Strongest Esper In The Academy

The low hum of the television continued to buzzed across the apartment, its sound wrapping the room in a warm, artificial comfort. Onscreen, Esperman soared through the sky, cape fluttering like a banner of justice, arms outstretched as he caught a screaming Elly—who was clearly this world's version of Lois Lane—midair, inches before a collapsing building could crush her. The camera panned dramatically to the flaming wreckage as romantic orchestral music swelled in the background.

Ryujin, sprawled across the couch, arched a brow in theatrical sarcasm. His expression was flat, but a tired "Wow," escaped his lips—drawn out and laced with enough dry irony to flavor a desert. "Must've cost a fortune in CGI… or maybe it's real," he muttered, more to the ceiling than the TV.

He wasn't sure anymore. This wasn't Earth. Logic bent in ways even science fiction wouldn't dare. For all he knew, someone with esper powers had lifted the entire building just to get a movie scene right. That thought alone made his eyes linger on the screen, considering: If Superman was dropped into this world, would he still be the strongest? Or just another average esper with a cape and an ego?

But then—

Click.

A subtle, deliberate sound. Not loud, but distinct enough to cut through the noise of heroics blasting from the TV. Ryujin's head didn't turn right away. He waited. He knew that sound: a mechanical finality, like a key turning in a lock. His eyes slowly drifted to the glass coffee table. The silver laptop. It no longer displayed that monotonous line he'd come to despise—"Identity Verification In Progress."

Instead, in clean, minimalist Japanese script, it read:

Identity Verified. Welcome.

Ryujin sat up. "Finally," he whispered, exhaling the word like the first sip of warm tea on a cold morning. The soft groan of the couch signaled the end of his lazy sprawl as he leaned forward, placing both feet firmly on the polished floor. He lifted the laptop onto his lap with the reverence of someone handling a fragile heirloom—not because he feared breaking it, but because in this world, this single object might hold the key to understanding who he now was.

He cracked his knuckles, arms stretching outward with a satisfying pop that his ears savored even beneath the roaring television. His lips moved in a faint exhale. "Let's see what you've got."

The screen greeted him with a stunning desktop wallpaper of a neon-lit city skyline—cool blues, muted violets, and silvery moonlight blanketed the towering buildings. The aesthetic was sleek, clean, almost corporate. It reminded him vaguely of the city he now inhabited, only this one was sterile, too perfect, like a simulation.

On the desktop was a single icon.

No folder names. No shortcuts. No recycle bin. Just a lone app marked by a white feather quill, inked in stylized calligraphy, resting on a black background. No title. No tooltip.

Ryujin squinted. "...That's not suspicious at all."

His fingers hovered over the trackpad, but didn't click. He observed first. Always observe first.

He thought back to his years gaming in dingy net cafés, where pop-up malware disguised as anime-themed browsers had wiped entire operating systems. He'd once lost twenty hours of game progress to a sketchy Pokémon-themed toolbar. He wouldn't make the same mistake here.

Still, this was a brand-new laptop—no other files, no visible system settings, not even a battery display. Just the feather.

"Virus?" he mused aloud. "Some esper hacker out there tracking me for sport? Or just a really bad UI design?"

He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back, the laptop warming slightly on his lap. The TV continued broadcasting Esperman kissing Elly passionately as flames danced behind them. Ryujin rolled his eyes at the melodrama.

With a sigh, he leaned forward and tapped the trackpad, hovering the cursor over the feather icon.

But still—no click yet. He wasn't the kind of person to rush into things, even when the room around him felt stable. He kept his tone dry, muttering to himself, "Well, if this really ends up wiping my existence from the planet, at least I'll die comfortable."

He scanned the top row of the keyboard again, almost on instinct, looking for the familiar escape button, for any sign of system diagnostics, for something familiar. There was nothing.

"Either this was made for someone who knows exactly what they're doing…" he said, fingers brushing the keys lightly, "...or they don't want me messing with anything except that one damn app."

His gaze fell to the coffee table. The blue phone still rested beside him, unmoving, its screen still flashing IDENTITY VERIFICATION IN PROGRESS. It hadn't changed.

Ryujin smirked slightly.

"Guess you're the slacker of the two," he muttered at the phone.

Leaning back, he ran a hand through his disheveled black hair, scratching lightly at the back of his neck. The soft hum of the TV continued to fill the silence of the apartment, its glow washing over the glass coffee table and silver laptop like a quiet spotlight. Ryujin remained motionless, his hand now hovering a few centimeters above the trackpad. The unnamed white-quill app gleamed faintly.

He frowned slightly, his breath steady, barely audible against the backdrop of voice-acted explosions and heroic catchphrases. His thumb twitched, reluctant.

Then, from the television, a voice cut through the noise.

"Courage is not the absence of fear," came Esperman's booming tone, "it is the will to step forward even when everything feels unknown."

Ryujin's brow twitched.

The screen showed Esperman crouched in front of a crying boy, debris falling behind them in slow motion. The child clung to Esperman's chest like a lifeline, and the hero smiled gently. It was scripted. Very cringe. Overproduced, even. But still…

"Tch," Ryujin muttered under his breath. "Cheap knockoff superman."

