Chapter 3: Unknown
Mark descended the stairs, each step feeling lighter without the weight of his formal attire. The familiar creak of the third step from the bottom brought a smile to his face—something that had bothered him during his transformed state but now felt like coming home.
In the kitchen, Haoyu sat hunched over a bowl of cereal, scrolling through his tablet while eating. The casual scene struck Mark as wonderfully normal after two weeks of rigid formality.
"Morning," Mark said, his voice carrying its usual relaxed tone.
Haoyu glanced up, then did a double-take that nearly sent cereal flying from his spoon.
"Mark! You're—you look like yourself again!"
Lihua emerged from the pantry carrying a box of tea, took one look at Mark, and broke into a wide grin.
"Oh, thank goodness. I was starting to worry we'd lost our Mark permanently to that... other version."
Mark shared their enthusiasm, the relief evident in his posture as he moved with his familiar, slightly awkward gait rather than the precise grace that had marked recent weeks.
"I'm definitely happy about it, though not everything went back to normal." He gestured toward his face. "Still have this lovely souvenir."
The clouded white of his left eye stood out starkly against his otherwise normal appearance, the scar running across it a permanent reminder of that night in the alley.
Haoyu leaned forward, studying Mark's face with scientific curiosity. "Can you at least still see through it?"
"Yeah, actually. Full vision in both eyes, which is pretty amazing considering this one looks completely blind."
Mark blinked experimentally, testing the sight in his altered eye. The vision remained crystal clear, though he couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had changed about how he perceived the world through it.
"The best part is I can finally relax and speak normally again. That formal speech pattern was exhausting."
Lihua chuckled as she set the tea box on the counter. "I have to admit, I was getting used to having a spotless house. Two weeks without lifting a cleaning cloth spoiled me."
Mark groaned dramatically. "It's not like I was particularly messy before all this happened."
"No, but you weren't exactly volunteering to scrub grout with a toothbrush either."
Mark grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and joined them at the breakfast table, pouring cereal with the casual efficiency of someone who'd performed this routine countless times. The normalcy of the moment felt precious after weeks of rigid compulsions.
Haoyu waited until Mark had settled before continuing their conversation. "So what do you think your real classification is? I mean, after everything that happened."
Mark paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth, considering the question that had been gnawing at him since the transformation began.
"Honestly? I have no idea. Maybe C or D-rank? The weapons and fighting ability were definitely beyond F-rank, but I don't know if that was really me or just... borrowing someone else's skills somehow."
He took a bite of cereal, chewing thoughtfully. "The whole thing felt like I was wearing someone else's personality. Like I was still me underneath, but with this other person's instincts and knowledge layered on top."
Haoyu nodded, his expression serious despite the casual breakfast setting. "That's what made it so weird to watch. You were still Mark, but also... not."
"Hopefully today's evaluation will give us some answers," Mark said, though uncertainty coloured his voice. "Assuming I can even demonstrate whatever that was on command."
*
Mark pushed his empty bowl away and glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. The evaluation appointment loomed in less than two hours, and his stomach had begun its familiar dance of anxiety.
"Ready to go?" Yichen's voice carried from the hallway, accompanied by the jingle of car keys.
Mark nodded, though readiness felt like an overstatement. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and followed his adoptive father toward the front door.
The morning air held a crisp bite that made Mark pull his jacket tighter as they walked to the car. Yichen noticed his tension immediately.
"You're wound up tighter than a spring," Yichen observed, unlocking the vehicle. "Relax. This shouldn't be an issue."
Mark slid into the passenger seat, his fingers drumming against his thigh. "What if nothing happens? What if I can't activate whatever that was?"
Yichen started the engine and pulled out of their driveway with practiced ease. "Usually, activating an ability becomes second nature to the wielder once it's manifested. Like breathing or walking—you don't have to think about it."
The reassurance helped marginally, though Mark's doubts persisted as they navigated through New Hope's morning traffic.
"True, there are exceptions," Yichen continued, glancing at Mark through the rearview mirror. "But you're already one massive exception to the rules, Mark. Exceptions rarely stack with each other. Probability and all that."
Mark managed a weak smile. "So you're saying the universe owes me some normalcy?"
"Something like that."
They drove in comfortable silence for several minutes, the familiar cityscape of New Hope passing by the windows. Mark watched pedestrians hurrying along sidewalks, many wearing the distinctive uniforms that marked them as various ranks of Starborn. The sight reminded him of his own uncertain place in that hierarchy.
