《Reincarnated as an Extra in a Blatant Cliché》


 Chapter 1: How Indecorous!

    "I told you to stop following me! You''re acting like a damn lapdog!"


    [Slap.]


    The echo of the blow expanded through the air, dry and resonant, leaving silence in its wake. His head snapped to the side, the burning sensation on his cheek spreading almost instantly, but the physical pain was insignificant compared to the whirlwind of confusion flooding his mind at that moment. Absolute bewilderment.


    In front of him, a girl¡ªno older than twelve¡ªstood with long, loose hair falling in fine strands around her face, twisted in fury. Her eyes, cold as daggers, flashed with a strange mixture of emotions: anger, contempt, and perhaps... fear? Sadness? It was impossible to tell.


    Her delicate face was contorted in a grimace of anger, yet it couldn''t entirely erase the youthful beauty she possessed. She was yelling at him, yes, but for some reason, her voice seemed unable to pierce the haze of his daze.


    Unnoticed by him, curious glances, venomous whispers, and mocking laughter from young students rolled in like a rising tide¡ªa voracious sea eager to devour the scene unfolding before them. A grand spectacle to enjoy along with their meals in that academic dining hall.


    "He had it coming. A beggar like him should never have aspired to the attention of the top-ranked student in the first year."


    "He should stay where he belongs¡­ in misery, like the trash he is."


    "I don''t understand how she put up with having that commoner follow her everywhere, clinging to her like filth itself."


    The words floated in the air, sharp as blades, sliding into his skin, condemning him with an inescapable verdict. A punishment that¡­ wasn''t meant for ears that cared.


    What the hell¡­ was happening? His skull throbbed with a relentless pain, as if invisible hands were crushing it with the force of a hydraulic press, preventing his thoughts from aligning. Instinctively, he raised a slow, hesitant hand to his cheek. The sting was real. The slap had been real. And that girl''s shouting was real, too¡ªit felt almost tangible, like a growing pressure beginning to irritate him.


    "Alright¡­ I get it, I''ll leave you alone," he muttered. But the moment the words left his mouth, something unsettled him. His own voice sounded strange, foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. And the most disturbing thing of all: it was a language he didn''t know, and yet, he understood every syllable he uttered, every word perfectly comprehensible.


    A chill ran down his spine. Something inside him was out of place, misaligned, out of its comfort zone¡ªlike a puzzle piece forced into the wrong slot.


    The girl reacted the instant he spoke; her eyes widened, reflecting surprise and a hint of fear. "Are you serious?" she asked, her voice slightly trembling, as if she couldn''t believe what she had just heard.


    What the hell? He thought. Wasn''t she the one who had just demanded that he leave her alone? Why the sudden change in attitude? And more importantly: why did every word he spoke seem incomprehensible yet understandable at the same time?


    The pressure in his head intensified. The pain turned into a fierce stab, drilling into his skull. He clenched his fists tightly to resist the urge to grind his teeth. But what truly exasperated him was the noise¡ªthe girl''s voice and those of others, voices he couldn''t recognize or hear clearly. Every word, every sharp exclamation, pounded against his temples like an unrelenting hammer.


    "I don''t want to deal with this right now," he thought, clinging to the last thread of coherence he had left. The whole situation was ridiculous, even degrading.


    "Yeah, now get lost," he said, this time in a firmer tone. He raised his hand and waved his fingers, as if shooing away a bothersome animal. "Shoo-shoo, stop annoying me."


    His own gesture unsettled him. Since when had he stooped to arguing with a brat? This was low¡ªeven for him.


    The girl, who moments ago had struck him without hesitation, now seemed strangely unsettled. Her expression twisted into something indecipherable, as if she had just tasted something bitter or as if a deep anguish was gnawing at her from within. Who knew? He certainly didn''t care.


    The pain in his head was too much, and he had no intention of prolonging this interaction any longer than necessary. If she wouldn''t leave, then he would. He turned abruptly, determined to leave her behind. He didn''t care if she yelled at him again. Not even if¡­


    "Wa¡­ wait."


    Her voice. There was something in her voice. Something that made him stop for an instant. It sounded fragile, almost desperate. Something inside his chest tightened. Why? Why did that plea make him hesitate? Why did he feel such a sharp pang of frustration? He didn''t understand. He didn''t even want to try. He just wanted to close his eyes and wake up from this nightmare.


    The cold wind caressed his face. Something felt strange.


    Had the air always been this crisp?


    A foreboding sensation, as cold as the wind itself, ran down his skin. Instinctively, he raised a hand, trying to grasp what was out of place. And then he felt it: tears.


    He was crying.


    Why? There was no reason for it. No logic behind it.


    The moisture on his face unsettled him. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt toward him. Had the ground always been this close? Questions piled up in his mind, but none found an answer. Not at that moment. Not in that situation.


    The pain in his head reached its peak, like a deafening roar. His body grew heavy, his will crumbled. And then, without warning, he collapsed.


    Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he fell without resistance. Darkness swallowed him instantly¡ªdeep, impenetrable, and infinite.


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    "The stars do not shine upon this kingdom by mere whim, but because each one is the echo of a hero who never returned."


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡ªExcerpt from Volume 1 of The Reborn Hero.


    [Awaken.]


    When his eyes opened, an ambiguous sensation enveloped him¡ªan odd balance between the familiar and the unknown. It was like waking from a dream that had lasted too long, or shaking off the lethargy of a brutal hangover, the kind that left more regret than memories.


    And he expected¡ªalmost instinctively¡ªto find himself back in his tiny, cluttered apartment, buried under wrinkled sheets, with the endless hum of morning traffic seeping through the window. Maybe he''d mull over the strange dream he had, the one that would probably haunt him all morning until coffee dulled its impact.


    But the reality that greeted him was something entirely different. And unwanted.


    A warm light spilled into the room, illuminating a spacious and pristine space, with an elegance that didn''t fit into his daily life. He lay on a mattress so soft it almost felt like floating, wrapped in sheets of fine, silky fabric¡ªunreal in their luxury. The furniture around him seemed pulled from a distant era, their design evoking the royalty of centuries past, yet still feeling functional. Lace curtains filtered the sunlight with an ethereal, almost divine glow.


    The air was thick, filled with the scent of lavender and something else¡ªsomething he couldn''t quite place.


    And in front of him, a woman watched him in silence.


    Her beauty was¡­ dazzling, almost unreal. As if she didn''t belong to this world¡ªor to any world he knew. She carried an air of unshakable calm, the kind of serenity possessed only by those who existed beyond worldly concerns. Her nurse''s uniform, with its elegant, old-fashioned cut, looked as though it had been lifted from a 19th-century portrait. Her deep, tranquil blue eyes rested on him with a familiarity that unsettled him, and for a moment, he felt inclined to ask for her number¡ªthough something about the atmosphere told him that wouldn''t be the appropriate thing to do.


    "How¡­ strange," he thought. The entire situation was, really.


    "Bri¨¢n¡­ I''m glad you''re okay," she said gently, her voice so soft it seemed to wrap around him. "Fortunately, it was just a severe case of mana exhaustion."


    Bri¨¢n.


    The name echoed in his mind like a hollow refrain. He found nothing in his memory to answer its call.


    So then¡­ who the hell was Bri¨¢n?


    His first instinct was to shield his eyes with his arm. The sunlight was strangely intense, blinding in its golden radiance. But when his fingers brushed against his face, the confusion sank even deeper into his chest.


    His skin¡­ didn''t feel like his own.


    It lacked the roughness he remembered. His hands, once hardened by time and routine, were now soft, young, unblemished.


    Panic crept down his spine like a shiver.


    He wanted to believe this was a dream. A hallucination, a trick of his subconscious. But everything¡­ felt too real.


    Then, the woman moved, interrupting his spiral of thoughts. She walked with the same serene grace toward a small table beside the bed and picked up a glass vial, its interior glowing with a bright blue liquid.


    "This will make you feel better for the rest of the day," she said, uncorking the vial with an almost choreographed elegance before offering it to him with a faint smile. "Now¡­ drink it quickly."


    There was no choice. His eyes flickered between her and the vial. He knew there was no escape. The nurse''s posture was firm¡ªthe kind that promised complaints if her request wasn''t followed. With a quiet sigh, he took the vial and, after a second of hesitation, brought it to his lips.


    The liquid was surprisingly sweet, but the moment he swallowed, a metallic aftertaste slid across his tongue. It felt like drinking liquid electricity.


    He had to suppress a grimace. He didn''t want to appear rude, not in front of a woman who seemed so assured of what she was doing.


    "Good. In five minutes, you''ll be able to get up and leave," the nurse said with the same unwavering calm. "You collapsed from mana exhaustion, but with some rest, you''ll be fine. And no physical activity, Bri¨¢n."


    That name again. A hammer blow to his mind.


    He brought a hand to his head, relieved that the pain had faded. But the confusion remained, crashing over him like an unstoppable wave. He glanced around again, searching for an anchor to reality. Some sign of familiarity. But all he found was the same opulence, the same luxury that felt alien to his life.


    The blonde woman observed him for a moment longer, her eyes scanning him with a meticulous calm, as if she were assessing every nuance of his condition. When she seemed satisfied with her silent examination, she gave a slight nod and turned, walking toward the door with the same serene grace. A moment later, the grand room was left in complete silence.


    He took a deep breath. Tried to steady himself.


    But his mind was an untamed whirlwind, a storm of questions, with one rising above all the others: Who the hell was Bri¨¢n?


    He forced himself to move.


    With cautious motions, he sat up at the edge of the bed. His body responded clumsily, as if each muscle was trying to remember how to function. A strange sensation overtook his legs¡ªthey didn''t hurt, but they didn''t quite feel like his own, either.


    Then, a strand of hair fell across his face. Automatically, he brushed it aside with his hand¡ªonly for his entire body to freeze.


    Hair¡­ green.


    His breath caught in his throat.


    He took another strand between his fingers, examining it with growing desperation. Long, silky, a shade of aquamarine green that made no sense. Disbelief pierced through him like an icy shiver.


    Then, he looked at his hands. Small. Delicate.


    They weren''t his.


    The pounding of his heart thundered in his ears. With reckless urgency, he tried to jump to his feet¡­ or at least he attempted to. His legs faltered, barely managing to keep his balance before he stumbled clumsily. Something was terribly wrong.


    This can''t be happening.


    He staggered toward the nearest door, instinctively believing it led to a bathroom. His breathing turned erratic as his mind clung to the possibility that this was just a nightmare. He just had to look in the mirror. See his face. See that everything was fine.


    But the moment he crossed the threshold and his eyes met his reflection¡­ the entire world seemed to collapse. The shock nearly knocked him backward.


    The image staring back at him was not his own.


    What looked at him from the other side was not the face of a twenty-year-old man, but that of a child. No older than twelve. His skin was smoother, his face sharper, his eyes¡­ an intense aquamarine, reflecting the same bewilderment he felt inside. And his hair, that damn hair, fell in soft waves over his forehead, undeniable proof that none of this was a dream.


    His mouth opened, but no words came out.


    Only a trembling whisper, an almost inaudible denial:


    "No¡­ this can''t be¡­."


    Slowly, with shaking hands, he touched his face, but the skin beneath his fingers did not lie. The mirror did not lie.


    Reality crashed down on him like an avalanche, unstoppable and absolute.


    An unbearable cold coiled in his chest, crawling from his stomach to his throat. The pressure was suffocating, his heart pounding so violently he feared it would burst from his chest.


    This isn''t real.


    This isn''t real.


    THIS ISN''T REAL!


    And then, in a desperate act, he let panic take over. With a strangled cry, he raised his fist and smashed it against the mirror.


    The sharp crack of shattering glass filled the room.


    A searing pain exploded in his hand, but he barely registered it. Blood trickled from his knuckles, tracing crimson lines over the fractured surface, dripping onto the sink and pooling onto the floor, staining his bare feet in scarlet.


    But neither the pain nor the blood pulled him from his despair.


    The broken reflection was still there.


    He was still there.


    Consumed by fury, he lifted his fist again, determined to destroy it completely. Maybe if he shattered it, if he reduced it to nothing, this nightmare would end.


    But before he could strike again, the bathroom door burst open.


    The nurse stepped inside, alarm flashing across her features, though her elegance remained intact despite the urgency in her gaze.


    In an instant, she was beside him.


    She said nothing when she saw the disaster. Neither the blood, nor the shards of glass, nor the child collapsing before the mirror seemed to disturb her calm. It was only when he raised his fist again, ready for another blow, that she moved.


    Her hands closed around his wrist with surprising firmness, holding him still with effortless strength.


    "Bri¨¢n, please¡­ calm down."


    Her voice was soft, unwavering, filled with understanding.


    He wanted to resist. He wanted to scream that she didn''t understand, that everything was wrong, that he wasn''t Bri¨¢n.But his breathing slowed, his trembling body gradually surrendering to the warmth of her grasp. The silence between them grew thick, heavy.


    The questions still swirled inside him, a relentless storm.


    Who the hell was he now?


    And what had happened to his real life?

 Chapter 2: Unwanted.

    "With the golden glow of dawn upon his chest and the echo of ancient promises in his heart, a man rose, ready to defy fate and forge a new path where shadows could not reach the light." ¡ªExcerpt from Volume 1 of The Reborn Hero.


    In a situation beyond reason¡­ how would you handle yourself? That was the fleeting thought of a young man sitting on a hospital bed.


    Downcast, glassy eyes wandered around the room with a hollow expression. The white walls, with their sterile coldness, seemed to mock him, a reflection of his immature stupidity. The faint tingling on his cheek, reddened and marked by the imprint of a woman''s hand, was a painful reminder that this was no bad dream. That¡­ there was no escape.


    He raised a trembling hand and observed the bandages wrapped around his knuckles. The white gauze, stained with traces of dried blood, felt like a silent mockery of his own recklessness. The wound throbbed with a sharp pain, undeniable proof that this body¡ªthough different from the one he remembered¡ªwas real. As real as the dense, antiseptic-laden air that forced him to breathe through his mouth. With each inhalation, his bewilderment deepened. As if his very body were confirming, again and again, that this place existed, that his new reality was no fleeting illusion.


    He felt trapped in an invisible prison, where his jailer was none other than himself. He had no other way to describe it.


    A door opened with a dry snap. The figure of a nurse, clad in a white uniform and carrying an impatient air, stepped into the infirmary. The woman, with blonde hair and a face hardened by exasperation, crossed her arms. Her severe blue eyes landed on him.


    "Honestly¡­ I can''t believe your recklessness, Bri¨¢n," her voice, firm but not devoid of concern, broke the heavy silence. "Look at your hand¡ªyou even damaged the nerves. What would have happened if I hadn¡¯t been nearby? You would¡¯ve bled out in minutes."


    Her words barely reached him. His mind remained trapped in a hazy boundary between disbelief and exhaustion. Nothing she said could convince him that this wasn''t an endless nightmare.


    "You need to stop getting into trouble¡ªor looking for it," the nurse continued with a sigh, her voice losing its harshness. "You''re young, and you entered this Academy on your own merit. That says a lot about you, despite not coming from a noble family to back you up. You have an opportunity many would kill for, and you''re simply wasting it."


    He kept his gaze down, staring at the bandage as if he could find some kind of answer in it.


    "And all for that girl. You''re intelligent, but you''re wasting your potential on this obsession of yours."


    That phrase, spoken with a hint of sadness, struck harder than the slap on his cheek. Obsession. That word, heavy with judgment, pierced him deeper than he expected. His jaw tensed, his other hand clutching the sheets with a strength he hadn¡¯t even noticed at first. Why did it hurt so much to hear it?


    The burning in his eyes threatened to become something more. He didn¡¯t understand why, but those words had struck him to his core.


    "I¡­ I''m sorry," he finally whispered. His voice emerged as a distant echo of himself, a murmur that seemed to drift aimlessly in the clinical air of the room. The nurse watched him in silence. Her expression softened, the hardness in her features easing slightly.


    "It''s okay," she said at last, in a gentler tone. "I''ll let it slide for today, but I don''t want to see you here tomorrow, understood? And please, take my advice seriously."


    For a moment, the nurse leaned slightly toward him, a small smile playing on her lips¡ªa fleeting warmth that reminded him of a sun from a lost day. "Ah, and sorry about the slap¡­ that was an accident. You weren¡¯t responding to my calls, so I had no choice," she joked lightly, adjusting the white cap on her head, adorned with symbols he didn¡¯t recognize.


    He didn¡¯t respond. He only turned his gaze toward the window, where the evening light was beginning to filter through the curtains.


    The nurse stepped back with measured precision, settling into place with the same practiced ease she used to heal wounds. With calculated movements, she slid a hand into the small leather pouch tied to her waist and pulled out a yellowed piece of paper¡ªfragile, so thin it seemed on the verge of disintegrating between her fingers.


