SSS Awakening: I Can Create Skills By Will-Chapter 44: A Name on Metal

Arthur processed that quickly.

Sixth Division.

Not the first. Not the strongest on paper.

But clearly not weak either.

"I don’t care about your awakening result," Lyra continued.

"I care about one thing."

"Can you fight?"

Arthur answered honestly.

"Yes."

No bravado, no hesitation.

Just a simple statement.

Something about his tone made her lips curve upward slightly.

"Good."

She gestured toward the side of the hall.

"Now go to certification."

"Get your badge."

"Get your armor."

"You’ll be placed in Bronze Squad for now."

Arthur nodded before he responded.

"Understood."

She added.

"After that, find Squad Member Ryn."

"He’ll take you to the division dorms."

Arthur paused for half a second.

Then spoke.

"Why me?"

The question slipped out before he could stop himself.

He was not demanding, just genuine curiosity.

Lyra looked at him for a moment.

Then replied.

"You didn’t panic when they called you F rank."

"You didn’t argue."

"You didn’t beg."

"You didn’t look broken."

She tilted her head slightly.

"That tells me enough."

Arthur absorbed that quietly.

He did not smile. He did not bow.

He simply nodded.

"Thank you."

She waved her hand dismissively.

"Don’t thank me yet."

"Prove I didn’t waste my time."

Fair.

Arthur liked that. There was no false kindness, no emotional speeches.

But her expectations were clear.

He turned and began walking toward the certification area.

As he moved, he could feel eyes on his back.

Some awakeners looked relieved, while some envious. others confused. And only a few looked hopeful.

One of the awakeners near the back whispered.

"At least... someone took him."

Another replied.

"Yeah."

"Better than being thrown anywhere."

As Arthur left the hall in thought,

Inside his chest, something steady burned.

It wasn’t just gratitude, or excitement.

it was resolve.

He had not been saved, and had not been pitied.

He had been given a chance.

And chances were useless if you wasted them.

Behind him, Lyra walked toward the commander seating area.

As she took one of the empty chairs.

Crossed her legs and rested her chin on one hand, as if nothing special had happened.

Soon, rhe assessment resumed.

Names were called.

Results announced.

Life continued.

But for Arthur, something had quietly changed.

Not because someone powerful chose him.

Not because he had been acknowledged.

But because he had seen proof.

Proof that people labeled strange could still rise.

Proof that the world system had cracks.

And cracks were enough.

Arthur clenched his fist lightly as he walked.

I don’t need their recognition.

I don’t need their belief.

I’ll carve my place myself.

Arthur did not linger anymore, as he walked toward the long wooden counter positioned just outside the assessment hall, where several explorers sat behind desks fitted with drawers, ledgers, and small metal presses used to forge identity badges.

A short line had formed, made up mostly of awakeners who had already been assigned to divisions and squads.

Some looked excited.

Some looked nervous.

Some stared blankly ahead.

Arthur simply waited his turn.

Behind the counter sat a man in his late thirties, average height, average build, brown hair tied into a short tail at the back, and faint lines under his eyes that spoke of long working hours. He wore the standard explorer uniform, though without squad markings, which marked him as administrative staff rather than a field fighter.

His posture was straight, and his face neutral.

The kind of man who had seen too many people come and go to attach meaning to any single one.

Before Arthur even reached the desk, the man spoke.

"New awakener, right?"

Arthur nodded.

"Yes."

The man pulled a ledger toward himself and dipped his pen into ink.

"Registration and badge creation then."

"Answer what I ask."

Arthur nodded again.

As the Explorer remained simple, and direct with no small talk.

"Name."

Arthur paused.

Only for a heartbeat.

As the memories of his host surfaced automatically.

Arthur Blackfall.

The name he had used in this world.

The name attached to this body.

"Arthur Blackfall."

The pen moved smoothly across the page.

"Division?"

"Sixth Division."

Another line written.

"Squad?"

"Bronze."

The man did not look up.

He simply continued writing.

"Talent rank."

Arthur inhaled quietly.

It did not sting the way it had earlier.

But it still did not feel good.

"F rank."

But the pen did not stop.

No raised brow. No pause. No visible judgment.

The man had written thousands of F ranks.

One more meant nothing.

"Class."

Arthur hesitated for half a second.

Then spoke.

"No class."

Making the pen slow, but didn’t stop

Just slowed.

The man finally looked up.

His eyes moved to Arthur’s face, searching for a hint of humor.

But Arthur’s expression was calm.

Flat and serious.

The man held his gaze for a brief moment.

Then looked back down.

"No class," he repeated, and wrote it.

A tiny pause followed.

Barely noticeable.

But Arthur caught it.

The man cleared his throat lightly and continued.

"Assigned by division commander?"

"Yes."

"Commander Lyra."

That earned another slight pause.

This time even shorter.

The man scribbled the name down and closed the ledger.

"Alright."

As he reached into a drawer and pulled out a small rectangular metal plate, dull silver in color.

He placed it into a compact press device, adjusted a few dials, and began setting the imprint.

While his hands worked, he spoke.

"The Badge of identity contains your name, division, squad, and basic status."

"Keep it on you at all times."

"Losing it costs a replacement fee."

"And using someone else’s badge is a punishable offense."

Arthur listened quietly.

"Your combat permissions, mission access, and supply limits will update automatically as your status changes."

Arthur almost smiled.

"Understood."

The man slid the pressed badge out of the machine and inspected it briefly before handing it over.

And Arthur took it.

The metal was cool against his palm. Also appeared simple, rough-edged, but functional.

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