Jon walked with his head low, his footsteps light but hurried. The cracked pavement of The Verge echoed beneath his worn shoes, a broken rhythm in a place built on broken things. In his hands, he clutched a paper bag, crumpled around a single glass bottle—medicine, barely enough to get through another night.
The Verge.
A place where the powerless were cast aside. Where those who couldn't awaken their blood-gifted powers were left to rot. It wasn't a city district. It was a scar.
Rotting brick walls, the stink of unwashed bodies and dying dreams. Shattered neon signs flickered half-heartedly above, casting pale light over faces too tired to care.
Jon knew these streets. He belonged to them.
Or at least, that's what they told him.
He was nearly past the alley when it happened.
His shoulder clipped a tall man in a black uniform. Heavy boots. Steel buttons.
A Verge Officer.
The man turned slowly, glaring down.
"OI. YOU ANIMAL."
He struck without warning, slapping Jon across the face with the back of his gloved hand. The blow sent Jon sprawling, the medicine rolling out of his hands.
The officer stepped forward and spat on him.
"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING."
People nearby looked away. Pretended not to see.
No one helped.
Jon stared at the dirt between the cracks in the road, his cheek stinging.
He didn't cry. He didn't yell.
He just picked himself up, retrieved the bottle, and kept walking.
Faster now.
His mother was waiting.
Home, if it could be called that, stood like a half-collapsed memory.
A roof sagged between two mold-stained walls. The door had no handle. No lock. Anyone could enter. No one ever wanted to.
Jon stopped before stepping in.
He thought he heard something. A whisper in the air. A breath on the wind.
He turned.
Nothing.
He entered.
The sound met him immediately.
"Cough… cough…"
It was a rasping, painful sound. One he knew too well.
Jon rushed to the far corner, kneeling beside the worn mattress where a thin figure lay.
"MOM. I'VE GOT THE MEDICINE. YOU'LL BE OKAY," he said, holding the bottle up like it was holy.
Alise opened her eyes. They were dull but gentle.
"Jon… my son…" she whispered weakly. "This medicine… it won't help anymore."
"NO. DON'T SAY THAT. JUST TAKE IT, PLEASE—"
"I'm… already at death's door," she said softly. Her hand reached up to touch his cheek.
"Promise me something. Stay kind. Don't let this world take your heart from you."
Jon froze. His face twisted—part pain, part rage. His lips trembled.
"I PROMISE," he said, hugging her tightly.
She smiled, barely.
"My boy… before I pass on… it's time to tell you—"
BOOM.
Flames. Smoke. Screams.
The building was gone in an instant.
Jon's ears rang. His world spun.
His body felt weightless and heavy all at once as he crawled out of the rubble, coughing violently. His arms and face were burned, his throat raw.
But he saw her.
His mother. Broken. Barely breathing.
"MOM!"
He dragged himself toward her. She was barely conscious.
Then a voice.
"Mission complete, sir. Heading back ASAP."
Jon's eyes widened.
Then—nothing.
Beep. Beep.
The sound of machines dragged him back to life.
Jon opened his eyes to blinding white lights. Clean sheets. Cold metal.
A hospital.
The panic hit first. Then the memories.
He sat up, yanking the IV from his arm, ignoring the sting.
He ran barefoot out into the hallway and reached the front desk.
The receptionist, a young woman with tired eyes, looked up.
"MY NAME IS JON WHITE! MY HOUSE WAS DESTROYED. MY MOM—WHERE IS SHE?!"
She hesitated, lips parting.
"I… I'm sorry. Your mother didn't make it."
Time stopped.
Jon collapsed to his knees.
The world around him blurred. People in the waiting room turned to look. Whispered behind hands.
"That kid… isn't he from the Verge?"
"Guess he's next to go…"
Jon didn't hear them.
He clenched his fists.
It's my fault. I couldn't protect her. I wasn't strong enough—
No. It's his fault.
It started with him. He was never there.
That bastard. If he'd been there for the ritual… if I had inherited his strength—
A storm of thoughts crashed inside him.