Twenty minutes later, Yichen turned into a parking complex that served a cluster of imposing government buildings. Mark stared up at the towering structure before them, its sleek glass and steel facade reflecting the morning sun.
"This looks completely different from where they tested me as a kid," Mark said, craning his neck to take in the full height of the building.
Yichen nodded as he searched for a parking space. "That's because this is the real deal, not a place for pre-evaluation on children. The Starborn Assessment Centre handles official classifications, re-evaluations, and certification for active duty personnel."
The building's scale impressed and intimidated in equal measure. Where the childhood testing facility had felt welcoming with bright colors and friendly staff, this place projected serious authority. Multiple wings extended from a central tower, each marked with different departmental signs.
Yichen found a parking spot on the third level of the garage. As they walked toward the elevator, Mark's nervousness returned full force.
"The testing equipment here is professional grade," Yichen explained, pressing the elevator button. "They'll be able to detect power signatures that the basic scanners miss entirely."
Mark nodded, though the information did little to calm his racing heart. The elevator arrived with a soft chime, and they stepped inside.
As the doors closed, Mark caught his reflection in the polished steel surface. His clouded left eye stared back at him, a constant reminder that everything had changed. Whatever happened in the next hour would determine not just his official rank, but his entire future at New Hope Academy.
The elevator began its descent toward the main level, carrying Mark toward answers he both desperately wanted and deeply feared.
*
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing the Starborn Assessment Centre's main hall. Mark stepped out beside Yichen, immediately struck by the bustling activity around them.
The space stretched high above, with gleaming marble floors and walls lined with official notices and rank classification charts. Mark scanned the crowd moving through the hall and realized something immediately—he stood out like a beacon.
Most people here appeared to be in their mid-twenties or older, adults seeking re-evaluation for career advancement or official certification. Their confident postures and professional attire marked them as established Starborn navigating bureaucratic requirements. Mark, at eighteen and clearly fresh-faced, drew curious glances from several passersby.
His clouded left eye made the attention worse. People's gazes lingered on his face before they caught themselves staring and looked away. Mark resisted the urge to pull his hood up or find some other way to hide.
"Assessment Division is through those doors," Yichen pointed toward a set of glass panels marked with official signage. "Queue up and wait for your number to be called."
Mark nodded, following his adoptive father toward the designated area. As they approached the entrance, Yichen stopped and turned to face him.
"This is where I leave you," Yichen said, checking his watch. "I need to get back to work, and besides—you're an adult now. Time to handle these things yourself."
Mark's stomach dropped. He'd assumed Yichen would stay, providing moral support during what could be a life-changing evaluation.
"You'll be fine," Yichen added, noting Mark's expression. "Just be honest about what happened and let them run their tests."
Mark gulped, his mouth suddenly dry. "Right. Honest."
Yichen clapped him on the shoulder once before heading back toward the elevators. Mark watched him go, then turned toward the assessment area with considerably less confidence than he'd felt moments earlier.
Inside, he found a waiting area with rows of chairs facing a reception desk. A digital display showed queue numbers and estimated wait times. Mark approached the receptionist, received his number, and found a seat among five other people waiting for their appointments.
The woman beside him appeared to be in her early twenties, with short auburn hair and the kind of nervous energy that came from important decisions hanging in the balance. She glanced at Mark, taking in his age and distinctive eye.
"Pretty young for a re-assessment," she said conversationally. "What brings you here?"
Mark shifted in his chair. "There might have been an error during my initial assessment."
The woman nodded knowingly. "I understand completely. I couldn't attend the official assessment they give after graduation—family emergency. So they stuck me with F-rank by default."
Mark's interest sharpened. Meeting another F-rank felt like encountering a fellow exile.
"Hopefully I get it resolved today," she continued, her voice carrying frustration. "You have no idea how difficult it is to live with F-rank. Job applications get rejected before they even look at your qualifications. Dating becomes impossible—who wants to be with society's disappointment?"
Her words hit Mark like physical blows. Every complaint she voiced echoed his own experiences over the past six years.
"People treat you like you're broken," she went on. "Like you're not a real Starborn at all."
The queue display updated, and her number appeared on the screen.
"That's me," she said, standing and smoothing her clothes nervously. She looked down at Mark with a hopeful expression. "Wish me luck?"
"Good luck," Mark managed, meaning it sincerely.
She walked toward the assessment rooms, leaving Mark alone with his thoughts and the weight of her words. Minutes ticked by as he watched other applicants get called in and emerge later with various expressions—some triumphant, others disappointed.
