The morning sun in Astoria was wrong.
Not bad wrong. Just… wrong. Too golden, like someone had turned up the saturation on reality. The sky was bluer than any sky had a right to be, clouds painted in perfect whites that would've made Renaissance artists weep. Even the air tasted different—cleaner, sweeter, with an undercurrent of magic that made my teeth itch.
I stood in the palace courtyard watching my classmates practice combat forms, their movements already superhuman. Daisuke moved through a sword kata so fast his blade left afterimages. Yuki launched fireballs at conjured targets, each explosion precise and devastating. Hiroshi stood with his eyes closed, and I could feel the dragon he was communing with somewhere in the mountains beyond the city.
One month since the summoning. One month of watching the gap between us widen into a chasm.
"Ashford! Stop daydreaming and finish your assignments!"
I jerked to attention. Master Theobald, the cantankerous old quartermaster assigned to oversee support heroes, glared at me from across the courtyard. Behind him sat three carts loaded with dulled practice weapons.
"Yes, sir." I jogged over, ignoring the snickers from Kenji's group as I passed.
"These swords need sharpening, the spear hafts need oiling, and someone managed to crack a shield in yesterday's training." Theobald thrust a whetstone into my hands. "I want everything pristine by evening. The combat classes will need proper equipment for tomorrow's dungeon evaluation."
I looked at the mountain of work. "All of it? By myself?"
"Is there a problem?" His bushy eyebrows rose. "Or perhaps you'd prefer to join the combat training?" He gestured toward the practice grounds where Daisuke was currently deflecting arrows with casual swipes of his light-sword. "I'm sure your Synthesis skill would be devastating against training dummies."
More laughter. Even some of the support-class students—the healers and enchanters who should've been my peers—joined in.
My face burned. "No, sir. I'll get it done."
"Good lad." Theobald's voice softened marginally. "Look, not everyone gets to be a hero-hero. Someone has to keep the supplies running. It's honest work."
Honest work. Right.
I spent the next six hours sharpening blades that would never be mine, oiling spears I'd never throw, repairing armor I'd never wear. My hands blistered. My back ached. The sun crawled across the sky with insulting slowness.
Around noon, I heard footsteps approach.
"Hey, Kai." Ayaka's voice was honey-sweet. "I brought you lunch!"
I looked up to find her standing there in pristine white robes—her Saintess class came with a permanent Radiance effect that made her literally glow. She held out a wooden bowl filled with stew.
"Thanks." I reached for it.
She stumbled—or seemed to—and the bowl tipped, spilling hot stew across the weapons I'd just finished cleaning.
"Oh no! I'm so sorry!" Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes wide with perfectly performed distress. "I'm such a klutz. Here, let me help—"
"It's fine." I kept my voice flat. "I'll clean it up."
"Are you sure? I feel terrible—"
"It's fine, Ayaka."
She hesitated, and for just a moment, I saw something flicker behind those innocent eyes. Amusement? Satisfaction? Then it was gone, replaced by that perpetual gentle concern.
"Well… if you need anything, just ask, okay? We're all in this together." She smiled, radiant and kind, and walked away.
I stared at the ruined weapons. Started cleaning them again.
[SYNTHESIS PROFICIENCY: 8.3%]
The blue notification mocked me—thirty days of practice. Hundreds of combinations attempted. I'd managed to raise my skill proficiency by six percent and unlock exactly zero new abilities.
Meanwhile, Daisuke had hit level 15. Yuki could cast A-rank spells. Hiroshi had contracted with his first drake.
I picked up two broken sword pommels and activated Synthesis.
[SYNTHESIS FAILED]
[MATERIALS DESTROYED]
Of course.
That evening, the support classes gathered in the crafting hall for our own version of "training." While the combat heroes were in live dungeons fighting monsters, we practiced our skills on inanimate objects.
I sat at a workbench between Tomoko Hayashi (Enchanter, B-rank) and Daichi Suzuki (Blacksmith, A-rank). Both ignored me completely, too busy showing off their latest creations.
