a thousand times.

Daniel hesitated, then pressed his palm against the cold, pulsing surface.

BZZT.

A static shock rattled his bones. The Pillar glowed, but it wasn't the brilliant gold of a combat class or the soft blue of a support specialist. It was a dull, rusted brown, flickering like a dying lantern.

Letters manifested in the air, hanging in the humid breeze for everyone to see:

[CLASS: REPAIRER (NON-COMBAT)]

[RANK: F]

[DESCRIPTION: A humble soul tasked with the restoration of material goods. Combat efficacy: Negligible.]

The silence that followed was absolute. Then, a stifled giggle broke out. Then another.

"A Repairer?" Kael’s voice cut through the air, loud and mocking. "You’ve gotta be kidding me! Hey, Danny, can you fix my shoes? I think I scraped the sole on the way up here!"

"Don’t listen to them," Sarah said, though she looked away, her face flushing with pity.

"I... I can't believe it," Daniel whispered to himself, his hand still trembling against the stone.

"Step aside, kid," the Proctor muttered, not even looking at him as he gestured to the next candidate. "You're holding up the line. Next: Elara Vance."

Daniel stumbled back, his world feeling like it had shrunk to the size of a pinprick. He walked off the dais, the laughter of the crowd sounding like stones hitting a tin roof.

"Hey, Repairer!" a voice jeered from the crowd. "Don't break the world on your way out!"

Daniel didn't look back. He kept his head down, navigating the crowd until he reached the edge of the plaza, his ears burning.

"Rough day, huh?" Kael shouted after him, not letting it go. "Maybe there’s an opening at the local junk shop. They’re always looking for people who can mend broken trash."

"Whatever, Kael," Daniel muttered, quickening his pace.

"No, really!" Kael laughed, stepping into his path. "Look at him, guys. Our resident fixer. Gonna go home and polish your wrench, Danny? Need a tutorial on how to be utterly useless?"

"Get out of my way," Daniel said, his voice hard, though his hands remained balled into white-knuckled fists.

"Or what?" Kael sneered, puffing out his chest. "You gonna repair my ego? Look at you. You’re shaking like a leaf. Just admit it—you’re a dud."

Daniel shoved past him, not daring to make eye contact. He sprinted toward the slums at the edge of the city, the laughter of his peers chasing him like a pack of wolves.

He didn't stop until he reached his shack, a ramshackle structure of corrugated tin and rotting wood nestled against the city wall. He slammed the door, the flimsy frame rattling, and collapsed onto his cot.

"Useless," he breathed, staring up at the stained ceiling. "That’s all I am. A glorified handyman. How am I supposed to survive the wild zones with a ‘Repair’ class? I’ll be dead in a week."

He sat there for hours, the sun dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of purple and black. Hunger began to gnaw at his stomach, a sharp, insistent pain that reminded him of the reality of his life. He didn't have much, but he had to find something to eat.

He rose, his movements sluggish with defeat. He pushed open the back door, heading toward the waste heap where he often salvaged parts. Maybe he could find a tradeable circuit board or a piece of intact wiring.

He sifted through the piles of refuse, his hands coated in grime. ‘Repairer,’ he thought bitterly. ‘I suppose this is my domain now. The garbage.’

He kicked a pile of scrap metal, his boot hitting something solid. A metallic clink rang out—a sound different from the hollow thud of tin or the flat strike of plastic.

He knelt, digging through a layer of rusted iron plates and discarded pipes. His fingers brushed against something cold and jagged. He pulled it free, clearing away the caked-on dirt.

It was a blade—a short sword, or perhaps a dagger, its surface pitted with deep, brown rust and centuries of neglect. It looked like it had been discarded for good reason. It was snapped halfway up the length of the steel, a jagged, broken mess.

Daniel sighed, tossing it aside, but as his skin left the metal, he froze.

The blade hadn't fallen with a heavy thud. It had landed with a musical, resonating hum that seemed to vibrate through the very air.

He looked back, his breath hitching. The weapon was glowing. A faint, silver light pulsed along the line of the break, and as he reached out to touch it again, the hum intensified, flowing up his arm and settling in his chest like a heartbeat.

It wasn't just a piece of trash. It was waiting for something.

"What are you?" Daniel whispered, his voice trembling—not with fear this time, but with a sudden, sharp clarity. "And why are you waking up for me?"