His breathing was erratic.
Then—
Bing.
A sound. Soft. Unreal.
Jon looked up.
Floating before him was a glowing panel, translucent like a glass screen.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE]
Name: Jon White
Age: 12
Title: Unwanted Verge-born
Lineage: Divine Lineage Detected
Class Type: Unknown Hybrid – All-Knowing Combatant
Skills Unlocked:
Battle Instinct (Lv.1) – Detects hostile intent automatically.
Tactical Clarity (Lv.1) – Enhances reaction and decision-making in combat.
Adaptive Mimicry (Lv.1) – Temporarily copy an observed skill (limited use).
Latent Powers: ?, ?, ?
"A… system?" Jon whispered.
He reached out. His hand passed through it.
"Divine lineage… what kind of sick joke is this?"
But as he read on, something shifted inside him.
A slow smile formed.
Then twisted.
Menacing.
People nearby backed away.
"DON'T GO NEAR HIM," someone muttered. "HE'S LOST IT."
Jon didn't hear them.
He turned and walked back toward his hospital room.
But as he approached, something stirred.
His heartbeat quickened.
Battle Instinct: Activated.
Enemy threat detected.
Proximity: Close.
Jon froze, pressing his back to the cold wall. He peeked toward the door of his room.
Blood.
Smears of it just outside the frame.
Is it the same person…?
Usually, people would freeze at the sight. Most would run.
But Jon?
It was the experience of living in the Verge that allowed him to stay calm.
His eyes scanned the hallway.
There. A discarded walking stick — metal, solid.
He picked it up.
"THIS'LL DO."
Just then, a voice echoed from the room.
"The smell of the sick truly sickens me. Is it the same for you?"
A man sat casually on the windowsill, back turned, holding a flower petal.
He stared into the horizon.
His hair was long and curly, tied back neatly. Two swords were strapped to his back — one thin and curved, the other thicker and broad.
He looked like someone who didn't belong in a hospital — or anywhere ordinary.
Jon narrowed his eyes.
Who the hell…?
"OI! ARE YOU THE ONE WHO BLEW UP MY HOUSE?!"
The man turned slowly.
"Such rude manners," he said softly. "Though I suppose I understand."
He flicked the flower petal at a nearby trash bin.
It missed.
Jon followed it with his eyes.
When he looked back—
The man was gone.
He was right in front of him.
Too fast to see.
"KNEEL."
A kick to the legs.
Jon dropped like a rock.
"ARGHHH!"
He swung the walking stick.
Every strike missed.
The man moved like a phantom — effortless.
"Is this truly the power of…"
The last word glitched — like a corrupted recording.
Jon gritted his teeth. He hurled the stick.
The man dodged.
Jon was already moving, sprinting for the spot where the dodge would land.
"Smart," the man said, "but useless."
He sidestepped again. Effortless.
"ONE MONTH," the man said calmly. "IN ONE MONTH, I SHALL TEACH YOU HOW TO FIGHT."
Jon growled.
"TEACH ME?! OLD MAN, YOU THINK YOU CAN BEAT ME DOWN AND WALK AWAY LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED?!"
His left eye rolled back.
Then forward — now glowing with a new hue.
[SYSTEM UPDATE: DUALITY AWAKENED]
Jon smirked.
His voice was different now — colder, sharper.
"IS THAT MAN YOUR PARTNER?" he asked, pointing behind the swordsman.
The man turned slightly.
"WHO ARE YO—?"
Too late.
Jon was in front of him.
"TAKE THIS!"
His fist struck the man's stomach with a resounding crack.
The man flew backward, slamming into the wall.
Blood dripped from his lips.
He looked up in disbelief.
Jon stood tall — eyes burning with something new.
Something awakened.
To be continued…
Ready for upload! Would you like me to help with your Webnovel summary, tags, or cover next?
Perfect. Here's the updated Chapter 1: The Verge of Awakening with:
✅ Lenard's updated physical description (two swords on his back, long curly hair tied back).
