THE F-RANK THAT BUILDS ABILITIES

The ceiling fan in Room 3-B spun with a slow, unmotivated creak, stirring the dusty air as pale sunlight filtered in through cracked windowpanes. The morning was already warm, and the air inside Ridgewood Academy's F-Class classroom felt heavier than usual — the kind of weight you carry when you know you're ranked dead last.

In the back corner of the room, near the window, sat Donnie Reeve. His desk was clutter-free, his eyes low, and his pencil moved with precision. He wasn't doodling like most students assumed. Every line he drew mattered — angled elbows, stances mid-strike, ability activation patterns. He was copying the combat movements of other students. It wasn't art. It was study.

He didn't speak, didn't laugh, didn't try to fit in.

And no one missed him.

A voice pierced the low buzz of class murmurs.

> "Hey, Copyboy! Still trying to sketch your way into the rankings?"

Donnie didn't look up. He didn't need to. The voice belonged to Lucen Kai — a fiery-tempered C-Rank with a laugh that always meant trouble. Flames were his thing. So were insults.

Lucen swaggered down the aisle like he owned the place, his friends snickering behind him. His uniform was rumpled in a "cool" kind of way, and his shoes squeaked dramatically with each step.

He stopped at Donnie's desk and snatched the notebook without asking.

> "What do we have here?" Lucen flipped a few pages. "Oh, wow. You really think copying our moves is gonna make you something? Come on, Donnie, even a borrowed flame won't keep you warm in a real gate."

Some students chuckled. Others just shook their heads and returned to pretending Donnie didn't exist.

> "How long can you use someone else's ability again?" Lucen asked, grinning as if he'd already won.

Donnie raised his head slowly, voice calm.

> "Seven seconds."

Lucen smirked. "Damn. That's enough time to die twice."

The class laughed louder.

Donnie stood, took the notebook back from Lucen's hand — gently, without resistance — and sat down again. He didn't argue. He never did.

He didn't need to.

---

Later that afternoon, the bell rang, and the classroom emptied with the sluggish energy of students who didn't expect much out of the school — or themselves.

Donnie remained seated for a moment, sketching one final frame of a fire arc he had seen during sparring class. He had memorized it. Not just the shape, but the movement. The rhythm of it.

He wasn't just mimicking.

He was absorbing.

Inside his mind, something strange always sparked when he watched people use their abilities — especially ones he tried to replicate. It was like a shadow of their power passed through him, and even when it vanished, something stayed behind.

---

That evening, as students loitered around the school courtyard, waiting for their respective transports or just killing time, a buzz crackled through the old speaker system mounted on the main wall.

> "All students to the courtyard immediately. Regional notice to be broadcast."

A collective groan rippled through the student body.

> "Probably about the AHUE again," muttered Veera Myles, a sharp-eyed D-Rank student leaning against a tree. "I swear if they tell us to work harder one more time—"

> "Nah," Lucen grinned, adjusting the flame-marked badge pinned to his sleeve. "Word is that Blue House and Zero Guild are scouting this year. One of us could actually make it out."

Donnie walked to the edge of the courtyard, away from the crowd. He liked observing from a distance — quieter. Safer.

A massive screen flickered to life near the school gates. The AHUE emblem appeared — a white shield behind a blue sword — followed by booming synthetic audio.

> "Region-43 students will enter mock gates in three weeks. The top ten will proceed to the London trial."

A hush spread.

Then the screen listed the elite groups watching this year's entries:

Blue House

Guild Union

Ascend Tower

Even the background noise of crickets seemed to pause for a moment.

Lucen leaned slightly toward Donnie, voice low but cutting.

> "You might as well stay home, Copyboy. I heard they disqualify people with useless skills automatically."

Donnie didn't look at him.

His eyes were focused on something else — a soft flicker only he could see, glowing just at the edge of his vision.

> [TRACE SAVED]

New Ability Pattern: Combustion Arc (25%)

He blinked.

And smiled.

Not at Lucen. Not at anyone else.

Just to himself.

---

That night, Donnie sat on his bed in the tiny dorm room he shared with no one. F-Class students weren't given roommates. No one wanted to be that close to someone ranked bottom-tier.

His fingers hovered over his Trace Band. The screen showed minimal data — nothing impressive. Just a single line: Mimic Manifestation – Active Ability – Duration: 7 seconds.

He turned off the display.

Then whispered to himself, "That's enough… for now."

And in the dim silence of the room, his trace mark pulsed faintly — like something just starting to wake up.

© Anthony Osifo 2025 – All rights reserved.