The two boys sat in a silence that was neither comfortable nor strained, merely existing within the warm, steam-laden air. One was crowned with hair the color of a twilight sky, the other with hair as dark as a starless void. The water around them was a placid lake, holding the echoes of recent violence at bay.
Adrian's gaze, thoughtful and assessing, finally broke the quiet. "I'm shocked," he admitted, his voice a low murmur. "I didn't know the so-called 'pretty boy' had such fight in him."
Bradley's frown was instantaneous, a dark cloud passing over his features. "Tsk. Don't call me that. It sounds… unpleasantly suggestive."
A low chuckle escaped Adrian. He didn't apologize. Instead, he pointed a finger, not at Bradley's face, but at his chest. "Those must hurt."
Bradley glanced down, as if noticing the sprawling tapestry of bruises for the first time. The skin was a mottled canvas of purples, blues, and angry reds. "Oh, these? They hurt like a bitch," he said, the acknowledgement casual, as if discussing the weather.
"Just yesterday, you were cowering in a corner when they so much as looked at you," Adrian mused, a note of genuine curiosity in his tone. He gave a slow, approving nod. "A terrifying change, I'd say. Like a different soul woke up in that skin."
Bradley felt a phantom chill. Too close. He waved a dismissive hand, the motion causing ripples in the water. "I just decided to stand up for myself. It was past time someone taught those little tyrants a lesson. Bullying someone for their looks… it's the most pathetic form of power." The words tasted like ash in his mouth, a bitter reminder of his own past transgressions. He had been the tyrant once, the one who wielded cruelty like a cudgel.
I've changed. It's fine, he told himself, a mantra he'd repeated for years. But deep in the hidden chambers of his heart, he knew the truth: some sins were stains that never fully washed out. He had never forgiven himself, and he likely never would.
"I agree," Adrian said, his voice firm. "No one has the right to harass or judge another for their appearance or condition."
A moment of comfortable silence passed before Adrian's lips quirked into a sly smile. "Of course, you are quite the scoundrel yourself. Dating a different girl every week, from what I hear. And at our age. No offense intended, of course." He said it lightly, but his eyes were sharp, watching for a reaction.
Bradley winced internally. Don't blame me, blame the previous tenant of this body! He scratched the back of his head, a gesture of feigned sheepishness. "Ah, well. That's all in the past. I'm a changed man."
Adrian gave him a look that was pure, undiluted skepticism. "We'll see, playboy."
"Tsk. I said don't call me that."
Right, time to steer this, Bradley thought. I need information, and he seems lucid enough to provide it without finding me too suspicious. He had consumed enough fantasy novels to know the trope of the "Awakening Trial"—a crucible of danger and terror designed to unlock phenomenal power. The idea that he was about to be thrown into one mere hours after his rebirth was both insane and… deeply familiar. A part of him, the part that thrived on the edge of oblivion, felt a dark thrill.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited, he admitted to himself. The anger at being robbed of his peaceful end was still a cold stone in his gut, but the prospect of a world with tangible supernatural powers was a siren's call. His previous world had its own horrors, but this felt different, more structured. The previous night, the cold weight of the revolver had been a tempting promise of escape, but he'd lacked the finality to pull the trigger. A coward, to the very end.
He turned to Adrian, who had once again sunk into a meditative state, eyes closed. "Uh, can I ask you a couple of questions?"
"Sure. I don't mind," Adrian replied, not opening his eyes.
"What is this Awakening Trial actually about?"
That got his attention. One purple eye slid open, regarding Bradley with sheer disbelief. "What? Did you seriously forget?"
"Y-yeah. Yesterday, I slipped, hit my head… memory's a bit fuzzy." The lie was becoming smoother with use.
"That must have been quite a fall."
You have no idea.
Adrian sighed, the sound echoing softly in the tub, and shifted his position. "It's called the Awakening Ritual, or trial, as you should know."
Ritual. The word carried a heavier, more esoteric weight.
"In every empire," Adrian continued, "every child who reaches their thirteenth year must undergo it. It's the key to unlocking our latent magical abilities."
