"Sir, the preparations for this year's National Talent Assessment are complete," remarked a cold voice. The speaker—a petite woman with jet-black hair and sharp blue eyes—stood at attention before a middle-aged man with graying hair. Lost in thought, the man rubbed his mustache. The woman waited for his answer, motionless in her black work suit.

After what seemed like an eternity, he locked eyes with her. "This year's theme will be Type-R," he said, adjusting one of the many badges on his army uniform. The woman nodded and saluted before leaving the dimly lit room. The man glanced at the now slightly ajar door and sighed. He walked over, shut it, and locked it.

Turning back, he faced a holographic projection of District-9, where the National Talent Assessment would be held. He approached the hologram and waved his hand over it, causing the projection to zoom out and display the entire country. Another wave of his hand, and the hologram expanded to show the Earth. He stared at the image for a moment, then switched off the projector and walked back to his luxurious chair.

He took one last look at his hard-earned badges, pulled a gun from his desk drawer, and shot himself in the head. His lifeless body slumped in the plush leather chair, blood flowing like a malevolent river from the bullet hole.

General Nare was dead.

********

"Bye, Ma!" I shout as I hurriedly rush out for college. Late again. You’d think two years of college would have made me more punctual—but you’d be wrong.

"I dash down the apartment staircase and take off on my bicycle, weaving through the usual traffic like a mosquito—only to nearly get swatted into oblivion by an oncoming bus. Every single day, I’m grateful to my mom for making me choose a college nearby—otherwise, I’d have been expelled long ago. I zoom past cars, buses, and motorcycles. Normally, the idea of overtaking a car on a bicycle would call one's sanity into question—especially when most cars break the sound barrier like it’s nothing. But in traffic? They can't do jack.

I hurriedly lock my bicycle among the others in the parking space and sprint toward my classroom. Flashing my ID to the security bot, I rush onto the campus, navigate the halls, and finally reach my classroom.

I peek inside and find the Devil himself scribbling on the blackboard. "Professor Bach, may I enter?" You see, I normally don’t need to ask for permission, but this crazy psycho demands more discipline than the Army.

"Late again, Sathel," an almost sickeningly dignified voice calls out.

I look straight at the source of that cacophonous sound. "I'm sorry, Professor Bach. I was held up by traffic."

He fixes me with a cold stare and says smoothly, "You're just in time for the next class. Leave."

I try to argue. "I'm just 20 minutes late, Professor."

"To a 50-minute class. Now leave."

I begrudgingly leave and spend my time in the library, scrolling through my phone. 

How to seduce anyone 101! (You don't need to be an Awakened!)

Bullshit.

Are you a Fire type? Here are 5 ways to counter Water types!

Useless.

They want to keep this a secret! 3 ways to Awaken in the comfort of your home!!!

Scam.

Hot women in your area-.

No.

The preparations for NTA 2025 are underway! Here are 5 things you need to know!

I open the link, even though I already know what it’s about. There isn’t a single person in this country who doesn’t know about the NTA.

The NTA (National Talent Assessment) is a nationwide examination designed to identify the most talented youths in the country and aid in their development.

Anyone can enroll in the examination—whether they are Awakened or Normal. The government provides this opportunity to all residents under the age of 21.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

The format of this merit-based examination changes every year. It could be a written test, a tournament, or even a simple exhibition. The format is only announced on the day of the exam. 

Last year, it was a rowing competition. Maybe this year they'll hold a gooning competition.

The exam location also varies each year. This time, it’s being held in District-9, the tech hub of the country.

It's happening here this time, huh?

The top 1,000 candidates receive a fully funded scholarship to Indat University—the best university in Indat and one of the top educational institutions in the world. This scholarship is separate from the 100,000 IDD cash prize awarded to the top 1,000 candidates.

I see a link that redirects to the official NTA registration page. I stare at it for a moment before sighing and putting my phone back into my pocket.

A quick glance at my wristwatch tells me that Professor Bach’s class must be over by now. Good.

I stand up and stretch before making my way out of the massive library. Aside from me, the only living being in here is the librarian—and probably her weirdly shaped hair, which she insists on calling an afro.

