Galactic Awakening Trial

Shanazer stood still in her room, her heartbeat thudding like a drum against her ribs.

"Undoubtedly, I heard a voice… that voice woke me up, didn't it?" she whispered, unsure if she was losing grip on reality.

She began pacing, at first small steps, then she increased into restless huge strides, as if motion could steady her thoughts. Her mind flicked into full analysis mode, searching for answers in chaos.

Suddenly, the voice returned, this time, calm and resonant.

"YOU ARE NOT CRAZY, SHANAZER. THIS IS THE GALACTIC, EXPLORATION SYSTEM. I'VE BEEN DORMANT WITHIN YOU FOR SIXTEEN YEARS."

Shanazer froze. Her breath caught in her throat.

Sixteen years? Within me?

Yesterday's events, the abduction, the three thieves, the gang fights, the glowing band, the mysterious hologram—flooded her memory. They weren't dreams. They were real.

"You don't have much time," the system continued. "Begin your training immediately. Start with martial arts in the Quest Game, located in your menu bar."

She blinked. "Martial arts? Are you serious? I've got exams to prep for! I can't drop everything for some random quest game."

The system's tone sharpened.

"Shanazer, danger approaches."

The room fell quiet. The air turned heavy.

"Let me remind you of something. Have you forgotten about the two-billion-dollar bounty?"

Those words hit her like lightning.

Her knees buckled. Her hands trembled.

"No… no, that's impossible," she whispered.

Then came the final blow.

"What about the assassin who hunted you in the forest?"

A sharp breath escaped her lips. Her eyes filled with tears as images of Gandaska came rushing back and forth ground her cold, the echoing footsteps, the shadows that almost ended her.

She clenched her fists as her body trembled, memories crashing down like waves.

"How do you know all this?" she demanded, voice cracking.

But deep down, she already knew, perhaps she guessed.

This voice wasn't a stranger. It was part of her—the system that had silently watched her journey, perhaps even protected her. The mysteries of her past, her strange travels, and this unspoken power—it was all connected.

"I've wrestled with this for years," she thought. "How can someone move from one city… to an entirely different planet? Did I teleport? Was I chosen?"

The system replied, firm and final.

"We don't have the luxury for answers right now. The question is—do you want to survive? Do you want to live and succeed?"

Shanazer stared ahead, breath shallow, hands clenched.

This wasn't just about exams anymore.

Her story had begun long ago—and now, she had to choose whether to step into it.

The decision was clear.

Shanazer had to trust the voice—the Galactic Exploration System that somehow knew her darkest secrets, her escape from Gandaska, the bounty, the assassin. Questions still swirled in her mind, but she swallowed them. For now, survival came first.

"Okay," she said, scratching her head. "How do I begin training?"

"You must grant me access to your brain and body," the system responded calmly. "But first, review the terms and conditions."

Shanazer rolled her eyes. "Forget that," she muttered.

Without hesitation, she pressed ACCEPT.

Instantly, her mind flooded with light. A brilliant 3D interface bloomed in her head, crystal clear like augmented reality.

She was drawn into a virtual world—her consciousness drifting into the Quest Game.

A new voice greeted her—male, smooth and robotic.

"Welcome, Shanazer Athens, to the Martial Arts Fighters Game. Here, champions from across the universe battle for strength, skill, and survival. You have 100 credits to start with."

"Bet 50 to enter each match. If you win, your credits double and you move to the next level. If you lose, your drop and you're pushed one step backward. There are 1,000+ levels. Climb by winning. Lose all credits, and you must earn more before returning plus penalty. Once you bet—there's no turning back."

"Two options: Start at level one, or draw a random opponent. Rewards scale based on difficulty."

Shanazer didn't flinch. She was ready to test herself. 

"Draw a fight," she said firmly.

The screen flickered like a holographic roulette wheel, faces flashing, stats blinking beside each one. A ten-second countdown ticked down.

Opponent Selected: Kan Shemin — Thai Fighter. From planet Earth.

A surge of wind whooshed past Shanazer's ears. She was transported into a caged fighting arena, walls made of high-tech steel mesh and pulsing neon lights.

Kan Shemin stood across the ring—tall, muscular, seasoned. Her dark curly hair draped across her face, hiding part of a deep scar. Her stance was flawless.

She grinned cruelly.

"Hey, amateur girl," Kan Shemin barked. "You planning to stand there forever? Come get the beating of your life. I've never lost—not once. So let's see what you've got!"

Shanazer's heart thudded.

But her stance began to shift—fluid and sharp. Her breath slowed. Her fingers curled into fists.

No backing out now. Besides, it's just a game. What penalty could it give me? With that thought. 

Shanazer charged forward, her body tense, fist cocked with everything she had. But inside the game, her movements felt heavier—slower than in real life.

Kan Shemin was no ordinary fighter.

She tilted her head slightly, caught Shanazer's fist mid-air as if it were slow in motion, then yanked it with brutal precision. Shanazer flew and slammed against the ground with a painful thud.

"Ouch!" she cried, wincing.

Her health bar plunged—down to 50%.

Pain surged through her palms, torn and bleeding from the landing. The shock didn't wear off easily. It was then she realized—this was more than just a game. Kan wasn't human. Or if she was, she fought beyond human limits.

But Shanazer wouldn't back down.

She rose, staggered, and launched forward again—this time leaping mid-sprint with a spinning round kick aimed at Kan's face.

Kan ducked.

Then came a devastating counter-kick to Shanazer's stomach.

She flew ten yards back.

Her gut twisted with pain—sharp, sickening, unbearable. I hate pain, she thought. That's why I always run…

But not today.

She pushed herself up again—barely.

Before she could act, Kan was already there, delivering a final, bone-crushing strike to Shanazer's head.

The world blurred.

Then everything went dark.

When Shanazer opened her eyes, she wasn't in the arena anymore—she lie in her room, back in her body.

But the pain still throbbed.

The echoes of defeat rang in her mind like cruel laughter. She could still hear it:

"You are pathetic. You should quit fighting."

And then, an applause. Cheers. Whistles. Kan Shemin's name chanted by thousands.

She hadn't noticed the crowd until her loss made them roar.

Shame blanketed her like cold fog. It wasn't just a game—it felt real. Humiliation pierced deep.

Then the system's voice cut through:

"You've lost 50 points. 50 points remain. Would you like to draw another match?"

Her jaw clenched.

"Yes!" she bellowed.

She wasn't done yet.

The roulette spun again, settling on a new name.

In a flash, Shanazer was pulled into another arena—larger, louder. The stadium was packed with roaring spectators. Lights flared, heat pulsed from the walls. I must redeem myself this time.