Empires. The word painted a picture of sprawling territories, archaic hierarchies, and inevitable, pompous nobles. A familiar setting from countless stories. And if this follows the usual script, there will be no shortage of arrogant, born-to-rule bastards looking down on commoners. The thought was immediately followed by a stab of self-mockery. Look who's talking. I was one of those bastards. I guess being reborn as a nameless orphan is a form of cosmic punishment… so be it.
"How many empires are there? And which one are we in?"
Adrian gave him that weird look again, the one that said 'how hard did you hit your head?' but answered patiently. "Four. The Empire of Lordrave, the Empire of Vali, the Empire of Titania, and the Empire of Ladi, which is where we are currently residing."
Bradley filed the information away. "From what we were taught," Adrian went on, "what will assess us is the Spiritual System. It tests us based on our souls."
Souls? A System? Bradley's hand rose to his chin. So it's not a physical trial. Our bodies remain here while our consciousness, our very essence, is projected elsewhere? The concept was both terrifying and fascinating. And of course, it involved a "System." It was almost comically cliché.
Adrian continued, his voice dropping into a more serious register. "Our souls will be the ones undergoing the trial. Our physical bodies will remain here, inert. The difficulty and the nature of the challenge are unique to each individual, tailored by the System to one's own soul. No two trials are the same. That's all we were told, other than to train our minds and bodies in preparation. They said… it can be quite traumatizing."
"I see…" Bradley finally understood the purpose behind the other boys' rigorously trained physiques. It wasn't just for bullying; it was for survival. Of course it's traumatizing. They're throwing children into a personalized hellscape. You'd need a mind of steel not to break.
He leaned back, the warm water doing little to soothe the cold anticipation coiling in his stomach. Well, at least I'm not as unprepared as I thought. My mind has already been shattered and pieced back together more times than I can count. What truly worries me is what the System will dredge up from the depths of my soul. What reflection of my sins will I be forced to face? A grim smile touched his lips. Ehh, fuck it. We ball. The deadlier, the better. I wonder if I'll awaken something similar to my previous life.
"Is there any chance of… dying? If someone fails?"
Adrian's nod was calm, but his eyes were grave. "Yes. If a soul fails, it is destroyed. The body doesn't die, though. It becomes a Hollow Creature."
"A Hollow Creature?"
By now, Adrian seemed to have fully accepted Bradley's amnesia. "Hollows are abominations. Monsters that feed on the souls of the living, trying to fill the void where their own soul used to be. They are rare, appearing almost exclusively from a failed Awakening. They are incredibly dangerous, and only those who have successfully awakened their spirit—Spirit Awakeners—can reliably face them. Which is why the ritual is mandatory. To fight the monsters, we must first become something… more."
Fucking hell. Soul-eating monsters? Are we in a souls game or what? Bradley's mind raced. In any cosmology, beings that could directly attack or consume the soul were entities of the highest threat level.
"Have you ever seen one?"
"No," Adrian admitted without shame. "And I don't wish to, not in my current state. I'm too weak."
"Understandable but what if you face in one in the trial?"
"Well, I'll just fight and hope that my soul does not get devoured." Adrian said honestly.
After a few more questions, the two boys finally left the sanctuary of the steamy washroom and parted ways with a nod.
When Bradley re-entered his room, he stopped short. Laid out neatly on his bed was a set of clean clothes—a black shirt and black trousers—along with a pair of polished black shoes and a single, folded note.
Someone was in here.
A spike of adrenaline shot through him. He crossed the room in three quick strides and yanked open the wardrobe, his eyes searching frantically.
He let out a slow, shaky breath. The revolver was still there, a cold, dark secret nestled in the shadows. The bloodstained blanket was still crumpled in the laundry basket.
I don't know what would happen if they found these. I need to get rid of the blanket and find a better hiding spot for the gun, and soon.
He retrieved the heavy firearm and slid it carefully beneath the thin mattress. This will have to do for now.
He turned his attention to the clothes. All black. Perfect. Then, he picked up the note. The handwriting was as blocky and uncompromising as the man himself.
