AN:Please comment as much as you can — I really want your help so I can improve.
Two days later, on Thursday, the day of the medical screening arrived faster than expected.
Marie woke up before her alarm, her internal clock tuned to survival mode. The sky outside the window was barely lighter than the walls of her apartment, and the chill in the air wrapped around her like a second skin.
She lay still for a moment. Listening. No noises from the hallway. No movement from the pipes. Just silence.
Her fingers curled into the blanket, then released.
Time to move.
She dressed quickly, even more precisely than usual. The school had instructed all students to wear a neutral set of clothing—loose, unmarked, easy to scan through. Marie wore a plain grey top and dark athletic pants. Her datapad was already charged, and her hair tied in the cleanest ponytail she could manage.
There was no breakfast today. The instructions had said fasting was preferred.
Not that she had much left to eat anyway.
Outside, the city was quieter than usual. As she walked toward the school medical wing, she noticed two patrol drones stationed at the outer fence of Zone 3. Their presence wasn't unusual—but the fact that they weren't moving was.
They were watching.
The medical wing was located in the older part of the academy, past the gymnasium and the central stairwell. It had once been part of an evacuation shelter before being converted. The building was utilitarian—concrete, sterile, windowless.
A temporary banner hung above the entrance:
PRE-AWAKENING MEDICAL EVALUATION – YEAR 2200 COHORT
Students milled about outside, chatting nervously or scrolling through their datapads. Marie stood apart. Not out of pride. Just habit.
Eventually, a staff member—an older woman in a white coat—called for her group.
"Last names T through Z. Follow me."
Marie joined the line.
Inside, the walls were painted a dull cream color, lit by soft amber LEDs. The scent of antiseptic clung to every surface.
They were guided into a small holding area and given plastic sheets with their assigned codes. Then they were separated one by one for tests.
Marie was taken to Room 7.
It was small. Clean. Clinical.
A male technician scanned her ID tag without speaking. The console lit up and synced with her datapad automatically.
"Sit," he said.
She obeyed.
The procedure began.
First: bloodwork.
A mana-sensitive needle extracted two vials. The fluid glowed faintly—standard for a latent system carrier. The technician made no comment.
Second: retinal scan. She placed her chin on a platform while the device clicked and whirred.
Third: physical metrics. Height. Weight. Reflex response. Pulse rate under pressure.
Fourth: cognitive test. A short battery of questions meant to detect latent system adaptation. Pattern recognition, emotional bias, mana memory.
Finally, she was asked to sit still as the technician placed a scanning disc against her sternum.
"Breathe normally," he said.
The scanner pulsed. Blue light spread across her chest.
On the monitor, her profile appeared:
Name: Marie Williams
Age: 15
Blood Type: O
System Status: Dormant
Mana Saturation: 12.8% above average
Stress Markers: Mild
Recommended Track: Observation/Combat Hybrid (Pending Awakening)
Marie blinked.
The technician leaned closer, frowning slightly. "You're registering a mild spike."
"From fasting?"
"Possibly. Or anticipation. You'll get your full results by tomorrow."
He made a note and disconnected the scanner.
"You're done."
She stood.
"Thank you."
He didn't answer.
The rest of the day was mostly free. Classes were suspended for third-years, giving them time to "recover" from the tests.
Marie took the long way home.
She wandered through Zone 2's edge, where the infrastructure was slightly newer. There were trees here—real ones, not synthetics. A few benches, even a park pod with children playing.
It felt unreal. Like a version of the city she wasn't allowed to access.
She sat for a while and watched the light filter through the half-dome canopy. No one noticed her.
No one ever did.
That night, her datapad buzzed.
MEDICAL SCAN RESULTS – DO NOT REPLY
Name: Williams, Marie
Mana Capacity (Theoretical): 118 units
Mana Flow Efficiency: 78%
Affinity Markers: Inconclusive
System Likelihood: Confirmed.
Trait Development Potential: Moderate to High
Recommendation: Proceed with Awakening Prep
Marie stared at the words.
Confirmed.
Her chest tightened.
It was real. It was happening.
The next day brought a return to routine.
Classes resumed. No one mentioned the medicals, but the tension in the hallways had shifted. People moved differently. Whispered more. Watched each other like rivals.
At lunch, Marie overheard a pair of students comparing their efficiency scores.
"Mine was only 64%."
"Ugh, I got 71. But my affinity came back as Fire, so it evens out."
Marie didn't say anything. She never did.
But her mind kept circling the word: Inconclusive.
In the afternoon, during Magical Theory, Ms. Aoki pulled Marie aside.
They stood near the windows while the rest of the class worked on energy diagrams.
"I saw your results," Aoki said softly.
Marie looked down. "They weren't bad."
"No. In fact, they were... unusual."
Marie blinked. "Unusual?"
"You have strong efficiency and above-average capacity. But the affinity markers... well, the system didn't know what to do with them."
"What does that mean?"
Aoki hesitated. "It means you might have a rare trait. Or none at all."
Marie felt the floor shift slightly.
"Don't be discouraged," Aoki added. "Some of the strongest Hunters started with vague or conflicting signs."
Marie nodded slowly.
"Thank you."
Aoki smiled. "You're welcome."
That evening, Marie trained longer than usual.
She added weight to her exercises, pushing her tired limbs past their limits. Her movements with the wooden blade became sharper. Quicker.
She replayed the scan results in her mind, again and again. Searching for meaning between the numbers.
She wasn't exceptional.
But she wasn't weak either.
Somewhere in the middle. Just like always.
That night, her dream changed.
She stood in a field of gray grass beneath a black sky. The stars were wrong—moving slowly, burning red.
A voice spoke. Not with words, but with intent.
A question.
Will you step forward?
Marie reached out.
And the sky split open.