Registration, A chairman and a lie

When people first started awakening and fighting back against the monsters, it was a losing battle. Humanity was getting wiped out faster than it could adapt. That was until a select few awoke rare, powerful jobs—Chronomancers who could twist time itself, Tamers who commanded beasts from other realms, Saviours basically the 'Hero' class in RPGs, and, of course… Necromancers.

Those names changed everything. They were humanity’s answer to extinction. With their power, the tide of war finally turned. For the first time, monsters were being hunted instead of feared. The world started to believe we could win.

But then came the fall.

The Necromancers—those same saviors—began turning on the people they were supposed to protect. They were consumed by their power, by the thrill of commanding life and death itself. A single Necromancer could rival an army, but it took all the others—the Chronomancers, the Tamers, the Saviours—to put them down. Humanity won again, but barely.

Over the years, a few more Necromancers appeared. Some stayed quiet, others snapped and attacked both friend and foe alike. 

Eventually, the title became a curse. The last known awakened Necromancer, a man named Hashi, vanished the day he went to register with the Association. No one knows what happened to him.

Heaven knows where he is.

My phone rang, Kenji.

I grabbed it off the nightstand. “Yo.”

“Yo? Bro, it’s already eight-thirty. We’re all supposed to be there by ten. Don’t tell me you’re still in bed.”

I yawned. “Maybe.”

He laughed. “Figures. So.. anyway, what’d you get?”

I hesitated. “I’ll tell you when we meet.”

“Seriously? You’re killing me here, man.”

“See you there.”

I hung up and sighed. The call timer blinked for a second before fading away.

Rei Arakawa. Born and raised in the capital. The heart of Japan, where the HQ of the Ministry of Awakened loomed like a glass mountain. Tall, cold, and always buzzing with mana lines and drone patrols. Every awakened in the region was required to report there for registration.

A quick bath later, I was standing in the kitchen trying to make omurice. It was terrible. The rice was soggy, the egg burnt, and the ketchup art...

I took a few bites and gave up.

With one and a half hours left until I had to leave, I sat on the edge of my bed, towel still around my neck. The hum of the ceiling fan filled the silence.

I should’ve felt excited, like, how many people awaken such a job?

I leaned back on my bed and stared at the ceiling.

I stared at it until the fan’s spinning blades blurred into one long streak. The word kept echoing in my head like a broken record.

Necromancer.

I pressed my palms against my eyes until I saw static. “No way.”

But the blue screen wasn’t lying. The letters were still burned into my mind.

Eventually, the panic ebbed into something else. Most likely acceptance.

I stood up, stretched, and forced myself to move. The towel slipped off my shoulders as I went around tidying my tiny apartment. 

Folded the blanket, dumped the burnt omurice in the trash, wiped the counter that didn’t really need wiping. Anything to keep my hands busy.

Hashi had disappeared the day he went to register. Just gone with no trace, some people said the Ministry covered it up. Some think he is in hiding, who knows?

I caught my reflection in the mirror. By the time I stepped outside, the sun had climbed high enough to set the towers glowing. Mana conduits ran along the skyline like veins of light, connecting skyscrapers and floating billboards.

The streets were already crowded with commuters. Business suits, uniforms. Everyone had somewhere to be, something to chase.

The train station wasn’t far, just a few blocks down. The train arrived with a soft hiss, its sleek white hull gleaming under the sunlight. Doors slid open, and I stepped in, finding a spot near the window.

The city rolled past in flashes of color—mana towers, neon signs, drone traffic, the faint shimmer of dungeon breaks in the distance. Somewhere out there, monsters were still breaking through portals, and people with real jobs— wizard, swordsman, assassin, tamers—were fighting them off.

The Japan HQ of the Ministry of Awakened stood tall ahead of me. The Ministry’s emblem , a torch with a flame across on an open book raised high on the flag along the country's flag.

A whole crowd was already gathered outside. Familiar faces from my school clustered near the entrance. Behind me, more people arrived by the minute, not just my schoolmates, men in suits, nervous-looking civilians. Some were smiling, others pale and fidgeting. Everyone had the same destination.

“Alright everyone!” A clear, confident voice called out from the steps.

A woman in her thirties — sharp suit, red-rimmed glasses, the kind of presence that made you instinctively straighten your posture — stepped forward. “My name is Ms. Ishida, Ministry Liaison for today’s registrations. We’ll begin with students from Shibuya Metropolitan High School. Form two lines — one for you, and one for general applicants.”

“Shibuya, that’s us,” someone from my class said.

People shuffled into place, still chatting and laughing like it was some school field trip. I joined the end of the line, deliberately lagging behind. My stomach twisted tighter the closer we got to the entrance.

Ms. Ishida gestured toward a sleek pedestal stationed just past the door. Floating above it was a glowing sphere. You touched it, and it displayed your job title for registration. You would then be given a signed slip with important details and head inside.

Students ahead of me touched the orb one by one. Blue light flared, then faded, followed by cheers.

“Brawler!”

“Archivist!”

“Healer, let’s gooo!”

Each name felt like a slap. I could almost feel the word “Necromancer” crawling under my skin, waiting to escape.

I looked at my hands, trembling just slightly. 

Maybe I shouldn’t register. But that would mean I wouldn't be allowed to use any sort of magic otherwise I'd face serious charges. Also without the Awakened Identification Card, forget applying for employment once you turn eighteen you can't even get admitted into a hospital. In fact even those who did not awaken had Awakened ID, theirs was almost blank, it would have missing entries.

