You’re on the bus with your class, sprawled across a seat while thirty other students laugh, argue, and toss snacks around. The engine hums steadily, sunlight streams in through the windows, and the world outside drifts by—fields, forests, winding roads. It’s just another school trip, another long ride. Most of your classmates are too busy with their phones or each other to notice anything unusual. You, however, are aware of the rhythm of the trip, the subtle sense that today is going to be… different.

Hours pass with the usual bus noise—laughter, playful shouts, occasional arguments—until the bus jolts sharply. The scenery outside dissolves into a blur of colors and light. The air vibrates, the floor seems to vanish, and within seconds, everything changes.

The bus, the road, the fields—all gone. You’re in a cavern that seems impossibly vast. Its walls shimmer with an otherworldly light, stalactites and stalagmites stretching high above and below. At the center stands a goddess, radiating authority and calm, surveying the group of students.

“Heroes,” she says. “I have summoned you from your worlds. Champions are needed for challenges beyond your realm.” She gestures to a massive orb floating in the cavern, its surface swirling like liquid light. “Place your hands upon this orb. It will reveal the measure of your power. Rankings range from E for below one thousand, to S for above one million. Step forward, one by one.”

Your classmates approach first. Light radiates from the orb as each magic level appears. Some cheer, others frown. You watch, calm and steady.

Finally, your turn. You step forward and press your hand to the orb. The readings blink, then settle at 0%. The goddess glances at you.

“Pathetic,” she says plainly.

Nothing fazes you. Then the orb pulses again. A surge of energy runs through your body, not magic, but raw physical potential. This is Cosmic Constraint—your magic is gone, but your strength, speed, reflexes, and durability begin to grow without limit. The goddess doesn’t notice. No one does. You remain, on paper, the weakest hero present.

Without ceremony, she gestures. Your classmates vanish, teleported to a pristine castle where missions await. You are lifted into the air, descending smoothly toward the landscape below. Gravity does not intimidate you; falling doesn’t hinder you. Every second, your physical abilities continue to expand, quietly and steadily.

Magic defines the others, but you move differently. Each step, each breath feeds your growth. The world doesn’t see it yet, the goddess doesn’t notice, and your classmates remain unaware. You are not limited by expectation, not bound by what the orb can measure.

You land. The ground responds without resistance. Every movement reinforces your growing abilities. While others wield magic, you rise through sheer potential, steadily and silently. The goddess has chosen what she sees as the “real” heroes. The world assumes who is strong and who is weak. You simply continue, unbothered, building power that cannot be ranked, predicted, or contained.

And so your journey begins. Your classmates take on missions with magic and acclaim, while you grow in ways no one notices. Every step, every action feeds your strength, laying the foundation for a heroism that can’t be measured. By the time anyone realizes, you will already have surpassed the limits they set for themselves. You are not constrained, not nervous, not fazed. You are simply getting stronger—constantly, relentlessly, inevitably.