Then his number flashed on the display.
Mark stood on unsteady legs, his heart hammering against his ribs. This was it—the moment that would determine whether he remained society's disappointment or discovered something greater within himself.
He walked toward the assessment room doors, each step carrying him closer to answers he'd waited six years to find.
*
Mark pushed open the assessment room door and stepped inside with hesitant movements. The space was larger than he'd expected, dominated by a massive scanning device that hummed with quiet energy. Clinical white walls surrounded equipment he couldn't identify, and the air carried the sterile scent of advanced technology.
Three people in lab coats occupied the room. Two men stood near a control panel, while a woman sat hunched over a desk covered in papers and data tablets, completely absorbed in her work. She didn't even glance up when Mark entered.
"Mark Song?" one of the men asked, consulting a tablet. He was tall with graying hair and tired eyes that suggested he'd processed dozens of assessments today.
"Yes, that's me."
"Come forward, please." The second man gestured toward the center of the room. He appeared younger but carried himself with the same professional detachment.
Mark approached them, his footsteps echoing in the clinical space. The woman at the desk continued working, occasionally muttering to herself about data patterns.
"We'll need to confirm some basic information," the first man said, stylus poised over his tablet. "Age eighteen, currently classified F-rank with ability listed as Surge. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"And you're here because you believe there was an error in your initial assessment?"
Mark nodded. "Something happened recently. I think my ability might be different than what was recorded."
The men exchanged glances. "Different how?"
"I was injured—badly injured—and something activated. I changed somehow."
"Changed how?"
Mark struggled to find words that wouldn't sound insane. "Into someone else. With different clothes, personality, abilities."
The second man made notes while maintaining a skeptical expression. "We'll need to run a baseline scan first. Step into the scanner, please."
Mark moved toward the large device, which resembled a vertical cylinder with sensors lining the interior walls. He positioned himself in the center as directed, trying to calm his racing heart.
The machine activated with a low hum, and lights swept across his body in complex patterns. After a minute, the scanning stopped.
"Interesting," the first man said, studying his readings. "Your signature is indeed consistent with Surge ability, but there are slight discrepancies with standard Surge patterns. Within margin of error, but still notable."
"What does that mean?"
"We need a proper reading with your power active. Can you demonstrate your ability?"
Mark's stomach clenched. "I'm not sure if I can do it on demand. Last time I was fatally wounded when it happened, but I'll try."
The woman at the desk finally looked up, her interest apparently piqued by the mention of unusual circumstances. She had wild brown hair and intense green eyes behind thick glasses.
Mark closed his eyes and focused, trying to remember the sensation from the alley. The moment of dying, the fracturing of reality, the rush of infinite possibilities. He reached for that feeling, that strange stirring in his chest.
Then, as if flipping a switch, familiar colors erupted behind his eyelids. The world shattered like broken glass, and infinite versions of himself appeared, flying past at impossible speed. But this time, instead of the aristocratic gentleman with the rapier, a different version collided with him.
This Mark wore dark clothing with subtle technological elements. His eyes glowed with blue light, and fine scars traced along his temples. Chrome accents caught the laboratory lighting as reality reassembled itself around him.
Mark opened his eyes and immediately felt the difference. His vision had enhanced dramatically—he could see thermal signatures, electromagnetic fields, data streams flowing through the room's equipment. His right hand tingled with an unfamiliar sensation, as if invisible wires ran beneath his skin.
"Holy shit," he muttered, then caught himself. The words had come out with a slight edge, a confidence that felt foreign yet natural.
Behind him, the scanning device erupted in activity. Lights flashed, displays showed spiking readings, and alarms began to sound.
The woman at the desk shot to her feet, her eyes wide with excitement. "Sarah Breach," she said, introducing herself as she rushed to the machine. "This is incredible! Look at these readings!"
She gestured frantically at the displays showing energy patterns unlike anything in their database. "It's not in our classification system. We've discovered a new power! It's been at least ten years since the last documented new ability manifestation."
Mark turned to face them, his enhanced vision automatically analyzing their stress levels and biological responses. "What does that mean?"
The question came out exactly as he'd intended, but with an undertone of street-smart wariness that surprised him.
"Headlines, for one thing," Sarah said, her excitement barely contained. "Though you can choose anonymity if you prefer. More importantly, you get to name the ability. Standard protocol for new power discoveries."
Mark processed this information while his enhanced systems continued cataloging environmental data. The flow of information felt natural now, as if his mind had always been designed to handle multiple data streams simultaneously. "Does this mean I'm no longer F-rank?"