    "Now, stay still and close your eyes. Just focus on your breathing," she ordered, her tone firm but calm. Then, as if her thoughts had taken an unexpected turn, she added in a low voice, "You know¡­ I''ve been thinking about something. That mirror you broke was of very high quality. And your collapse¡­ there''s something about all of this that doesn¡¯t add up."


    She gave no further explanation. Her fingers, nimble and light, began to move over the paper with precision, tracing invisible symbols at a speed that defied logic, like a painter drawing on an unseen canvas. He obediently closed his eyes, not fully understanding what he had just been caught up in.


    But then, a blue glow pierced through his closed eyelids, pulsing and ethereal. Instinctively, he opened them¡­ and what he saw stole the breath from his lungs.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    The paper in the nurse¡¯s hands shone with a vibrant radiance¡ªfirst blue, then a flickering aquamarine green¡ªan energy flow that twisted as if it had a life of its own. The luminescence trembled and danced in the air before fading in a few blinks, leaving behind a set of intricate symbols, mystical scribbles that swirled on the paper¡¯s surface, as if they had been engraved upon it with liquid fire.


    He didn¡¯t understand their meaning, but the nurse did. Her eyes traced each line with absolute focus. And with every word she deciphered, her expression shifted¡ªcalm giving way to a mix of disbelief and astonishment.


    Suddenly, she brought a hand to her mouth, as if what she was reading was too shocking to say aloud. She turned to him, and when their eyes met, he knew¡ªwithout needing to hear it¡ªthat something troublesome was coming at him like a bullet.


    "Bri¨¢n¡­ what I¡¯m about to tell you, you must not repeat to anyone." The nurse¡¯s tone had changed. It was grave. Firm. Laden with a weight he could not yet comprehend.


    "Your trait and your abilities¡­ they¡¯ve strengthened. Far more than they should have. And moreover¡­" She hesitated, unsure if she should say it out loud. Finally, she took a deep breath and continued. "You¡¯ve awakened an innate ability. Something extremely rare among humans."


    The silence that followed was heavy. Almost suffocating.


    The words innate ability hung between them, dense and weighted with a meaning he couldn¡¯t yet grasp.


    What the hell was happening?


    The reality he thought he knew was unraveling before him in an unexpected, dizzying way. The situation was overwhelming him, driving him mad.


    He felt no joy. No excitement. Only a deep unease, a sharp sting of pessimism that darkened what, in another context, might have been a moment of discovery.


    His mind buzzed with questions he couldn¡¯t voice, trapped in the whirlwind of uncertainty that engulfed him. The light. The paper. The ability. And that uncertain fate that, without his knowledge, had been calling to him from the very beginning. But the fear of the unknown, of the truth barely hinted at in the shadows, paralyzed him.


    The nurse¡¯s blue eyes settled on him with a softer expression. In his dimmed gaze, she saw a shadow of something familiar. A reflection.


    Selene¡ªnamed after her late mother¡ªsighed. She couldn¡¯t help it. There was something about Bri¨¢n that stirred a deep compassion in her. Not just because of his story, because of the tragedy of being an orphan who had lost everything in the blink of an eye¡­ but because, in some way, she saw in him a version of herself.


    A reflection of her own past, of that time when her own obsession had led her to make too many mistakes she now regretted.


    Her gaze softened for a moment, as a wave of empathy washed over her.


    Bri¨¢n Morningstar¡­ A boy who had survived something that had condemned him from the moment it happened. Originally from a small town, he was one of the only two survivors of a devastating attack. A tragedy, a massacre that had erased countless lives due to the proximity of his home to the border of the war-torn nation of Berkroa.


    Seraphim Academy, recognizing his intellectual talent, had granted him a privilege reserved for a select few: free lodging in the school dormitories. Only those with exceptional merit¡ªor families wealthy enough to ensure their children stayed away from home¡ªenjoyed this benefit. For Bri¨¢n, this opportunity would last until his graduation, as long as he maintained an impeccable academic performance. But the young man sitting before her seemed further and further from reaching that standard.


    Bri¨¢n was caught in something far more dangerous than mediocrity: an obsession. An emotional fixation that, in Selene¡¯s eyes, did not bode well. He had clung to the only other survivor of that fateful attack as if his very existence depended on her, as if he found in her presence an echo of the life he had lost.


    Selene was not unfeeling; she understood, to some extent, where those emotions came from. Loss, trauma, the need to hold on to what remained of a shattered past¡­ But that didn¡¯t change reality. She knew the price of his distraction could be devastating. If Bri¨¢n failed to meet academic expectations, he would lose everything. Oh, it wouldn¡¯t be a formal expulsion, of course. The Academy would simply revoke his right to lodging, leaving him with nowhere to sleep. And without connections, without a family to support him, survival would become a challenge in itself.


    Deep down, Selene knew exactly what that meant. Without a place to sleep, the daily burdens and worries would consume him. His studies would suffer, his performance would plummet, and before he even realized it, the Academy would spit him out like worthless waste.


    Selene sighed, narrowing her eyes as she observed him carefully. The young man, sitting on the bed, seemed oblivious to the shadow of his own fate, caught in the tangled web of a desperate infatuation¡ªone that, by all appearances, was not reciprocated. It wasn¡¯t hard to see what was happening: his gestures, his distant gaze, the way his mind wandered to a place beyond her reach.


    She couldn¡¯t interfere directly. She had no right to decide which path this young man would take. But she could at least make sure Bri¨¢n became aware of his reality before it was too late.


    "Listen, Bri¨¢n," she said, her voice soft yet firm. "You and I need to have a long conversation about this situation¡­ about the new complexity ahead of you."


    As she spoke, she idly played with the folds of her uniform, as if smoothing the fabric helped her organize her thoughts. She knew that what she was about to say could affect him deeply, so she chose her words with care.


    "After what I¡¯m going to tell you, it¡¯ll be up to you whether you reveal it or keep it secret," she continued. "But if you ask me¡­ I think it¡¯s safer if you keep it to yourself."


    Selene knew the Academy all too well. She knew Bri¨¢n had no noble lineage to back him up, no powerful connections to protect him. And above all, she knew the greed of the Headmaster. If the truth about the boy¡¯s innate ability came to light too soon¡ªwithout the proper preparation¡ªhe could become a pawn in someone else¡¯s game.


    Thus began a long conversation¡ªan exchange of confidences and warnings about the world Bri¨¢n had unknowingly plunged into. Where Selene had completely misread the situation, because the young man¡¯s real worries were not about his now-forgotten infatuation, but rather¡­


    How the hell did I end up in this absolute mess?


    Bri¨¢n, with his aquamarine-green hair and eyes dulled by exhaustion, listened more out of inertia than true intent. The nurse spoke with a mix of bluntness and genuine concern, a tone that felt foreign to him¡ªbut in some way, it disarmed him. He hadn¡¯t expected someone like her to care so much about his future.


    And so, little by little, the harshness of reality began to push aside the shadows of his daydreams.


    At least, for a moment.

 Chapter 3: Troublesome.

    "Under the crimson-stained moon, the oath was sealed in blood; whether it was a promise of salvation or damnation, only time would reveal."


    ¡ªExcerpt from Volume 1 of The Reborn Hero.


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    ¡¾Footsteps.¡¿


    The slow rhythm of a young man, his expression downcast, echoed through an endless corridor.


    Bri¨¢n Morningstar... That was his name¡ªor rather, that was the name of this body, of this person, of this poor child whose consciousness he had forcefully taken, without knowing how or why. A name that didn¡¯t feel like his own, an identity that weighed on him like an invisible chain. He was only beginning to grasp the abyss in which he had awakened. Truly, a messed-up situation.


    One moment, he was out drinking with friends, then returning to his apartment, too exhausted to even make it to bed, collapsing onto the floor¡ªand upon waking... he found himself in a world unknown yet as real as the one before. The reality he had known had been thrown overboard. Seriously... How the hell did that even happen? He swore he''d go insane trying to figure it out.


    Here, he was alone. No parents, no family, no memories, and an immense void in his mind that clouded everything. Every time he tried to dig into his oldest memories, his own childhood, he found a wall of shadows, a darkness that seemed to devour everything. The more he tried to remember, the more he felt himself slipping into a bottomless pit.


    This was his reality now. He hadn¡¯t asked for it, he hadn¡¯t wanted it, yet uncertainty gnawed at him like a slow-acting poison. It felt like the beginning of a fantasy story, the kind he had often watched out of sheer boredom, and yet, everything about it was cold, bitter, and suffocating. Like a bad joke.


    His footsteps echoed softly along the hallway lined with narrow windows, where the dying light of dusk barely illuminated the stone walls. He walked slowly, wrapped in thick silence, replaying the nurse¡¯s words in his mind. Selene. That was her name. And though her tone had been kind, the feeling of strangeness wouldn¡¯t leave him. Not just because of her, but because of everything.


    And damn... that beautiful nurse could slap hard. Even now, his cheek stung, and he was pretty sure at least one tooth was loose.


    The sound of his own steps kept him grounded in the present. However, he couldn¡¯t ignore the truth: he was now a confused young man trapped in a child¡¯s body.


    He suddenly stopped and looked at his hands. One of them was fully bandaged. They were small, fragile... foreign. They weren¡¯t his. And yet, when he clenched them into fists, he could feel the warmth of his own skin, the tension in his muscles. They were real. He recalled his reflection in the cracked glass of the infirmary¡¯s bathroom¡ªa child staring back at him, clad in a bloodstained school uniform, his gaze dull and lost. A shiver ran down his spine. He didn¡¯t understand how he had ended up here, couldn¡¯t make sense of his situation, and the more he searched for answers, the more it felt like the world itself was mocking him with its silence.


    The void in his mind throbbed, a dark and latent entity whispering confusion and despair. Frustration grew within him with each passing second, but he had nowhere to direct that pent-up rage.


    His eyes wandered down the corridor, taking in the towering stone walls adorned with intricate carvings and the lofty ceilings above. It was undoubtedly a luxurious place¡ªan elite school, meant for those who could afford the finest education. But to him, its grand architecture was nothing more than a gilded trap. He felt suffocated, out of place. All he wanted was to find a bed, close his eyes, and wake up from this nightmare.


    And yet, something in his body reacted differently. Not his mind, but his muscles, his movements. As if, somehow, he knew this place. As if his body remembered what his mind could not reach.


    He approached one of the windows and looked down at the ground far below. Second floor, he realized.


    He had to get down. He needed to escape this endless corridor.


    When he found the staircase, he didn¡¯t hesitate to descend. But as he reached the landing between floors, his instincts flared with a dull warning.


    In front of him, a group of four kids blocked the way. And from their expressions, it was clear they had been waiting for him.


    The group stood out for their disheveled appearance¡ªschool blazers missing, shirts half-untucked, no ties. There was something deliberately messy about their look, a childish air of rebellion that gave them away. He understood instantly what kind of people they were: the ones who thought they were cool¡ªor rather, the ones who deluded themselves into believing that insolence granted them some kind of power.


    "Hey, Bri¨¢n, we¡¯ve been waiting for you," said the brown-haired boy, who seemed to assume the role of leader. His tone was too casual, too confident.


    Beside him, another boy held a lollipop like it was a cigarette, in a gesture that seemed as absurd as it was ridiculous.


    "Yeah... you almost had us worried," added another, laughing.


    The harsh laughter, the crooked smiles, the mocking glint in their eyes¡­ Something inside him tightened¡ªa knot in his stomach.


    Without knowing why, his body reacted, tensing up, and he felt his hands begin to tremble. A wave of panic, mixed with distrust, washed over him.


    Who were these kids? Why did they seem to know him so well? And why, upon seeing them, did his stomach sink as if he were plummeting into an endless abyss?


    From the way they sneered and the arrogance in their gazes, he immediately understood that they weren¡¯t friends of the child whose body he now inhabited. He didn¡¯t need more clues to categorize them: the type of kids who found satisfaction in making others feel small.


    He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, though the tingling in his stomach wouldn¡¯t fade. He had never been one to tolerate bullies¡ªnever had, never would¡ªbut right now, he had more urgent problems than dealing with a bunch of brats with superiority complexes.


    He decided to ignore them and, with feigned indifference, descended the last few steps. He forced himself to stay calm, despite the latent fear creeping over him¡ªan unfamiliar sensation, as if it didn¡¯t truly belong to him.


    But as he reached the landing, one of the kids extended an arm, blocking his way.


    "Aren¡¯t you forgetting something?" asked the leader of the group, his voice dripping with condescension. He recognized that tone instantly¡ªthe voice of someone who believed himself above others and enjoyed proving it. The kind of person he had always found irritating.


    To him, mutual respect was something natural between civilized people. If someone couldn¡¯t grasp something so simple, they deserved nothing but his contempt. Nothing more than a brainless monkey¡ªno, even monkeys deserved more respect.


    "Your money, stupid," another kid spat, clearly irritated by his silence.


    It was the same one holding the lollipop between his lips, still pretending it was a cigarette. His chubby cheeks and round belly gave him a ridiculous air.


    Instinctively, he felt an immediate sense of rejection at having him so close. Who the hell did this bootleg Majin Buu think he was? Seriously¡­ it was kind of pitiful. He probably had some kind of developmental delay¡ªhe should be a little more empathetic.


    Even so¡­ Money?


    He blinked, incredulous.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    He had checked his pockets earlier, and the only thing he had found was lint.


    Broke. Yeah, he was broke. That much was obvious. Not even switching realities had fixed that problem. He didn¡¯t need a college degree to figure it out.


    But apparently, this body¡ªBri¨¢n¡¯s body¡ªreceived some kind of school allowance or something. Otherwise¡­ why the hell would they be demanding his money?


    Great. As if being trapped in an absurd situation wasn¡¯t enough, now he also had to relive his worst days of high school.


    He sighed, annoyed.


    "Did you just sigh in front of me?" growled the broad-shouldered kid, stepping closer¡ªso close he could smell his awful breath.


    "And does that matter?" he replied, narrowing his eyes. His sarcastic tone was enough to leave the group momentarily speechless.


    The pause didn¡¯t last.


    "I''ve had a shitty day, so do me a favor and go to hell, you son of a bitch."


    The words slipped out fast, unfiltered. It was more of a reflex than a conscious decision. He realized it the moment he saw the fury ignite in the bullies'' eyes. Their cheeks flushed red, jaws clenched.


    He wasn¡¯t Bri¨¢n, didn¡¯t know his behaviors or how he typically acted, and he wasn¡¯t about to play a role. He was Aiden, just a regular guy who liked his own things and hated working part-time while suffering through university exams.


    Even so, he wasn¡¯t stupid. With the fragments of his current situation, he could already put two and two together. Escalating this into a physical fight would cause trouble¡ªlikely only for him. Given how opulent this place was, combined with the fact that he was a broke nobody, there was only one correct response to this dilemma.


    So, he took advantage of their shock.


    With an agile move, he jumped up two steps and, without hesitation, vaulted over the staircase railing.


    His body reacted with a precision that startled him¡ªhe landed with minimal impact, almost as if gravity didn¡¯t affect him the same way.


    Something was wrong.


    No, something was different.


    But there was no time to think about it.


    He bolted down the final flight of stairs. And the moment his foot hit the ground, he knew¡ªhe was fast. Faster than he had ever been in his life. Not only that, but his legs barely seemed to exert any effort, his breathing remained steady, and his body moved with a lightness that bordered on the unreal.


    "Hey! Don¡¯t let him escape, you idiots!" the leader shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls.


    But it was already too late.


    He shot down the hallways like a comet, bathed in the golden light of the sunset. Shadows stretched in his wake, the empty corridors becoming an intuitive labyrinth, and his own movements felt so natural they were almost instinctive.


    "What the hell? How is that useless idiot so fast?" he heard, but the voices seemed distant¡ªlike they were already light-years away.


    He turned a corner, his mind focused on a single objective: getting out.


    And then, when he finally saw it, his heart skipped a beat.


    The grand entrance doors of the Academy stood wide open.


    With no one in sight, slipping out was effortless. The Academy¡¯s architecture was as luxurious as it was functional¡ªdesigned to impress as much as to facilitate movement. He only stopped when he reached the imposing stone steps at the front.


    Turning on his heels, he looked back, allowing himself, for the first time, to take in the spectacle before him.


    The Academy loomed with gothic majesty, like a fortress pulled from some otherworldly fantasy. Its towers stretched arrogantly toward the sky, its arches and stained-glass windows gleamed under the dying sunlight, and the sheer scale of the place left him slack-jawed.


    "God... it almost looks like Hogwarts or something," he thought, awestruck.


    For a moment, he stood still, half-expecting Professor Xavier or Dumbledore to emerge from the grand entrance and welcome him with some cryptic speech.


    And how the hell did someone have enough money to build something like this?


    He shook his head. Now wasn¡¯t the time for pointless questions. His priority was finding the dormitories Nurse Selene had mentioned. With luck, he might find clues about the real Bri¨¢n there.


