When you turn sixteen, the government system doesn't ask what you want.
It scans your location, evaluates your district, and assigns you to the nearest training facility.
For most, this is a moment of excitement—a chance to meet others like them, to forge bonds, grow together, and chase glory.
For me, it was just another prison.
The facility wasn't elite.
A mid-tier academy buried in the reinforced ruins of an old government site.
Concrete walls. Flickering lights. Automated doors that hissed with each cycle.
Cold. Functional. Efficient.
No ceremony. No words of encouragement.
Just a uniform, a room key, and a digital wristband to track everything—level, stats, class data, biometrics.
I didn't care.
The only thing I looked for—was the room.
A single bed. A desk. A private bathroom.
Four walls and a door that locked from the inside.
Silence.
Solitude.
Sanctuary.
It was the first time in years I had something I could call mine.
No one to invade it.
Classes began the next day.
Orientation, instructor briefings, system protocols.
Most students buzzed with post-Awakening energy, comparing their classes, skills, and stat growth like kids flaunting new toys.
I kept to myself.
They noticed.
Whispers started immediately:
"Berserker? Isn't that the one where you just scream and charge?"
"Yeah. Totally reckless. Can't even use magic or tactics."
"I heard those types snap mid-fight. Go feral. Dangerous."
I wasn't invited to squads.
No one asked to spar, study, or train with me.
Assignments that required partners were met with forced reshuffling.
One kid tried to sit beside me during a simulation review.
I stood up without a word and left the room.
He never tried again.
To them, I wasn't a peer.
I was a liability.
A savage.
A beast.
And maybe—they were right.
I didn't smile.
I didn't talk.
I didn't try to fit in.
Why would I?
This wasn't my world.
These weren't my people.
They hadn't seen what I'd seen.
They hadn't survived what I had.
They hadn't crawled through bone just to find silence on the other side.
Their world was still made of fear of failure and peer pressure.
Mine was made of ash, blood, and the last words of dying parents.
So I let them avoid my eyes when I walked by.
Let them whisper.
Because I wasn't here to make friends.
I was here to become stronger.
Even if I had to do it alone.
Especially if I had to do it alone.