Seven's abilities always awakened at the necessary moment.
Not earlier.
Not later.
Like an extremely calm judgment.
When he needed them, they appeared.
At eleven, first-stage awakening — physical enhancement.
That year, he lived with Rat and Bone in a forest at the edge of town.
There was a half-underground, broken wooden hut.
The three of them blocked the entrance again with scrap wood and metal sheets, then piled stones outside.
At least it could keep out the wind.
The roof leaked.
When it rained, water seeped down through the gaps in the boards.
They spread layers of torn cloth on the ground, then pressed dry grass on top.
The damp still crept upward.
There was no electricity.
After dark, the only light was fire.
Winter was the hardest.
They placed a rusted iron barrel in the center of the hut, filling it with wood and bits of coal.
When it burned, there was some warmth—but smoke slowly gathered near the ceiling.
The ground was covered with hay.
The three of them slept on it.
Their lives were maintained by division of labor.
Rat was responsible for begging and dealing with people in town.
He was quick-tongued, remembering when shops closed and when leftover bread scraps were thrown out.
Sometimes he brought back half a sack of stale bread.
Bone was strong.
He helped carry goods, load cargo, run errands.
People in town occasionally gave him a bit of money—or a meal.
Seven rarely entered town.
He was more familiar with the forest.
There were rabbits, birds, and sometimes passing wild boars.
He entered the forest before dawn.
Using stones, sticks, and simple snares to hunt.
At the same time, he handled lookout duty.
People often passed by the forest edge.
Some were just travelers.
Some would stop to inspect the hut.
Seven would observe from a distance.
Their staple food was bread scraps.
Hard and dry.
If Seven caught prey, it was a rare improvement.
They cut the meat and slowly roasted it over fire.
No seasoning. Just a bit of salt.
Enough to eat.
Life repeated every day.
Morning — they went out separately.
Noon — they returned and divided food.
Night — they lit a fire for warmth.
Seven was chasing a rabbit in the forest.
The rabbit suddenly changed direction, darting into bushes.
Seven followed.
His body suddenly felt light.
His steps steadier.
His reactions much faster.
Without thinking, he struck the rabbit with a stone.
He ran faster in the forest.
Jumped farther.
Hunting became easier.
Avoiding danger became easier.
That year, his catch became stable.
For the first time, their food supply stabilized.
At twelve, second-stage awakening — mind reading.
That day, Seven walked around the town for an entire circuit.
Not wandering.
Testing.
The new ability wasn't as direct as physical enhancement.
It wasn't strength.
More like an automatic perception.
Whenever someone entered within three meters, he could hear a fragment of their thoughts.
Not complete thoughts.
Just a shallow layer.
Broken. Brief.
Like someone whispering a sentence into his ear—then disappearing.
A woman passed by.
"Need to make it cheaper today."
A man glanced at him.
"Drifter."
Seven stood at a street corner, observing for a long time.
Most people's thoughts were simple.
Current tasks.
Short-term worries.
Repeated patterns.
Few people thought about many things at once.
Seven began approaching those with denser thoughts.
At a tavern entrance.
A middle-aged man was paying.
As Seven approached, multiple thoughts appeared:
"Payment next month."
"If that kid awakens…"
"Does the academy still accept people?"
Ability user academy.
The term appeared more than once.
Seven started paying attention.
Whenever different people thought of it, their mental structure was similar.
Transportation provided.
No tuition.
Food and lodging included.
Contract required.
Like a long-established system.
Seven realized—
this wasn't a rumor.
It was a real path.
Ability users were surplus.
Unstable.
Normal society wouldn't allow them to exist freely.
The academy's role was to centralize and manage them.
A structured exit.
Completely different from the hut and the forest.
There, survival depended on individuals.
On luck.
The academy depended on rules.
Seven decided to go to the orphanage.
Not because of emotion.
Just procedure.
Recommendations had to come from there.
The orphanage hadn't changed much.
Older building.
Faded walls.
The same dry, dusty smell.
Children moved things in the hallway.
Some noticed him.
Some didn't.
No one particularly cared that he had returned.
The first to recognize him was North.
She stood at the other end of the hallway and looked at him.
"Seven."
She said his name.
No surprise.
Just confirmation.
Seven nodded.
He didn't stay long.
Went straight to the head nun.
At first, she thought he had returned to seek shelter.
But Seven quickly explained.
"My ability has awakened."
He spoke calmly.
He needed the orphanage's recommendation.
The nun didn't agree immediately.
She needed proof.
That night—
Seven entered the forest.
Deep inside was a wild boar.
He spent two hours tracking it.