    As he descended the steps, his attention was caught by the vast greenery around him. A stone path flanked by towering trees stretched ahead, bordered by meticulously trimmed hedges. In the distance, colossal walls marked the Academy''s perimeter, and at the very center stood an open, majestic gate¡ªcrafted from metal so fine and polished it almost seemed decorative rather than functional.


    The landscape, bathed in the warm orange glow of the sunset, had an undeniable beauty. But instead of admiring it, he just snorted.


    "What a waste of money," he muttered as he walked forward. No one could blame him; his economically miserable soul writhed at such extravagance.


    He felt his chest deflate. Rich people disgusted him. That unnecessary opulence, that constant need to flaunt¡­ God, what envy. He wanted all of that too, and it made his skin crawl just thinking about it.


    He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the unruly strands brushing against his face. It was longer than he remembered. Right¡­ it wasn¡¯t his hair. Not his body. But still¡­


    "Well, at least those hairdressing courses will finally come in handy," he thought with irony, pushing his bangs away from his eyes.


    He nodded to himself. Yeah, everything has its use eventually¡ªit¡¯s just a matter of time. Whether his behavior was evasive or not was something he had no interest in figuring out. Keeping his head filled with nonsense was a great way to stop thinking about his current predicament.


    The air was crisp, his breathing remained light. The autumn atmosphere was pleasant, though he didn¡¯t even know the exact date. Just another mystery on the endless list.


    He finally crossed through the grand entrance of the Academy and was about to continue when, suddenly, he came to a sharp halt.


    On the other side, leaning against a wall, was a young girl¡ªaround twelve years old.


    She stared at him, a mix of fierceness and disdain in her eyes. Her furrowed brow and crossed arms gave her an intimidating air, but there was something about her¡­ something oddly familiar.


    Unconsciously, his hand moved to his cheek. He could still feel a faint sting there.


    "This girl¡­" His mind jolted with a flash of memory. A similar face, an aura of a golden child, light brown layered hair, matching eyes. The same expression of disgust.


    Yes¡­ exactly what he had seen before collapsing.


    A knot formed in his stomach. It wasn¡¯t fear, nor nerves, but a deeper discomfort. An inexplicable connection he couldn¡¯t quite define.


    For a brief moment, the girl¡¯s expression seemed to soften. Just for a second. Then, she spoke, her voice cold:


    "You took too long. I''ve been waiting here, you know?"


    Her gaze swept over him, the way a hunter might assess its prey. She didn¡¯t ask any questions. She didn¡¯t seem interested in why he was late. She just looked¡­ disappointed with what she saw.


    Whether it was because of him or because she had been practically thrown out of the infirmary, only the brown-haired girl could know.


    Finally, she pulled something from her leather bag and, without warning, shoved it against his chest with such force that he staggered back a step.


    "Either way, since you¡¯re here, take this and make sure to copy it. Give it back before the day ends."


    Aiden blinked, still feeling the weight of the notebook in his hands and the breath knocked out of him from the impact.


    "Another one who¡¯s abnormally strong," he thought, a little unnerved. First Nurse Selene, now this girl. What the hell were they feeding people in this place?


    Before he could say anything, the girl shot him one last look of contempt and spat out with disinterest:


    "Don¡¯t think I¡¯m doing this for you. The professor, noticing your absence, told me to give you my notes. It¡¯s your fault for not having any friends to rely on."


    Whoa. That was a direct hit to the gut.


    The coldness in her voice and the disdain in her gaze left him momentarily paralyzed. It wasn¡¯t just indifference¡ªit was sharp as a blade, a venom distilled with surgical precision.


    The girl walked away triumphantly, radiating such an intimidating presence that a chill ran down his spine.


    He had experienced female indifference before, sure. But this¡­ this was different.


    Darker.


    More unsettling.


    Then, an insistent tingling on his wrist pulled him out of his daze.


    Frowning, he rolled up his sleeve, revealing a mark he didn¡¯t remember seeing before¡ªa tattoo of two intertwined feathers.


    What the hell?


    His frown deepened. Was Bri¨¢n some kind of delinquent? What was a twelve-year-old doing with a tattoo?


    Before he could delve deeper into the mystery, the ink embedded in his skin began to fade right before his eyes.


    His brain short-circuited.


    What¡­?


    The bewilderment hit him like a tidal wave. This was too weird, even by the standards of the insanity he was caught up in.


    "Why are you just standing there? Hurry up and walk! You know there¡¯s a curfew. You¡¯re not a child who needs to be led by the hand anymore."


    Another unprovoked attack.


    The girl¡¯s cold, impatient voice made him jump. He turned to find her glaring at him, as if his mere existence annoyed her.


    "I don¡¯t have all day to wait for you. Tomorrow is training day."


    With that final verbal slap, his legs moved on their own.


    "Oh, Bri¨¢n, dear foolish child, what the hell did you do to make this girl hate you so much?"


    Resigned, he clutched the notebook to his chest and began walking after her, a mix of unease and panic creeping in.


    Yes, keeping his distance from this girl was definitely the best choice. She was terrifying, and she seemed like the bossy type¡ªavoiding her as much as possible sounded like the safest survival strategy.


    To an outside observer, his attitude might have seemed childish. After all, he was twenty years old, had a career in progress, and suffered through a miserable part-time job. It made no sense for him to feel intimidated by a little girl.


    But those skeptics would love to see themselves in his place, dealing with the pure, unfiltered hatred of the demon child. Then, maybe, they¡¯d understand that his fear was more than justified.


    The stone path crunched beneath his steps as they walked, and his mind became a whirlwind of thoughts.


    "I could be home, playing games, watching a show, doing literally anything else¡­ but no. I¡¯m here, trapped in a body and a life that aren¡¯t mine."


    Behind him, the Academy loomed like an imposing titan of stone, a symbol of all the mystery he had unwillingly been ensnared in.

 Chapter 4: Complex.

    "When the lines between reality and dreams blur, and the familiar turns strange, remember: it''s not always the path that changes; sometimes, it''s the traveler who transforms." ¡ªExcerpt from Volume 1 of The Reborn Hero.


    A door clicked shut behind him, the soft sound reverberating in the silence, and with it, another tattoo on the back of his hand slowly began to fade away. Though it was just a small change, a subtle display of the power and peculiarities that this new world held, he felt like a lost child in an unfamiliar city. He couldn''t deny, however, the fantastical weight of the experience.


    "Well¡­ that was awkward as hell," he muttered almost unconsciously. Walking alongside the demon girl had been too much for his simple, unprepared soul. He recalled those piercing eyes, like two sharp daggers, and the constant itch on his left wrist, both sensations so intense that he hoped to never experience them again. It was a relief that it was over, though the discomfort still lingered in every fiber of his being.


    With a sigh, he scratched his arm and carefully observed his surroundings. He was in his room¡ªor rather, in what he was now supposed to consider his room, his home. But no... not really; he shook his head. This was the boy''s home, Bri¨¢n''s, a space familiar to his body but not to his mind. Still, he couldn''t deny that the place felt cozy, comfortable in a way he hadn''t experienced in a long time, like returning to your parents'' house for Christmas.


    The room was a modest studio, simple yet practical, with only the bathroom separated by a wall¡ªno space for a kitchen or dining area. That was normal here, as everyone was expected to share meals in a communal dining hall. Even so, having a private bathroom was an unheard-of luxury, one he hadn''t anticipated but was immensely grateful for.


    The atmosphere was a blend of rustic and fantastical, with an ancient touch that could be felt in every corner. The furniture, along with the walls and floors, was made of a combination of polished wood and perfectly cut stone bricks, giving off a warm and solid impression.


    To him, it felt like a small palace, a serene, harmonious space, a refuge where he could rest. He even wondered why this place, being just a single room, felt so much better than his old rented apartment. It even seemed bigger. Damn¡­ that last thought depressed him a little.


    Noticing the gleam of the polished wooden floorboards beneath his feet, he removed his shoes before stepping in completely. The habit of walking around barefoot, more driven by laziness than cleanliness, felt natural to him.


    From the entrance, he descended two steps to the main level of the room. He observed the sturdy, well-made wardrobe, the wide wooden shelves anchored horizontally to the wall, and a small table beside a chair. There was a simple sofa and a bed next to a window, which seemed perfect for sitting and gazing outside due to its extra space. In that moment, he knew that the corner by the window would become his favorite spot in the room.


    Of course, there was the bathroom. With a quick glance, he noted that it was small but sufficient. It had a shower, a mirror, a toilet, and a sink¡ªeverything he needed. Although the space was limited, he wouldn''t complain. The room, overall, had an air of functionality that he deeply appreciated.


    He scanned the space, noticing the small details he had initially overlooked. The bed was unmade, books were scattered haphazardly, and a few pieces of clothing lay strewn on the floor. There were writing materials everywhere: quills, ink bottles, and crumpled papers mixed with pencils and loose sheets. Yes, it was clear this was a student''s room. A student who, like him, seemed to struggle against disorder in a futile attempt to maintain control.


    He couldn''t help but sigh at the thought of living in this place. In its own way, the room reflected a temporary home, a place where life had been paused. Yet something about the atmosphere invited him to stay, to take a breath. He looked at the bed, and without realizing it, he began walking toward it. With each step, his exhausted body felt heavier, and his eyelids began to droop.


    Finally, his shoulders sagged, and he started to strip off his uniform. He loosened his tie, removed his jacket, and unbuttoned his shirt with a gesture of relief. With a long exhale, he collapsed onto the bed, feeling the softness of the mattress embrace him. Suddenly, all his problems, all the worries that weighed on his mind, were relegated to the background. Sleep became the only priority, the only urgency.


    He closed his eyes and let the room, his temporary refuge, envelop him in a rest as necessary as it was inevitable.


    ????????????????????????????????????


    Laughter... bursts of youthful, mocking, and shrill laughter made him slowly open his eyes. He was on the ground, covered in dirt stains, with tears streaming down his cheeks. His knees stung, and he noticed that snot was dripping from his nose, mixing with the dust on his clothes.


    "Look, guys, Bri¨¢n is crying. He''s a crybaby!" one of the older boys mocked, his childish voice dripping with ridicule. "Haha, Bri¨¢n, you fell, and now you''re crying. Is this how you plan to play with us? You can''t even keep up with that weak body of yours." Another voice, another child. The laughter of the group surrounded him, amplifying his shame.


    Bri¨¢n covered his face with his hands, trying to hide, wishing he could become invisible. He didn''t want them to see him like this, so vulnerable, but the older kids were right, and that filled him with sadness. How could he deny the obvious?


    The small park where he found himself, a communal area in the village where he usually felt safe, now became a stage for humiliation. "Crybaby Bri¨¢n, crybaby Bri¨¢n, can''t do anything right," the kids chanted, repeating the nickname like a cruel mantra. Their words were sharp, tearing at his spirit and causing even more tears to escape from his eyes.


    "Hey, you guys, what the heck are you doing to Bri¨¢n?" A youthful and determined voice interrupted the commotion. It was a girl''s voice, ringing like a bell of warning. The group of older boys stopped, and one of them muttered, "Crap, the bossy girl is here. The little protective girlfriend is back. Let''s go before she tattles." With nervous giggles, they began to disperse, but not without giving Bri¨¢n one last look. "We''ll see you another day, baby Bri¨¢n," one of them sneered before running off.


    "Don''t worry about those fools, they can''t do anything to you now," the child''s voice said. When Bri¨¢n looked up, he saw a girl with shimmering hair and brown eyes gazing at him with kindness. She knelt beside him, offering her hand with a warm smile that made his cheeks flush. "Come on, get up. I''ll take you to the Chief; she''ll heal your wounds."


    The boy hesitated for a moment, overwhelmed by the shame of being seen in this state, but he finally took the hand she offered. "Th-thank you, E-Emma," he murmured, stuttering. Emma smiled, squeezing his hand firmly. "It''s nothing. But you have to learn to defend yourself. If you don''t, those idiots will always bother you. Though, as long as I''m around, I guess you don''t have to worry."


    With a little effort, she helped him stand. Bri¨¢n, still feeling the pain in his knees, wiped his tears and snot with his arm, further staining his clothes. "Does it hurt a lot?" Emma asked, inspecting him with concern. She knew he usually wore long pants, so she couldn''t see the wounds, but his pained expression gave him away.


    Bri¨¢n nodded shyly, trying to hide his discomfort. "Yeah... a little," he said, looking down, but under Emma''s skeptical gaze and the frown forming on her face, he couldn''t keep up the lie for long. "Well, yes... yes, it hurts. A lot."


    Satisfied that she''d gotten the truth, Emma nodded. "You know you can''t lie to me; I know you too well," she grumbled, though there was a hint of affection in her voice. "Come on. The chief can heal you before your parents find out."


    Without giving him time to argue, Emma grabbed his hand and led him through the village streets. As they walked in silence, some adults greeted them with smiles. Bri¨¢n, overwhelmed by the firm grip leading him, allowed himself to be dragged along, though the warmth of Emma''s hand in his gave him a small measure of comfort.


    After a while of walking in silence, Bri¨¢n mustered enough courage to ask the question that had been lingering in his mind for some time. "Hey, E-Emma, why do you always help me?"


    The question, asked with the innocent curiosity of a child, made Emma''s cheeks flush a light shade of pink. She averted her gaze, trying to hide her nervousness. "W-well... it''s because it''s my duty as the next chief of the village," she answered firmly, though in a barely audible whisper, she added, "And also because... because it''s you, silly."


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Huh? Did you say something, Emma?" Bri¨¢n looked at her, intrigued, but she quickly changed the subject, turning her gaze toward the path. "Look, we''re here," she said hastily, stopping in front of a door. "Let''s get you checked out, Bri¡ª"


    Before she could finish her sentence, Bri¨¢n felt something strange. His ears were filled with a sharp ringing, and suddenly, the world was bathed in a deep red. He looked around, bewildered, as heat and the smell of smoke filled the air. What was happening?


    A voice he barely recognized as his father''s rang out, strong and urgent. "Bri¨¢n, run! Don''t look back. Take Emma and don''t stop until you reach the next village. Run!"


    Bri¨¢n didn''t understand. He looked at Emma, who was unconscious in his arms, and a knot formed in his stomach. What was this sudden change? What was this feeling of danger threatening to consume everything?


    "What the hell...? What was this? What was...?"


    Suddenly, he woke up with an overwhelming sense of panic, hitting him like a wave of icy water. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and his heart pounded in his chest, almost painfully. He was drenched in sweat, his clothes sticking to his skin, and a shiver ran down his spine. He felt a strange discomfort; the sticky sensation made him nauseous. In the darkness of the room, something indefinable and terrifying hung in the air, enveloping him with a sense of dread he couldn''t understand.


    The images from his dream still swirled in his mind like elusive shadows¡ªthe demon girl, he was sure it was that person, that girl. Why had he dreamed of her? Had she cursed him? Every time he tried to think about it, his thoughts dissolved into a whirlpool of fear. His hands trembled, and his entire body vibrated with anxiety. Thinking was impossible; his mind was trapped in a storm of sensations he couldn''t control.


    He jumped out of bed, his bare feet hitting the wooden floor with a dull thud that echoed in the stillness of the room. The darkness wasn''t a hindrance; with clumsy movements, he made his way to the bathroom, fumbling for the light switch. When he finally found it, a warm, orange light flickered on, casting dancing shadows on the walls. He barely had time to adjust his eyes to the light before a sharp wave of nausea rose from his stomach.


    Unable to stop it, he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet. Bile surged up his throat, and with a shudder, he began to vomit. The sound echoed in the silence of the bathroom, and each retch made him feel weaker and more vulnerable, as if he were emptying something more than just the contents of his stomach. When he finally finished, he rested against the edge of the toilet, trembling. With disgust and shame, he flushed the toilet, turning his gaze away from the miserable sight.


    He struggled to stand and moved to the sink, turning on the faucet and drinking in long gulps, trying to soothe the burning sensation left by the acid in his throat. However, the water couldn''t fully erase the bitter taste he felt. When he closed the tap, he looked up at himself in the mirror.


    The image staring back at him startled him; his bloodshot eyes and the dark circles under them looked strange. Desperation was etched into every line of his face, distorting it, turning it into a mask of fear and pain. He raised a trembling hand to his face, barely able to recognize the person he saw in the mirror.


    He opened the tap again, splashing cold water on his face in a futile attempt to clear his mind, to erase the anguish. But the weight on his chest remained. His hands still trembled, and the panic was a knot he couldn''t untie.


    Without thinking any further, he opened the shower door and turned the knob. The water hit him instantly, cold and harsh, but he didn''t care. He stepped in, half-dressed, feeling the water soak through his clothes and fall onto his back, icy and brutal. The cold was a constant sting, but it seemed to calm him, numbing the whirlwind of emotions inside him. He stayed there, head bowed, letting the water cover him as his clothes clung to his body.