✅ Removed the excessive spacing for smoother formatting and better reading flow.
✅ Kept the story, tone, pacing, and all your earlier changes exactly the same.
JON WHITE
Book 1: The Unwanted Lineage
Chapter 1: The Verge of Awakening
Jon walked with his head low, his footsteps light but hurried. The cracked pavement of The Verge echoed beneath his worn shoes, a broken rhythm in a place built on broken things. In his hands, he clutched a paper bag, crumpled around a single glass bottle—medicine, barely enough to get through another night.
The Verge.
A place where the powerless were cast aside. Where those who couldn't awaken their blood-gifted powers were left to rot. It wasn't a city district. It was a scar.
Rotting brick walls, the stink of unwashed bodies and dying dreams. Shattered neon signs flickered half-heartedly above, casting pale light over faces too tired to care.
Jon knew these streets. He belonged to them.
Or at least, that's what they told him.
He was nearly past the alley when it happened.
His shoulder clipped a tall man in a black uniform. Heavy boots. Steel buttons.
A Verge Officer.
The man turned slowly, glaring down.
"OI. YOU ANIMAL."
He struck without warning, slapping Jon across the face with the back of his gloved hand. The blow sent Jon sprawling, the medicine rolling out of his hands.
The officer stepped forward and spat on him.
"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING."
People nearby looked away. Pretended not to see.
No one helped.
Jon stared at the dirt between the cracks in the road, his cheek stinging.
He didn't cry. He didn't yell.
He just picked himself up, retrieved the bottle, and kept walking.
Faster now.
His mother was waiting.
Home, if it could be called that, stood like a half-collapsed memory.
A roof sagged between two mold-stained walls. The door had no handle. No lock. Anyone could enter. No one ever wanted to.
Jon stopped before stepping in.
He thought he heard something. A whisper in the air. A breath on the wind.
He turned.
Nothing.
He entered.
The sound met him immediately.
"Cough… cough…"
It was a rasping, painful sound. One he knew too well.
Jon rushed to the far corner, kneeling beside the worn mattress where a thin figure lay.
"MOM. I'VE GOT THE MEDICINE. YOU'LL BE OKAY," he said, holding the bottle up like it was holy.
Alise opened her eyes. They were dull but gentle.
"Jon… my son…" she whispered weakly. "This medicine… it won't help anymore."
"NO. DON'T SAY THAT. JUST TAKE IT, PLEASE—"
"I'm… already at death's door," she said softly. Her hand reached up to touch his cheek.
"Promise me something. Stay kind. Don't let this world take your heart from you."
Jon froze. His face twisted—part pain, part rage. His lips trembled.
"I PROMISE," he said, hugging her tightly.
She smiled, barely.
"My boy… before I pass on… it's time to tell you—"
BOOM.
Flames. Smoke. Screams.
The building was gone in an instant.
Jon's ears rang. His world spun.
His body felt weightless and heavy all at once as he crawled out of the rubble, coughing violently. His arms and face were burned, his throat raw.
But he saw her.
His mother. Broken. Barely breathing.
"MOM!"
He dragged himself toward her. She was barely conscious.
Then a voice.
"Mission complete, sir. Heading back ASAP."
Jon's eyes widened.
Then—nothing.
Beep. Beep.
The sound of machines dragged him back to life.
Jon opened his eyes to blinding white lights. Clean sheets. Cold metal.
A hospital.
The panic hit first. Then the memories.
He sat up, yanking the IV from his arm, ignoring the sting.
He ran barefoot out into the hallway and reached the front desk.
The receptionist, a young woman with tired eyes, looked up.
"MY NAME IS JON WHITE! MY HOUSE WAS DESTROYED. MY MOM—WHERE IS SHE?!"
She hesitated, lips parting.
"I… I'm sorry. Your mother didn't make it."
Time stopped.
Jon collapsed to his knees.
The world around him blurred. People in the waiting room turned to look. Whispered behind hands.
"That kid… isn't he from the Verge?"
