The morning tasted like cold metal and burning ambition.
Not metaphorically.
The Academy air actually tasted metallic—like someone had placed a bunch of knives in a blender with a side order of anxiety and told all the students to inhale deeply.
Awner crossed the Academy training grounds with the unhurried confidence of someone who had read the script before the actors even showed up. When you transmigrate into a novel you binged in your old world, "confidence" stops being an emotion and becomes a lifestyle choice. Like brushing teeth or pretending to be humble.
Students ran, shouted, bled, sweated. Instructors screamed at them like their vocal cords were sponsored by anger management clinics.
For everyone else, today was suffering.
For Awner?
It was Tuesday.
Sand crunched under his boots as he walked. Sleepers around him swung swords that looked too heavy, punched dummies like they owed them money, and tried not to faint. Some were pale from exhaustion; others were pale because this was a dystopia and pale was fashionable.
Awner watched them, mildly entertained.
All this torture…
and all I need is swimming lessons and a boat for Forgotten Shore.
He stretched slowly, deliberately, earning a few confused looks because nobody else on this field had the energy to stretch like they were warming up for a yoga session instead of a life-or-death combat exam.
His True Name whispered faintly—Voidborne Sovereign—like someone bending gravity with every heartbeat. People glanced his way, then quickly looked away, experiencing the universal biological warning of "that guy is dangerous, avoid eye contact."
Good.
Very good.
Then someone waved at him.
No—someone summoned him like a disgruntled goddess of midterms.
Riven.
Twenty-one. Sorcery instructor. Sharp features. Sharper tongue.
Her posture could slice diamonds, and her body was the kind that made you question the universe's fairness. Not that Awner was complaining.
Her expression?
A cocktail of irritation, amusement, and mild homicide.
She tapped her heel loudly enough to make a statement.
"Well?" she yelled across the training grounds. "Are you planning to walk, or are you just going to stand there like a confused tourist?"
Awner didn't hesitate.
"That depends," he called back. "Do I get graded for staring accuracy?"
A couple of trainees wheezed. Riven's left eyebrow twitched—the universal sign of "I am considering violence but also laughing internally."
She folded her arms under her chest.
Awner looked.
She noticed.
She sighed loudly.
"Just get over here."
Awner walked toward her slowly. Painfully slowly.
The type of slow that could be declared a war crime.
"You're late," she said.
"Sorry. A black cat crossed my path so I took the long route. I respect superstition."
Her lips betrayed her first—a tiny upward twitch. She turned away so he wouldn't see, but Awner was an expert in catching forbidden smiles.
Tsundere, he thought.
Training Begins
The instructors barked orders. Students slammed into sand. Groans echoed. The air smelled like sweat, dust, and despair.
Awner ignored everything.
He closed his eyes and listened to his heartbeat, letting the Void hum around him. Reality bent slightly. A ripple of pressure warped the air.
A trainee walking past instantly tripped.
Another stumbled.
A third made a noise like a dying seagull.
Oops.
One instructor stopped mid-yell. "You! Why are you not training?"
Awner opened his eyes with the serene enlightenment of someone who had absolutely no shame.
"I'm training internally."
"That sounds like an excuse."
"It is," he agreed cheerfully. "But a very good one."
The instructor opened his mouth to argue. Closed it again. Realized he had no counter. Walked away in defeat.
Riven stepped beside him, arms crossed again.
"You're unbelievable."
"You keep saying that," Awner said. "But it sounds suspiciously like a compliment."
"Stance," she commanded.
Awner adopted what he believed was a stance.
"That's not a stance. That's existential disappointment."
She walked around behind him and grabbed his shoulders. Her touch was warm. Strong. Confident. She angled his hips, lifted his chin, adjusted his spine—
"Your back is straight now," she said softly near his ear. "You're welcome."
Awner tilted his head.
"If you wanted to touch me, you could've just asked."
Her hands froze.
Then she shoved him so hard he nearly kissed the dirt.
"Shut up and train!" she snapped, ears turning beautifully red.