    Minutes turned into eternity, each second stretching longer than the last. The cold bit at his skin, but he clung to it as if it were an anchor keeping him in the present. Finally, when he couldn''t take it anymore, he turned off the shower and stepped out, dripping and shivering. The cold air in the bathroom made the wet clothes feel even worse, but he didn''t care. He let himself collapse onto the floor, leaning his back against the sliding shower door, and closed his eyes, trying to regain control of his breathing and his mind.


    The trembling subsided, but the feeling of emptiness and the tightness in his chest remained. He knew there was something deeper in that dream, something that had shaken him to his core. Even though the cold water had calmed him, it wasn''t enough to erase the horror that vision had left behind.


    He stayed there, on the bathroom floor, soaked and vulnerable, not knowing how to face what he had seen or how to rid himself of the fear that had taken root in his chest.


    ????????????????????????????????????


    Change of Perspective.


    Emma Tarkard was not having a good week. In fact, it was a disaster, and yesterday had been the peak of her stupidity. She had treated Bri¨¢n in the worst possible way, taking out all her frustration on him, and even going as far as shouting those horrible things and, to top it off, hitting him.


    And yet, even after seeing him collapse in front of her, after having to carry him to the Academy''s infirmary, she had remained obstinate. She was still the same, unable to admit when she was wrong, and much less willing to acknowledge that part of it was also her fault.


    She sighed deeply, rubbing her forehead, letting the back of her head rhythmically hit the cold surface of the enchanted wooden door. Over and over, she told herself it wasn''t entirely her fault; he was to blame too. He wouldn''t stop following her, seeking her out, chasing her with that same look as before, one that reminded her of everything that had happened, everything she had lost. Sometimes, she just wanted to disappear, to be left alone and not have to relive that tragedy in her mind. But every time she saw Bri¨¢n, the memories returned, whispering her weakness, showing her pain again and again.


    She felt a tremor run through her hand and quickly clenched it into a fist. She forced herself to believe that it wasn''t solely her responsibility. He had contributed, right? Of course, he had. That had to be true, it just had to.


    She looked at the floor, while her head kept tapping against the door, the echo resonating through the stone and polished wood hallway. The weight of her training clothes pressed down on her, different from the uniform but more fitting for the grueling training that awaited her. But today, even her strength didn''t seem enough.


    "The strongest of the house. Accepted into the prestigious Seraphim Academy, located in Astaroth, the neighboring city of Eldoria''s capital." "What a sick joke," she muttered to herself. "You can''t even control your life; you''re a fraud." A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she scolded herself under her breath. "What''s the point of all this strength if you can''t even fix things with the one person who might actually understand you? The only person who knows what happened, who''s just as trapped in that miserable past as you are. And yet... you just go and hurt him even more with your eloquent nonsense."


    The tapping against the door stopped when the enchanted wood creaked a few meters away, and another door opened carefully. There he was, Bri¨¢n, the boy with the greenish-blue hair and tired gaze, the same one with whom she shared such a painful history.


    She lowered her eyes to her wrist, where the shared tattoo they both had began to itch, as if reminding her of the childish promise they''d made in their moments of innocence. They had sworn that, upon reaching adulthood, they would marry. How naive they had been, thinking that a simple pact could protect them from the world.


    She looked up and scanned the boy from head to toe, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, the fatigue written in the bloodshot whites, his pale skin, his messy hair¡ªa reflection of someone who had spent the whole night awake. Anxiety was carved into his movements, and Emma felt a hollow ache in her chest. She knew what he was going through; after all, the walls weren''t as thick as they claimed. She had heard the sounds during the night. Her sharp glare softened¡ªof course, he was suffering through that same hell, that pain, and that past that bound them together.


    Their eyes met, but this time Emma held herself back. "You don''t need to wear that awful uniform. You know we''re training today; put on something comfortable and come down for breakfast," she said in a neutral tone before turning on her heels and heading toward the stairs at the end of the hall. She descended calmly, taking her time, each step a pause she used to quiet the storm raging inside her chest.


    When she reached the dining hall, she noticed the stares. Groups of students watched her from their seats¡ªrich, noble, young people who knew nothing about real suffering. Their whispers were as obvious as their approving or envious glances, depending on the case. Sometimes, the disdain in their eyes was so blatant that it made her blood boil. Why couldn''t they just eat in peace and leave her alone? She was here to become stronger, not to mingle with these people.


    "Ah, dear Emma, come, have a seat," called Beatrice, the dorm caretaker. Her voice was kind, one of the few Emma truly appreciated in this place. "Thank you," Emma responded coldly, though without meaning to. She felt compelled to add, "With your permission," in an attempt to soften her sharp tone.


    "I''ll bring you something shortly," Beatrice said with a warm smile that sparked a flicker of calm in Emma, but soon the guilt returned to overtake her. Emma nodded and took a seat at a distant table. The stares continued, and so did the whispers. "The Ice Queen is here," someone murmured. "They say she''s reached the top ranks, and the teachers won''t stop praising her."


    She didn''t turn her head. None of that mattered, or at least that''s what she told herself, until she overheard something that did make her react: "If she''s so good, I don''t get why she lets that useless guy cling to her. I don''t even know how that peasant got in here. What was the headmaster thinking?"


    Gritting her teeth, she muttered, "Who the hell do they think they are?" Bri¨¢n¡ªhe was someone worthy, the smartest person she knew, and he had earned his place here just as much as any of those fools who looked down on him. Soon, Beatrice returned with her breakfast, and Emma began to eat in silence, letting the clinking of knives and forks drown out the whispers, those ignorant and cruel comments.


    She waited for that fool to find her, to sit next to her, and start bothering her like he always did. But when she saw him come down, his shoulders slumped and his hair disheveled, he didn''t even glance her way. He simply sat at an empty table on the other side of the dining hall.


    That was new, but not entirely negative; she''d have some time to herself for a while. She chalked it up to him having a bad day, just like she was having a bad week. Yes, soon, everything would go back to normal, just like always.


    Sighing, Emma finished her meal and took her plate to the kitchen, mentally preparing for the next fencing class. As she left the dining hall, she heard more comments directed at Bri¨¢n, words full of disdain and mockery that tightened around her chest like a claw.


    "What a bunch of idiots," she murmured to herself. She couldn''t say it aloud, not here, among all that nobility that looked down on what they couldn''t understand. But in her heart, those insults echoed with force.

 Chapter 5: That鈥檚 New.

    "With every blow I take, I''ll return ten times stronger! Today, I don''t fight alone, for I carry the power of my fallen comrades in every heartbeat, and with every cut, every step, and every cry, I''ll make my enemies feel the weight of my fury!" ¡ªExcerpt from The Reborn Hero, Volume 1.


    Emma''s Point of View


    With the morning chill and the sun barely peeking over the horizon, her footsteps echoed along the silent path. The solitude of that moment enveloped her, and Emma closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the cold air to fill her lungs. A white mist escaped her mouth with each breath, forming small clouds that quickly dissipated into the air. She stifled a yawn. She hadn''t slept well the night before, but the day wouldn''t wait for her fatigue.


    The week had been endless, with each day feeling longer and more exhausting than the last. Her muscles were heavy, and a part of her longed to stay in bed, far from the day''s fencing lessons, away from any responsibility. But, as always, she ignored the temptation and moved forward, letting her feet guide her along the path lined with fine stones, leading her towards the Academy.


    On both sides, trees flanked her, adorning the path with their foliage as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the stones. In the distance, the imposing Seraphim Academy loomed, a structure that resembled an ancient, eloquent castle, majestic and almost intimidating.


    Its towers and walls rose against the sky, a symbol of power and prestige. There¡­ only the nobility, those with the necessary wealth, talented young people with resources and connections, and lastly... the best of the best could enter.


    Seraphim Academy prided itself on its teachings in Magic and Fencing, but beyond the combat disciplines, a myriad of other subjects were offered. After all, a society couldn''t sustain itself with swords and spells alone. It was a cycle in which, regardless of the outcome, the Academy always won. If their students succeeded, their achievements became the Academy''s, the emblem of Seraphim, and with each successful generation, they secured more renown, more income, and more prestige.


    Emma shook her head, pushing those thoughts aside. She knew all of that, of course, but it didn''t interest her. She wasn''t there for prestige or glory. She was there to become stronger, to become the best swordswoman.


    The cold woke her a little more, despite her loose clothing, which was barely enough to keep her warm. But she didn''t mind; soon she''d be training, and the heat of exercise would replace the morning chill.


    As she walked, she could feel her muscles protesting with every step. The marks of the previous day''s training still pulsed in her body, a constant reminder of what she had to do, day after day, without respite. Today, like all week, she''d focus solely on physical training. Her routine was relentless, but she didn''t complain. She didn''t allow herself the luxury of stopping, of taking a break, for she knew that fatigue was only a small part of the price she had to pay.


    "Those demons," she thought, the memory still fresh. Those creatures had taken everything she''d ever known. Her home, her family, her peace¡­ all of it had vanished in a single night of horror. The Academy was just a temporary refuge, a place where she could grow stronger. Each day brought her one step closer to her goal, to the revenge she longed for against that damned race of beasts. Unconsciously, her fists clenched, knuckles white, until she noticed the pain in her hands and released them.


    Lost in her reflections, she had almost forgotten to pay attention to her surroundings. She sighed, feeling the weight of her thoughts anchoring her. Her eyes, cold and determined, rose toward the Academy entrance. The imposing fa?ade of the doors seemed to mock her, a reminder of the barrier between her past and the uncertain future that awaited her.


    "A new day, a new problem," she muttered, her voice rough, and moved forward with determined steps. Each day, she thought, was just one more battle she had to win, for she had already lost one, and it would mark her forever.


    ????????????????????????????????????


    "Alright, cadets! Grab a sword and form ranks!" The shout thundered through the room like a bolt of lightning in a clear sky. The deep, authoritative voice belonged to none other than Professor Lockworn, a living legend of forty-two years, a nine-star bearer, a monster in a category of his own.


    His imposing figure stood like a monument of war¡ªtall, muscular, with a military bearing that seemed carved by blows and scars. His thick beard and the horizontal scar across his nose were visible warnings, marks of a man who had known the brutality of the battlefield.


    The students hurried to follow his orders, the sound of their shoes echoing against the polished wooden floor. A hundred and two students had been selected for this class, the best of their generation, the top freshmen, handpicked by Lockworn himself. The Academy had thousands of students, but only "the chosen herds of each generation" had the privilege of learning under the veteran swordmaster.


    Among them was Emma Tarkard. Her face bore the same indifferent look as always, but her eyes concealed deep thoughts. She grabbed a wooden sword from the racks against the smooth stone wall and, as her fingers brushed the hilt, she glanced around the room. It was a vast space bathed in natural light thanks to the large windows adorning one of the walls, cooled by mana stones hidden within the walls.


    Her gaze landed on a familiar figure: Thalion Astaroth, the prodigy of her class and the third son of the powerful ruler of Astaroth City. His flawless appearance, with perfect skin and hair black as midnight, made him stand out, but what truly defined him was the arrogance that radiated from his dark, almost empty gaze. It was as if he could sense anyone''s stare, and he returned Emma''s with a coldness that cut like an invisible blade.


    "Now that we''ve reached the halfway point of the school term and exams are over, it''s time to evaluate your progress," Lockworn announced, walking slowly in front of his students like a predator sizing up his prey. "Some of you have exceeded my expectations, others... have disappointed me." His gaze lingered momentarily on Emma and Thalion, as if he had already made a decision.


    "As always, after the exams, we''ll have a demonstration duel," he declared with a gravity that made everyone hold their breath. "Emma Tarkard, seventh-ranked student, step forward," he ordered. All eyes in the room turned to Emma, who stepped forward without hesitation, though inwardly she cursed the situation. "Thalion Astaroth, first-ranked student, step forward." Another figure moved with the same confidence, and suddenly, the atmosphere felt charged with electricity.


    Emma felt the weight of her classmates'' stares, and the floor beneath her seemed to grow heavier. "You''re allowed to use your Traits, but remember¡ªno lethal force, and no other forms of magic. Prepare yourselves and begin on my signal," the professor said.


    She clicked her tongue. Damn¡­ This was going to be hell. She knew facing Thalion wouldn''t be easy, especially with his Traits: Recessive Latency and Impact Accumulation. It was a cursed combination, a perfect synergy that gave him a brutal advantage in any prolonged fight. And on top of that, the arrogant bastard was the son of a ruler, born with fortune on his side and blessed with more than one trait.


    She sighed and tensed her muscles. What a bastard, she thought. She planted herself in front of Thalion, who looked at her with that superior gaze, his dark eyes shining with palpable arrogance. The professor''s arm dropped, and without warning, the battle began.


    The sound of impact was deafening; Thalion had taken the initiative. The very air seemed to explode when their wooden swords collided. Emma felt the force of the blow travel up her arm, nearly sliding down her bones to her legs. Damn it, it''s like fighting a wall. Thalion hadn''t changed his style. He was all-out attack, pure aggression. And the worst part was, it suited him perfectly. With his defensive Traits, every second of combat worked in his favor.


    Emma stepped back, her feet sliding across the smooth floor, almost splintering it. She took a deep breath and then dropped to the ground, ducking under the next sword strike by a hair''s breadth as the air whistled over her head. Her fingers danced, tracing an intricate, dangerous pattern against the fabric of reality itself. It was time for the counterattack.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Suddenly, the space between them filled with fine threads that sliced through the air with surgical precision. Thalion was thrown back, a muffled roar escaping his lips as his clothes were torn by the cuts, but his skin remained as intact as ever. For him, those were just invisible scratches. That was the worst of it. Emma didn''t delude herself into thinking she had won; she had merely bought herself a bit of time to strategize.


    She hurled her sword with all her might, aiming it straight between Thalion''s eyes. He blocked the weapon with a swift movement, and it flew away, but by then, Emma was already behind the piece of wood, using the blind spot she''d created to close the distance and launch a direct attack.


    The room''s atmosphere shifted in an instant. A low, metallic sound began to fill the space, a hollow, menacing rumble that sounded like the shriek of birds or the forced condensation of metal itself.


    "A Thousand Cuts," Emma murmured, her voice shaking from the effort. The air between them filled with threads. They were nearly invisible, but they glowed faintly with a dangerous light. With the force of tons, they struck Thalion, who was thrown back again, this time against the stone wall reinforced by spells and mana stones.


    The impact was devastating. The wall dented under the pressure, the echo of the collision reverberating through the entire room. A murmur of astonishment rippled through the spectators. Could someone really push Thalion that far? Nothing like this had ever happened, and here, right before their stunned eyes, it had just occurred.


    But Thalion wasn''t someone to fall so easily. Emerging from the rubble, or rather launching himself from it, his clothes in tatters and his body marked by superficial cuts that bled, the arrogance in his face had vanished, replaced by cold focus. He now knew Emma wasn''t just any rival.


    "I''ll return the favor," he said icily, his Traits activating at full force. The pressure in the air changed, and Emma barely had time to react. But her threads instinctively deployed in front of her, blocking the devastating attack that would have been dangerous to take head-on. The impact was brutal, but her defenses held, just barely.


    And so, the dance resumed. She recovered her sword, thanks to the threads she wielded with mastery. Weapons clashed, bodies moved at such a dizzying speed they seemed to vanish and reappear like distorted shadows. Sweat covered both combatants, the pressure mounting with every passing second. Neither was willing to yield.


    With a mind cold as steel, Emma tilted her head to one side at the last second, narrowly avoiding the fierce slash from her opponent. Her reflexes were nearly perfect, and without wasting time, she twisted her body with feline grace, enveloping herself in a thin layer of threads weaving around her, forming an ethereal but firm barrier. Thalion didn''t stop; his Traits were fully charged, ready to unleash another devastating assault.


    The attack was swift. It sent her flying backward as if struck by an invisible blow, but right in midair, a delicate, almost imperceptible web appeared as if by magic. The threads, as thin as spider silk, materialized to catch her. The net absorbed all the impact of her flight, halting her momentum elegantly. In the blink of an eye, the trap vanished as if it had never existed, letting her fall gently to the ground, like a leaf caught by the wind.


    Emma got back up, her muscles tense and her breathing heavy, but the spark of determination burned brightly in her eyes. In one final, desperate effort, her threads began to glow a vivid blue.


    "Thorn Dance," she whispered with trembling lips. Out of nowhere, a storm of shining threads erupted around her, enveloping Thalion in an inescapable trap. The threads closed in, and in an instant, Emma''s sword stopped just at her opponent''s neck.


    "Emma Tarkard, wins," Lockworn declared, his voice so firm it left no room for argument.


    The murmurs of the crowd exploded in a mixture of astonishment and overwhelming excitement, but she didn''t care. She had won, but she was at her limit. Her threads vanished into the air, and with them, all her energy. She fell to her knees, her breathing ragged, her body trembling, her vision blurred.


