Summoned as an SSS-Rank Hero… with My Stepmom and Stepsisters?!

The silence pressed down on me—exhaustion, not calm; the kind that settles in after you've repeated the same ritual to the point of nausea.

Every morning, I sat at the center of the mana chamber, cross-legged, back straight, hands resting on my knees. The runes beneath me pulsed faintly, casting thin gold across the stone. Dawn's light mingled with their glow—warm and cold at once.

I drew a slow breath and let the filaments of mana pour into my body. They slipped beneath my skin like rivers of molten gold. At first, it was almost pleasant—the contained, familiar warmth. Then, inevitably, it reached my right eye. And the workings inside me slipped off their hinges.

The pain returned—keen, cutting—like a blade wedged behind my socket. I could not bear it, and yet I refused to yield.

I forced it. Again, and again.

Mana scraped through my veins; my muscles knotted; my teeth clenched so hard I thought I felt them crack.

My skull thrummed with every heartbeat. My ragged breathing filled the room, striking the walls like a strangled cry.

Hold. Breathe. Make it bend.

I repeated those words every session. And every time it ended the same: the mana won, the pain rose, and I kept going. Pathetic, perhaps. I kept going. I would not be ruled by this fire. I meant to master it, to tame it. The more it resisted, the more certain I became that I had to go further.

When the burning grew unbearable, I lost control. The current turned on me. The room shuddered, the runes flickered, and the heat became thunder under my skin. I folded forward, breath severed, one hand pressed to my brow. Cold stone met my trembling fingers; blood salted my tongue; sweat streamed along my arms.

My kimono clung to me, soaked through. My heart was burning.

Something was wrong.

I stayed crouched, head bowed, chest heaving. Beneath the eyepatch a pressure pulsed—not a heartbeat; worse. It throbbed out of rhythm, irregular, almost aware. Each pulse sent a tremor down my neck, a jolt I could not ignore. It felt alive—and that terrified me.

This was not normal. Not merely a scar. Something else lay beneath.

I leaned back to the wall. The chill bit into me and drew a groan from my chest. My strength was ebbing. My legs shook. My fingers had gone numb. Mana—the force I was meant to understand—rejected me. I ought to have been improving; instead I felt myself splintering inside.

When I finally stood, my muscles screamed. I tugged at the kimono, the fabric stuck to my skin. My hands slid across my chest—trained, yes, but fissured beneath the surface.

I might have grown stronger, yet each day I felt myself slipping further behind.

I stood there a moment, head lowered, fighting for breath. The bitter taste of failure clung to my throat.

If I kept this up, I would break.

A faint creak drew my gaze. The door had opened. Reina stood in the frame, arms crossed, expression even. Her eyes swept the room, then me. She saw everything—the sweat, the laboring breath, the fatigue—and gave none of it away.

— Still standing? she asked, in a casual tone that rang false.

I forced a smile.

— "Standing" is generous.

She arched an eyebrow.

— So long as you aren't dead, I count it a victory.

I let out a dry, joyless laugh.

— One day you'll regret saying that.

— Perhaps, she said simply. For now you are breathing. That will do.

I wiped my brow with the back of my hand. Her practiced detachment—thin as paper now. Beneath the barbs, something else: a concern she would never own.

I picked up my belt, fastened my kimono roughly, and set off. Reina stepped aside without a word, letting me pass. I felt her gaze on my back—heavy, almost reproving. She knew something was wrong. So did I. But as long as I could still walk… I would go on.

Reina led me to our club quarters.

The corridor unspooled as a row of ancient doors, engraved with the sigils of guilds long gone. As we advanced, I wondered which dusty corner they had found for our Azure Pact.

I expected a bare, cold room—one of those places nobody wanted.

Instead, I froze.

The door opened not on a room but a penthouse—or near enough: polished floors; enchanted panes filtering a dim, tempered light; black leather couches set like islands of luxury in a sea that smelled faintly of parchment. The most striking thing was not the beauty but the chaos reigning at its heart. Mountains of papers, scrolls in confusion, bundles tied with string; everywhere the same inscription, a litany: "Application to Join the Azure Pact."

I stood a moment, undecided between laughter and nausea. Reina did not look up from her stack. Her calm cut like cold water.

— What is all this? I asked at last.

She sighed—no malice, only weariness.