He grinned.
Awner sat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling like it had personally offended him.
...........................................................
A month had passed.
A month of training. Chaos. Growth.
And more near-death experiences than he was emotionally prepared to count.
Today was Winter Solstice—the day Sleepers entered the Dream Realm officially.
But that wasn't what excited him.
He had refined his "Infinity" technique—a spatial barrier that deflected almost every physical attacks . Nightmare Creatures could still break through if they were powerful enough or had weird physical power. Mental attacks bypassed it like it wasn't even there.
Still excellent.
Still not perfect.
And still better when paired with Awakened armor. Armour can take almost all impact even with physical enhance power of awenkend rank human inside infinity that help in maintaining infinity while fighting
Cassie had become… well, basically a lifelong friend. Their chemistry had settled into something warm and natural. Sunny had become the friend he never asked for—short, angry, sarcastic .
Swordsmanship?
A disaster.
After an entire month, Awner could proudly declare that he had achieved:
Basic form, slightly above "not terrible."
This revelation led to a painful conclusion:
I am not becoming Zoro in this lifetime.
So he did the only reasonable thing.
He bought a gun. (Overkill) ＼(°o°)／
From the system shop.
An Ascended-rank sniper compatible with his Void Eyes. (Previous reward exchange)
Self-recharging.
Essence bullets.
Fifteen shots.
Kill anything below Fallen rank in one strike if it had flesh.
Reload time: two hours per bullet unless refilled with own essence .
Awner had no essence but of course Soul shard and System Points worked.
But that wasn't the best news of the month.
Yesterday, he asked the system a question:
"Can I travel to other fictional worlds?"
The system answered:
Yes.
With enough strength and System Level 4.
Soul travel only.
Physical travel impossible.
He had nearly screamed like a fangirl.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The cafeteria atmosphere was so heavy you could spread it on toast.
Sleepers sat quietly. No chatter. No jokes. Even fear felt muted. Only the Legacies looked stable—emotionally stable, physically stable, mentally stable.
Awner sat next to Cassie, Sunny across from them. Cassie ate quietly. Sunny stared into the void, probably calculating how soon he would die in the Dream Realm.
The silence was thick.
Then Cassie spoke.
"Happy birthday, Sunny."
Sunny blinked slowly. "What?"
Another beat.
"Oh. Right. I guess… it's my birthday today."
He had genuinely forgotten.
He turned seventeen.
Wait. How did she know?
Sunny stared at Cassie suspiciously… then surrendered.
She was too mysterious to interrogate.
She survived by vibes alone.
"Uh… thanks."
Awner smirked.
You didn't tell me it was your birthday. I thought we were we were friends. Don't tell me you're hiding a beautiful sister too.
Sunny choked. "How do you kn—"
Awner cracked up laughing.
He truly is incapable of lying.
Two worlds, two lives, still the most honest man alive.
"Is she cute?" Awner teased.
Sunny glared. "She's twelve."
"Yeah okay, calm down, officer."
The cafeteria was still gloomy. Too gloomy.
So Awner made a decision:
He stood up. On his chair.
Summoned cake from thin air, placed it in front of Sunny like a holy offering.
Cassie immediately hid her face behind her hands.
Sunny was looking for exits.
"HEY EVERYONE!" Awner shouted.
Silence fell like a guillotine.
"My friend here is celebrating his birthday today! Can we all sing together?"
The silence was so deep that even the utensils paused out of respect.
Then Awner began singing.
Loudly.
Enthusiastically.
A demon's mating cry might have sounded better.
People clapped slowly. Pity claps. Forced claps. Even Nephis clapped politely, though her face betrayed a hint of "how did I end up near these clowns."
Caster clapped like he wanted the moment to end quickly.
By the time the song finished, Sunny had aged emotionally by at least ten years.
Awner sat down smugly.
"How was my gift?"
Sunny glared with pure suffering.
"I will kill you," he said calmly. "Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday."
"Just cut the cake, man."