Damian Valcor was having a hard time sleeping.
Tomorrow, the results of the entrance examinations for the Awakened Academies would be announced – results that would decide his future.
These examinations were humanity's new rite of passage.
In the old world, there had been college entrance exams. Now, they determined whether one could join an Awakened Academy.
Dozens existed across the globe, but only one stood at the pinnacle:
Stormhold Academy.
The first and greatest of them all, built by one of the most powerful Awakened in history.
Its purpose was to forge a generation capable of holding back the storms of monstrosities pouring from the portals and protecting humanity.
When the portals first opened, humanity had been slaughtered to the brink of extinction.
To survive, the Earth Federation – the fragile government formed from the remnants of old nations – declared fifteen to be the new age of adulthood.
Although humanity eventually took complete control of the earth after stabilizing themselves, the portals never closed.
Every once in a while, new ones would tear open anywhere across the globe – bringing death and destruction if not prepared for in advance.
Once they reached adulthood, every child, without exception, would undergo Entrance Examinations.
If their talent was sufficient, they would join an academy and become a weapon for humanity's survival.
And now, it was Damian's turn.
He shifted restlessly on his bed, exhaling a long sigh.
'No use worrying. I have done enough to get into Stormhold. The rest… is up to fate.'
He closed his eyes.
And then – the pain struck.
It began as a sharp throb, then spread like fire tearing through his skull. His vision swam and his breath hitched. He clutched his head as agony overwhelmed him.
"AHHHHH!"
The scream ripped from his throat, echoing through the quiet house.
Moments later, his door burst open.
"Damy!"
His mother, Lyandra Valcor, rushed to his side, cradling his trembling body in her arms.
Tears streamed down her face as she rocked him desperately. "What's happening to him, Alaric?!"
Her husband, Alaric Valcor, stepped forward with steady composure, though his clenched fists betrayed his fear.
He placed a glowing hand on Damian's forehead, scanning his body with practiced precision.
"…His body's fine. There are no injuries or any internal disruption. Perhaps… he is just having a nightmare."
"Nightmare?!" Lyandra's voice cracked with fury. "Does this look like a nightmare to you? Look at him – he's in agony!"
Alaric faltered. He had no answer.
Then –
"Argh…"
Damian stirred, clutching his head, still numb with pain. His eyes fluttered open and confusion washed across his face.
"Baby, what happened?!" Lyandra's voice trembled as she cupped his cheeks. "Tell Mommy who hurt you. I swear, I'll make them pay tenfold!"
But Damian only stared at her, then at Alaric, with his lips parted.
'…Who are they? Where… am I?'
Suddenly, memories after memories came in his mind. A rooftop, a fall, the rush of air before the end. His final moment as –
Alessio.
The ruthless mafia boss who had ruled through blood and fear.
But then – another wave of memories, softer and warmer.
A woman's voice calling him "Damy." A man's hand ruffling his hair. A little girl clinging to his arm, refusing to sleep without him nearby.
'No… that's not Alessio's life. That's… mine. That's Damian's.'
The two streams of memories collided violently inside his skull.
Forty years of bloodshed and hunger and power – smashing against fifteen years of warmth and family and normalcy.
He couldn't tell which feelings belonged to whom.
The cold indifference when looking at the crying woman – was that Alessio? Or had Damian always been detached?
The faint ache in his chest at seeing her tears – was that Damian? Or had Alessio always cared more than he admitted?
'Who… am I right now?'
His hands trembled. His breathing was ragged. The room felt too small and too large at the same time.
Then – like a river finding its course – the memories stopped fighting and began settling.
Not merging or replacing each other.
Just… coexisting.
He looked again at the woman holding him, her black hair streaked with tears, and at the man whose calm mask could not hide the tremor in his fists.
Recognition bloomed – not from one life, but from both. Damian's love for them, layered over Alessio's desperate understanding of what it meant to have people who cared whether you lived or died.
"…I am Damian Valcor," he whispered.
His parents froze. The words weren't strange in themselves – but the tone was. It was the voice of a stranger inhabiting their son's mouth.
Lyandra's eyes widened and Alaric's frown deepened.
And then Damian spoke again.
"Mother. Father. I… seem to have awakened my previous life's memories."
The room fell silent.
Alaric broke it first, his voice low, uncertain. "…You're joking."
"No. Look at his eyes and his face." Lyandra murmured, her voice trembling. "This isn't a joke…"
Damian shook his head slowly.
"I'm sorry. I know this sounds insane. My mind is… filled with this sudden rush of memories. Please – give me until morning. I just need some time to process this."
For a long moment, Alaric looked as though he might protest. But Lyandra placed a hand on his arm and drew Damian into a fierce embrace.
"You can have all the time you need," she whispered against his hair. "Just remember – you're my son. Always."
Without waiting for an answer, she guided her husband out of the room. The door shut softly behind them.
****
The hallway was dark and quiet.
Lyandra stood with her back against the wall, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the closed door.
Alaric watched her in silence for a long time.