For a twelve-year-old body, it was dangerous prey.
But Seven didn't confront it directly.
He kept shifting positions.
Making noise.
Forcing the boar to charge the wrong directions repeatedly.
Draining its stamina.
Finally, at the moment it turned—
he finished it quickly.
The next morning—
Seven dragged the boar back to town.
That was proof enough.
A few days later—
the academy vehicle arrived.
A gray transport truck.
No markings.
When Seven got on,
Rat and Bone stood in the distance.
No one spoke.
The door closed.
Seven left the town.
He didn't look back.
After entering the academy, he gradually grew.
At fourteen—
third-stage awakening — telekinesis.
Not high-tier in raw strength.
But combined with vector control concepts and first-stage enhancement,
it maximized effectiveness.
He passed two advancement exams using this method.
At sixteen—
fourth-stage awakening — barrier.
This ability changed everything.
Barriers could isolate.
Buffer.
Redirect force.
Conflicts between students became controllable in his presence.
He could compress danger into safe limits.
But the world had one rule:
One person — one ability.
If the academy discovered multiple abilities—
the outcome was unpredictable.
Seven made a choice.
Concealment.
He categorized all manifestations under "barrier."
During the sixth-year advancement exam—
he demonstrated different barrier forms:
Camouflage isolation.
Buffer barrier.
Structural barrier.
Blade-edge boundary.
Researchers recorded data.
Discussed at length.
Final conclusion:
Ability name — Barrier.
The rule remained unbroken.
Seven was officially archived.
At eighteen—
Seven faced the graduation exam.
But he had no intention of leaving.
He proposed a plan to Green.
Establish a seventh year.
Only students qualified for graduation could apply.
No more than ten participants.
Primary task:
Assist lower-year students in ability training.
The academy needed data.
And student support.
Green handled documentation.
Seven collected signatures.
At the teaching building entrance—
a table.
A ledger.
At first, no one approached.
North wrote a notice:
"Seventh-year approval signatures."
Students who had been helped—
signed first.
Gradually, more gathered.
Pages filled.
Eventually—
the principal approved it.
The seventh year was established.
Seven stayed.
The news spread quickly in the cafeteria.
Students discussed the seventh year.
North was happy.
77 kept watching Seven.
"Are you really just doing this to assist training?"
Seven didn't explain.
Just continued eating.
For a long time—
everything went smoothly.
At least, it seemed that way.
The academy ran on a fixed rhythm.
Schedules were clear.
Training, classes, tests, rest—
everything followed a defined track.
Students trained abilities by level.
Researchers recorded data.
Teachers maintained order.
Things kept happening—
but the overall structure remained stable.
Seven adapted within this structure.
He knew when each building was quiet.
When training zones were crowded.
When researchers were willing to talk—
and when not to disturb them.
This stability wasn't gentle.
It was regulated order.
Understand the rules—
and you could act within them.
Many students saw the academy as a vast system.
Abilities. Scores. Rankings. Data.
Everyone categorized into numbers and files.
Seven didn't resent this.
Because structure meant predictability.
And predictability was easier to survive than chaos.
So for a long time—
everything was smooth.
Until this year.
The changes weren't obvious at first.
Just small details.
Upper management was replaced.
New personnel entered the administrative building.
Familiar faces gradually disappeared—
replaced by unfamiliar ones.
Their ID colors differed.
Their movement patterns differed.
They frequently moved between teaching and experimental buildings.
Students rarely knew their exact roles.
But their numbers increased.
More patrols appeared in the hallways.
Registration was added at training entrances.
Some previously open areas became restricted.
Ability training became more aggressive.
Before—
training stopped before loss of control.
Researchers focused on stability curves and recovery speed.
Tests usually ended before risk peaked.
Now—
training durations extended.
Output intensity increased.
Many tests no longer stopped early.
Students had to maintain abilities—
until their limits.
Data recording became denser.
Researchers stood in observation zones—
watching screens, recording fluctuations.
Students in training zones were drenched in sweat—
yet still required to continue output.
The change didn't happen in a day.
It advanced gradually.
But everyone could feel it.
Management increased.
Surveillance became the biggest constraint.
Barriers leaned toward defense.
To counter surveillance—
more aggressive abilities were needed.
Seven's instinct told him—
at twenty—
he would gain such an ability.
But time wasn't waiting.
77 had been isolated a month ago.
Still not released.
Yesterday—
Ros disappeared.
The notice read:
Transferred.
Seven knew—
that wasn't possible.
Ros had no reason to leave without a word.
Seven's birthday was approaching.
And all the mysteries—
remained shrouded in fog.