    And damn¡­ that bastard really had pushed her to the edge.


    ????????????????????????????????????


    Brian Morningstar''s Point of View


    "The winner is... Luke," exclaimed a young yet firm female voice from the other end of the courtyard. Dressed in light leather armor designed for combat that seemed to mold to her slender, athletic frame, a woman in her early twenties raised her arm in approval. Her brown hair swayed in the morning breeze, while her green eyes sparkled with an emotion that seemed disconnected from what was actually happening. This woman was Nina Listair, the black sheep of the Listair family and a seven-star swordswoman.


    After clashing with her family and seeking a more stable life, away from the daily risks of adventurers, Nina had secured a job as an instructor at the prestigious Seraphim Academy.


    But who could have predicted that her flock would be so... disappointing? She sighed, trying to suppress the bitterness rising up her throat like slow poison. Of the 102 students assigned to her, not even the top two stood out. To her, they all moved like snails, and those who showed a hint of skill barely saved themselves from ridicule.


    But a job was a job. And at least the pay was enough to keep her from quitting just yet. "Alright, you two can rest for the remainder of the class if you wish," she said to the two boys who had just sparred in a demonstration duel. Without waiting for a response, she turned her gaze to the rest of the group and forced a smile.


    "Now I want everyone to find a partner and start training," she declared with enthusiasm as fake as her expressions. "I''ll be watching and correcting your mistakes," she added at the end to avoid coming off as careless. Although, in truth, the only thing she cared about was maintaining appearances. After all, who could say Nina Listair wasn''t earning her keep? If anyone dared, she''d punch them in the face.


    She inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh morning air as her green eyes scanned the courtyard, which, to her frustration, was nothing more than a section of the academy''s outdoor area. They hadn''t even had the decency to assign her one of the famous training halls. "Pathetic," she thought, biting the inside of her lip. Wait, did that make her pathetic too? she wondered, a flash of panic sparking in her eyes.


    Brian... or Aiden, or whatever his name was now, wasn''t having a good day either. In fact, "bad" was too mild a word to describe what was happening. The morning had been torture from the start.


    He had hardly slept, tormented by that terrible dream. And when he finally gave up on trying to get some rest, wide awake and without the handy tool called the internet, the best he could do to keep his mind occupied was to explore the room. He spent hours browsing incomprehensible books, with scribbles in an unknown language that, strangely enough, he could somehow understand.


    However, understanding it didn''t solve the fundamental problem he discovered: he couldn''t write in that damned language. Every attempt to put something on paper resulted in an archaeological disaster. Frustrated, he massaged his forehead, trying to shake off the question tormenting him: Why the hell was he going through this? But, as usual, he found no answer.


    He hadn''t learned much about Brian, the boy whose body he now occupied, either. No embarrassing diaries, no photos, no clues about who he really was. It was like he was inhabiting a ghost, and that ghost was making his life hell.


    His fingers traced the hilt of the wooden sword he held¡ªa tool he was familiar with, a tool for physical development and training. But what were these lunatics thinking, training kids as if they were soldiers? "What twisted, backward mind decided this was appropriate?" he thought, as his annoyance grew by the second.


    "Hey, idiot, didn''t you hear the teacher?!" a sharp voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned his head, meeting the face of an annoying brat. For a moment, he thought he recognized him, but indifference quickly took over, and he stopped paying attention. "Ah, right, I need a training partner," he reasoned, as his eyes scanned the area. He wasn''t great at socializing, but he didn''t want to stand out as the odd one no one wanted to pick either.


    The problem was... everyone seemed to be avoiding him. Those who did glance at him did so with barely concealed disdain and mockery, only to quickly look away. "What... what the hell is wrong with me?" he wondered, incredulous. He knew he didn''t look his best and probably looked awful, but was it really bad enough to make others not even want to come near him?


    "Trash! I''m talking to you!" The brat charged back in, his voice shrill, his face red with anger. He observed him for another second, this time bothering to register his presence. But his patience had limits, and this kid was pushing them. "You''re a nuisance," he murmured, his tone flat. "Don''t talk to me, and go to hell."


    The boy''s reaction was immediate. His face, already red, turned nearly purple with fury. But he had no time to deal with the exaggerated reactions of a spoiled brat. He continued searching for a partner, ignoring the growing discomfort he felt watching the other kids practice with their wooden swords. It all seemed like madness, as if he were in a Nike factory in China or something.


    Suddenly, he heard quick footsteps¡ªa light trot that quickly turned into a run. "I''ll make you pay for yesterday, you damn idiot!" The brat''s voice rang out behind him. He didn''t even bother to fully turn around, as, in his mind, everything was happening in slow motion. The kid raised his wooden sword above his head, and when he was close enough, he launched a clumsy downward strike.


    He simply sidestepped with his entire body, as if dodging was the most natural thing in the world¡ªand of course, it was. Who the hell would want to get hit? And in one fluid motion, he raised his own wooden sword and gently rested it against the back of the kid''s neck.


    "Does that count as a point?" he asked dryly, without a hint of emotion in his voice. He was tired, mentally and physically, but at least he wasn''t going to take out his frustration on kids. That was something he had decided, no matter how stupid he thought the situation was.


    The brat was left speechless, unable to process what had just happened. "What... what the hell was that?" he stammered, as astonished as he was terrified.


    Nina Listair, along with the rest of those present, was surprised. No one had expected Brian, the "class deadweight," to do something so unexpected. Nina, in particular, smiled brazenly. Had she perhaps found a tortoise among her snails?

 Chapter 6: Innate. (Long Chapter)

    "And thus, on the edge of the abyss, he stood with a determination that neither time nor space could break; because although fate had taken his home and identity, he still carried within his veins the indomitable spark of the Innate, a power as ancient as the universe and as dangerous as the edge of a cursed sword." ¡ªExcerpt from Volume 1 of The Reborn Hero.


    "What does it feel like to live a life that isn''t yours? What does it feel like to know that you''re an impostor in your own skin? What does it feel like to not know the way home?"


    He bit his lower lip, trapped between frustration and resignation. An invisible weight chained him, dragging him to an unknown and shadowy place. Had he died? Or was this, in some absurd way, the rebirth spoken of in those mangas and novels he sometimes read to kill time? He shook his head, rejecting the idea immediately.


    He didn''t want to get lost in absurd explanations. He just wanted to return home, to the life that had been taken from him, to the familiar laughs and voices that now felt like distant echoes, as if the waves of time and space had swept them away forever.


    He looked at the sandwich in his hands and, without realizing it, squeezed it until the filling overflowed, a small chaos between his fingers. This entire situation, this imposed life, seemed like a cruel farce, a perverse game in which he had never asked to participate. Neither the fresh breeze nor the soft touch of the grass beneath him could ease the anguish of being trapped in a world he didn''t understand, in an academy where they looked at him as if he were a stranger, an anomaly that didn''t belong.


    He leaned his back against the shadowed trunk of a tree, his green-aquamarine eyes reflecting the daylight. The calm of the place contrasted bitterly with the turmoil inside him. In the distance, the dirt path he had come from stretched out, a straight line that would take him back to the academy if he followed it.


    But he wasn''t in a hurry to return. That vast dining hall on the ground floor, with high ceilings, unreachable luxuries, and large open windows, was a reality he felt as alien as the cold stares sometimes directed at him by other students. They, with their giggles and whispers that seemed to scrape his skin, made him feel like he didn''t belong. And maybe they were right.


    He recalled how he had taken a couple of sandwiches and decided to leave the dining hall through the window, instead of using the normal path. The astonished and disapproving looks that had followed him seemed, at the time, as insignificant as the words they uttered, as if their opinions were dust carried by the wind.


    He was exhausted, even more so now after being dragged by that crazy woman, Nina something. That woman seriously needed better acting classes, as her attitudes fooled no one. She had offered him training, personally guiding his movements for the rest of the class with a mixture of coldness and clumsiness, exposing her fa?ade of false kindness. His hands still ached from the exercises, with newly formed calluses already closed over by scabs he had resisted picking at.


    As he took a bite of the sandwich, he closed his eyes, letting the simple but comforting taste envelop him. At least it was delicious, and it was something he could control, something that didn''t judge or demand anything from him. Perhaps the exhaustion was part of his current irritation, a mix of insomnia and unease manifesting as a simmering rage, a desperation that defied logical explanation.


    Maybe he wasn''t going mad, but he felt his mind teetering on the edge of an unfathomable abyss. He wasn''t someone prone to losing his calm, but the absurdity of this strange life seemed like an impossible enigma to solve, one that any psychologist would struggle to understand.


    He tried to cling to rationality, but what sense did that make when the world itself lacked any?


    Changing the subject, he took another bite of the sandwich, as if the mechanical act of chewing helped him organize his thoughts. With solitude as his only companion, that ability, that power called "Innate," kept swirling in his mind like a persistent bad omen. He couldn''t stop thinking about it, like a repetitive and unsettling melody. "Innate," he murmured, biting into the sandwich as he chewed slowly. The name couldn''t have been simpler, but simplicity was deceptive.


    Innate Abilities... Nurse Selene had been careful in explaining them to him; the ability was part of his essence, something natural and primordial. You were born with it, or it awakened within you over time. It was instinctive, almost like learning to breathe when you entered this world.


    He recalled her talk about the importance of protecting that so-called ability, of keeping it secret since he had no power, influence, or connections. "It''s not just a talent," the beautiful nurse had warned, "it''s a weapon that, in the wrong hands, could lead you down a dark path."


    Yes, that lecture hadn''t been pleasant to listen to. He already knew he was a poor devil; there was no need to have that reinforced for a whole hour. He understood the depths of something so unique, something that few possessed and many coveted.


    Out of curiosity and deliberate boredom, without much effort, he had delved into his own mind, and there it was: the details unfolded before him like an open book. That ability allowed him, once a day, to increase any chosen attribute by 1%, whether physical, mental, or spiritual, as long as it applied to himself. Even inanimate objects were viable, but other people were not. It was cumulative, and while it couldn''t be reversed, its effect could be negated at will, like a switch that could be turned on or off without any cost.


    It was simple, yes, subtle if you wanted to call it that, but was he the only one who could see it? Or had he already gone mad? He looked at the sandwich thoughtfully and took another bite. The Innate ability wasn''t suited for direct combat, as the nurse had suggested due to her lack of knowledge, since even she didn''t know what it entailed. It was something more insidious, and that made it dangerous in a different way.


    He thought of a quick example: What would happen if, over a hundred days, he accumulated a 100% chance of causing death with a simple touch? Absurd, yes, but real. So real that he felt a chill run down his spine. Could it be true, the warning? Were those abilities known as Innate so extreme, so uncontrollable? So much so that all their users became full-fledged monsters, as Selene had mentioned?


    If that were the case, he didn''t want to imagine what kind of people those other users were, and another reason was added to the list, one of many, not to reveal that he had awakened an Innate Ability. Besides, who did he have to tell? The demon girl or the ghosts under his bed? Yes, he could already see how that would turn out.


    But there was another question that piqued his curiosity. If the ability was so instinctive and under his perfect control, how general and ambiguous could it be? An example... something like a type of bodily fortitude that covered the entire physical spectrum, encompassing his whole body.


    Could something like that really be done? As he finished the last bite of his sandwich, he decided to try. After all, he wouldn''t lose anything by attempting it, and the ability was there, calling to him, tempting him, asking to be used.


    With a slow breath, he allowed the ability to flow from within, a force that seemed to understand itself. He felt his mind reciting a strange chant, words he didn''t recognize but seemed engraved in his soul. "Liscturm, mankerfird dua do baleck, seraft no torburd, karlowoen dimato porbebalick... unn."


    Without knowing it, he had completed the ancient rune chants of past lives. He felt a slight tingling in his body, and then a strange calm. Bodily Fortitude... current: 001%. A tiny increase, but proof that the ability was active. Proof that opened a world of possibilities, and something others might have considered as a Trait in itself became part of his existence, strengthening him, creating an extra layer that would never deactivate.


    However, he didn''t notice any immediate change, and that was obvious, as a 1% improvement was still minimal. Everything seemed the same. But in his enthusiasm, he had overlooked an essential detail; having knowledge of something didn''t mean having the experience to know how to use it.


    A cold sensation touched his lips, and when his fingers brushed the base of his nose, he felt something thick and warm staining his skin. He looked down and saw blood, a crimson drop spreading quickly. What the hell...? he tried to think, but was interrupted by an uncontrollable cough.


    Covering his mouth to avoid staining the grass with his blood, he felt his chest tighten. The tingling turned into a crushing emptiness, as if a sharp blade threatened his throat, ready to cut his last breath.


    And then, in the blink of an eye, everything went dark. His body fell to the ground like a puppet without strings, plunging into the abyss of a deep and bottomless unconsciousness.


    ????????????????????????????????????


    Pain... a throbbing disturbance that caused him slight spasms.


    The turning of pages, such a common and monotonous sound, reached his ears like the echo of a distant memory. The back of his head rested on something soft, a familiar softness from times past, the kind of softness that only another person could provide.


    What was happening? he wondered. He remembered being a complete idiot, a fool who had abused a power he barely understood superficially. A fool who had suffered serious consequences for it.


    Between his fingers, the grass and soil were palpable, a direct connection to reality and away from the world of dreams. His breathing slowly regulated, and with growing unease, he opened his eyes. The shadows of leaves in the treetops and the small traces of sunlight that managed to penetrate that wall caressed his face and body.


    That sound, the turning of a page, was audible again, and when he looked up, his mind processed the image in astonishment. Unable to stop himself, his lips whispered, "An angel?" as his eyes adjusted to the light.


    Before him stood a figure with short silver hair, porcelain-like skin, and a serene smile that soon turned into one of embarrassment, with a soft blush on her cheeks and bandages covering her eyes. Yes, she was definitely an angel, and in that moment, he knew he had made too many mistakes, the last one being an act of idiocy born out of boredom. Curiosity killed the cat, they said.


    The angel extended her arms and began moving her hands clumsily. Her lips moved, trying to form an explanation, but a series of untimely coughs broke the silence and the beautiful atmosphere. He sat up, lifting his torso from the lap of sanctity, trying to cover his mouth, relieved not to see blood this time. It made sense, he thought. On the other side, things like that should be considered trifles.


    But... why did the "other side" look exactly like the place where he died? Even that ugly leather backpack, which belonged to this body, was there, tossed aside like trash.


    "Are you... are you okay?" the angel asked, her voice soft like a melody, her worried tone awakening a thousand feelings of guilt in him. When his coughing finally subsided, he turned his face toward her, his eyes narrowing as he felt an almost blinding aura of purity emanating from her.


    "I think so," he replied, his voice rough from the coughing, causing a slight discomfort in his throat. Now, fully awake and no longer blinded by the light, the angel he thought he had seen seemed... more human. Yes, he wasn''t dead, it had just been a momentary confusion, but he didn''t doubt he had been close. After all, fainting so often couldn''t be good for his brain, considering the lack of oxygen and all that.


    Short, beautiful silver hair... but for some reason, it was poorly cut? His mind wondered. Her delicate skin, with a split lip, slightly dirty bandages covering her eyes, a simple dress full of suspicious food stains, and sleeves covered in dried blood. His blood, the thought arrived late. There... before him stood a young girl, similar in age to this body, a girl who now simply seemed vulnerable.


    "Are you okay?" he asked, his doubts about her appearance increasing his concern. The silver-haired girl waved her arms, noticeably thin, and a faint trace of bruised skin peeked out from under her sleeves. It was only for a moment, but something told him that what he saw wasn''t his imagination.


    "You... you should be more worried about yourself," the girl stammered clumsily. "I found you collapsed, and you were too heavy to move," she added quickly, as if trying to justify herself against a non-existent accusation.


    He narrowed his eyes, noticing her evasiveness born of caution, always trying to protect herself from the new or unknown. The girl seemed skittish, which further fueled his suspicions. Without thinking much about it, he moved closer, and the girl flinched at his proximity. How could she perceive him if she was blindfolded? Another mystery surrounding the girl.


    "The bandages... they''re dirty," he said almost unconsciously, his words sounding harsh, though that wasn''t his original intent. She shrank, much like a frightened turtle, causing a wave of sympathy to stir in him, as his suspicions seemed to be confirmed.


    "Do you have anything else you can use?" he asked, softening his tone as much as possible. "I have others in my bag, but I wanted to wait until the day ended," she explained, with a shyness that almost made him smile inwardly.


    "I see," he murmured, sitting in front of the girl, making sure to maintain a respectful distance so both could feel comfortable. He remained silent, letting the seconds pass, and the girl began to show signs of nervousness at the prolonged calm.


