SSS Class Awakening: I Can Forge My Beast Soul Avatars
Chapter 1: Back to the past

Chapter 1: Back to the past

The sun was high at noon, radiating the usual high-intensity rays of sunlight that left everyone squinting as they stood outside.

Amongst them was Atlas.

Atlas squinted against the sunlight, his green iris constricting as he shaded his eyes from the incoming glare with his arms.

"Damn, what the hell?" he retorted as he struggled to recognize his environment.

Minutes ago, he was struggling in the deep, dark sea, trying his best to escape the sharp-edged teeth of a shark. Now, he was standing in a sunny courtyard.

He glanced around, and to his surprise, everything was familiar — which was unusual.

He was back at the orphanage. Every kid he remembered seeing there two years ago stood in line to receive lunch.

"What? What is all this? How did i get here?" he asked, staring at his grim, smaller hands.

His feet were small as well, his height shortened by a considerable amount. His hair was a full lemon green; he hadn’t cut it yet.

He glanced at all the familiar faces in the line, recognizing some of them as close friends and others as rivals and troublemakers.

"This... this is the past. But how? I returned to the past?" He stared in awe as he relived his past in real time.

It was not a flashback he was stuck in, or a dream, or a final memory his brain pulled up in his last moments. It was real.

He quickly touched himself, starting from the edges of his face down to his kneecaps. It was all real; nothing felt out of place or unusual.

He walked up to one of the kids standing in the line, his voice significantly younger and groggy. "Hey, what day is today? What is today’s date?" he asked suspiciously.

The kid, tired but still energized by the sight of the food being served, turned to face him with a confused expression written all over his face.

Not wanting to waste time, the boy quickly answered.

"Today? Today is Tuesday, the thirteenth day of October in the year twenty thirty-six," he answered, immediately turning his attention back to the line, not wanting to miss his turn or lose it to another.

Atlas staggered back, walked to a bench, and sat down to calm himself, his brain disoriented by the answer.

"Twenty thirty-six? That’s two years back in the past. How the hell did I get back two years into the past? Did I regress?" he muttered under his breath, his young voice making the question sound less serious than he meant.

According to his knowledge of the world, it was almost completely impossible to control time. The very few who could were only able to turn back time a day, and only when it was very much needed — not randomly.

But to be able to go back all the way to two years in the past? That was unheard of.

Suddenly, a strange sensation came from his stomach, accompanied by a drawn-out sound that resembled a hundred boars burping at the same time.

Atlas placed a hand on his stomach, the noise only increasing by the second.

’I am hungry.’ He stared at the line in front of him.

If he remembered correctly, today was a significant day for them, as the caretakers would later announce a major event that ended up changing his life for good.

That was the reason they served a feast-worthy meal today, meaning that if he was correct, the food they were serving was delicious.

He recalled the taste of the meal and how he had savored it, his mouth watering as he recalled the memory like it was yesterday.

’I could get a plate or two, though three doesn’t sound so bad.’ He rose to his feet and walked over to the line.

The line was not very long; the children at the orphanage weren’t numerous due to the expenses.

There were a total of twenty-four children living rent-free at the orphanage, and four caretakers who lived with them.

The orphanage was one of the lowest in the Northern Spire, a place where the lowest of the low inhabited. Nobody expected much from a place like this, as they barely survived everyday life.

"Next," a groggy female voice called out, her expression indifferent and stoic despite her relaxed posture.

She was Chef Maya, the one who cooked special meals at the orphanage. Her skills were exquisite and out of this world — at least for the kids at the orphanage.

Anytime there was an important occasion at the orphanage, she would be called up to cook the meal, and she never failed to deliver.

The kid in front of him took his plate and vanished into the dining hall to eat his food at one of the wooden tables.

"Next," she announced again, her eyes lingering on his face for a few seconds before she looked down at his hands. "Where’s your plate?"

He stared down at his empty, grim, dirty hands. He had totally forgotten to bring a plate along with him. If he recalled correctly, they were all given plates and told not to lose them, as they were required to be served food.

But that day, he had been feeling more mischievous than ever and decided to use the plate for one of his adventures down by the stream, successfully forgetting it there — hence his dirty fists.

"No plate," he responded, raising his eyes to meet hers.

"Then leave. No food for you," she said without a second thought, her expression still indifferent, as though his well-being didn’t bother her at all.

This wasn’t how it went the last time. In the old timeline, she was angry, quite alright, but she was still kind enough to pull a plate from the racks and hand it over to him so he could use it to grab a portion of food.

This time seemed to be different.

"But..." he mumbled, unable to finish his words as she cut him off immediately.

"I said leave. That is your punishment for going against a simple instruction," she commanded, her voice heavy against the noisy background.

Every kid immediately stopped whatever they were doing and turned toward him.

Using the little shame he had left, he walked out of the line.

He walked back to the bench he was sitting on earlier and sat back down, his expression annoyed. He was currently irritated and extremely angry. Without food, how was he going to survive?

They only fed them twice a day, once in the morning and once late in the evening, but today was a Sunday, so they had served earlier than usual.

So, he had exactly nineteen hours before he could eat breakfast, and there was no way he was going to survive nineteen hours without passing out.

He sighed under his breath, laying his head on the edge of the bench. ’This is not good.’

Before he could start wondering what to do, he heard the soft shuffling of feet, and then a female voice broke the silence.

"You can have mine. I don’t feel so hungry."