— Your legend, she said. Every human club in the Academy dissolved to join yours.

I choked.

— Every club?!

— Every one. Even the poetry circle. And the weaving guild.

The image of an army of devout embroiderers nearly felled me. I could not hold back a smile edged with dread.

— Wonderful… I'm now the leader of an army of embroidery zealots.

Reina let out a short, sincere laugh. The first honest warmth of the morning, and it surprised me more than I would have thought.

She rose, gathered a few sheets with a precision that defied the surrounding chaos, then came to me, a folder in hand.

— You wanted a solid base, she said. Here it is. But you will have to learn to lead it.

Lead. The word fell with unexpected weight.

— First, I want to know which fools started this cult, I answered, equal parts bitter and curious.

— Excellent. They're coming. The six prime movers of your legend in the Academy, the ones who have been fighting your battle in the shadows since you arrived. I've already summoned them.

She slid the folder to me like a weapon, mid-battle. Her fingers brushed mine—a brief, almost accidental touch, enough to remind me she was there, always upright, always at her post, quietly repairing what I left in my wake.

I looked at her a heartbeat too long. She feigned reading, but I knew she was listening.

— You know, I said softly, you've been here since the start. When everything came apart, when even I didn't know why I was here… you stayed.

She did not move, though her shoulder tightened, barely.

— You held me up without asking anything. Without you, I would have burned this academy down already.

A small, awkward smile found me.

— You're the mind behind all this, Reina. I make the noise; you steer the ship.

I paused, then breathed:

— Thank you, Reina. Truly. You are cut for a crown.

She went still, then raised her eyes. A faint color touched her cheeks before she shoved the folder against my chest with a brisk gesture.

— Take it, she said. And be quiet before I change my mind.

Her tone sought firmness, but her voice trembled—just enough to make me want to laugh. Not in mockery. In tenderness. I didn't. I would not press her when she let the mask slip.

I opened the folder. Names, brief notes, a small profile for each. I almost smiled again—not because it amused me, but because it finally felt real: people wanted to follow me. Strangers, with their ambitions, their flaws, their faith or their folly. My chest tightened with a new feeling—half pride, half fear.

— A legend, is it? I murmured, without conviction. It looks more like a farce.

The words slid past my lips, but behind the mockery something pricked: responsibility. I tucked the folder beneath my arm and felt the paper's weight settle like iron on my shoulders.

— So be it, I added, lower, harder. If the world insists on putting me on a throne, I'll make them rue the choice.

Reina's smile was indecipherable. She knew me too well to take the bravado at face value. She set her hand on the folder, marking it—and me—in the same motion.

— Perfect, she said. Then let's begin by learning not to devour our own. Agreed?

I held her gaze. In her eyes, a flicker that might have been mischief tangled with resolve. That we was not a simple pronoun: it was a contract. A pledge beyond two tired bodies and my fits of pain.

Around us, the papers continued to command the space, silent and insistent. For a moment, it felt as if each scroll waited to be read before deciding the fate of the world—or at least ours.

I drew a deep breath; the burn beneath the eyepatch still throbbed; and my resolve returned, cold and clear.

— All right, I said. Bring them in. Let's show them who we are—and why no one walks over us.

Reina nodded, satisfied. Without ceremony she came to stand beside me, ready to open the first door onto this new order. I wondered if I was ready. The answer, again, was: it did not matter. I was the only one who could do it.

So I forced a smile—true, this time—and waited.

Six silhouettes crossed the threshold. A breath, almost tangible, moved through the room. The mana in the air vibrated, as if recognizing six distinct sources of power. That alone told me enough: they were strong. No apprentices. No onlookers.

I straightened.

— Enter.

They obeyed without a word, fanning into a shallow arc before me, postures straight, deliberate. Even in silence a tacit hierarchy held among them, an invisible balance. Predators measuring each other without baring teeth.

I spoke first, to set the tone.

— Welcome to the Azure Pact.

My voice rang clearer than I had expected—steady, unshaken.

— I'm Kaito, the name you will want to remember, I said with a smile more challenge than courtesy.

A brief hush followed. I lifted a hand toward Reina, calm and upright at my side.

— This is Reina. My second—and the mind of the Club. If anything functions here, it is likely thanks to her.

Reina inclined her head without a smile. Their gazes turned to her—and from the way some lowered their eyes, I knew even nobles recognized natural authority.

