A grin spread across my face, wide and incredulous, and I was glad Roberts had left so I wouldn't embarrass myself. "Dude. That is so broken. That's the most busted thing I've ever heard."
"An item? A person? Bro, I could literally envision, like, a perfect cheeseburger. Right now. With extra bacon. Or... or a full-on, top-tier gaming PC that never lags. Holy crap, the possibilities!"
The initial, glorious wave of memes and instant gratification slowly gave way to the cooler, more calculating part of the ability's description. The part about understanding. The part about similarity.
"Okay, okay, so it's not just a 'get whatever I want' button," I mused, scratching my chin. "It's like... a super-powered 3D printer that runs on my brain's blueprints. The better I know it, the less it glitches. And if I try to make, like, a god or something way out of my league, it'll probably just be a crappy knock-off. Fair enough. Balance patch appreciated, I guess."
Then the final clause hit me. The independence part.
"Wait, they get their own Essence? They stick around even if I bite it?" My eyes went wide with a new kind of excitement, one mixed with a healthy dose of "oh this could go so wrong."
"That's... that's insane. That's not a summon, that's creation. I could make a Gundam! A real one!" The loneliness of my new existence, the mask I'd have to wear in the real world, the potential twisting of my Flaw, momentarily lifted at the thought.
But then my modern, meme-saturated brain immediately took a hard left into chaos.
"...Or I could make, like, a Stand. I could totally make a Stand.『ZA WARUDO』or something! Would it have its own personality? Could it yell 'Muda Muda Muda' for me? This is the best power ever!"
I burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the room. The sheer absurdity of it all—the cosmic horror, the sacrifice, now culminating in the ability to potentially manifest a JoJo reference—was too much.
It was stupid. It was glorious. It was terrifyingly powerful if used right, and a hilarious disaster if used wrong.
When I had finally gained enough control to stop laughing, the smile faded from my face. The rational part of my mind kicked in again, and I suddenly felt like my soul had been sucked out. The mania I had just experienced was a stress response, I knew, sent out to relieve the weeks of anxiety and strain I had put my mind, body and soul under while in the First Nightmare. It might seem all fun and games, but I could clearly sense my mental state was a little too close to fine glass for my liking. Maybe I should take Roberts' offer up for that therapy session.
Speaking of the man, only a minute later I heard a knock on the door. "Your driver is here to pick you up. I hope you've calmed down."
I wondered if the room's walls had blocked my fit of hysterics before putting on a calm face and walking out into the corridor. Roberts escorted me out of the station, and the guard at the reception gave me a firm nod as I passed by. Whether it was because another soul had escaped damnation, or just because he was glad he didn't have to handle extra paperwork, I nodded back regardless.
The silence in the sleek, black military car was heavier than the Radiance's drain. I slumped in the backseat, watching the battered slums of the outer city blur into the cleaner, fortified structures of the central district. The driver hadn't said a word. Not a "hello," not a "where to." He'd just held up a sign with "CADAVER" scrawled on it—morbid, but efficient—and gestured for Adam to get in. The guy didn't even glance in the rear-view mirror. It was like driving a piece of furniture.
Guess 'Illustrious' doesn't get you the chatty service, I thought, a wry smirk touching my lips. Or maybe this is just the standard 'welcome to being government property' package.
I could feel the driver's tension, though. The rigid set of his shoulders. The way his knuckles were white on the wheel. To him, I wasn't quite a person; I was a recently defrosted Nightmare bomb, fragile and potentially volatile. An object to be delivered carefully.
When the car finally glided to a stop before a set of imposing, gunmetal-grey gates, the driver finally broke the silence without turning around. "Out. Security checkpoint is ahead. They're expecting you."
"Thanks for the ride," I said, my voice still a little rough. "Five stars. Great conversationalist."
The driver didn't react. The locks clicked open.
Shaking my head, I shouldered my meagre bag—containing the clothes on his back and a few things Father Malachi left me—and stepped out. The gates slid open with a hydraulic hiss, revealing a stark, modern complex that looked more like a high-security prison than a school. Awakened Academy. The name sounded so cool in the web novels. In reality, it looked like a place you got processed.
The security procedure was… intense. Retina scans, blood pricks for DNA matching, a full-body scanner that probably saw his bones and his soul. A stern-faced woman in a crisp uniform ran through a list of regulations so long it made his head spin. No unauthorized use of Abilities on campus. All Nightmare excursions must be pre-approved and logged. Theory and Combat classes recommended. Blah, blah, blah.
He nodded along, the whole thing feeling surreal. Yesterday, he was burning his soul out to save a temple. Today, he was getting a student ID and a list of dorm rules.
Finally, with a soft beep, the last door slid open. The woman gave him a curt nod. "You're cleared. Welcome to the Academy, Sleeper. Your orientation packet is on your assigned terminal. Dormitory B, room 214."
And just like that, he was in.
The air inside was different. Clean, filtered, humming with a low-level energy he could feel in his teeth. Students moved through the wide corridors in small groups. Some looked normal, if tired. Others had faint, shimmering auras, or eyes that glowed with subtle power. A guy with skin that looked like polished marble walked past without a glance.
No one paid him much attention. He was just another new face, another piece of fresh meat for the grinder.
A slow grin spread across my face, the serious mask from the checkpoint melting away. I was inside. I'd survived the fucking nightmare, aced the test, and now I was in the VIP lounge. For the next nine months at least.
Game on.
....
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