"Wear these. Report to the main hall to depart with the others. The hall is at the end of the main corridor."
~Frederic.
I suspected it was him. I can practically hear his detached voice in the writing. A dry chuckle escaped him. And how… thoughtful of him to include directions.
Bradley dressed quickly, the dark fabric a comfortable shroud. Standing before the mirror, he scowled at his reflection. The clothes were fine, but his dark, curly hair was a wild, tousled mess.
"I need a comb…" he muttered, scavenging through the wardrobe until his fingers closed around a simple wooden one. After a few minutes of untangling the chaos, he deemed himself presentable. "This will have to do."
He returned the comb and strode out of the room, following Frederic's directions down the long, marble corridors until he found a pair of massive, ornate doors standing open. A river of children, boys and girls, was flowing inside. The din of hundreds of young voices was a tangible wall of sound.
"That's the place," he murmured, stepping across the threshold.
And then he stopped dead, a silent curse echoing in his mind. Fucking hell.
The hall was cavernous, and it was packed. Hundreds of students milled about, their chatter and whispers merging into a deafening roar. Among them, adults—likely caretakers—moved with purpose. The air was thick with the nervous energy of impending destiny. It was noisy, crowded, and overwhelming.
He knew no one. A familiar, isolating discomfort settled over him.
Ah, wait. I do know one person. His eyes scanned the crowd for a glimpse of purple hair, but it was like searching for a single star in a light-polluted sky.
Resigning himself, he began to move, opting for the back of the hall where the crowd was thinnest. As he passed, he noticed girls glancing his way, cheeks flushing, while boys offered glares that ranged from jealous to outright hostile.
Tsk. I never knew a handsome face could be such a burden.
He ignored them all, his focus on finding a quiet corner. And to his immense relief, he found one—and in it, leaning against the wall with an air of detached boredom, was Adrian. He was dressed in a long-sleeved grey shirt and black pants, his eyes closed as if meditating amidst the storm.
Bradley approached. "Yo."
Adrian opened one eye. "Yo… playboy."
A vein throbbed in Bradley's temple. "Not a fan of the crowd either?" Adrian asked.
Bradley leaned against the wall beside him, mirroring his posture. "Yeah."
"But I don't think you should be," Adrian said, a sly grin forming as he gestured vaguely toward the center of the room. "Almost all the girls are looking at you."
Bradley could feel the weight of their stares like physical pressure, but he refused to turn his head. Adrian simply chuckled at his stubbornness.
Suddenly, the air changed.
It was as if the atmosphere itself had turned to lead. A pressure, vast and unimaginable, slammed down upon the hall, silencing every voice in an instant. Children gasped, some crumpling to their knees under the weight. Others simply trembled, their faces pale with terror.
Bradley grunted, his own legs shaking as he fought to remain upright. It felt like an invisible giant had planted its foot on his shoulders. What the fuck? Who is releasing their spiritual pressure?
He glanced at Adrian. His hands were clenched, trembling, but a fierce, almost eager smile was etched on his face as he stared intently toward the front of the hall.
Bradley followed his gaze to the raised podium.
Frederic stood there, a titan clad in black, his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes, narrowed and severe, scanned the cowed assembly. He didn't need to shout.
"Silence, please." His voice, deep and resonant, filled every corner of the vast room without effort. "Lady Sansa is almost here."
He's the real deal, Bradley thought, a newfound respect mixed with fear curdling in his gut. I knew he was strong, but this is on another level entirely. I wonder how long it will take me to reach that level.
Seeing that he had everyone's utter and complete attention, Frederic withdrew his aura. The crushing weight vanished, leaving behind a ringing silence and the sound of ragged panting. Bradley and Adrian both sucked in deep breaths, their bodies light without the immense pressure.
"You did not have to be so hard on them, Frederic. They are still children." The voice that spoke next was warm, kind, and melodic, a balm after the harshness.
All eyes, including Bradley's, lifted to the podium. And there, he saw her.
It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in either of his lives.