    "I''m still here, if you''re wondering," he commented in a tired tone. "Though I''d like to know how long I was out, if it''s not too much to ask. Of course, if you know," he said, breaking the silence, which he didn''t find uncomfortable, but the other person clearly did. Upon hearing his question, the girl exhaled with relief and, with renewed determination, began gathering the courage to respond.


    "When I arrived, I found you passed out, and I didn''t know what to do," she said, nervously fiddling with the book she held in her hands. "That was over half an hour ago," she finished, her voice trembling with timidity.


    "I see... I must have been a huge bother to you. I''m sorry for that," he smiled with some sadness, and, knowing how to read between the lines, added, "And I''m also sorry for taking your place; that was my fault." Upon saying this, the girl''s face turned red with embarrassment, and she quickly waved her hands, "Don''t say that," she replied, but her confusion only grew when he let out a soft, amused laugh.


    Joy marked his face, and for the first time that day, something didn''t seem horrible; "Thank you," he murmured, "I really needed that." He let his body fall back onto the grass, watching the movement of the leaves that blocked the sunlight. "If you need help with your hair, don''t hesitate to ask," he said, raising his arm and forming scissors with his fingers, slicing the air. His hand dropped immediately, realizing how silly the gesture was, and his face flushed slightly.


    "How can I say this without sounding rude? It''s a... mess," he corrected with a slight smile, while the girl hid her face behind the book in embarrassment, murmuring to herself, "I thought I did a good job."


    Turning his head, he noticed his other sandwich on the ground, covered in ants. The sight made him a little sad. He was still hungry.


    "You said you had another pair of bandages, right?" he asked curiously, trying to keep the conversation going. Upon a timid nod, he sighed, rising from his comfort. He took a few steps toward the worn leather backpack, pulled out some new bandages, and returned to the girl. He wasn''t going to use them anyway; with that thought, he glanced at his hand, particularly his knuckles, where previously lost bandages had once been. He had found those bandages in the room and planned to use them but forgot.


    Being forgetful had its uses, he supposed. "Here, you can use them, they''re new, so you won''t have to use the ones you already have," he said, extending his hand. She fumbled awkwardly in the air and, upon feeling his fingers, pulled her hand back nervously. After some insistence on his part, she finally took the offered fabric, leaving him both curious and surprised.


    "Do you usually accept things so easily from strangers?" he asked playfully. She quickly shook her head, "I don''t feel any malice in your actions," she replied, and that stirred a slight confusion in him, though he preferred not to pry to avoid being intrusive.


    "Use them. I''ll turn around so I won''t bother you," he said, making sure not to make her uncomfortable. His legs turned, a small gesture that the silver-haired girl silently appreciated, trusting that he would keep his word, as his actions had no trace of malice, only compassion.


    Three minutes later, she whispered softly, "I''m done." Now... the clean bandage highlighted her aura of purity, making him feel somewhat more at ease. "Much better," he murmured and nodded to himself. Once again, he sat down, ensuring he kept a comfortable distance between them, and thus... silence reigned again.


    He noticed how the girl turned the pages of her book, tracing the printed ink of those scribbles with her fingers. From his position, he could see that it wasn''t Braille. Curiosity made him raise an eyebrow, though he said nothing, wanting to enjoy the silence, which now seemed comfortable for both of them, for a while longer.


    But all good things must come to an end. When the sound of bells echoed through the place, he remembered the "magic arts" classes he had heard he was supposed to attend. He stood up, each movement accompanied by persistent pain, as if his body was on the verge of collapse.


    Taking his backpack, he sighed a little and scratched his hair; and now that he thought about it, his hair was also a mess. He''d have to cut it sometime when he found some scissors. Faced with his future problems and poor school protection, he ignored the pain and continued forward.


    He saw how the girl remained motionless, reading her book. Well... he couldn''t be a jerk and ask her about it, but toward the only person he didn''t find horrible in this place, he didn''t want the interaction to end, so... before leaving, he ventured to ask, "Can I come back here? Of course, if you don''t mind."


    The girl vehemently shook her head and then, with an evident blush, nodded, "You... you can." She hid behind her book, and he smiled before saying goodbye, looking forward to their next conversation.


    After walking for a few minutes and seeing the imposing Academy in the distance, an idea crossed his mind. And he felt like an idiot, realizing that he had never asked the name of his shy caretaker.


    ????????????????????????????????????


    What to do when one was lost? That was the question that lingered in his mind, the thought that summed up his current situation. As he walked through desolate, lifeless, and cold hallways, a pang of frustration surged through him, making him click his tongue.


    "Seriously, this place needed a few maps of its facilities," he muttered in annoyance, his voice barely a whisper that was swallowed by the echo of the corridor. It had been a terrible day, no, scratch that... it was turning into an awful day, and it kept getting worse.


    The only good thing had been that moment with the shy girl, a strange encounter that helped him relax, but which soured upon noticing clear signs of bullying towards her. His expression darkened, he promised himself he''d help her.


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Aside from that, everything had been a disaster. To top it off, he was hungry too; he should''ve eaten faster when he had the chance. He shook his head, frustrated with himself. That had been his mistake, just like it was when he used that ability thinking it wouldn''t harm him, assuming that since it belonged to this body, he''d have some kind of immunity¡ªa foolish assumption that cost him dearly.


    He ran a hand over his face, pushing the hair that fell over his eyes aside, and massaged his eyelids, trying to clear his head. Sleep was stalking him, and while the hallways felt familiar to his body, to his mind, they were just empty pieces, like a vague d¨¦j¨¤ vu.


    He had entered the building through the window, the same one he had used to get out to the courtyard, and later to re-enter a now almost empty dining hall. Strange and disdainful looks from the few students he didn''t recognize from earlier followed him, as if he were some circus monkey. But that didn''t bother him much, and he kept walking. The result? Well... he couldn''t figure out how to navigate and ended up hopelessly lost.


    "Magical arts..." he suddenly whispered, the term slipping from his lips as if it felt so natural and yet so unattainable. It was something he didn''t conceptually understand, something that, where he came from, wasn''t realistic; and if you took into account those con artist courses, things got even worse.


    Magical arts, the word echoed in his mind. How could he grasp something that, theoretically, didn''t exist in his world? Magic, spells, and all that here were a reality, not simple fairy tales, not lies told to children, not a delusion many liked to believe in; but rather... something as tangible as it was dangerous.


    At least the sleepless night had been productive; he had found some information in those scattered books in the room. He had discovered that magic not only existed in various forms. But that... "Mages" were those trained to use prana, known to the public eye as researchers, inventors, and developers.


    These so-called mages dedicated themselves to exploring the potential of magic in peaceful, scientific, and even commercial ways, all in the name of prosperity, or so the book said. To him, things boiled down to the basics... people trying to make a living and line their pockets with money.


    But there was another type of mage, those who belonged to a unique class... battle mages. These mages were trained for war, prepared to defend against supernatural threats, monsters, and anything thrown at them. Their magic was their best weapon, and their lifestyle was quite unique. They were admired, almost revered in all sectors, as few managed to reach this level of skill. The few who succeeded were recruited by countries, by governments, and placed in high-ranking positions as protectors of entire nations or specific regions.


    For those who couldn''t make it in this category, there was a special sub-division: Sorcerers. These were experts trained to face monsters, counter demons, and punish those who betrayed their race of birth. Additionally, they were assigned the dangerous task of combating the Chalseas Monturd Resem, creatures formed from the surrounding mana and the accumulated resentment of people. Known for their cruelty and ferocity, these tangible nightmares were hunted as soon as there was any awareness of them.


    That was the extent of his knowledge on the subject. After all, the books he found in the room and his curiosity had limits, as apart from that, which was the only interesting part, everything else was just books he stumbled upon. Texts filled with theories, teaching methods, but ones that delved into complex subjects he could barely understand.


    "Ancient Runic Treatment," "Merlin''s Chants, Fourth Edition," "Prana Spells for Beginners," titles that his tongue pronounced but which slipped through his fingers. Also, he wouldn''t say he delved too deep into the topic, that would be arrogant; not when he was so shaken by those dreams, not when he was just trying to keep his mind occupied.


    "What are you doing here?" a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts, freezing him in place. A chill ran down his spine as he recognized it. It was her, the demon girl, the same one who had cornered him this morning and whom he had tried to avoid at all costs. A bead of sweat slid down his neck. What was the devilish girl doing here?


    He felt a slight itch on his wrist, right where a tattoo of crossed feathers became visible, a clear hex that brat had cast on him to bother him. It only happened when she was nearby, almost as if it was warning him of her presence.


    He slowly turned, feeling the weight of her gaze stabbing into him like daggers. And there she was, just a few steps away. Her clothes were torn, her face covered in bruises; she looked like she had been attacked by a pack of rabid dogs. Yes, it was definitely her. With her intense gaze and her barely disguised look of annoyance, and though she was a head shorter than this body, she was twice as intimidating.


    "We have class together. Walk or you''ll be late," she said, her look piercing right through him. Her eyes shone with a dangerous intensity, and her voice was as sharp as the edge of a sword. Without waiting for a response, she walked past him, leaving behind a cold sensation that seeped into his bones.


    He watched her walk, noticing that she limped slightly. Every step she took seemed painful, but she endured it with an indifference that he found unsettling. Follow her or not? What to do? The last time had ended in a terribly uncomfortable experience, and he wasn''t sure if he wanted to go through that again. However, when she turned her head and shot him a stern look, the decision became clear.


    He sighed, resigned, and began walking after her. Maybe, just maybe, the day could still get better... or worse, depending on what awaited him in that class.


    ????????????????????????????????????


    Emma Tarkard''s Point of View


    With a full stomach, she left the dining hall, leaving behind the prying eyes and the murmurs that endlessly followed her. Those murmurs were a mix of envy, reluctant respect, lust, and disdain toward the power a commoner like her wielded.


    The relief of being outside that place tangled with the discomfort in her legs, which felt like needles stabbing her with every step. Pain¡­ that much was clear, she couldn''t deny it. She felt every bruise on her body and face from the extensive training she had endured. But it had been her decision, and she wasn''t about to go back on it.


    Thalion, after being defeated in their demonstration match, insisted on being her training partner. Sure, she didn''t really care what he wanted, but if he was willing to push her limits, she would do the same. She would use him as a climbing wall; and that guy¡­ he hadn''t hesitated to fight with all his strength, holding nothing back. Now¡­ now her body was paying the price they had agreed upon. She felt the weight of exhaustion in every fiber. It wasn''t as if she wasn''t used to physical discipline, but training at that level was entirely different.


    But why couldn''t she just... stop? She knew the answer, though she hated the insistence of that voice reminding her with every step of her need to become stronger. That voice she couldn''t silence.


    Thalion, as her opponent, had given it his all; for the first time during her stay at the Academy, she fought against his real abilities. It quickly became apparent that there was a massive gap between the two. Their fight was simply a mismatch for Thalion due to her Trait. With someone like that, someone who didn''t treat her with kid gloves, her goal of surpassing herself, of truly becoming strong, felt more achievable.


    Emma blinked several times, trying to clear her vision and shake off the heaviness in her eyelids. She didn''t want to stop, she couldn''t allow herself to. Yet, when she looked up, focusing on the great stone hallway ahead, and saw him, it felt like all the effort of the afternoon condensed into a single moment of... What exactly?


    There was Bri¨¢n, that fool, with that long, messy aqua-green hair that made him stand out¡ªor at least, that''s how it seemed to her eyes. But it wasn''t just that. It was... him. She sighed deeply, the air escaping her lungs as a reminder of the slight discomfort she felt.


    She no longer knew what they were. Friends? Acquaintances? She couldn''t say; they had stopped being so close a long time ago. Ever since that incident, their relationship had only plummeted.


    The afternoon in the dining hall had been strange; quiet despite all the whispers. Without the usual presence of that fool, without him approaching to pester her, to share lunch while trying to start some pointless conversation, pretending everything was fine.


    He hadn''t sought her out, and that was new, just like this morning. However, she attributed it to what she had heard the night before and how she had seen him then. But now, something about his behavior annoyed her. He looked... lost? She watched him closely, noticing how he seemed to look in every direction as if searching for something.


    Didn''t he read the information boards when he came in? Emma thought, recalling the notice board where recent class updates were posted. Probably not, after all, he was that kind of idiot... She wondered if he was aware of the change, that they now had Beginner-level Magic Arts instead of the usual Swordsmanship class in the afternoon. That thought made her sigh in exasperation. She knew he was naturally absent-minded, but was it this bad?


    She decided to approach, her steps echoing in the empty hallway to announce her presence. Without preamble, she let out a few words: "What are you doing here?" She watched as Bri¨¢n mechanically turned to look at her, and for a moment, a flicker of panic crossed his face before he masked it with a clumsy, nervous smile. Why that expression? Something tightened in her chest, and without knowing exactly why, irritation started to creep in.


    The itching on her wrist began, a reminder of a promise made in the innocence of childhood. Why is he acting like this? Emma tried to maintain her serious demeanor, but doubts relentlessly seeped in. Is it because of yesterday? Her chest sank with a discomfort she struggled to conceal. No, it wasn''t entirely her fault, he shared part of the blame, but that truth didn''t make it any easier to endure the unease she felt now.


    A few meters from the tired eyes of that fool, she had to look up to meet his gaze. He had grown a lot recently, she noticed. Until not long ago, she had been the taller of the two.


    With a harsher tone than she intended, due to a hint of bad temper, she said, "We have joint classes. Walk, or you''ll be late." She walked past him without waiting for a response, and the slight shiver his proximity caused made her grit her teeth. Why is he acting like this? Why didn''t he seek me out in the dining hall? And why does this bother me so much?


    Noticing that he wasn''t starting to walk, Emma stopped and threw him a frustrated look. She turned sharply to face him, and as if the distance could keep her thoughts from consuming her, she tried to speak, but then he began to move, and Emma fell silent. She bit the inside of her cheek, swallowing whatever she had wanted to say.


    In the end, she clenched her teeth and just kept walking. It''s not just my fault, she told herself. That fool is also to blame. Blame for pretending nothing happened, for believing everything could go back to normal like before.


    And as she walked, Emma felt that, somewhere deep inside, insecurity and anger mingled, forming a knot in her chest that she didn''t know how to untangle.


    With her legs moving, unhurried, she noticed it again. The same thing as yesterday, the same thing as today. That fool, Bri¨¢n, maintained a distance that no longer seemed prudent, but enormous, as if they were mere strangers walking the same path. The discomfort on his face was palpable, reflected in those unique aqua-green eyes he had.


    And that irritated her more than she would have admitted aloud. The tattoo on her wrist began to itch, a familiar sensation that accompanied her growing frustration as her hands clenched into fists. That instinctive movement caused Bri¨¢n to take a step back.


    That simple act made her stop and turn her head, glaring at him with a frown. Had yesterday been too much? She asked herself that over and over again, but she shook her head. No. This hadn''t started yesterday. This had begun earlier, from when things changed. From when she couldn''t protect her home... or that idiot.


    She wanted to speak, to say something that might ease what her own foolishness had broken. To at least try to fix the mistake she had made, seeing how Bri¨¢n was trying to move forward, pretending to forget the past, seeking that peace that was denied to her. And knowing that she couldn''t do it made her very angry, and she did something she didn''t want to.


    But... how could she not be furious about it? That he could move on while she sank into her own resentment filled her with hatred¡ªnot towards that fool, but towards herself. A hatred she had endured for a long time and that came out at the worst possible moment. She wanted to say something, to backtrack and give in a little, but... this wasn''t just her fault, was it?


    Sadly, the words died in her throat before they could come out. There was no reconciliation, not even an attempt to yield her part, because right at that moment, something else caught her attention. A set of double doors rose before her, imposing and prestigious, with glowing runes engraved on the frame that read: "Magic Reception Hall."


    She stopped abruptly, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw that fool, still trailing behind her, and for some reason, he had an expression so defeated it almost made her smile. Almost. Her face became blank again. He was still the same idiot as always, and sooner or later, they would fix things. They would. He just had to wait a little longer. Wait until she could let go of the past.


    Upon entering the hall, the overwhelming presence of condensed mana hit her senses. The room was vastly larger than it appeared from the outside, a testament to the magic used to expand its interior. Seats resembling bleachers lined both sides, rising toward the walls, with stairs flanking the ends. In the center, a flawlessly polished stone floor featured a hexagon with a podium standing as the main focal point.


    Looking up, she saw mana stones floating in the air like chandeliers, gently swaying, illuminating the triangular ceiling adorned with fine paintings that narrated stories from ancient times. The hall was packed, filled with first-year students chatting and laughing with their groups of friends, excited for the upcoming new class.


    Again, from the corner of her eye, she noticed how Bri¨¢n finally approached. Internally, she smiled with satisfaction. After all, standing there motionless for so long had a certain purpose. "Let''s find a seat," she said, and almost like a predator stalking its prey, she grabbed Bri¨¢n''s hand in a firm grip. The movement was so fast that that fool didn''t even have time to react.


