The Aetherium Academy of Arcane Arts stood atop the highest hill in Valdoria, its spires piercing the clouds like crystalline spears. Today was the day of the annual entrance examination—the day when hundreds of hopeful youths would discover whether they possessed the magical spark that separated the chosen from the forgotten.

  Kael Vane stood in line, his worn leather boots sinking slightly into the manicured grass. At seventeen, he was tall but wiry, with messy black hair that refused to stay in place and eyes the color of storm clouds. His clothes were clean but clearly secondhand, patched at the elbows and frayed at the cuffs. A farmer's son from the eastern provinces, he had walked for three weeks to reach this place.

  "Next!" called the examiner, a severe woman in robes of midnight blue.

  Kael stepped forward, his heart hammering against his ribs. The testing crystal sat upon a pedestal of white marble, pulsing with inner light. He'd dreamed of this moment since childhood—of proving that a nobody from nowhere could touch the stars.

  "Place your hand upon the crystal," the examiner instructed, not bothering to look up from her clipboard. "Channel your mana naturally. Do not force it."

  Kael nodded, wiping his sweaty palm on his trousers. He reached out, fingers trembling, and pressed them against the cool surface.

  Nothing happened.

  The crystal's gentle glow remained unchanged, neither brightening nor dimming. It simply... sat there, indifferent to his touch.

  The examiner finally looked up, her expression shifting from boredom to confusion. She tapped the crystal with her wand. "Try again."

  Kael closed his eyes, reaching deep within himself for that spark he'd always believed existed. He imagined rivers of power flowing through his veins, lightning dancing at his fingertips, fire answering his call.

  Still nothing.

  "That's impossible," the examiner muttered, consulting her notes. "The crystal responds to even the faintest magical signature. Even a hedge witch from the backwoods registers a Class F rating."

  She waved her wand over the crystal, then over Kael himself. Her frown deepened.

  "Zero," she announced, loud enough for the entire queue to hear. "Absolutely zero magical aptitude. In twenty years of examinations, I have never seen a reading this low. You possess less magical potential than a common housecat."

  Laughter rippled through the crowd behind him.

  "Did you hear that? Less than a cat!"

  "What's a mundane doing here anyway? Shouldn't he be plowing fields?"

  "Maybe he thought magic was just really advanced farming!"

  Kael's face burned. He kept his eyes fixed on the crystal, willing it to change, to prove them all wrong. It remained stubbornly dim.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Step aside," the examiner said, already beckoning the next candidate. "You're blocking the line."

  Kael stumbled away from the pedestal, his dreams crumbling like sandcastles before a tide. Three weeks of walking. Years of hoping. All for nothing.

  He found a bench beneath an ancient oak tree and sat down heavily, staring at his hands. They looked ordinary—calloused from farm work, scarred from accidents with tools. But he'd always believed they were meant for something more. Something greater.

  "Well, that was pathetic," a voice said inside his head.

  Kael jumped, looking around wildly. The nearest students were dozens of meters away, still laughing and pointing in his direction.

  "Down here, genius. Or rather, in here." The voice was distinctly unimpressed, with a sarcastic edge that made Kael think of a bored noble talking to a servant. "I'm in your head. And before you ask—no, you're not going crazy. Though honestly, that would be an improvement over what I'm seeing right now."

  "Who—what are you?" Kael whispered, trying not to move his lips.

  "I'm the Roast System, version 1.0. And let me tell you, I drew the short straw getting assigned to you. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to wake up inside someone with zero magical talent? I literally cannot conceive of a worse host. A potato has more potential than you do."

  Kael blinked. "A... system? Like in the stories?"

  "Oh, so the farm boy can read? Color me surprised. Yes, I'm a system. Specifically, I'm designed to help my host grow stronger through a very particular mechanism. But looking at your stats, I think 'help' might be too strong a word. 'Attempt to perform emergency resuscitation on a corpse' feels more accurate."