"Check this out." Tomoko held up a dagger that glowed with frost energy. "Ice enchantment, level three. Took me all week, but the combat classes are already bidding on it."
"Nice," Daichi grunted. He was hammering out a breastplate, each strike infused with magic that I could feel resonating through the bench. "I'm working on lightweight plate armor. Same defense, half the weight. Gonna revolutionize their loadouts."
They were good. Really good. Even among support classes, they were prodigies.
Then there was me.
I laid out my materials: a piece of copper wire and an iron nail—activated Synthesis.
The materials glowed, merged, and produced a slightly sturdier nail.
[SYNTHESIS SUCCESSFUL: REINFORCED IRON NAIL CREATED]
[QUALITY: MARGINAL IMPROVEMENT]
[SKILL PROFICIENCY: 8.4%]
"What even is that?" Tomoko leaned over, wrinkling her nose. "Did you just… make a nail?"
"A reinforced nail," I said quietly.
"Why?"
Good question. "Practice."
She exchanged a glance with Daichi. They both snorted and went back to their work.
I made seventeen more reinforced nails that night. The system acknowledged each success with the same underwhelming message. By the time Master Theobald dismissed us, my proficiency had crawled to 9.1%.
Progress. Technically.
Week five brought the party formations.
The combat classes gathered in the war room—a grand chamber with a massive table covered in maps and monster reports. Daisuke stood at the head, naturally assuming command, while the others clustered around in their emerging hierarchy.
I stood near the door. Nobody had explicitly invited me, but the announcement said "all heroes required."
"Alright, listen up!" Daisuke's voice carried authority that hadn't existed a month ago. Leadership class perks, probably. "The priests want us running C-rank dungeons starting next week. That means we need proper party compositions."
He gestured to a board where he'd already sketched out groups. Five parties of six, each with a balanced spread of DPS, tanks, healers, and support.
My name wasn't on any of them.
"Wait." Yuki raised her hand. "What about Kai?"
Daisuke's expression flickered. "Right. Kai." He looked at me, and I saw him calculating. "Your Synthesis skill is… non-combat. We talked to the strategists, and they think you'd be better suited to base operations."
"Meaning?" I already knew.
"Meaning you stay here. Handle logistics, help craft supplies, that kind of thing." He smiled—apologetic, reasonable. "It's important work, Kai. We need someone reliable holding down the fort."
Silence. Everyone was looking at me.
"Sure," I said. "Whatever helps."
Relief washed over Daisuke's face. "Great! Okay, so Party Alpha will take point on—"
I stopped listening. Walked out.
Nobody tried to stop me.
Week six, the nightmares started.
I dreamed of the summoning circle, except this time, when the light faded, I was alone. My classmates had vanished, leaving me in that grand chamber with only my E-rank skill and the priests' disappointed faces.
"Malfunction," one said, examining me like a broken tool. "This one's defective."
"Dispose of it," another agreed.
I woke up sweating, heart pounding, to find the sun already risen. I'd overslept. Again.
The bullying had evolved from "accidents" to open contempt.
Kenji shoulder-checked me in the hallway hard enough to slam me into the wall. "Move, support trash."
During meals, I sat alone at the far end of the long table while my classmates laughed and shared stories of their dungeon runs.
"—and then Daisuke just bisected the ogre! One hit!"
"Yuki's fireball literally melted through the stone wall—"
"Did you see Hiroshi's drake? It's already twice the size—"
I ate my bread and cheese in silence, then returned to the workshops.
[SYNTHESIS PROFICIENCY: 11%]
Eleven percent. After six weeks.
I tried everything. Different material combinations. Different activation methods. Meditating before synthesizing, as the enchanters did. Nothing worked. The skill remained stubbornly mediocre.
One night, alone in the workshop, I found a training manual for Synthesists. It was old, dusty, shoved to the back of a shelf, as if someone had tried to forget it existed.
