"Damon, we advise you to transfer to the logistics sector instead. It’s been three months, and we’ve still found nothing to suggest you could handle even a low-tier dungeon."

The professor’s voice carried the kind of finality that had ended many students’ careers before they had even begun, and this time, Damon was no exception.

He certainly wasn’t the first resonator to be transferred out of the combat sector. But he was, without a doubt, the most disappointing.

He was the son of Lucas Persival himself, the one and only S-Rank Resonator who had managed to hold off an S-Rank Breach alone for ten whole minutes. The final wall that bought enough time for the rest of humanity’s fighters to arrive and seal the country-devastating tear in reality.

"You’ve got good grades, a good family, and a good inheritance. I think it’s best if you give up on your dream of becoming a Slayer and instead pursue a more support-oriented role. You might even be able to support your father once you’ve made a name for yourself."

This wasn’t the first time Damon had found himself in a one-on-one meeting with his professor over his lackluster combat performance. But it certainly felt like it would be the last.

"Just give me one more semester. I can make this work, I promise!"

Damon shot to his feet, slamming both palms onto the wooden desk as he glared at the professor. His eyes were sunken and tired from hours of studying, all in an effort to compensate for his terrible combat performance with academic results.

It had worked for a while, until it didn’t.

"It’s been two years since you obtained that system of yours. That’s the longest-recorded dud in the three hundred years since humanity first acquired them. And not by a small margin, either. The previous record was only three months... yours is unprecedented."

"Three months. That’s all I’m asking, Professor!"

"No means no, Damon. If you think three months is going to make up for years of stagnation, then I advise you to think more clearly. And don’t even consider relying on sheer physical training, you know that won’t make up for a lack of abilities."

THUD!

Damon didn’t get another word in before he was thrown out of the professor’s office, left with nothing but a thin folder outlining his transfer as proof he had ever been there at all.

"You’ve got to be kidding me..."

Damon stared at the thin manila folder in his hands. His name was printed on a sticker label at the top right corner.

Persival, Damon. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Below it, a stamp in fresh red ink: TRANSFER APPROVED – LOGISTICS SECTOR.

Two years. Two years of waking up at four in the morning to study the history of systems. Two years of letting the academy’s top combatants use him as a punching bag in practicals just so he could understand their attack patterns. Two years of enduring the whispers.

"That’s Lucas Persival’s son?"

"The system rejected him. How does that even happen?"

"Maybe his mother’s side was weak."

That last one always made his jaw clench.

Damon leaned against the cold stone wall of the corridor, students brushing past him without a second glance. A group of second-years laughed as they walked by, their body’s flickering with active buffs, a shimmer of [Iron Skin] here, a faint hum of [Mana Circulation] there.

Simple abilities. Basic. But they had them.

His system didn’t even flicker.

He opened the folder. The transfer form was five pages long. Page three had a section titled "Reason for Transfer" with a single line typed in bold.

Resonator possesses no discernible combat abilities. System remains unresponsive after twenty-four months. Reassignment to Logistics Division is in the best interest of both the Academy and the Resonator.

Below it, a signature line awaited his name. The moment he signed, his dream of becoming a Slayer, of standing beside his father, of proving every whisperer wrong, would officially die.

Damon closed the folder.

He didn’t sign.

***

The academy library was nearly empty at this hour. Most students were either in the training halls or the recreation sector. No one came to the library at six in the evening unless they had remedial classes.

Or unless they were Damon Persival.

He’d claimed a corner desk on the third floor months ago, tucked between the aisles and a flickering lamp that maintenance never bothered to fix. Tonight, he wasn’t here to study.

He just... sat there, staring at his own reflection in the dark monitor of the library computer.

A faint, translucent blue screen flickered to life in front of him. His system. It always appeared without prompting, as if mocking him.

[SYSTEM STATUS – RESONATOR: DAMON PERSIVAL]

Class: [UNASSIGNED]

Abilities: [NONE DETECTED]

"I know already, stupid idiot..."

Same thing it had shown him every day for two years.

Damon let out a breath. His father’s words echoed in his mind from their last conversation, three weeks ago.

"A system is a tool, Damon. Not a cage. If yours doesn’t work, you find another way. That’s what a Slayer does."

Easy for him to say. His system had manifested as [Light’s Vengeance], an SSS-Rank combat system that could level a small mountain. Damon had watched him do it once, during a televised breach response.

The footage had been grainy, but the image of Lucas Persival standing alone in front of a tear in reality, golden light pouring from his body like a second sun, was burned into Damon’s memory forever.

That was the man he wanted to become.

Not a logistics coordinator.

He knew his father was just trying to cheer him up. But after two years of constant pity and comfort. It all eventually lost all its effectiveness.

"The hell am I even doing in this stupid library...?"

A sharp buzz from his wrist communicator snapped him out of his thoughts. A campus-wide alert.

[ACADEMY ALERT – CODE YELLOW]

Location: Training Sector B

Incident: Portal fluctuation detected. All Resonators A-Rank and above report immediately. All other students maintain distance and await further instruction.

Damon frowned. Code Yellow. Not a full breach, but serious enough to mobilize the top students and faculty. Training Sector B was where the third-years ran high-level dungeon simulations. If something had gone wrong in there...

Another buzz. This one was a direct message. From his father.

Lucas Persival: "Damon. Where are you? Are you still at the academy? Either way, stay away from Sector B. We’re handling it. I’ll call you after."

Damon’s thumb hovered over the reply button. Then he stopped.

"Another portal, huh?"

Damon couldn’t even count how many portals had manifested at the academy during his years there. To him, this was just one of many, something that would be forgotten by the next day.

"Guess I’ll just head to my dorm."