  A translucent blue screen appeared in Kael's vision, floating in the air before him:

  [ROAST SYSTEM v1.0]

  Host: Kael Vane

  Magic Aptitude: 0 (Legendary Trash Tier)

  Physical Strength: 4 (You can probably lift a bucket)

  Intelligence: 7 (Smart enough to know you're doomed)

  Charisma: 5 (About as appealing as wet cardboard)

  Roast Points: 0

  "Legendary... Trash Tier?" Kael repeated, offended despite himself.

  "I call it like I see it," the System replied cheerfully. "Most people have at least a Class F rating—enough to light a candle or float a pebble. You? You've got nothing. Nada. Zilch. The magical equivalent of a black hole, sucking in potential and giving back absolutely nothing."

  Kael slumped further on the bench. "So I'm useless. Great. Thanks for the confirmation."

  "Oh, don't get all mopey on me. That's the boring part of this job. Look, here's the thing—I'm not like other systems. I don't give you power for completing quests or killing monsters. I'm a Roast System. I run on mockery, humiliation, and the sweet, sweet tears of people who thought they were better than you."

  "What does that even mean?"

  "It means," the System said, its voice taking on the tone of someone explaining something to a very slow child, "that every time someone mocks you, insults you, or laughs at your expense, you gain Roast Points. Those points can be exchanged for abilities, stats, skills—everything a growing boy needs to stop being such a disappointment."

  Kael sat up straighter. "So... the more people make fun of me, the stronger I get?"

  "Finally, a synapse fires! Yes, exactly. It's beautifully ironic, don't you think? The very people who tear you down become the fuel for your rise. Every snicker, every sneer, every 'look at that loser'—it all translates into power."

  A new screen appeared:

  [WELCOME QUEST]

  Objective: Receive mockery from 10 different individuals

  Reward: +5 to all stats, Basic Mana Circulation unlocked

  Progress: 3/10

  "Wait," Kael said, "it says three already?"

  "The examiner and those two idiots by the fountain who just called you 'peasant trash.' We're off to a decent start. Though honestly, at this rate, you'll graduate from 'completely worthless' to 'mostly worthless' by the time you're forty."

  Kael looked around the academy grounds. Students in expensive robes walked past, their noses in the air. He saw a boy with golden hair and a family crest on his chest—obviously nobility—pointing at him and whispering to his friends. They all laughed.

  [Progress: 4/10]

  "That actually counted?" Kael asked, surprised.

  "Oh, it definitely counted. That was Countess Elara's youngest son, Cedric. Real piece of work, that one. Thinks anyone without at least three generations of magical pedigree should be scrubbing floors. He just called you 'the reason commoners shouldn't breed.' Charming fellow."

  Despite the insult, Kael felt something he hadn't expected—hope. All his life, he'd been mocked for being poor, for being different, for daring to dream beyond his station. And now... now those very experiences could become his strength?

  "So what do I do?" he asked.

  "For now? Just exist. Walk around. Be your naturally pathetic self. People will mock you—it's inevitable given your... everything. Once we hit ten mockers, you'll get your first power boost. Then we can start planning how to turn you from 'laughingstock' into 'slightly less of a laughingstock.'"

  Kael stood up, dusting off his worn clothes. The laughter from the examination area had died down, but he could still feel eyes on him—judging, dismissing, mocking.

  For the first time that day, he smiled.

  "You know what, System? I think you and I are going to get along just fine."

  "Don't get sentimental on me, farm boy. I've got standards. Now go forth and be humiliated. Your suffering is my fuel, and I'm feeling peckish."

  As Kael walked back toward the examination grounds—where rejected candidates were being herded toward the exit—he noticed something strange. The mockery didn't sting as much anymore. Every laugh, every pointed finger, every whispered insult...

  They weren't failures. They were currency.

  And Kael Vane was about to become very, very rich.

  End of Chapter 1