Perfect, I thought. Less pressure on me.

I studied them a moment. Each carried a distinct gleam under the runelight.

— Now you, I said. Tell me who you are, where you come from… and what you're made of.

The first to step forward was a young woman with pale-pink hair braided neatly. Silver-rimmed glasses slid down her nose as she spoke in a clear, almost musical voice.

— Lyss Ardelia, of House Ardelia, Lumeris. Third heir. Graduate of the Royal Alchemists' Guild.

She paused, a corner-smile.

— I prefer controlled explosions.

Her gaze sparkled behind the lenses: intelligence and danger, one flame you could not approach without risking the burn.

A brilliant pyromancer's mind, danger contained. Interesting.

The next was tall, platinum-blond, posture rigid as armor. Steel-gray eyes dissected without mercy. He spoke with a soldier's concision.

— Erius Varn, from the fortified city of Dreyn. Strategist by training, son of the commander of the Silver Legion.

His tone cooled further.

— I was told you have fought dragons—and survived a battle with a primordial. Impressive. I would learn at your side.

I could not help the smile. Logic. Discipline. A strategist who sees only the board and its pieces.

The third came forward without any show.

Tanned skin, a jaw scored by an old scar, short dark hair, a gaze that burned—heat radiated before he spoke.

— Kairen Holt, of the Varahn Desert, he said. No noble house, no pedigree. Only what I learned when there was nothing but sand and sweat.

He let a hard, honest smile slip.

— If you want clean hands that talk too much, you've got the wrong man. If you want someone who will get dirty so things move… I'm him.

A commoner. True. And, paradoxically, the only one who sent a small chill through me.

Ordinarily he is the hero of the classic tale, I thought—the child of the people, promised greatness, destiny, the princess after a hundred chapters.

I found myself smiling: this time, the cliché is mine to play; I am the sole SSS-rank hero.

The fourth approached in silence. Silver hair fell over one eye; an amused expression seemed fixed there. His clothes were too fine by a degree; a slender, carved scepter rested in his hand. When he spoke, it was in a lazy drawl fit for a bored aristocrat.

— Luno Ferrel, minor house of the Keryne duchy. Illusion and diversion.

He smirked.

— Commanding an army or a harem—same craft, truly. Only the tempers differ.

I laughed outright, rough and genuine. Even Reina, famed for granite composure, smothered a smile behind her hand. The rest followed—hesitant at first, then freely.

Unruffled, Luno lifted a shoulder.

— That is usually the reaction, he murmured, slipping back into line.

The room settled, but a warmth remained—the kind that rises when people weigh one another and begin, against all odds, to respect what they find.

The fifth could not have been more different. Huge; skin inked with runes that pulsed faintly with each breath; eyes tranquil.

He set his hammer to his thigh, then bowed a fraction.

— Naël Toren, runesmith of Sarn. Son of no one—unless the stone itself counts.

He spoke slowly, without ornament.

— I came to build, not to destroy.

His voice carried a quiet gravity that commanded respect. Give that man a wall, he would raise a cathedral. Or a mausoleum, depending on the day.

The last to advance was a woman.

Navy hair cut short, taking on steely lights beneath the runes; golden eyes, cold but keen, measuring the room as if plotting firing angles.

Her dark-gray uniform bore an insignia I did not know: a crescent pierced by an arrow. No house I knew, no legion either. Perhaps a dissolved division, an escadron that survives only in the memory of those who did.

She stopped a few paces off, straight as a blade, hand to temple in a salute executed to perfection.

— Rynelle Kael, she said. North Veyra native. Daughter of a marksmanship instructor and a war cartographer. Sniper. Long-range recon.

Her voice did not waver, but it thrummed with restraint—every word weighed to betray nothing.

She folded her arms, chin slightly raised.

— I do not need authority. Only a clear objective.

No challenge, no insolence—only a bare truth. I watched her a moment. The unknown symbol, the glacial calm, the way she scarcely seemed to breathe—everything in her read like a warning. She would unnerve a demon at midnight—and silence it before it found its tongue.

The quiet that followed was heavy. Six gazes. Six presences. And in that moment the Azure Pact ceased to be an idea and became something living. Something had just been born—and I was lucid enough to know that this something might well inspire the next generation.