The chipped ceramic mug trembled in Kenji's grip as he stared out the grimy window of their cramped apartment.
Steam rose from his tea, but it did nothing to warm the cold emptiness that had settled in his chest years ago.
Thirty years.
Thirty years since Aethelgard Online, the game that changed everything, disappeared overnight, leaving behind a world where fantasy became reality.
Players who had logged in during the final moments awakened with incredible powers.
Pyromancers could summon flames with a thought. Healers could mend broken bones with golden light.
Warriors possessed superhuman strength that could shatter concrete.
And then there was Kenji Nakamura. Seventeen years old, born into this magical world, and completely, utterly powerless.
"Morning, leech."
Hana's voice cut through his brooding like a blade.
His older sister swept into the kitchen, her body radiating that familiar emerald glow, the mark of a Sylvian Weaver.
Plants literally bloomed in her presence. The dying fern on the windowsill straightened, its leaves turning vibrant green as she passed.
She was twenty-two and already a department head at Neo-Tokyo's largest eco-terraforming company.
Her plant manipulation skills were worth millions in the post-Awakening economy.
Kenji's knuckles whitened around the mug. Leech. The word that defined his existence.
A parasite who contributed nothing to their powerful society.
"Morning," he replied flatly, refusing to let his voice crack.
Don't react. Don't give them the satisfaction.
Ren bounded in next, flames dancing playfully around her fingertips.
At nineteen, she was already a Bronze-rank member of the Enforcer's Guild the organization that maintained order in their power-stratified world.
"Ugh, why does it always smell like failure in here when Kenji's around?" she smirked, casually igniting a small fireball that she bounced between her palms.
Their mother shuffled in, her tired eyes finding Kenji with that familiar look of quiet disappointment.
She'd been a B-rank Healer in Aethelgard, specializing in mental restoration.
Now she worked at a prestigious medical center, her empathic abilities making her one of the city's most sought-after therapists.
"Still no sign?" she asked softly, as if whispering might somehow coax dormant powers from his soul.
Kenji shook his head. "No, Mom. Nothing."
He'd stopped pretending years ago. Awakening Stones, rare crystalline artifacts that could theoretically unlock latent abilities, cost more than his family's yearly rent.
They'd never bothered buying one for him.
Why waste money on a lost cause?
His father's heavy footsteps announced his arrival.
Daisuke Nakamura had been a mid-tier Warrior in Aethelgard, specializing in earth manipulation.
Now he worked construction, his enhanced strength allowing him to single-handedly move materials that would require entire crews in the old world.
"Still moping around, boy?" His father's voice boomed in the small space. "When are you going to get a real job? Sitting around won't magically grant you powers."
A real job. As if any existed for someone like him.
"I'm looking," Kenji lied, the words tasting like ash.
Every employment listing required some level of ability. Even janitors needed basic enhancement magic to lift heavy equipment.
Food service workers used temperature control to cook. Retail employees employed charm magic to influence customers.
There was no place for the powerless in their society.
"Looking isn't enough!" his father snapped, grabbing toast with enough force to crack the plate.
"Maybe try one of those bottom-tier Awakening courses. Waste of money, probably, but at least you'd look like you're trying."
The casual dismissal hurt more than outright insults. They didn't believe in him. They never had.
At school, things were worse. He was the "zero-power" in a sea of budding abilities.
Classmates half his age could manipulate elements, enhance their physical capabilities, or create basic illusions. Kenji could barely manage to not get beaten up daily.
He was a living reminder of the old world the mundane reality before the Great Awakening. A world his generation barely remembered and absolutely didn't respect.
I can't do this anymore.
The thought crystallized with sudden clarity.
He'd been saving every coin from odd jobs delivering newspapers before dawn, washing dishes at a greasy diner, and cleaning floors in run-down offices. It wasn't much, but it was his.
"I'm leaving," he announced quietly, standing up.
The kitchen fell silent. His family stared at him with expressions ranging from surprise to... relief?
He caught the flicker in his father's eyes, a momentary softening that spoke volumes.
"Leaving?" Hana sneered. "Where could someone like you possibly go?"
"Anywhere is better than here," Kenji said, his voice carrying genuine resolve for the first time in years.
He packed quicklyclothes, his notebook filled with half-written stories, and his meager savings.
His mother's weak protests ("Kenji, dear, think about it...") and his father's dismissive grunt barely registered.
Hana and Ren were too busy watching powered-arena streams on their phones to look up.
They don't care. Good. That makes this easier.
The streets of Katana City were cold and unforgiving, but for the first time in years, Kenji felt something resembling hope.
***
Six months later...
The small house on the city's edge was a wreck, but it was his wreck.
Kenji had worked himself to the bone, saving every coin, enduring back-breaking labor that his powered peers would never deign to touch.
"Unlucky house," the realtor had muttered. "Been on the market for years. Previous owners all had... incidents."
Perfect. No one would bother him there.
He'd spent weeks cleaning, repairing, and making the forgotten property livable.
Every scrubbed floorboard, every patched wall felt like a small victory against a world that had written him off.
On a sweltering afternoon, while clearing the living room, his hand found a loose floorboard. Curiosity piqued, he pried it open.
Below was a hidden stairwell leading down.
"A basement?" he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "The listing never mentioned a basement."
Armed with a flickering flashlight, he descended the creaking stairs.
The air below was heavy with dampness and something else, a metallic, faintly electric scent that made his skin tingle.
His beam illuminated the cluttered space: old boxes, rusty tools, broken furniture.
Then, in a shadowy corner beneath moth-eaten blankets, he saw it.
A gaming capsule.
Kenji's breath caught. It was sleek, dark metal, impossibly well-preserved despite the surrounding decay.
An old model from before Aethelgard's transition to full immersion the type that vanished completely after the game's mysterious end.
This is impossible.
He ran trembling fingers over its smooth surface. A power cord lay hidden beside it.
With nervous excitement he hadn't felt in years, he plugged it into a nearby socket.
A soft green light flickered to life on the side panel.
It worked.
Kenji hesitated, staring at the capsule. He was born thirty years after the game ended. This was just outdated technology a relic from a dead world.
What could it possibly do now?
Yet something inexplicable drew him closer. A pull he couldn't explain, couldn't resist.
He opened the capsule door. Inside looked surprisingly comfortable—worn headrest, control panels, padding that seemed to mold itself to his body.
What's the worst that could happen? It breaks? Gives me a mild shock?
His life couldn't get more mundane anyway.
Taking a deep breath, Kenji climbed in and settled into the seat. The door hissed shut, enclosing him in silent darkness.
A screen lit up before him, displaying a simple prompt in glowing letters:
INITIATE SYSTEM?
His breath hitched. This was insane. This was impossible.
Yet his finger moved toward the button as if guided by fate itself.
Here goes nothing... or maybe everything.
He pressed it.
The world exploded into light.
[System Initialization Complete]
[Welcome to Aethelgard Online: Legacy Mode]
[Scanning User... Complete]
[Anomaly Detected: No Previous Character Data]
[Initiating New Player Protocol... Error]
[Recalibrating... Success]
[Welcome, Player. Your journey begins now.]
Kenji's eyes widened as text scrolled across his vision—not on a screen, but directly in his mind. This was impossible. The game was dead. Gone. Finished.
Wasn't it?
As consciousness began to fade, one final message appeared:
[Unique Class Unlocked: Void Walker]
[Congratulations. You are the first of your kind.]
The last thing Kenji saw before darkness claimed him was a notification that would change everything:
[Powers Awakening... 0.1% Complete]