But it seemed, time was a luxury Keyos couldn't afford.
The academy's robotic voices had started their relentless shrieking, and now the countdown echoed through every corridor "Five minutes to Z-Train departure. All students report to Platform Seven immediately."
Around him, chaos erupted as students sprinted for the Z-Train, their faces twisted with fear that made Keyos' stomach clench in recognition.
Some clung to friends, whispering frantic strategies in hushed, desperate tones—"stick together," "watch my back," "don't let me die alone."
Others barged ahead, elbows flying like weapons, trampling anyone too slow or too weak to keep up.
Keyos ran alone, each footfall reminded him of how different he was, how isolated. No friends whispered strategies to him. No one watched his back.
But for the first time, he wasn't running toward another beating in some dark cell. He was running toward something that might actually kill him—really, truly end his miserable existence.
And strangely, that thought didn't scare him as much as it should have. Maybe it was because the prospect of death felt almost... liberating?
Or maybe because for the first time in his pathetic, beaten-down life, he had something that might let him fight back.
This Thread Card, unranked or not, was his. His secret. His weapon. And if he was going to die in the Dungeon of Maw, at least he'd die on his own terms.
The Z-Train hovered above the tracks, its polished hull humming with barely contained energy.
Students shoved their way inside, a writhing mass of panic and teenage desperation. Keyos ducked through the crowd, dodging flailing limbs and muttered curses, and slid into a seat by the window.
He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, watching the academy shrink behind them.
Then—
A flicker in his vision. His heart hammered as words materialized in the air before him, glowing with soft blue light that nobody else seemed to see.
```
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: AWAKENING SUCCESS.
Initializing body scan...
CARD RANK: UNRANKED
HEALTH LEVEL: PEAK CONDITION (8/8)
POWER LEVEL: 1 (UPGRADE CONDITION: Master USING THE ABILITIES PROVIDED)
>>>Currently user has only one type of thread, the cotton thread.
SKILL RANK: BASIC
MONSTER CLASS: BASIC
ENERGY POOL: 100/1000 ETHEREAL WATTS (EW)
ABILITIES UNLOCKED:
>> PRECISION STITCHING
>> CORDWEAVER PROTOCOL
```
Keyos stared at the display, his mouth hanging open like a fish gasping for air. He stared at the empty space . Cordweaver Protocol? Precision stitching?
His eye twitched. Those were just fancy, scientific-sounding names for rope making and sewing!
What was he supposed to do, knit monsters to death? Embroider them into submission? Maybe he could crochet himself a nice little shroud for his inevitable funeral.
"Are you kidding me?" he whispered, his voice cracking with disbelief and mounting hysteria. A few students glanced his way, and then looked away.
He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles went white. I should jump off this train right now and sign up at a textile factory. At least there I'd be putting my "abilities" to good use. Maybe I could become the world's most dangerous seamstress. Strike fear into the hearts of torn clothing everywhere.
The bitter laughter that bubbled up from his chest felt more like choking. Of course this was his fate. Of course the universe had one final, cosmic joke to play on him.
With a frustrated growl that sounded more like a wounded animal than a human, he leaned back against the leather seat and shut his eyes.
The train rocked gently, carrying him toward what would probably be his doom. Whatever happened next was out of his hands—his apparently very skilled-at-needlework hands.
The train jerked to a halt with a screech of metal on metal that made Keyos' teeth ache. He blinked awake to find students flooding the exits in a tide of nervous energy and barely contained panic.
He followed, his legs still shaky from the restless sleep, stepping out into a barren field where wind howled over cracked earth.
The landscape stretched endlessly in all directions, nothing but gray soil and withered grass that crunched underfoot. No trees, no buildings, no signs of life—just desolation under a sky the color of old bones.
Ahead loomed the Dungeon of Maw—a jagged wound in the earth that looked like it had been carved by a giant's claws.
The entrance was sealed by a colossal gearlock, its massive teeth interlocked like a beast's jaws frozen mid-bite.
Ancient runes covered its surface, pulsing with dull red light that hurt to look at directly. The whole thing radiated wrongness, as if reality itself was slightly bent around it.
Keyos swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry as sandpaper.
The principal stood before the entrance, hands folded behind his back like a general inspecting his troops.
His silver hair caught the strange light from the runes, and his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—swept over the assembled students with the detached interest.
"The dungeon is calibrated to your skill level so just a few casualties are expected," he announced, his voice carrying easily across the field despite the howling wind.
"Call for a guardian using your given phones if you encounter a lieutenant-tier monster or higher. We will ensure there is to be no deaths." His silver eyes flicked to Keyos, and his lip curled in what might have been a smile. "Unless one of you is... exceptionally weak."
The words hit like a physical blow. Students turned to look at Keyos. Snickers rippled through the crowd. Someone spat near his boots, the saliva landing with a wet splat on the cracked earth.
Heat flooded his face, but this time it wasn't shame. It was rage—pure, white-hot fury that made his vision blur around the edges.
He met their gazes, one by one, and bared his teeth in something that was definitely not a smile.
The principal raised a hand, and the gearlock groaned to life. Its mechanisms screeched like tortured metal, ancient gears grinding against each other with sounds that made everyone wince.
The runes flared brighter, shifting from dull red to brilliant crimson, and with a final, thunderous clank that shook the ground beneath their feet, the dungeon's entrance yawned open.
Air rushed out like the breath of a dying giant, carrying with it the stench of iron and rot, of old blood and older things that had no name.
Several students gagged, covering their noses with their sleeves. Someone behind Keyos made a retching sound.
Students filed in, teachers scanning for threats with weapons drawn. Keyos hesitated at the threshold, staring into the swallowing dark that seemed to pulse with its own malevolent life.
The air coming from the dungeon was warm and humid, like the breath of some massive beast, and he could swear he heard something moving in the depths—something large and hungry and patient.
How the hell was he supposed to survive this with stitching and rope-making? Maybe he could knit himself a nice little safety blanket and hope the monsters would respect his craftsmanship.
The absurdity of it all made him want to laugh and cry at the same time.
But as he stood there, feeling the weight of a hundred contemptuous stares on his back, something shifted inside him.
The fear was still there, cold and sharp in his chest, but underneath it was something else—something that felt almost like anticipation.