********

"Yawn. Bach is such a bastard. He’s not even the HOD, but he acts like he owns the damn college," a tired voice reaches my ears.

I glance over at Virav Frig, my close friend and classmate.

"Every day I go to college, the stronger grows my belief that God is either dead or hates engineers. I should’ve been an Arts major," I lament.

He slowly rides my bicycle while I walk beside him. The noise from the main road nearby is barely audible, absorbed by the sound dampeners installed around the area

"And what? Become homeless?" he quips, and we both burst out laughing.

One cannot survive Engineering without shitting on other majors.

We walk home under the moody hues of the sunset, a rare moment of silence between us. Taking shortcuts through the lonely alleyways to avoid the bustling traffic, we make our way home faster.

"Kevin, are you applying for the NTA this year? The deadline’s been extended till tomorrow."

I glance at him. "What about you?"

He shrugs. "Might as well. This is my last chance to be eligible. And who knows, maybe this year's theme will be breakdancing. I’d definitely win that."

I smirk. "Yeah, right. As for me… I’m upholding my long-standing tradition of not applying. Doesn’t matter if it’s breakdancing or a written exam—I’m just a Normal."

Virav sighs. "Right. Not that it’s much easier if you’re Awakened either. Look at me—the Great Lord of the Flames. Ranked 600,093 last year. Only those rich brats and monstrous geniuses ever make it to the top 1,000."

I snort. "Lord of the Flames, my foot. You can’t even cook an omelet with those shitty flames of yours. The only reason you were even ranked was because Normals took up the bottom ranks."

We both snicker like a couple of hyenas as we exit the alley and reach an intersection. Virav hands back my bicycle, and we part ways.

After a few minutes, I reach my apartment. I lock my bicycle in the basement and climb the stairs to my home. The lack of an elevator might actually be a blessing—years of climbing these steps have conditioned me to ride to college like a maniac.

On the third floor, I walk toward my door, my left hand lightly scraping against the rusty railing as I reach Door 6. I ring the doorbell, and after a moment, the door swings open to reveal a middle-aged woman with black hair tied into a ponytail, streaked with strands of gray. She’s wearing an apron, a familiar sight.

"Kevvy! I made spaghetti and meatballs. Let’s eat after you take a bath," my mom says with a warm smile.

********

What an ugly mug.

Look at that bastard’s stomach—he’s on the verge of a potbelly.

Slimy greaseball.

Who am I talking about? My reflection, of course.

Inspecting my body in the mirror after a bath—one of my habits.

Damn, I haven’t worked out in two years…

With a sigh, I cut my daily ritual short, throw on some clothes, and head to the dining table.

"So, how was college today, sweetie?" my mom asks as I greedily stuff my face with meatballs.

"Like usual." I devour them with razor precision.

She chuckles, watching me eat like a starved raccoon. "Eat slowly, Kevvy. The food won’t run away."

"What about you, Mom? You took a week off to relax. Have you actually been relaxing, or just doing chores?"

She smiles gently. "I have been relaxing, stupid. I’ve been trying out a few skincare routines—they’re lovely! I still have five days left before I go back to work."

I nod and continue eating like a pig.

After we finish dinner, I help her with the dishes and call it a day. But as I head to my bedroom, something catches my eye—an envelope lying on the couch.

Curious, I pick it up. It’s addressed to my mom. From my college.

Now I’m really curious.

The thing is, my mom is a professor at my college—different major, so we rarely cross paths on campus. Could this be about me?

The envelope’s already open. A small peek wouldn’t hurt, right?

It hurt.

She was fired.

I walk to my room and collapse onto my bed. Three conclusions form in my mind:

1. She probably didn’t want to tell me until she secured another job. That explains her "vacation."

2. We’re in a precarious position. I never thought the staff layoffs would hit our family. If it happened once, it can, and probably will, happen again. I have to support my mother.

3.A part-time job isn’t an option. AI does those faster, better, and for free. Hiring prospects for electrical engineers? Grim. And on top of it all, I’m a Normal.

My fingers move on their own, unlocking my phone. A familiar website loads.

The blue light casts sharp shadows on my face in the darkness.

Do you want to register for the NTA?

Yes.