In a world that looks almost like ours…
Cities glow with neon lights, trains hum through the night, and people chase dreams under a calm blue sky.
But beneath all that normalcy, something else lives.
Something ancient.
Something unpredictable.
They call them Tunnels—
pathways that tear open in the middle of streets, on rooftops, in classrooms, anywhere they please.
Inside them lie monsters, treasures, and mysteries people still can't explain.
Some say they appear at random.
Others whisper that an unseen god places them… one by one.
And in this world, a small number of people are born with Talents—marks carved as tattoo-like symbols at the back of their necks.
Knight. Mage. Assassin. Healer.
Rare gifts… even rarer awakenings.
For a Talent means nothing until the moment it glows—
the moment a person finally unlocks who they are meant to become.
To guide them, schools were built.
Places where the talented learn, fight, grow… and venture into the Tunnels to claim whatever lies inside.
But our story doesn't begin with a hero.
It begins with a boy.
Sixteen, small-framed, soft-spoken.
Black hair that never behaves.
Blue eyes that always look a little overwhelmed by the world.
His name is Matt Oswatt.
He was born with a Talent class no one had ever seen before.
A class spoken only in myths and never seen in history.
God class.
For a moment, the world turned its eyes to him.
Cameras. Headlines. Rumors.
A boy destined for greatness.
…Or so they thought.
Because no matter how hard he tried…
no matter how many tests, rituals, or near-death stunts he endured…
his Talent never awakened.
The world moved on.
Attention faded.
And Matt Oswatt remained just a harmless, nerdy boy in the city of Mystra—
—until the day everything changed.
Classroom
Matt sat in the Knight Class classroom, chin resting on his palm, eyes drifting toward the window. The sky above Mystra was unusually clear today… almost mocking him with how peaceful it looked.
His thoughts wandered—
not to anything productive, of course—
just the usual "what if" fantasies he knew would never happen.
"OSWATT!"
The shout slammed into the room like a hammer.
Matt jolted so hard his chair almost tipped over.
At the front stood Mr. Graft, a retired tunnel diver with more scars than patience. A B-Rank Knight class—strong, respected, and for some mysterious reason, absolutely allergic to Matt's existence.
"Stop daydreaming about a world where you actually awaken," Mr. Graft barked. "Pay attention!"
The classroom erupted into laughter.
Some snickering.
Some whispering.
Some not even bothering to hide their mocking grins.
Matt shot up to his feet immediately, bowing his head so fast his glasses almost flew off.
"S-sorry, sir!"
Mr. Graft snorted and continued the lesson.
Matt slowly sank back into his seat, the humiliation bouncing off him like it was just another Tuesday. He turned back to the window, letting his eyes unfocus—his little escape.
It's not like paying attention will help, he monologued silently.
No teacher can teach a class no one understands. 'God-class,' huh? Even the researchers gave up on that one.
He exhaled softly.
Back when I was national news, they gave me the special privilege to attend any class I wanted… but in the end, I just stick with Knight Class.
Swords, shields… at least they're things I can hold. Things that don't rely entirely on a Talent.
Sometimes he wandered into Assassin Class.
Sometimes Archer Class.
Anything that didn't depend on awakening.
Mage, Beast Tamer, Summoner, Sniper… yeah, those are out of my league.
His gaze softened.
Besides… my best friend is in this class. Makes it less boring.
Most people awakened by eight.
Thirteen was late, but still normal.
Matt shifted in his seat.
I turn eighteen tomorrow. After that… if my Talent doesn't awaken, then it never will.
That's just how it is.
B R I N G — B R I N G —
The bell cut through the classroom, loud enough to end both the lesson and his thoughts.
Students rushed out immediately.
Matt rose from his seat with the energy of a dying plant.
"Well… that wasn't a fruitful session," he murmured to himself as he stretched and adjusted his bag.
And with that, he walked out of the classroom.
Matt barely made it three steps out of the classroom before something heavy slammed onto his back.
"HEYA, DUDE! Don't tell me you were abandoning me!" Jackson Myers shouted right into his ear.