I flipped through pages of combination recipes. Basic alloys. Simple compounds. Elementary fusions. The highest-level achievement mentioned was creating "Superior Steel"—a marginal improvement over standard steel.
That was it. That was the ceiling.
I threw the manual across the room.
Week seven, Ayaka found me in the palace gardens.
I was sitting on a bench, trying to synthesize moonlight and dewdrops because fuck it, nothing else was working. The combination failed spectacularly, leaving my hands wet and glowing faintly for three minutes.
"Kai?" She approached slowly, like I was a wounded animal. "Are you okay?"
"Fine."
"It's just… you seem really isolated lately." She sat beside me, close enough that her Radiance aura made my skin tingle. "I worry about you."
"Don't."
"We're friends, aren't we?" Her hand touched my arm, gentle and warm. "You can talk to me."
I looked at her. Really looked. At the perfect concern in her eyes, the slight tilt of her head, the way her hand lingered just long enough to seem genuine.
It was a performance. I didn't know why I was so sure, but I was.
"I'm fine, Ayaka. Just tired."
"Well…" She squeezed my arm. "Remember, everyone has a role. Yours might not be flashy, but it matters. You matter."
She left me there, and I watched her go, that nagging wrongness in my gut growing stronger.
Week eight brought the king's announcement.
We were summoned to the throne room—all thirty-one heroes, arranged in neat rows before the gilded seat where King Aldric XIII sat in jeweled splendor. High Priest Aldous stood at his right hand.
"Heroes of the Prophecy," the king's voice boomed. "Your training progresses admirably. The combat classes have proven themselves in dungeon runs. The support classes have provided invaluable assistance."
Polite applause.
"The time has come for your first true test." Aldric leaned forward. "The Scarlet Catacombs—a B-rank dungeon in the Crimson Wastes. Intelligence reports indicate a powerful monster has taken residence in the upper levels. If left unchecked, it may threaten nearby villages."
B-rank. Higher than anything the combat classes had faced.
"You will enter as a united force," Aldric continued. "All thirty-one heroes, supported by our finest knights. Show us the strength the Gods have granted. Prove yourselves worthy of the title Hero."
Murmurs of excitement. Fear too, but mostly excitement.
Then the king's eyes found me.
"Even our support specialists will join this expedition. Every hero must contribute to this mission." His smile was thin. "No exceptions."
My stomach dropped.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I sat at my desk, staring at my status screen, willing it to change.
[KAI ASHFORD]
[LEVEL: 3]
[CLASS: SYNTHESIST]
[UNIQUE SKILL: SYNTHESIS (E-RANK) - PROFICIENCY 12%]
Level three. After two months, I'd gained two levels from basic training exercises. Meanwhile, Daisuke was level 18. The gap wasn't just wide—it was insurmountable.
A knock at my door made me jump.
Daisuke stood there, still in his armor from evening training. His sword hung at his hip, emanating that divine light.
"Hey." He smiled. "Big day tomorrow."
"Yeah."
"Listen, I wanted to talk to you." He stepped inside without invitation, closing the door behind him. "About the raid."
My skin prickled. "What about it?"
"I want you to know… you'll be safe." His hand rested on my shoulder, friendly and warm. "We've got your back. Just stay close to the group, let us handle the fighting, and everything will be fine."
"Okay."
"I mean it, Kai." His grip tightened slightly. "Whatever happens in that dungeon, we're a team. All of us. We look out for each other."
He was saying all the right things. The heroic things.
So why did his smile make me want to run?
"Thanks, Daisuke."
"Get some rest." He patted my shoulder and left.
I stared at the door for a long time after it closed.
Then I opened my status screen one more time.
[SYNTHESIS (E-RANK)]
[CURRENT UNDERSTANDING: 12%]
Twelve percent of a skill that seemed designed to be useless. That was all I had.
I packed my bag for the raid anyway—basic supplies. A knife I'd synthesized from two broken blades—it was actually sharp, my best work yet. Rations. Water.
Tomorrow, I'd enter my first real dungeon.
I didn't know why, but I felt like I was packing for a funeral.