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Chapter 2 – The Ceremony of Shame
The great hall of the Valcrest Estate was alive with color and music.
Velvet banners hung from the high rafters, each embroidered with the crest of a noble family. The floor gleamed under the light of crystal chandeliers, and a faint magical hum filled the air from the dozens of spells woven into the walls.
The Mana Awakening Ceremony happened only once in a noble's life. It was the day their potential was revealed before family, allies, and rivals alike.
Luke stood in the long line of young nobles, dressed in formal robes of black and gold. He looked calm — far calmer than most around him — but inside, his thoughts were sharp and fast.
This world measures worth in mana. Today, they'll see I have none. That's fine. They'll also see what happens when they underestimate me.
The Head Mage stepped forward, holding the ceremonial Mana Crystal, a massive orb that glowed with soft blue light.
The first child stepped up. She touched the crystal, and it flared bright.
"Mana Grade: High," the mage announced. Applause erupted.
One by one, the children took their turns. Some shone brightly, others dimly — but all showed something.
Then it was Luke's turn.
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
"That's the boy who was unconscious for three days…"
"They say he's the heir to Valcrest. He'd better have High Grade mana."
Luke stepped forward, placing his hand on the crystal.
He focused — not on drawing mana, but on measuring. An invisible scientist within him was noting every detail: the crystal's composition, the faint pulse in the air, the magical frequency.
The crystal remained gray.
Gasps. Murmurs. A few suppressed laughs.
"Mana Grade: None," the mage said flatly.
The word hit the hall like a hammer.
A noble with no mana was worthless in this world — a disgrace.
Luke removed his hand, expression unreadable. He didn't bow, didn't apologize. He simply walked past the crowd, their whispers nipping at his heels like cold wind.
That night, alone in his room, he pulled his leather notebook from beneath his pillow.
On the desk lay scraps of copper wire, crystal shards from a broken lantern, and a small engraved plate he'd pried off an old clock.
He worked for hours, candlelight flickering over his concentrated face. The runic circles on the page began to match the components before him. Equations from Earth merged with magical theory from this world.
Finally, he held a crude, palm-sized device — a copper ring wrapped around a sliver of mana crystal, engraved with his custom runes.
He whispered, "Agust… version one."
The device pulsed faintly in his hand, emitting a thread of light that danced in the air. It wasn't true magic, not by this world's standards — but it was his.
Luke smiled in the dim light.
They could call him talentless all they wanted.
Because soon, they would learn…
He didn't need to be born with magic to create it.
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