SWNOVELXO Chapter 7: A Joke From Fate
'Why did it have to be this young talent?' The dean's hands clenched into tight fists.
It wasn't common—but a hidden talent was far more dreadful than not awakening at all.
And he pitied the boy greatly, knowing exactly what it meant.
What made it worse was the irony.
'This boy has worked so hard over the years… trying his best to make a name for himself despite where he came from… and now, everything will be tossed away because of this.'
William looked at Kieran with eyes full of pity. He didn't know how to break the news.
He wasn't the only one disturbed. The other teachers stood still, sharing the same sense of shock and confusion.
But William knew he couldn't stay silent any longer. He exhaled deeply, then stepped forward.
"Quiet!" His voice thundered through the hall, instantly silencing the crowd of students.
"Kieran Marcoth," he called, his voice stern, though layered with sympathy.
"S-Sir…" Kieran, who had still been dazed by the result, snapped out of it and turned toward the dean.
He hadn't expected much—maybe an S-class talent or even an A-rank.
Either of those would've been enough to secure a comfortable life. A future where he could earn above average and provide for himself with ease.
But instead… he had received something beyond his wildest dreams.
An SSS-rank.
Kieran looked away from the dean, scanning the crowd—until his eyes landed on a familiar face.
Frank.
The moment their eyes met, Frank felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He swallowed hard, his palms sweating behind his back.
'It's over for me if I don't get something similar,' Frank thought, dread sinking in. But even as he clung to the hope of his own awakening, a darker truth whispered in the back of his mind: there's no way.
Luckily for him, Kieran's gaze didn't linger.
Instead, it shifted—toward someone else.
Jane.
'Finally… I can make her proud,' he thought, a flicker of joy lighting up his chest.
But when their eyes met… his heart sank.
'Why? Why is she looking at me like that?'
Confusion tightened his chest. Her reaction wasn't joy. It wasn't pride.
It was something else.
Jane had lowered her head, her eyes shadowed.
She knew. From the moment the results appeared, from the expression on the dean's face—she already understood what it meant.
And because of that, she couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze.
Kieran stood frozen, the weight of uncertainty settling into his bones.
William took a long, steady breath.
He had waited, thinking of the best way to explain the situation. Now, there was no delaying it.
He stepped forward again, steadying himself.
Kieran, still confused, turned toward the dean—only to find the same look in William's eyes as he had seen in Jane's.
"What is it? Did I do something wrong?" he asked, his voice uncertain. Since the dean was closer, he directed the question to him directly.
William sighed, drawing a deep breath before speaking.
"Boy... look at the screen again."
Kieran's heart thudded in his chest at the grim tone. He slowly turned back to face the glowing orb, his eyes scanning the notification once more.
And then he saw it—what he had somehow missed in all the noise and excitement.
[Talents: Hidden.]
His breath caught in his throat.
Even he, for all his years in the academy, had never heard of anything like this. Not once had anyone mentioned a 'hidden' talent.
And he wasn't the only one noticing it now.
The other students had begun to murmur again, their whispers quickly filling the hall.
"What does that even mean?"
"Is that a good thing… or bad?"
"Hidden? Sounds sketchy."
Kieran swallowed hard, still staring at the words, unwilling to believe the sinking feeling forming in his gut.
"What does it mean?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
He didn't want to believe what his instincts were already screaming. He wanted to hear it from the dean. He needed it to be something—anything—else.
William hesitated. Then, he spoke carefully.
"Kieran… I'm sorry. But a hidden talent means that your ability hasn't fully awakened. It requires specific conditions to be met before it can manifest."
Kieran's eyes widened, and for a moment, the world around him fell away.
Everything else—the whispers, the noise, the room itself—faded into a dull hum.
He could only hear the dean's voice.
"If a talent is hidden, it means exactly what it sounds like," William continued gently. "It's locked. Dormant. Even though it's been classified as an SSS-rank... without fulfilling the activation conditions, it's unusable."
He paused, then added with visible heaviness,
"Over the years, we've seen similar cases. Talents hidden behind conditions... and out of the hundreds we've documented, not one has successfully unlocked theirs."
Kieran stood frozen.
A hidden talent.
It was a curse disguised as a miracle. A cruel joke played by fate.
It was like watching a runner train his entire life to reach the championship line—only to break his legs the moment he arrives.
To know you have the power but be unable to touch it… to see others use theirs freely while you remain stuck in helpless silence…
It was worse than having nothing at all.
And William knew it. He saw it in Kieran's eyes—the storm gathering behind them, the disbelief, the heartbreak.
The boy had worked harder than most. He had sacrificed, endured, bled for this moment.
But fate had its own plans.
And not even William could change that.
Kieran didn't move. He barely breathed.
He was lost—drowning in the weight of a future that had just shattered beneath his feet.
And then, he heard it.
The final nail in the coffin.
William's voice came again, soft but heavy as a hammer:
"...In essence, you have no talent—until the conditions are met."
You have no talent.
Those four words...
They struck Kieran harder than any blade or fist ever could.
They cut deep—deeper than bone or flesh—carving an emptiness into his chest.
A wound no healing spell could mend.
For a moment, Kieran couldn't breathe.
It was like the air had been yanked from his lungs, replaced by a cold, invisible pressure that crushed down on his chest.
Everything around him—the voices, the lights, the room—faded into a dull blur, swallowed by silence.
The once lively hall now felt too small, too loud, too heavy.
"Well... if he'd just talked to people more... maybe this wouldn't have happened. A powerful talent with no way to use it? Such a waste."
The whispers weren't loud, but they cut deep. Each word stung, like tiny needles slipping under his skin.
Faces swam in his vision—classmates he'd trained beside, walked past, ignored. Now, they stared. Some with pity. Some with satisfaction. Others with empty curiosity, like he was some tragic character in a play.
The glow of the awakening orb still pulsed beside him, but it felt different now—mocking. Like it had promised him the world and yanked it away the moment he reached out.
His fists clenched at his sides.
His heart thudded somewhere deep, muffled.
And in the middle of all the noise inside his head, one word surfaced, raw and aching.
"Why?"