    For a moment, their tattoos glowed with a soft light, indicating that a connection had formed between them, a bond that had been dormant for months. That bond was a connection sealed in their innocence, allowing them to see each other as an open map.


    What she perceived, however, took her breath away. A deep emptiness formed in her chest as she felt the faint fear, the overwhelm, the confusion, and the exhaustion of that fool. She could sense that he was overwhelmed by her presence, by her grip, by her unstable nature, by her personality. That made her frown and bite the inside of her cheek; she could no longer see what was once there, she couldn''t feel it, she couldn''t find it. That joy, that excitement, that warm embarrassment that used to appear when they formed the bond, all of that was no longer where it should be.


    Guilt struck her like a furious storm. It was unbearable. She averted her gaze, unable to face what she had seen. "Let''s hurry," she murmured, hiding her distress, avoiding looking at Bri¨¢n''s expression, as he too could read her like an open book, for that was the nature of the bond they had formed back then.


    She began to walk without letting go of his hand, searching in him for something she could remember, an echo of what they once shared, but she found nothing. She tried to dig deeper, but the spike of pain she felt through the connection made her panic. She quickly looked at Bri¨¢n and saw his face, trying to hide the pain, but the bond didn''t lie. She was stronger, she reminded herself; and immediately let go of his hand, noticing how the calmness returned to that fool''s face.


    His expression looked like that of someone who had just survived a calamity and lived to tell the tale. That gesture made her frown even more. What was that supposed to mean? she thought, almost grumbling internally. At that point, they had found seats in the front row, and thanks to her kind presence, the students made way for them without hesitation, even leaving a considerable space around them.


    Bri¨¢n stood beside her, rubbing his hand and checking if he had any broken bones, which made her roll her eyes in exasperation at his comical exaggeration. "Sit," she ordered in her usual tone. He obeyed, though he kept a cautious distance from her, just to be safe.


    She paid no attention to the murmurs around her, some compliments and others malicious comments barely whispered by those who didn''t dare speak aloud. None of it mattered to her, none; everything she needed to resolve was right there, sitting next to her, and right inside her chaotic mind.


    More conversations, more murmurs resonated, but this time not directed at her. The gazes turned toward someone else. Soon a figure approached; "I''ll sit here, since I see a lot of space available," said an unmistakable voice. Yes, it was Thalion Astaroth, the third son of the city''s ruler. She nodded her head, acknowledging his presence, and he did the same before sitting near her. After that, there was no further exchange of words between them.


    "Did Thalion just talk to someone?" whispered a female voice from a few seats up, incredulous like many others at what had just happened. It was the last thing she heard before a new commotion grabbed everyone''s attention.


    A pink smoke began to rise from beneath the hexagon in the center of the room. The lights dimmed, and fluorescent particles filled the air, creating a scene that resembled a beautiful starry sky. A swirl of dark roses appeared out of thin air, rising in the center and provoking gasps and cries of surprise from the students. The swirl grew, spinning intensely in a single direction.


    Her senses exploded, her eyes widening. The mana fluctuation was so intense that she almost assumed a defensive stance out of reflex. Thalion, beside her, seemed to have noticed it too, as he was in a similar state, showing that, like her, he could perceive these subtle energies.


    Bri¨¢n, on the other hand, remained oblivious, like most of the gathered students, unable to perceive the magnitude of what was happening. And that made sense, since his senses weren''t sharp enough to detect such magical fluctuations.


    She sighed to calm herself and, just about to turn to that fool to point out what was happening, had no time as the swirl dissolved, revealing a figure that left the thousands of students in the room speechless.


    In the center of the hexagon, a beautiful woman appeared among the black roses. Her purple dress accentuated her almost perfect figure, her brown skin contrasted with her reddish hair, and her amber eyes shone intensely. Before all of them, a person renowned across the continent had made her appearance.


    Carmele Duared Vermillon; Battle Mage of 16 stars, the current pinnacle of fire magic. Vice-director of Seraphim Academy and protector of the city of Astaroth. Nicknamed "The Sun Mage," she is a member of the Eldoria Council and holds a high rank in the Magic Tower located in the Triumvirate. Moreover... she is the current bearer of the Primordial Tricolor title, the Red.


    The information flowed through her mind, and without a doubt, she recognized her as an all-powerful figure, someone capable of making nations tremble with her mere presence. At thirty-two years old, Carmele Duared Vermillon had achieved countless feats, placing her among the most prominent figures of the present day.


    "Well, well, this generation''s flock is quite remarkable," she said as her voice flowed through the air like the songs of sirens. Her amber eyes scanned the thousands of gathered students with pinpoint precision, her revealing, almost ethereal gaze quickly classifying those who stood out as exceptions to the rule; from a pretty aqua green, through brown and black, to the bandaged silver, among a few others. Carmele could see what others couldn''t even imagine, thanks to her exceptional vision.


    Her staff, black as night and so opaque it absorbed shadows, struck the ground twice. The echo rumbled like mountains collapsing, and in an instant, her majestic presentation vanished as if it had never been there.


    "As you know, Mana Arts class will now be added to your schedules," she announced as she walked around. Her voice, though calm and not loud, resonated clear and sharp, as if it had the power to silence any noise.


    "Just like your swordsmanship classes at the start of the year, you''ll be assigned a rank after being examined. But don''t worry, it won''t be as tedious as that barbaric director you''re used to," she joked, letting out a mischievous smile that caught the gaze of many students, without discriminating by gender.


    With her mind focused on two tasks, Carmele classified 742 Traits and detected two Innate Abilities. That marked the abyssal difference between those two levels of skills. Even she, the Sun Mage, didn''t possess an innate ability, as they were so rare that entire countries would wage wars just for them. That''s why finding two in the Academy and in the same generation genuinely surprised her.


    She didn''t believe in coincidences; this was the work of fate and its cruel games. Things were changing, and where the coin would fall was uncertain. However... she gave a slight smile, she wasn''t one to reveal those two little secrets she had just discovered to anyone.


    "For you to understand," she said as her staff touched the hexagonal floor once more, making the mana stones flicker and turn into blank sheets of paper; "we will conduct a quick admission process." The papers flew toward the students, landing in the laps of most of them.


    "Oh, and for those who didn''t receive their paper, don''t worry, you''ll have a different form of evaluation," she added playfully, charming more than one student, once again without discriminating by gender. Her staff touched the ground three times, and in the center of the hexagon, where the conference podium had been, appeared a giant crystal sphere, held by an elegant rose-gold stand.


    "For the top 102 ranked students, your evaluation method will be this," she said as she approached the dark crystal sphere. She placed her hand on it, and it glowed with an incandescent blue that blinded several students.


    "Carmele Duared Vermillon, prana affinity; 89%," announced a metallic voice that emanated from the sphere, causing gasps and murmurs among the audience, as such a monstrous affinity with mana was unprecedented for all of them.


    "By now, you''ll have noticed that not all first-year students are here. That''s because only you meet the requirements for this class; only you will be able to complete it," she explained as she made a floating hat appear, so wrinkled it seemed to form a face.


    "But, let''s not keep the rest waiting," she said smiling, snapping her fingers to activate the papers the students held, which reacted to each one''s spiritual energy.


    Emma, curious, glanced sideways at the only one beside her holding one of those papers; and that fool for some reason looked petrified, as if he had just discovered a cosmic mystery. The paper in his hands glowed faintly, in a beautiful aquamarine green barely noticeable but that captivated her.


    With a little extra observation, she could see how different it was from the usual blue prana tone emanating from the papers of the other astonished students. The rarity of the color seemed interesting to her, a detail to consider, but the content was what grabbed her attention most, so she put it aside.


    She read the content her eyes could see. That boy was still dumbfounded by something he didn''t understand, while she, on the other hand, shamelessly indulged in her reading, even going so far as to lean in blatantly; and who could judge her? After all, she hadn''t received one of those coveted papers.


    Name: Bri¨¢n Morningstar ¡Ù ?????¦Å¦Ç ?¡ò??¦Å¦¸¦Ç?.


    Age: 12 years ¡Ù ???.


    ? Vitality: 0.8 + 120% + 1% = 2.0.


    ? Physical Endurance: 0.5 + 120% + 1% = 1.7.


    ? Prana Resistance: 0.1 + 120% = 1.3.


    ? Strength: 0.4 + 120% + 1% = 1.3.


    ? Speed: 0.7 + 120% + 1% = 1.6.


    ? Agility: 0.9 + Trait amplification + 120% + 1% = 3.9.


    ? Prana Production: 0.2 + 120% = 1.4.


    ? Prana Affinity: 14%.


    ? Body Strength: 1%.


    Traits:


    ? Nervous Synthesis.


    Type: passive.


    Trait Strength: 2 + 120% = 3.2.


    Emma carefully read each line, and although some of the initial letters seemed like strange scribbles, the rest of the content was clear. She was surprised by the amount of information revealed and the complexity of the percentages shown, which almost made her get lost in so many numbers.


    The paper contained so much information that she wondered what it would be like if she had one herself. However, the results were all that mattered, and in that, that fool stood out in two areas: his Trait and his Agility. Emma found it interesting to see how his Trait, Nervous Synthesis, seemed to synergize with his Agility, causing an overwhelming difference compared to the rest of his attributes.


    Without realizing it, her detailed analysis overlooked a revelation that would have shocked any expert in the magical process led by Carmele; the percentage increases in those attributes. They were unheard of and suggested overwhelming power if the one who possessed them could reach the upper echelons of power.


    This, without a doubt, could only be the work of an Innate Ability, something so coveted that it could catapult you to the heavens if you had one.

 Chapter 7: Shonen Reality.

    "With every step on that unknown ground, his will burned like a beacon in the storm, defying the mystery and grandeur of a world where even the impossible seemed to bow before his presence." ¡ªExcerpt from Volume 1 of The Reborn Hero.


    Brian Morningstar''s Perspective


    How exactly should he feel? Well, it was complicated to explain; the right words wouldn''t come out. Before him stood a magnificent entrance, a double door wide open, adorned with brilliant engravings gleaming in the sunlight streaming through narrow windows. It was, yes, a simple entrance in a simple hallway that, ironically, he had already passed by twice before.


    His expression dimmed as he realized his mistake. He had been walking in circles, lost, searching for a classroom, something called "Magical Arts," not some damn door labeled "Magical Reception." Damn it... frustration now felt too small a word for what he was feeling. He pushed his hair away from his face and let out a sigh, almost unconsciously. Just then, he noticed how the demon girl entered the place, confirming that this was indeed the right spot. And that only made him feel more stupid.


    But¡­ something didn''t add up. Why was the girl just standing there without moving? Wasn''t she taking too long? It had been almost two minutes, he thought. If this kept up, he would be late. Suddenly, with a mix of resignation and resolve, he decided to step into the personal domain of the devil in the shape of a girl.


    The result? Well, he got caught like unsuspecting prey. He had barely taken a couple of steps when suddenly he felt a hand grasp his before he could react. He thought he heard the girl say something, but the next moment erased it from his mind, as she pulled him so violently it nearly wrenched his arm off, forcing him to walk behind her to avoid losing it. Yes, what a great idea he had had; and what on earth was going on with this place and its absurdly strong women?


    But¡­ something began to unsettle him. What was this feeling? What were these emotions that didn''t feel like his own? His wrist itched, and his palate sensed an unknown taste, sour and sad. Soon, his eyes widened in surprise. His surroundings faded into the background; everything was reduced to a single figure, and his feet moved as if on autopilot.


    Emma... Wasn''t that the name of that girl? Suddenly, he understood; those feelings weren''t his. It was she who was transmitting them, that deep pain, that corrosive guilt, and a horrifying self-hatred directed at herself. Somehow, supernaturally, he knew without a doubt he wasn''t mistaken.


    His confusion deepened when a sharp pain invaded his hand. He felt the demon girl''s grip nearly crush his bones. Seriously¡­? She wouldn''t break it, would she? He wondered, concerned. Fortunately, the pain disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, and he felt immensely relieved. He raised his hand to soothe his aching limb, grateful it hadn''t been broken.


    "Sit," he heard the girl with chestnut hair say, her voice sharp and commanding, causing a brief tension in his back. Not wanting to start an unnecessary conflict, he obeyed immediately, seeking to calm his mind.


    When he finally took in his surroundings, he found himself in a room that, to his surprise, was titanic, something that couldn''t be perceived from the outside. The walls seemed to expand beyond what logic dictated, and on the ceiling, small blue stones floated as if trying to imitate Hogwarts'' floating candles.


    The arrangement of the place reminded him of a boxing ring surrounded by spectators, or perhaps a soccer stadium. Confusion swept over him again; how was it possible he hadn''t heard the noise from outside? Not even when he''d been at the entrance just moments before. And how had they gotten front-row seats? The place was already packed with lively students, so how? Questions piled up in his head, but he decided to stifle them with a long sigh.


    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that girl, Emma. It seemed she was looking at him with what he thought were blank eyes, though he couldn''t be sure, as her expressions were as flat as a wall. That girl with wavy chestnut hair was somehow important to this body. He knew it, he felt it every time she was near. His palms grew sweaty, his stomach churned, and the discomfort of looking directly into her eyes for too long was evident.


    But there was something more. Something he had noticed in her when their hands intertwined, something that made him see her in a new light. He reflected on it, meditative, thinking long and hard, though he could only come to a hasty conclusion that made him give a small, wry smile; after all, she was human too, wasn''t she?


    Yes, everyone was messed up in their own way. He had made the mistake of judging a book by its cover, but admitting that mistake was difficult, especially when the other person was so... well, so unique in her way.


    At least he no longer felt bold enough to call her a demon girl; that kid already had enough with her internal suffering, a pain she didn''t let show on the outside, but which he could read like an open book thanks to that brief moment he had felt it.


    His train of thought was abruptly interrupted when something worthy of attention began. In true Beyonc¨¦ style, many things happened in a short time. Pink smoke, stellar fluorescence, and black roses appeared out of nowhere, as if by magic. He felt a bit foolish at that slip-up, of course¡­ that existed here; it was just that the awe he experienced made him forget it for just a second.


    He glanced at Emma again, who now seemed to have seen a ghost or a corpse, something that unsettled him. He had gotten used to her indifference or subtly disguised expressions of hatred, not to what he saw now.


    Well, whatever¡­ Maybe he shouldn''t try to avoid her? Troubled, he thought about it, as noticing those corrosive feelings made it impossible for him to ignore the elephant in the room. He couldn''t ignore it anymore; at least, he felt he owed it to the original inhabitant of this body, whom he had so blatantly taken over by some cosmic method.


    Plans formed in his head, plans that disappeared as quickly as they appeared when something from his most foolish dreams came into view. His eyes opened in disbelief, cold sweat broke out, and his body tensed to the point of collapse. What was this nonsense before him? He thought as he blinked repeatedly, trying to shake off the fatigue. No, seriously, what was this nonsense he was seeing?


    Right, someone had better explain it to him. What kind of ridiculous joke was this? He asked himself, his mind practically on fire. Reality... what exactly was it? What was possible and what wasn''t? No, he was sure this couldn''t be, it couldn''t, it shouldn''t, and it wasn''t.


    In front of him, in the middle of that hexagon, a beautiful, recognizable woman appeared. And don''t ask him how he knew her; if you did, he''d just say the internet was to blame for tempting him. Carmele Vermi something... His mind quickly retrieved the memory. No, seriously, what the hell was going on?


    He ran a hand over his face, trying to contain his disbelief. That woman wasn''t supposed to exist, at least not in flesh and blood. She was merely a fictional character, a creation of some author whose name he didn''t know and whom he''d only seen a few times while browsing... well, better skip that part.


    Subtly, his mind took him back to those last days of high school, where the tedious routine pushed him to look for anything that could distract him. It was during one of those days of extreme boredom that he came across something he initially found appealing to read. "Maybe this will be interesting," he''d said to himself at such an eye-catching title, convinced that reading could be his escape from indifference toward school monotony. But the reality was different.


    What promised to be a stimulating work turned out to be a pile of garbage. He couldn''t get past the first chapters. Every page felt like a crude copy of other works, repeating worn-out formulas, simple narratives, and forced dialogues. "What the hell is this nonsense?" he wondered in frustration, closing the page immediately, disappointed by the poor experience. That story, which had promised so much with its unique cover, was nothing more than a poorly crafted collage of clich¨¦s.


    Years passed, and what he had tossed aside as a bad memory reappeared in his life, this time in a new format; a shonen manga called Leplace. At the time, it was just a name he recognized upon seeing the same titles, one that made him think, "Look, that trash is still alive," and carry on with his life.


    However, curiosity, that treacherous companion, pushed him to read the first few chapters of the manga, perhaps hoping the story had improved over time. But the result was even worse than the first time. Not only did it continue as a piece stretched to the ridiculous, but now the plagiarism of other works was so blatant it almost insulted the reader.


