The man exhaled quietly.
Heâs like me back then...
He, too, was an Awakener. But unlike those who awakened at age 16 or 17, heâd only awakened three months before his own college entrance exams.
Too late to do much.
And so, he enrolled in a cultivation academy.
A slower path, yes. Even now, he was still stuck at comprehending a law.
But going there had made him stand out. In a school filled with cultivators, he was a dragon among snakes. Heâd flourished there.
It wasnât that Awakener Academies didnât
want
every Awakened. Far from it.
But the Federation had long since put a system in place to
balance
power.
Cultivation organizations still held sway across large parts of the continent. If every awakened individual flocked to the same dozen high-tier Awakener Academies, the balance of power would collapse.
So, the Federation enforced limitsâquotas, admissions rules, special regulationsâto ensure Awakeners were still distributed across other academies and institutions.
That way, cultivation academies still produced powerhouse talents now and then. While the Awakener Academies got the best of the best, others werenât completely left behind.
A win-win.
That was the worldâs compromise.
Still, this youth in front of him... he wasnât just some lucky late bloomer.
He was terrifying.
The man had gone through the records on his side and knew Michael wasnât lying.
However, the man was still curious about something.
Unfortunately, there were some things he couldnât ask.
In any case, he just had to do his job.
"...Alright," the man said at last, tapping the side of his terminal. "Your recordâs verified. The systemâs been updated. Youâre now officially listed as a Rank 2 Awakener."
He paused, then added with a rare hint of warmth in his tone, "If youâre planning to enter an Awakener Academy, you wonât have any trouble. Just donât slack off."
Michael inclined his head slightly. "Thank you."
Michael left the verification room in silence.
The moment the door closed behind him, a strange emotion welled up in his chest.
A strange mix of pride, relief... and disbelief.
Rank 2.
Heâd actually done it.
A memory came unbiddenâGraceâs voice echoing from that reception desk in Woodstone City, back when he was just a fresh Awakener barely figuring things out.
"Youâre eligible for a monthly stipend now. Fifteen thousand dollars," sheâd said. "But if you donât reach Rank One in six months, itâll get slashed by half. And if you donât reach Rank Two within a year... well. The payments stop."
At the time, it had felt like a generous gesture. Free money just for existing.
Now, with the benefit of hindsight, Michael couldnât help but shake his head slightly.
Reaching Rank One within six months is very possible.
But Rank Two within a year?
That was a different case.
Unless you had powerful backers, god-tier efficiency, or an edge like his undead legion... it was very hard.
It was still possible though but Michael figured most awakeners would take their time.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized how stingy the Federation actually was.
Fifteen grand a month sounded like a lot.
But in a world where gear alone costs tens to hundreds of thousands, that money barely scratched the surface.
Michael let out a slow breath as he walked down the wide hallway of the Supers Association building, footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors.
He thought back to the first time he killed a monster. It was a slime. Then there was first undead he raised.
A lot happened in about three months.
"I wonder how long itâll take to reach Rank 3."
The moment the thought crossed his mind, Michaelâs mood dipped.
He had expected it to be difficult, but the reality of now earning only 50% of normal experience now made it feel even more daunting. Fighting monsters above his rank was the only way to gain decent EXPâbut even then, the gains were a far cry from the generous boosts he used to enjoy.
"Feels like Iâve switched to hard mode," he muttered.
Still, Michael shook the negativity away.
For the first time in a while, he had nothing pressing to doâno monsters to kill, no urgent plans to execute. The freedom felt... strange. Almost uncomfortable.
He stood up, brushing dust off his clothes.
"Guess Iâll head to Aunt Miaâs restaurant. Might as well check in and see how things are going."
"And after that... I still have that mind-controlling monster to revive."
He paused.
"...What am I saying? I could do it right now."
He smiled faintly.
In the Land of Origin, his other body stirred.
Even Wisdomâhis owl companionâtilted its head as if sensing the shift.
Michael glanced at the document still in his hand, eyes narrowing slightly as he scanned the long list of requests and shortages.
It wasnât just a matter of poor managementâit was blatant negligence.
Thanks to a certain corrupt steward who had been in charge for nearly two years, doing whatever he pleased and exploiting the territoryâs resources for personal gain, the cleanup process was far more difficult than it shouldâve been.
Records were either incomplete or deliberately falsified. Supplies had been redirected, guards underpaid, and several of the outer villages hadnât received proper rations in weeks. The previous steward had essentially treated Thornvale as his private goldmineâone where the people were left to fend for themselves while he lived in comfort.
Now, that burden fell on Michael.
Thornvale needed more guardsâdisciplined ones, not just bodies in armor. It needed more horses, proper training, better communication between outposts. More food, better distribution channels. Even the roads needed repair.
The infrastructure had decayed, and Michael could see that this wasnât going to be a simple fix.
He sighed, fingers tightening around the edge of the parchment.
There was a long road ahead.
He was already a Rank 2 Master Necromancer with a growing army and great power, yet now he had to deal with the most exhausting thing of allâbureaucracy.
Michael couldnât help but wonder just how much stress heâd be put through in the coming weeks.
Dealing with monsters, he could handle.
But dealing with people?
That was another kind of battlefield.