Sarah's grin widened. "Nothing is certain yet—we'll need further testing to determine classification parameters. But I seriously doubt this kind of ability could be classified as F-class." She paused, consulting her readings again. "For now, you'll be classified as Unknown until we can properly assess your capabilities. Unknown is also known as U-Class in our system—it's reserved for abilities that hasn't been properly classified."
Mark nodded, feeling the weight of transformation settling over him. His enhanced senses picked up electromagnetic signatures from every device in the room, while part of his mind instinctively understood systems and networks he'd never encountered before. The thermal patterns of the people around him painted a clear picture of their excitement and nervous energy.
Unknown. U-Class. After six years of being society's disappointment, he was finally something else entirely—something that couldn't even be categorized.
*
Mark emerged from the assessment center three hours later, feeling drained and slightly violated. The researchers had subjected him to every conceivable test while his transformation remained active—blood samples, neural scans, electromagnetic readings, and dozens of other procedures he couldn't even name.
The most startling discovery came when they analyzed his enhanced state. Sarah Breach had pulled him aside, her excitement barely contained as she explained their findings.
"Your cybernetic integration surpasses anything we've documented," she'd said, gesturing at readouts that meant nothing to Mark. "The Asahi Conglomerate leads the world in bio-tech enhancement, but your systems show advancement levels beyond their current capabilities. We're talking about technology that theoretically shouldn't exist yet."
Mark had nodded along, not really understanding the implications. All he knew was that his enhanced vision could dissect electronic systems with frightening clarity, and his body felt like it contained circuits he'd never installed.
Fortunately, the transformation had reverted after exactly two hours and fourteen minutes. Mark had felt the familiar shattering sensation as reality reassembled itself, leaving him back in his regular clothes with his normal vision. The relief was immediate—he'd been terrified they would keep him there all day, cataloguing every microscopic detail of his altered physiology.
When they'd asked him to demonstrate the ability again, Mark had tried. The moment he reached for it, a pain lanced through his skull like someone driving nails into his brain. The headache intensified until he had to stop, gasping and clutching his temples.
"Interesting," Sarah had muttered, making notes. "Appears to have a cooldown period. We'll need to determine the exact parameters during your comprehensive evaluation."
Unable to run further tests, they'd finally released him with an appointment scheduled for next month's more thorough assessment.
Mark walked down the government building's steps, muttering under his breath. "At least I'm not F-rank anymore."
The words felt strange on his tongue. After six years of carrying that designation like a brand of shame, being classified as something else than F-class felt surreal. Even temporary, it represented hope—the possibility that he might actually amount to something in the Starborn hierarchy.
"Unknown rank," he continued quietly, testing how it sounded. "Better than F-rank, anyway."
His mind wandered to possibilities. Maybe after proper testing, he'd achieve C-rank status. Hell, if he was really lucky, perhaps even B-rank. But he shouldn't get greedy—anything above F-rank would transform his entire existence.
The comprehensive evaluation next month would determine everything. They'd classify his ability properly, assign it an official name, and catalogue it in the global Starborn database. His life would finally move beyond the shadow of disappointment that had defined it since age twelve.
As he reached the building's entrance, Mark spotted the woman from the waiting room talking animatedly with someone outside. Her entire demeanor had changed—where before she'd radiated the defeated resignation Mark knew so well, now she practically glowed with excitement. Her smile stretched across her face as she gestured enthusiastically to her companion.
Clearly, her re-evaluation had gone well. Maybe she'd escaped F-rank classification entirely, or perhaps received the rank upgrade she'd hoped for. Either way, her obvious joy suggested a dramatic improvement from her previous status.
Mark considered approaching her. They'd shared that moment of mutual understanding in the waiting room, bonded briefly over the struggles of F-rank existence. Maybe she'd want to celebrate, or at least share what had happened during her assessment.
But he hesitated, then kept walking. Why would he intrude on her conversation? They'd barely exchanged a few words, and she was clearly occupied with someone important to her. Mark had no real reason to insert himself into her life, especially when she seemed so happy.
Besides, her situation was probably different from his. She'd mentioned being defaulted to F-rank after missing classification exams—meaning she'd only carried that burden for a year at most. Their experiences weren't really comparable.
Instead, he headed toward the transport station, his mind churning with possibilities. How would his life change now? Hopefully for the better, though he'd learned not to expect too much. He wouldn't truly celebrate until he received his final classification.
One month. In one month, everything would be decided.