Hashi had come here too. Probably. He’d touched the same kind of orb. He’d stood under the same sun. And then… Gone.

My throat went dry. I took half a step back.

Then someone clapped a hand on my shoulder.

“Rei! Bro, there you are!”

Kenji.

His grin was the same as always, too bright for this kind of morning. “Man, you got here earlier than expected.”

“Hehe.. Yeah." I said.

He squinted. “Anyway, here we are—” he leaned in — “what’d you get?”

Before I could even dodge the question, a sudden commotion rippled through the crowd.

A sleek, black fleet of cars glided up to the curb. Three in total. Security personnel stepped out first — dark suits, earpieces, polished mana rifles slung over their shoulders. The crowd automatically shifted, whispers spreading fast.

The rear door of the first car opened.

A man stepped out.

Tall. Composed. Early thirties. His presence was like gravity — the kind that pulled attention whether you wanted it or not. His suit looked custom, his posture effortless, and his mana, no, power was enough to make the air vibrate faintly.

“Wait… isn’t that—”

“Yeah. Vice Chairman Arata Kirigaya. The youngest in Ministry.”

The name alone stirred the air. Even our teachers went silent.

He started walking toward the entrance, flanked by guards, each step calm and deliberate. And then, for reasons my heart couldn’t begin to understand, he slowed down. His eyes swept the line — and landed on me.

My pulse spiked instantly.

No. No, no, no. He can’t know. He can’t possibly know.

Kenji didn’t notice. “Rei, hey, I asked what job you awakened, remember?” he said, nudging me.

Arata stopped walking. Fully. His gaze flicked between us, sharp and unreadable.

Kenji frowned. “What’s wrong, man? Don’t tell me you—”

And because the universe clearly hated me, my phone rang.

Loud. Clear. Perfectly timed.

The sound cut through the tense silence like a blade.

I froze.

The gods were definitely not on my side.

....

..

.

The ringtone shattered the silence like a gunshot.

I froze. With trembling fingers, I fumbled my phone out of my pocket. The screen lit up. 

Mom.

Of course.

I swallowed hard, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “Sorry,” I muttered to no one in particular and turned slightly away, pressing the phone to my ear.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Her voice was soft, bright as always, that warmth that somehow made everything worse right now. “Good morning! I tried calling earlier, but you didn’t pick up.”

“Yeah… sorry. I was, uh, getting ready.”

She chuckled, the kind of laugh that made you think of home and simpler days. “That’s my boy. So? Tell me! What job did you awaken?”

My stomach twisted so hard I almost dropped the phone.

Across from me, Arata Kirigaya was still standing there.

His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was razor sharp.

My throat went dry.

Should I tell her? Should I just say it?

Say Necromancer?

Say the word that could ruin my life.

And the man standing in front of me wasn’t just anyone. Arata Kirigaya was one of the strongest awakened in Japan — maybe in all of Asia. Rumor said he once took on an entire Tier-A ungeon by himself, that could technically make him at least S-Tier.

If I said it now… if he even sensed it…

My hand tightened around the phone.

“Rei?” Mom’s voice softened. “You there?”

I hesitated. Seconds stretched into eternities. My mind was screaming. Lie. Just lie.

I exhaled slowly.

“Umm… Mom,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, “I… didn’t awaken.”

Silence.

The kind that hurts.

Then a faint inhale from the other side of the line. “Oh, Rei…”

Her tone changed, no longer bright, but trembling at the edges, like she was trying not to sound disappointed. “That’s okay, sweetheart. Really. Some people awaken later. Maybe your mana just hasn’t stabilized yet. It happens sometimes.”

She was lying too.

We both knew it. No one awakens "later."

But she kept going, her voice soft and fragile. “Don’t let it get to you, alright? You’re still my son. You’re still you.”

I nodded even though she couldn’t see it. “Yeah,” I managed to say. “Yeah, I know.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Arata’s expression shift. His eyes narrowed slightly. 

Not angry. Not suspicious. Just… disappointed.

And somehow, that hurt worse.

He turned without a word and continued walking toward the HQ doors, his entourage falling in behind him.

When I looked back, Kenji wasn’t smiling anymore.

He’d heard everything. Everyone nearby had. 

The chatter around the lines had stopped — all that buzz of excitement replaced by awkward silence and the occasional pitying glance.

Kenji placed a hand on my shoulder. “Hey… it’s fine, man. Happens, don't beat yourself down.”

I forced a laugh. It came out thin and hollow. “Yeah.”

But my pulse was still hammering, too fast, too heavy. The lie sat like acid in my throat.

I wanted to disappear.

“I don’t feel too good,” I said quietly. “Might head home.”

Kenji frowned. “You sure? They’re calling our line soon—”

“I’ll… come back later.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. Get some rest, okay?”

I gave him a weak smile and turned away before anyone else could stop me.

The crowd parted as I walked through it — some out of politeness, most out of discomfort. Nobody wanted to meet my eyes. To them, I was just another unlucky one. Another “failure.”

My steps echoed across the pavement. Every few seconds, I checked over my shoulder, half-expecting someone to call out. To stop me. To say they knew what I really was.

But no one did.

The Vice Chairman had already vanished inside. Kenji was talking quietly with the others. And I was just… gone.

By the time I reached the street, the morning sun had fully risen over the skyline. The glass towers of the capital gleamed like blades.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and kept walking, heart still racing.

I lied to my mom. To my best friend. To everyone.

And for what?