"OW— Jackson! You shouldn't have jumped on me!" Matt groaned as the two of them collapsed onto the hallway floor.
Jackson grinned like a hyperactive puppy.
"Well, I couldn't help myself. You just looked so bouncy."
"You're extremely heavy…" Matt muttered, face pressed into the tiles.
"NO I'M NOT!!!" Jackson yelled, instantly offended.
They scrambled back to their feet.
Matt dusted himself off, sighing inside.
As you can see, he monologued, this idiot here is my best friend.
Handsome, popular, good with the girls, an A-Rank Knight — which is crazy rare at our age. He's basically the exact opposite of me.
Wonder how we're friends? Well, we met on a TV show for kids with potential. That was before either of us awakened. We've stuck together ever since.
Jackson slung his bag over his shoulder.
"Let's go."
They walked down the corridor side by side, chatting casually as they headed for the exit.
But just before they reached the front doors—
"Um… J-Jackson?" a cute girl stopped him, fidgeting nervously with her fingers. Her cheeks were bright pink. She was definitely building up to a confession.
Matt immediately took a step back.
"Well… clearly my presence here is not wanted," he said, giving Jackson a little salute. "I'll take my leave."
Jackson waved frantically for him to stay, but Matt was already walking away.
Matt had made it a good distance from the school when his steps slowed.
And then…
just his luck.
Three shadows blocked the sidewalk ahead.
Cyrus.
John.
Astra.
His bullies.
"Look who we have here," Cyrus grinned, cracking his knuckles. The B-Rank tank towered over Matt like a wall of muscle.
John and Astra — both C-Rank fire mages — smirked behind him.
Matt exhaled. Not surprised. Not scared.
Just… tired.
Of course… today of all days.
He wasn't in the mood for a beating.
Not today.
So he tried something—anything.
"Wow, is that Mr. Graft behind you?" Matt blurted, eyes widening in fake shock.
All three bullies turned around on instinct.
Matt bolted.
"HEY! GET BACK HERE!"
They sprinted after him.
Down the street.
Around corners.
Through narrow alleys.
It was a long, frantic chase—Matt's lungs burned, his legs shaking—but eventually, the bullies caught up.
Cyrus shoved him against a wall.
The two mages flanked him, sparks flickering around their palms.
"Well, well," Cyrus smirked. "Running won't change what you are."
They're clearly stronger than me, Matt thought bitterly. A B-Rank tank and two C-Rank mages. I never stood a chance.
The beating began.
Punches.
Kicks.
More punches.
Matt curled up on the ground, taking it silently — like he always did.
Cyrus lifted his foot, aiming straight for Matt's face.
But before it could land—
WHOOSH— CRACK!
A blur shot past Matt's vision.
Cyrus was launched backward, smashing through a wall with explosive force.
Matt blinked.
Standing in front of him, fist still extended, breathing hard—
Jackson.
"Why don't you pick on someone your own size!?" Jackson shouted, fists clenched, eyes blazing.
John and Astra froze.
They knew better than to mess with an A-Rank Knight.
They scrambled to pull Cyrus out of the debris and fled without looking back.
Jackson rushed to Matt, grabbing his arm gently.
"Dude you ok?
I go away for a second and you get yourself in trouble, why can't you follow my responsible lead?,"
"Responsible?, youve got things all around"
"… why don't you ever fight back?"
Matt pulled away slightly, limping forward.
"They were clearly stronger than me. I wouldn't have won anyway," he muttered. "Fighting back was pointless. I'd still get my butt kicked."
Jackson sighed — the kind that came from pure frustration and concern.
"You dummy," he said, walking beside Matt. "It doesn't matter whether you win or not. It's about showing them you're not a loser. That you won't go down without a fight."
He tapped his own chest.
"As my motto goes: if I'm going down… I'm going down swinging."
Matt stopped.
The sun dipped low behind him, casting warm orange light across the street.
Those words echoed in his mind.
Going down swinging… huh?
He looked at Jackson, eyes widening just a little — like something clicked deep inside him.
"…I'll keep that in mind," Matt said, a small smile forming.
The sunset's glow washed over him, making that smile shine just a bit brighter.