"Lyandra."
She didn't respond. Her black eyes were fixed on the door as if she could see through it, as if she could still see the boy sitting on the other side – the boy who looked like her son but spoke like someone else entirely.
"Lyandra, look at me."
Her black eyes met his silver ones. They were wet, furious, and terrified all at once.
"That is our son."
She turned slowly. Her face was a mess of tears and barely restrained fear.
"That's not… he doesn't sound like our Damy, Alaric. His voice, his eyes – the way he looked at us. Like he was trying to remember who we were."
Her voice cracked.
"You heard him... Past life and memories. What if something took him? What if he's been replaced? What if our Damy is gone and that thing in there is wearing his–"
"He's not gone."
Alaric's voice was quiet but carried the weight of absolute certainty.
He pulled her closer, one hand on her shoulder, the other still holding hers.
"When I placed my hand on his forehead, I didn't just scan his body."
Lyandra's eyes widened.
"Alaric… you promised. You promised you'd never use those skills on–"
"I know what I promised."
His jaw tightened, guilt flickering across his face before being buried under necessity.
"I examined everything. Every cell of his body."
He paused, choosing his next words with the care of a man confessing a sin he'd commit again without hesitation.
"I sensed his soul directly."
Lyandra's breath caught.
"There's nothing foreign inside him. No possession, no soul fragments that don't belong and no replacement."
His silver eyes held hers, unblinking.
"It's just Damian. His soul is… different now. It's more powerful and more complete. Like something that had always been there was finally being allowed to emerge fully."
"What does that even mean?"
"I don't know." Alaric admitted, and the honesty in those three words was more frightening than any lie would have been. "But I know what a possessed body feels like. I know what a replaced soul looks like."
He squeezed her hand.
"That boy in there is our son. Changed, yes. Different, yes. But ours."
Lyandra stared at the closed door for a long time.
'I want to go back in. I want to hold him and check for myself. I want to hear him call me Mom again, not Mother, just… Mom. The way he always does when he's scared and pretending not to be.'
But she didn't open the door.
Because whatever Damian was going through in there, he'd asked for time. And if there was one thing she could give her son right now – her son, she would keep calling him that until the universe proved otherwise – it was time.
"We act normal." Lyandra's voice hardened. "We don't interrogate him. We don't push. We watch, and we wait, and we let him come to us when he's ready."
Alaric nodded. He'd already reached the same conclusion.
"And if something is wrong? If it turns out–"
"Then we'll handle it." Lyandra's eyes burned with quiet ferocity. "Together. The way we handle everything."
She wiped her face once – a single sharp motion, erasing every trace of tears – and walked toward their bedroom.
Alaric lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on his son's door.
'It's like... Something that had always been there was finally being allowed to emerge fully.'
He didn't understand what his own scan had shown him. But it unsettled him in ways that had nothing to do with fear.
It felt less like something had invaded his son.
And more like his son had finally woken up.
****
Silence returned to the room.
Damian stood before the mirror, staring at his reflection.
A boy of fifteen, with sharp features, crimson eyes, and crimson hair. Neither handsome nor plain, but with an edge that set him apart.
He stared for a long time.
Then, he raised a hand and touched his jaw.
"Hmm. Now that I have these memories in my mind, I have to say – I'm really handsome in this life. Far more handsome than 'Alessio'."
His eyes hardened.
'But this world… seems completely different from the world of my past life, and yet it feels so familiar.'
A memory surfaced in his mind – an old tattered book with the smell of rot and ink. The only novel he had ever come across as a starving child, read aloud by a beggar in exchange for food.
He couldn't recall much of the story, only fragments. But this world – its academies, its awakened, its monsters – it all resonated like déjà vu.
"From what I remember, that old man only emphasized the world and its dangers alongside some interesting things.
I don't know anything about the main characters of the novel. But I know for sure the current me is not one of them. It is safe to assume I'm just some random guy in the novel." he muttered.
He tried recalling the details, but it was so long ago that he didn't even remember the names of the main characters.
"Forget it, all I need to know is that this world is dangerous. And danger… is something I know all too well."
He raised his hand. His voice carried the weight of command.
"Status."
A translucent screen flickered into existence.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Name: Damian Valcor
Age: 15
Rank: F-
Talent: B → S
Core Attributes:
Strength: 9
Speed: 8
Stamina: 9
Vitality: 10
Aura: 0
Will: 3 → 120
Skills: —
Shooting: C+
Hand Combat: B
Weapon Arts: —
━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Damian's breath deepened, then it became steadied after some time as his lips curved into a wolfish grin.
So it was true. This world wasn't ruled by politicians or kings. It was ruled by strength. By those willing to take what others could not.
"Power isn't granted," he murmured. "It's taken. And I've had a lifetime of practice."
His chuckle began low, building, swelling into unrestrained laughter that filled the room.
"Hehehe… haha… HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
It was the laughter of a man reborn.
The laughter of a predator who had just discovered the perfect hunting ground.