Bruce.
The mont that na appeared in my head, so did the mories. It was like a floodgate had opened, and all the details of my life rushed back with startling clarity.
I was Bruce, a high-schooler who loved to read web novels. The eldest child in my family, with two sisters who never ceased to test my patience and resilience.
The younger one, Maria, was still sweet and innocent, always looking up at with those big, curious eyes.
But the older one, Evelyn, well, she had transford into a sarcastic, biting version of herself ever since she hit fourteen. I missed the days when she was less of a pain and more of a companion.
mories of late-night reading sessions flooded back—lying in bed with my phone, devouring chapter after chapter of my favorite web novels.
Those stories were my escape, my sanctuary from the mundane routine of school and family obligations. I could still feel the thrill of reading a particularly intense scene, the way it made my heart race and my mind buzz with excitent.
I rembered the mornings, waking up groggy because I'd stayed up too late reading. The tired, knowing look from my mom as she handed breakfast, shaking her head at my bleary eyes. The hurried walks to school, earbuds in, listening to the latest episode of my favorite web novel podcast.
Being the eldest ca with its own set of challenges and responsibilities. I was expected to set an example and be responsible.
But sotis, I just wanted to escape into my own world, to forget about the expectations and just be Bruce—the guy who loved stories, who got lost in fictional worlds, and who found solace in the pages of a web novel.
I rembered a certain mont with the elder one.
"Evelyn," I muttered, the mory of her smug face still fresh in my mind. She always knew how to get under my skin. "You think you're so clever, don't you?"
"What was that, dearest brother? Did you say sothing?"
"Nothing. Just thinking."
"About what?"
"About how things used to be," I said, more to myself than to her. "Before you turned into Miss Sarcasm."
Evelyn's smirk faded slightly, replaced by a look of mild surprise. "I haven't changed that much," she said, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
"Yeah, you have," I replied, not unkindly. "But maybe it's not all bad. Keeps things interesting, I guess."
She didn't respond imdiately; she just stared at for a mont before turning back to her phone. I could tell she was thinking, maybe even reflecting on what I had said.
It was one of the rare monts when we talked for an hour at ho, as the atmosphere was not always great.
And then, I rembered another mory.
A mory with Maria, the smallest and cutest one in our family.
"Brother, look! I made a drawing of our family!"
I glanced at the picture she held up, a colorful, childlike depiction of our family. There we were, stick figures with big smiles, holding hands. It was simple, but it tugged at sothing deep inside . Despite the frustrations and the sarcasm, this was my family. These were the people who mattered most.
"That's great, Maria," I said, smiling at her. "You did a wonderful job."
"Ehehehe..."
Seeing the innocent smile on her face, I could not help but smile. It was a smile that I loved to protect.
At that mont, a voice ca from the side, sharp and commanding. It was the voice of a grumpy woman, our mother.
"Maria, stop wasting ti and get back to your studies. You still need to finish your daily howork," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argunt.
Maria's face fell, and she looked like she wanted to protest. But I saw her tremble slightly, knowing that resistance was futile. She reluctantly put down her drawing and shuffled off to her room, casting one last forlorn look at .
Before I could say anything to comfort her, my mother's attention shifted to . "Bruce, your fencing teacher is here. Don't make him wait."
I sighed inwardly. There was no escape from the endless cycle of expectations and responsibilities.
I knew what was expected of —to be the best, to never falter. And fencing was just another part of that.
"Yes, Mom," I replied, my voice steady. I couldn't let her see any hesitation or reluctance.
Because I have already learned what is going to happen when I do that, I already knew the fact that the perfect son would never falter; the ones that would bear the brunt of the anger wouldn't be .
Because they can not afford to lose an asset like , the face of the family.
As I got up from my seat, I glanced at Evelyn. She was still absorbed in her phone, pretending not to notice the exchange. But I knew she heard every word.
I already knew the reason why she was like this, why she always was on her phone.
The children who would be able to bear the pressure would give up.
They would both lose their motivation in life and their desire for the attention of their parents.
Evelyn wasn't always like this. She used to be quiet and obedient, always striving to et the high expectations set by our parents. But there ca a mont when she could no longer keep up. The pressure beca too much, and she broke. She started acting carefree and nonchalant about everything, a mask to hide her pain.
Yet, I knew how much she cried during those nights when she thought no one could hear her.
And now, she was like this—distant, sarcastic, and seemingly indifferent. It was truly heartbreaking to see her change so much, to see the light in her eyes dim.
With a heavy heart, I made my way to the front door, where my fencing instructor was waiting. Master Alfred.
There was no official title of "Master" for Alfred, but I liked to call him that. He had taught many things, not just about fencing but about life and resilience. He was the reason I could still find the strength to endure.
"Ready, Bruce?" he asked, his voice as steady and unwavering as always.
"Yes, Master Alfred," I replied, feeling a sense of comfort in the routine, in the familiarity of his presence.
We moved to the practice area in the backyard, where the training equipnt was already set up. Master Alfred began with the usual drills, his sharp eyes catching every mistake, every hesitation. But he also had a way of pushing just enough to help improve without breaking .
"Bruce, you know what?" While we were training, Master Alfred suddenly asked.
"What is it, Master?" I responded, focusing on my stance.
"If you had lived in dieval tis, you would have been one of the strongest warriors. Your skill with the sword is just that good."
Hearing this, I rembered a certain sensation.
The sword in my hand had always seed to beco an extension of my body, as if it was a part of . Whenever I held the weapon, it felt like I changed. It was as if I was born to wield it, as if, in another life, I might have been a knight or a warrior.
But then reality hit . In the modern world, what aning did the sword have? Even if I were the fencing world champion, it wouldn't change the fact that the world no longer values such skills. There was no place for swordsn in a world dominated by technology and modern warfare.
Master Alfred seed to sense my thoughts. "The world may have changed, Bruce, but the discipline, the focus, the strength you gain from fencing—those are tiless. They shape who you are, not just as a fencer, but as a person."
I nodded, trying to absorb his words. "I understand, Master. It just feels... I don't know, pointless sotis."
"Nothing you do with dedication and passion is ever pointless," he said firmly. "You may not be fighting dragons or defending castles, but you're building sothing just as important—character, resilience."
"And Bruce, you may have already realized it by now. No matter how, no matter what happens. Never forget what is right, and never move away from the path of righteousness. Even if you don't want to do it, do the right thing. That is what makes the true warrior."
Suddenly, I returned to the real world, and with all the mories returning, I realized what happened.
'I am Bruce. A high schooler, a web novel addict, and the world fencing champion. That is who I am.'
Just as I rembered who I was within my core, I saw sothing.
A shining star.
And then I heard Master's voice.
"That is... peculiar. You have already ford your first star. Congratulations on becoming a 1-stage awakened. You are a proper awakened from now on."
I opened my eyes, feeling a profound sense of clarity and understanding. The mories of my past life, the lessons learned, and the experiences endured—all of it had converged into this mont, guiding to this newfound power.
I was no longer just Lucavion. I was Bruce, too, at the sa ti.
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