"What are you thinking?" Alisha asked me.
"You don't need to know."
"Nervous, right?" She's being annoying again. Look, I get it. This whole BTP thing... it's a lot of pressure."
"Shut up already," I mumbled, the anger a shield against the raw vulnerability I felt.
Then came the cutting remark from the sidelines. "Alisha, seriously? Why waste your breath? Even if he were remotely attractive – which, let's be honest, he's just... average – he's still the glitch, right? The one who can't even play the game properly?"
"Yeah," another voice snickered in agreement. "A walking, talking defect."
The word hit me like a physical blow. Defect. It echoed the silent fear that gnawed at me constantly. Because maybe, just maybe, I was a cosmic error, the sole individual cursed to stand still while the world surged forward.
But then, a warm hand clapped me on the shoulder. It was Torvin, his usual boisterous energy tempered with a quiet understanding. "Don't listen to those idiots, Shou. This test doesn't define you. We know who you are." Beside him, Elara offered a gentle nod, her eyes filled with unwavering support. They were my lifeline in this world that seemed determined to leave me behind. Their belief was a fragile shield against the world's judgment.
Here, power was the language everyone spoke, and leveling up was the dialect. Each surge of energy, each point added to your stats, was a step towards relevance. But the true aspiration, the strategic endgame, lay in the mystical art of Beast Taming. Your BTP was the key, the percentage that dictated your chances of forging a bond with a creature of might. And while the initial climb was fueled by levels, BTP stubbornly plateaued at sixteen, making this annual assessment a moment of intense scrutiny.
The beasts themselves were the ultimate power brokers, their ranks ascending from the mundane to the mythical. Taming them was an act of forceful subjugation, a human ambition that likely chafed their wild hearts. Whispers circulated of other, more subtle factors influencing the taming process, but those secrets remained locked away from someone like me.
The annual BTP check for all sixteen-year-olds was a grand, expensive undertaking. But it was deemed essential, a snapshot of future potential frozen in time. Sixteen was the turning point, the age where the window of opportunity began to close.
Today was my turn to face that judgment. A cold dread coiled in my stomach, a stark contrast to the nervous energy buzzing around me. BTP scores ranged from a disheartening 1% to a hopeful 35%, with legends whispered of outliers exceeding the 40% mark. Where would I fall on that spectrum of potential? Would I even register?
"Next one, Alisha Henituse!" the official called out, his voice echoing through the tense hall.
"You got this, Alisha!"
"Show them what you're capable of!"
She has lots of admirers
Alisha offered a confident grin. "Thanks, guys." Her eyes flickered towards me, a brief, almost hesitant glance, but I remained silent, my gaze fixed on the platform.
She moved with an easy grace, settling onto the designated chair. A nurse, efficient and professional, prepared the injection. The crimson blood was drawn, then mixed with the shimmering purple liquid. Arcane symbols glowed as officials chanted, their voices a low hum of magic. The process was intricate, baffling to my non-magical eyes. The digital screen above flickered, counting down the agonizing seconds. Finally, the number appeared:
[ 39.6% ]
A wave of impressed murmurs rippled through the room, followed by enthusiastic applause. "Magnificent, Alisha! Your future as a Beast Tamer is practically guaranteed!" the nurse beamed.
No beast ever wants to be tamed by humans, but beast taming forcibly makes them do it. If the beasts had their way, then maybe no beast would have been tamed. If you look closely, some other factors are also important for beast taming apart from BTP, but I don't have any of them.
Student after student followed, their scores respectable, some even good, but none reaching Alisha's impressive mark. The tension in the room remained palpable.
"Next one, Shou Shiroyanagi!"
My name hung in the air, a stark pronouncement. My breath hitched. This was it. The moment of truth, or perhaps, the confirmation of my inadequacy. To be honest, the result was all I cared about. Had my name been called first, I would have endured this ordeal and vanished without a trace.
"Look who it is, the brainy one," a sarcastic voice sneered.
"So what if he aces tests? He's still the useless one, isn't he?" came the immediate, cruel reply.
From my small circle of friends, a wave of quiet encouragement washed over me. "Shou, don't let their words get to you. Just focus." Torvin's voice was firm.
"Shou, don't pay attention to what others say, give your best."
"All the best shou."
"I hope he gets a decent percentage."
Some boys were making fun of me while girls were cheering for me.
Yes, I was the top student, a fact that held little significance in this world. Academic achievement was a hollow crown. Anyone with enough dedication could memorize facts and formulas. My intellectual pursuits were merely a refuge, a way to exercise the one part of me that seemed immune to the limitations of my defective body. I had spent countless hours pondering the intricacies of beast taming, the subtle nuances that might lie beyond the obvious BTP score.
As I made my way to the platform, a sudden, unexpected sensation jolted me. A hand had landed squarely on my rear. I spun around, my face flushing with a mixture of shock and annoyance. It was Mitsuki, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Before I could formulate a response, I instinctively slapped her hand away.
"Oh, lighten up, Shou," she giggled, completely unfazed by my reaction. "Hey, if your percentage turns out to be as abysmal as everyone predicts, how about you become my personal little pet? I promise to shower you with affection... in my own special way."
A retort sprang to my lips, sharp and laced with indignation, but the impatient cough of an official cut me off. With a frustrated sigh, I continued towards the platform. This casual objectification, this blatant disregard for my personal space, was a dishearteningly regular occurrence. Did they truly believe a bit of charm and a suggestive comment entitled them to such liberties?
The nurse offered me a kind smile. "A little nervous, aren't we?" she observed gently.
"Wouldn't you be?" I replied, the words carrying more weight than she could possibly know.
"Don't worry," she said soothingly. "I'll make the injection as painless as possible."
If only she understood. The physical discomfort was negligible compared to the agonizing anticipation of the number that would define my worth in this world.
The needle pricked my skin, a sharp sting that was quickly overshadowed by the icy grip of anxiety. My blood flowed, a tangible representation of the potential – or lack thereof – that lay within me.
The familiar procedure unfolded. My blood joined the purple liquid, the arcane chants filled the air, the magical examination commenced. My face, often described as innocent and even a little cute, a facade that inexplicably drew both the protective instincts of elders and the unwanted advances of girls, offered no clue to the storm raging within. They saw a harmless boy. They didn't see the desperate yearning for acceptance, the silent plea for a different fate.
The seconds stretched into an eternity. Finally, the screen flickered, the numbers resolving themselves into a stark, unyielding truth.