"Guess he's next to go…"
Jon didn't hear them.
He clenched his fists.
It's my fault. I couldn't protect her. I wasn't strong enough—
No. It's his fault.
It started with him. He was never there.
That bastard. If he'd been there for the ritual… if I had inherited his strength—
A storm of thoughts crashed inside him.
His breathing was erratic.
Then—
Bing.
A sound. Soft. Unreal.
Jon looked up.
Floating before him was a glowing panel, translucent like a glass screen.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE]
Name: Jon White
Age: 12
Title: Unwanted Verge-born
Lineage: Divine Lineage Detected
Class Type: Unknown Hybrid – All-Knowing Combatant
Skills Unlocked:
Battle Instinct (Lv.1) – Detects hostile intent automatically.
Tactical Clarity (Lv.1) – Enhances reaction and decision-making in combat.
Adaptive Mimicry (Lv.1) – Temporarily copy an observed skill (limited use).
Latent Powers: ?, ?, ?
"A… system?" Jon whispered.
He reached out. His hand passed through it.
"Divine lineage… what kind of sick joke is this?"
But as he read on, something shifted inside him.
A slow smile formed.
Then twisted.
Menacing.
People nearby backed away.
"DON'T GO NEAR HIM," someone muttered. "HE'S LOST IT."
Jon didn't hear them.
He turned and walked back toward his hospital room.
But as he approached, something stirred.
His heartbeat quickened.
Battle Instinct: Activated.
Enemy threat detected.
Proximity: Close.
Jon froze, pressing his back to the cold wall. He peeked toward the door of his room.
Blood.
Smears of it just outside the frame.
Is it the same person…?
Usually, people would freeze at the sight. Most would run.
But Jon?
It was the experience of living in the Verge that allowed him to stay calm.
His eyes scanned the hallway.
There. A discarded walking stick — metal, solid.
He picked it up.
"THIS'LL DO."
Just then, a voice echoed from the room.
"The smell of the sick truly sickens me. Is it the same for you?"
A man sat casually on the windowsill, back turned, holding a flower petal.
He stared into the horizon.
His hair was long and curly, tied back neatly. Two swords were strapped to his back — one thin and curved, the other thicker and broad.
He looked like someone who didn't belong in a hospital — or anywhere ordinary.
Jon narrowed his eyes.
Who the hell…?
"OI! ARE YOU THE ONE WHO BLEW UP MY HOUSE?!"
The man turned slowly.
"Such rude manners," he said softly. "Though I suppose I understand."
He flicked the flower petal at a nearby trash bin.
It missed.
Jon followed it with his eyes.
When he looked back—
The man was gone.
He was right in front of him.
Too fast to see.
"KNEEL."
A kick to the legs.
Jon dropped like a rock.
"ARGHHH!"
He swung the walking stick.
Every strike missed.
The man moved like a phantom — effortless.
"Is this truly the power of…"
The last word glitched — like a corrupted recording.
Jon gritted his teeth. He hurled the stick.
The man dodged.
Jon was already moving, sprinting for the spot where the dodge would land.
"Smart," the man said, "but useless."
He sidestepped again. Effortless.
"ONE MONTH," the man said calmly. "IN ONE MONTH, I SHALL TEACH YOU HOW TO FIGHT."
Jon growled.
"TEACH ME?! OLD MAN, YOU THINK YOU CAN BEAT ME DOWN AND WALK AWAY LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED?!"
His left eye rolled back.
Then forward — now glowing with a new hue.
[SYSTEM UPDATE: DUALITY AWAKENED]
Jon smirked.
His voice was different now — colder, sharper.
"IS THAT MAN YOUR PARTNER?" he asked, pointing behind the swordsman.
The man turned slightly.
"WHO ARE YO—?"
Too late.
Jon was in front of him.
"TAKE THIS!"
His fist struck the man's stomach with a resounding crack.
The man flew backward, slamming into the wall.
Blood dripped from his lips.
He looked up in disbelief.
Jon stood tall — eyes burning with something new.
Something awakened.