He blinked once, twice, then slowly exhaled through his nose. His gaze lowered back to the laptop. The unnamed app remained, undisturbed, waiting.

"…Fine. You win this round, Esperman."

He adjusted his posture, sitting straighter on the white couch. One leg folded under the other. One hand steadied the edge of the laptop. His other hand hovered the trackpad once more, this time without hesitation.

Click.

The screen shifted instantly to white, not black. Not gray. White—sterile, blank, clinical. Then words began to appear, sharp and calculated as if typed by an unseen machine.

_________________________________

[Account Initialized: Kaidren]

[Birthdate: 01-01-2120]

[Age: 18]

[Esper Status: Awakened]

[Background: Orphan]

[School Status: Esper student applicant of Esper Studies and Training Institute under the Psi Guardians International] [Waiting for the official date of Psyche Profiling Assessment (PPA)]

[Residence: Room 67, Fescheir Housing Complex. Located in City Z]

[Status: Active Civilian. Store Employee at Dimerian Store] (Works from 5PM to 1AM Every Weekday) [Weekly Income: 30 AUR (Aurum)]

[Aegis Bank] Account Type: Shield Account: Total Savings: 2510 AUR Aegis Key: 162345]

_____________________________________

Ryujin read it once. Then twice. Then again, slower.

A soft murmur escaped his lips, almost too quiet for even him to hear. "Kaidren…"

His fingers twitched slightly over the keys.

A strange silence fell inside him. Not from fear. Not exactly. It was the kind of hollow numbness you feel when someone gives you a name that isn't yours—but somehow fits like a glove you forgot you owned. It slid in, unfamiliar yet not unwelcome.

His old name—Ryujin—was still there, carved into the back of his mind like fading graffiti. But this world didn't care about Ryujin. This world, this... Espers of the World reality, had written its own story.

And in that story, he was Kaidren.

He leaned back, letting the name settle like dust on a shelf.

"…Guess I'll get used to it," he said with a tired sigh. His voice was low, barely more than a mutter. "Not like I have a choice."

His gaze dropped to the occupation line.

"Store employee, huh?" He blinked at the schedule. 5PM to 1AM. Every weekday. He let out a small huff of amusement. "Of course. A night shift."

The irony wasn't lost on him. The system plucked him out of his world, halfway through relieving himself, robbed him blind, and then handed him a job—one that most people would try to avoid.

Still, 30 Aur a week wasn't bad… depending on the economy of this place. But 2510 Aur in savings? That caught his eye.

"That's not a small sum," he muttered, rubbing his chin. "System gave me a head start, huh?"

He scrolled down slightly, taking note of the bank line. Shield Account.

His mind clicked with familiarity. In the game, shield accounts were the securest form for normal civilian banking—unhackable by ordinary means, often used by low-ranking espers or low level government figures. They were also regulated by the Aegis Key system, a digital passcode that couldn't be recovered without biometric ID.

He smirked faintly. "Guess the system doesn't want me starving."

The cursor blinked at him lazily. There was nothing else on the screen. No tabs, no browser, no clock, no weather widget—just this info. It was as though the laptop existed solely to show him who he was now.

But one line stuck with him more than anything else:

[Esper student applicant of Esper Studies and Training Institute under the Psi Guardians International.]

His eyes narrowed.

"An applicant, huh? Not even enrolled yet."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, face illuminated by the laptop's white glow. The name of the institute brought back memories once more—both in-game, and of the chaos it always signaled.

Again, the Esper Studies and Training Institute wasn't just a school. It was the school. The one where all major plotlines, conflicts, and disasters unfolded. Every high-level villain attack, every secret conspiracy arc, every betrayal, every player decision point—it all exploded there.

And now, somehow, he was tied to it. As an outsider or what you call it, a background NPC.... If I can still call myself by that.... He was probably just a regular student... Maybe....

"…Can I refuse?" he asked aloud, knowing no answer would come. "Can I just... not go?"

His eyes traced the words Waiting for Psyche Profiling Assessment. It wasn't a yes or no option. It was a countdown, a ticking time bomb dressed in bureaucratic wording.

He rubbed his face with both hands, dragging his palms down slowly.

"You really dropped me into the thick of it, didn't you?" he said, directing his voice vaguely to the system—wherever it was. "First poop-stained teleportation, and now you expect me to hang out with main cast lunatics."

He slumped back on the couch, laptop balanced carefully on his lap. Despite his frustration, there was no rage. No fire. Just that quiet, chill exasperation that clung to him like a second skin.

And yet... somewhere, beneath that aloof neutrality, something stirred.

It wasn't excitement. It wasn't fear.

It was acceptance.

Not because he wanted it. Not because he welcomed it.

But because it was already done.

He was Kaidren now. A civilian. An applicant. An awakened esper.

The couch creaked beneath his shifting weight. The TV flickered in the background—Esperman was flying again, probably off to punch a meteor or something.

Ryujin—no, Kaidren—closed the laptop gently. The screen went black.

He stared at his reflection in the glossy surface.

"…Guess I would really need to survive this world, too."