Han Joon-seok did not test his skill immediately.
That wasn't caution.
That was habit.
He'd grown up around awakeners long enough to know that the fastest way to get into trouble wasn't ambition—it was impatience. Powers didn't exist in a vacuum. Every skill had context, consequences, and usually, an owner who thought they understood it better than they actually did.
Growth-type abilities were no exception.
Especially not weak ones.
So instead of rushing home and experimenting on the first person he saw, Joon-seok did something far less exciting.
He read.
The Association's public database was extensive, if intentionally shallow. Thousands of documented skills, categorized and summarized with clean definitions and carefully chosen language. Growth-type skills alone filled several pages.
Most followed similar patterns.
Increase training efficiency by X percent.Reduce breakthrough time for low-rank awakeners.Temporary effect, diminishing returns.
The conclusions were always the same.
Useful early.Irrelevant late.
Joon-seok scrolled, eyes steady, mind quietly sorting patterns.
There were no recorded cases of growth skills affecting A-rankers meaningfully.
None for S-rankers at all.
That didn't bother him.
What bothered him was something else.
Definitions.
The system loved definitions.So did humans.
And most people stopped thinking once they had one.
The first test subject was accidental.
Joon-seok had stopped by a small Association-affiliated training center near his apartment—a modest place mostly used by low-rank awakeners who couldn't afford private facilities. It smelled faintly of disinfectant and sweat, the universal scent of effort.
He was there to observe.
That was all.
At least, that was the plan.
"Hey, kid. You're blocking the mirror."
Joon-seok turned to see a man in his mid-twenties, lean build, E-rank emblem clipped to his jacket. The man wiped sweat from his brow, looking irritated but not hostile.
"Sorry," Joon-seok said, stepping aside. "Didn't mean to."
The man squinted at him. "You awaken yet?"
"Yes."
"Rank?"
"E."
The man relaxed instantly, irritation evaporating. "Figures. Same boat."
They stood in silence for a moment, broken only by the dull thuds of people hitting training dummies.
Then the man spoke again. "What's your skill?"
Joon-seok hesitated.
Not long. Just enough to consider.
"Support," he said. "Growth-related."
The man blinked. Then laughed. "Seriously? That's rough."
"So I've heard."
"Hey, if you ever want to try it out, let me know," the man said casually. "Can't get worse than this."
It was said half as a joke.
Joon-seok smiled politely.
"Maybe," he replied.
The skill activation itself was… subtle.
There was no dramatic glow, no energy surge. Just a faint system confirmation at the edge of his vision.
Target Selected
Skill Activated: Growth Acceleration (Low Tier)
The man stiffened slightly.
"…Huh," he muttered. "That's weird."
"What is?" Joon-seok asked.
"Feels like my body's warmer. Like after a good stretch."
That matched the database description.
For the next thirty minutes, Joon-seok watched.
The man trained as usual—basic strength drills, repeated movements, nothing special. At first, there was no visible difference.
Then, gradually—
"Wait."
The man paused mid-set, staring at his hands.
"I've been stuck at twelve reps for weeks," he said slowly. "That last one felt… easier."
Joon-seok checked the time.
Thirty-seven minutes since activation.
He nodded once. "Probably just a good day."
"Yeah," the man agreed, though he didn't sound convinced.
They parted shortly after.
Joon-seok left the center with calm steps, heart beating just a little faster than usual.
The result wasn't shocking.
What mattered was consistency.
Over the next week, Joon-seok tested carefully.
Different people.Different times.Different conditions.
Rookies showed noticeable improvement within hours. Late awakeners responded even faster. People who trained inconsistently benefited the most.
All of that was expected.
But there was something else.
The effect didn't fade as quickly as the database suggested.
More importantly—
It stacked.
Not infinitely. Not explosively.
But measurably.
That alone made the skill unusual.
Still, nothing world-shaking.
Yet.
The real anomaly appeared on the eighth day.
It happened during a guild training session he had no business attending.
Se-rin's guild—White Fang—was running a closed-door evaluation for new recruits. Joon-seok was there officially as a "logistics observer," which was Association code for don't touch anything.
He intended to do exactly that.
Unfortunately, someone else had other ideas.
"Hey, isn't that the boss's brother?"
Joon-seok froze internally.
A few heads turned.
"Yeah, that's him.""E-rank, right?""Support type."
He sighed.
Before he could escape, a young man stepped forward, grinning nervously. "Uh… could you maybe use your skill on me?"
Silence fell.
Se-rin turned slowly.
Her stare alone could have ended small wars.
Joon-seok raised his hands slightly. "I wasn't planning to—"
"It's fine," she said after a moment. "One time. Low output."
She looked at the recruit. "If anything feels wrong, you stop immediately."
The recruit nodded so fast he nearly hurt his neck.
Joon-seok swallowed.
This wasn't ideal.
But it was an opportunity.
He activated the skill.
Target Selected
Skill Activated: Growth Acceleration (Low Tier)
The recruit inhaled sharply.
"…Whoa."
"What?" someone asked.
"I—my senses feel clearer," he said, blinking. "Like everything's sharper."
Se-rin frowned slightly. "That's not standard."
Training resumed.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
The recruit moved better. Cleaner. Faster.
Still within acceptable variance.
But Joon-seok wasn't watching his body.
He was watching something else.
A faint thread.
He couldn't see it, not really—but he could feel it. A connection. Weak, fleeting, but undeniably present.
Information brushed against his awareness.
Not thoughts.
Not memories.
Something closer to… perspective.
His breath caught.
That wasn't in the description.
The moment the skill ended, the sensation vanished.
Joon-seok exhaled slowly.
No one noticed.
No one except him.
That night, he sat alone in his room, lights off, city glow filtering through the window.
Growth acceleration.
That was the name.
That was the definition.
But what he'd felt wasn't growth.
It was alignment.
Synchronization.
Like his skill didn't just push others forward—
It adjusted how they moved along their path.
Joon-seok stared at the ceiling.
"…So that's it."
A support skill.
Low-tier.
E-rank.
He smiled faintly.
"Definitions really are incomplete."