    He wondered why on earth he had decided to give a second chance to something he had already dismissed as trash. Perhaps it was due to the constant praise it received online, hailed as "the new shonen of the generation." But no, to him, it remained a disaster in disguise, overshadowed by its success.


    That had been his experience with Leplace. Later on, the internet did what it does best; flooded the networks with that manga, especially... with the new game based on its story. One day, while browsing out of boredom, he came across a certain character, a woman who¡­ well, that could be left aside, it wasn''t important. What mattered was that, for him, that story had been forgotten, buried in the deepest recesses of his memory. He didn''t remember the characters, the plots, not even the narrative context.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    So, who would have thought...? No, he shook his head; he wasn''t going to finish that sentence. He wasn''t going to become one of those crazies who believe in such absurd theories, in utterly unrealistic possibilities. And seriously, where were the cameras? Because this joke was no longer funny.


    Something settled onto his lap, something that somehow connected to his being and took a piece of his energy, but honestly, he didn''t care in the slightest. In his critical state, his mind had collapsed as a defense mechanism, a way to shield himself from the madness threatening to take over him.


    "Calm down," he thought. The woman he had seen could just be a cosplayer, right? Yes, that was far more plausible than the madness his mind was beginning to weave. But... in front of a giant crystal ball announcing the full name of that figure, his logic no longer felt so solid.


    Minutes passed, and his condition did not improve. He remained motionless, trapped in his own mental abyss, while the voices and cries of excitement heard in the room failed to penetrate his ears. Everything stayed this way until a calloused hand touched his own. "Are you okay?" a recognizable voice asked, though lacking its usual sharpness. Her brown eyes looked at him, not with anger this time, but with a sort of genuine concern.


    That simple question was what he needed, an anchor that brought him back to reality. The sensation of human contact, the certainty that he wasn''t dreaming, pulled him out of his trance. He looked at the demon girl... no, at Emma, and could only nod. His lips were sealed, unable to form words. To avoid more questions, he diverted his gaze to his lap, where a dull piece of paper rested.


    The paper''s content was simple, almost childlike in its presentation. He saw names, yes, two names... his and that of this body, along with their ages, attributes, and finally, his Trait. It almost seemed like something from a poorly designed RPG.


    "As you may have noticed, there''s a section on your papers related to your mana affinity," a melodious, almost flirtatious voice expressed, and for the first time, it reached his ears. "Oh... and you may keep them; after all, they''ll be very useful as didactic material for your upcoming classes," explained Carmele, the Sun Mage, with her beautiful smile that enchanted many.


    "Now, since time is gold, let''s proceed with the remaining students, the top 102 scorers," added the woman with beautiful eyes as she snapped her fingers. Before her, a hat he hadn''t noticed, one very similar to those seen in certain movies about a bespectacled wizard, began to speak. The folds in its fabric formed the attempt of a face, no, in fact, it was a face, he noticed almost at the last moment.


    "Alright, brats, I want this to be quick and without complications," the hat shouted, with an audacity that shook everyone. It floated through the air, approaching the students'' faces closely with an authoritative attitude. "Got it?" it added, raising a nonexistent eyebrow with an expression of disdain.


    The students stared at it in astonishment, including him, watching a rather audacious piece of attire. Coming from a logical world, he found it hard to process what was happening before his eyes. Suddenly, the hat shouted a name with such force that some students jumped from their seats in surprise. "Merelin Bones, come up to the stage!" it commanded, floating above the enormous crystal sphere as if it owned it.


    Its wrinkles, resembling eyes, scanned the crowd. Seeing the girl delay, it decided to speed things up. The mana fluctuated, the environment reverberated for a second, and a current of air swept through the room, the same current that grabbed the named student, who wore a dumbfounded expression as she sat among her friends.


    "Much better," declared the audacious hat, while Carmele positioned herself strategically near where she knew the girl would land. Her hand rose elegantly, attempting to hide the smile tugging at her lips, entertained by the eccentricities of that old enchanted hat, possessed by an ancient wind spirit.


    Young Merelin was dragged forward with a speed that left her stunned. In mere seconds, the hat tossed her to the edge of the hexagon where Carmele awaited her. The student rolled on the floor, pushed mercilessly by the playful gusts of air. Laughter, though soft, began to echo in the stands, mingling with some spectators'' surprised murmurs.


    Merelin stood up as best as she could, her head spinning, but it was the Sun Mage''s steady hand that helped her regain balance. Carmele''s smile, a mix of indulgence and amusement, remained firm as she said, "Apologies for that, he sometimes likes to play with the newcomers." The words, despite their gentle tone, carried a weight of authority. With a quick gesture, Carmele helped the young girl onto the hexagon.


    "Now, if you can," said the Sun Mage, taking a step back to allow Merelin to take center stage. The girl moved forward timidly, her movements uncertain and her guard up in an attempt to protect herself. That hesitation didn''t go unnoticed by the hat, whose mischievous spirit formed a grin of pure mischief.


    Without warning, the hat let out a powerful shout that startled the girl, like a frightened cat. That made the old spirit laugh heartily and drew a sigh of resignation from the Red Mage.


    "Please forgive him," she said with a slight ironic smile. "He''s senile and doesn''t know what he''s doing." Merelin, with cheeks flushed with embarrassment, nodded slightly and carefully extended her hand toward the crystal sphere resting at the hexagon''s center.


    The sphere, an alchemical artifact of great complexity crafted by the Sun Mage, began to glow faintly as she touched it, revealing magical symbols dancing on its surface. However, the glow wasn''t as intense as when Carmele had touched it moments before, but it was stronger than the bits of paper presented.


    "Merelin Bones, prana affinity: 37%," announced a metallic, emotionless voice that emerged from the sphere.


    Murmurs of amazement arose, surprise spread through the room. The chatter in the stands grew louder, speculations slipped in low voices as some students who had previously mocked Merelin now displayed a mix of awe and newfound respect.


    Afterwards, the hat somehow spat out a piece of paper from its mouth, formed from the wrinkles in the old, weathered leather. This paper, identical to that of the other students, hit the young girl''s face, and then that same magical breeze from before gently carried her back to her seat, to the amazement of all the spectators.


    "The next," announced the old spirit loudly, startling several of those present. Thus, the evaluation process continued smoothly, and in less than an hour, the freshman class was nearing the completion of their tests, with only the high ranks left to evaluate.


    "Emma Tarkard," shouted the hat, its voice resonating with a note of insolence.


    The name triggered a wave of speculative whispers among the students, and quite a few turned to look at the mentioned young girl. Emma remained impassive, her face unchanging amid the rumors surrounding her. "Let''s see how the Ice Queen does," some whispered with a mix of curiosity and malice.


    She resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow at the nickname. She didn''t understand why they called her that; she wasn''t even able to manipulate ice. "What nonsense," she thought as she stood up, determined. And before the surge of magical energy could reach her, Emma made a decision. Without thinking, she leapt over the railing that protected her from a fall.


    Her hand gripped the metal, and her body swung over it with impeccable precision, moving with supernatural agility. Her feet touched the cold stone tiles with calculated softness, bending her knees slightly to cushion the impact¡ªunnecessary, but something she used to her advantage to brace herself. In a quick sprint, she vanished from sight, reappearing near the hexagon in the blink of an eye.


    For many present, that display of skill was incredible, for to most, she was a blur who had appeared in the center of the room. For a few, that small group of talented students, it was an impressive show of pure speed.


    The young girl with chestnut hair inclined her head slightly toward the Sun Mage, who responded with a mischievous smile and gestured for her to continue. "I already like you, don''t disappoint me," said the wind spirit, letting out a laugh that echoed like a distant storm.


    And amid the collective shock, amid gasps of amazement, Emma, without hesitation, placed her hand on the crystal sphere.


    "Emma Tarkard, prana affinity: 72%," the sphere announced. And the affinity level echoed through the hall like thunder. The murmurs turned into hushed cries of astonishment. "What the hell? That''s 10 points higher than the last one!" The whispers multiplied, and even the proudest nobles displayed surprise on their faces as they looked upon her, someone they had deemed inferior.


    The hat laughed audaciously, while Carmele''s smile widened. Her amber eyes sparkled, full of a mix of happiness and a disturbing suspicion. Something big was coming; fate was in motion, preparing something grand for the near future. So much talent, gathered in a single generation, did not bode well. Yes, talent, always balanced with chaos, never came alone¡ªthat was an unbreakable law since ancient times.


    The old hat, with audacity, spat out another one of those papers. It flew faster than any of the others, but that didn''t bother Emma, who effortlessly caught it in her hand. Although... that wasn''t all the crafty spirit had planned, because immediately afterward, a pressure concentrated within that hexagon.


    That intense pressure was air¡ªEmma noticed. Her eyes widened slightly as she sensed the fluctuation of dense mana, and before she could react, she was struck by that very pressure, powerful enough to have crushed a normal person, leaving them as nothing more than a smudge somewhere.


    She couldn''t react to the initial attack; that''s why she was sent flying at an impressive speed, and if she didn''t stop, she would crash into the wall. That much was obvious with such a forceful attack. So, when her senses caught up, Emma employed her Trait, using her threads to maneuver in the air.


    Nearly invisible threads emerged, adjusting her trajectory. With elegance, she moved through the air, and with inhuman dexterity, she landed on the metal railing in a crouched position, ready for the next assault. Her cold, fierce gaze scanned her surroundings, which was all most students could process, as everything had happened so fast that it was hard to discern exactly what had occurred.


    The hat burst into laughter. "Yes, kid, you''ve got my approval," it said with a brazenness that hardened the girl''s gaze even further. With that, the unusual display ended, and hearing the commotion it had caused, Emma could only sigh and calmly returned to her seat, paper in hand.


    She wasted no time reading it, but first, she cast a quick glance at Thalion, who had watched it all from the beginning, looking somewhat impressed. His curiosity was evident, and Emma couldn''t help but feel a slight satisfaction.


    Her eyes settled on the paper, on the information it contained, and to her surprise, she quickly noticed how different it was from that fool''s who was seated beside her.


    Name: Emma Tarkard


    Age: 12 years


    Attributes:


    ? Vitality: 61.5


    ? Physical Resistance: 42.9


    ? Prana Resistance: 2.2


    ? Strength: 36.4


    ? Speed: 24.7


    ? Agility: 19.2


    ? Prana Production: 8.4


    ? Prana Affinity: 72%


    Traits:


    ? Thread Manifestation


    Type: Active


    Trait Strength: 82.2


    It was more... simple, she thought, intrigued. From the corner of her eye, she glanced at that fool with the unique hair, who had an expression of having reached some conclusion, as if he''d had a divine revelation.


    Why was it so different? she wondered with curiosity. After all, Bri¨¢n''s paper showed far more than hers, which gave her a slight mental tickle.

 Chapter 8: Purpose.

    ¡ªAt the edge where light fades into shadows, a warrior rose, his gaze igniting an ancient vow. Neither beasts nor hidden forces swayed his steps; in his silence, a legend began to awaken.¡ª Excerpt from Volume 1 of The Reborn Hero


    On a seldom-trodden dirt path, hidden beneath the canopy of a beautiful forest where sunlight barely filtered through the leaves, two figures walked in silence, heading home to their village. The breeze carried that distinctive scent of the wild, bringing with it the smell of damp earth from a recent drizzle and fresh wood, wrapping them in a tranquility that starkly contrasted with the ominous stillness of their surroundings.


    One of them was a tall, imposing man, on whose broad back rested two crossed war axes, now little more than simple tools for chopping trees. His stride, despite his size, was smooth and unhurried as he pulled a cart loaded with freshly cut logs with one hand. His weathered skin, marked with scars from countless battles, spoke of a past life as an adventurer. And yet, his gaze¡ªthough stern¡ªheld a glimmer of gentleness, an attempt to reflect an inner calm that only came with age.


    Beside him, a small boy walked with quick, light steps, trying to keep up with his father¡ªhis son. The resemblance between them was undeniable, but the differences were striking. The father, strong as an oak, could carry hundreds of kilos without effort, while the son, far more modest in stature, could barely hold a bundle of dry twigs in his arms, carefully tied with ropes. Yet, they walked together, in harmony, complementing each other like day and night.


    The sky, veiled by gray clouds, had hidden the sun all morning. A cool breeze filtered through the trees, brushing the boy''s skin and making him shiver slightly, while the adult remained indifferent. Each breath taken was filled with that pure, clean air so delightful¡ªa refreshing sensation that seemed to fill him with energy with every inhalation.


    Yes, Bri¨¢n loved gray days like this, when the heat didn''t overwhelm him, and he could see a bit of the world beyond his home. There was no better feeling than walking through the forest alongside his father on days when the sun hid behind the clouds.


    ¡ªYou seem happy, Bri¨¢n,¡ª his father remarked suddenly, his deep, grave voice resonating warmly in the air, a contrast to his intimidating demeanor. The warrior offered a smile that didn''t seem to fit his imposing frame but was genuine. ¡ªCould it be because Emma''s eighth birthday is approaching? You seem pretty excited to see her,¡ª he teased, and the man''s smile widened as he noticed his son''s cheeks flush red.


    Bri¨¢n quickly covered his face in embarrassment, nearly dropping the small bundle of sticks he was carrying. His father, a man with dull green hair and eyes of the same shade, let out a hearty laugh that echoed along the path as if the trees themselves responded to him. Despite his intimidating appearance, his laugh was that of a man who had learned to enjoy life''s simplest pleasures¡ªsomething that only came from facing death many times. His son, in contrast, with bright aquamarine-green hair and eyes to match, made a pout, irritated by the joke.


    ¡ªIt''s not my fault she''s been spending so much time with the shaman,¡ª Bri¨¢n muttered, more to himself than to his father, his irritation momentarily betrayed by the blush still coloring his face.


    The father, as shrewd as in his old glory days, didn''t let the opportunity slip. ¡ªSo, you''re not denying it, huh? Your mother will be thrilled when I tell her this.¡ª Another hearty laugh filled the air, and Bri¨¢n, overwhelmed with embarrassment, hid even more behind the bundle of branches he was carrying.


    The next few seconds passed in silence, interrupted only by the creaking of the handmade cart''s wheels and the forest''s distant murmurs. But the boy''s discomfort remained palpable, and his father, always one step ahead, smiled mischievously before saying, ¡ªHave you thought about what you''re going to give her? Girls like Emma can be hard to impress, but don''t worry; your mother and I will help you with whatever you need,¡ª he added, offering encouragement with a cheeky grin that made Bri¨¢n wish the ground would swallow him whole.


    Bri¨¢n didn''t have time to respond or process his embarrassment further. A gut-wrenching, unnatural sound filled with pain emerged from the underbrush, cutting their lively conversation short and stopping them in their tracks. The forest, which moments ago had felt peaceful and welcoming, suddenly felt unsettling, as if the shadows among the trees moved on their own. The growl didn''t seem human but something far more dangerous¡ªsomething wild, something beyond the ordinary.


    Berlian Morningstar''s instincts, those of a former Mythril-rank adventurer, kicked in immediately. His body tensed as he felt a familiar tingling at the back of his neck¡ªthe same feeling that had kept him alive during the darkest days of his missions. Letting go of the cart without a second thought, he grabbed his son in his arms and, with surprising agility for his size, leaped off the path just as a colossal creature barreled through, toppling trees and obliterating the cart in a single blow.


    The beast roared past where they had been standing moments ago, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake, until it finally came to a halt, crashing into more trees to stop its momentum. Berlian landed a safe distance away, still holding his son, both wide-eyed in shock.


    With just one glance, the ex-adventurer recognized what it was, and confusion swept over him. ¡ªA Land Goliath¡ªhe murmured in awe.


    A creature mutated by mana, a quadrupedal monster of the lizard race, with a body as large as a house, covered in brown scales as tough as metal. Its four eyes glowed with a fierce, primal fire, and sharp, bone-like spikes jutted from its back. The most dangerous thing about it, however, was its ability to manipulate the mana of the earth...


    The tingling sensation at the back of his neck returned, and Berlian, following his instincts, jumped again just in time. A series of sharp earthen spikes erupted from the ground where they had just been. He looked at his son, his heart pounding.¡ªThe ground''s no longer safe¡ªhe whispered to himself.


    Quickly, he leapt onto the canopy of a nearby tree and set Bri¨¢n there, out of harm''s way.¡ªDon''t worry, son. Your old man will take care of this thing before it gets a whiff of the village.¡ª He ruffled his son''s hair, trying to comfort him with a smile, though he knew the boy was still paralyzed with fear. He had no time to spare. The village was in danger; it was too close to ignore, and right now, he was the only barrier between the beast and his home.


    But as he dashed toward the creature, a question hammered in his mind:What is a Land Goliath doing here? These beasts lived hundreds of kilometers away, deep within the forest, inside the tumultuous territory of Berkroa. And besides, something else bothered him¡­ The Goliath looked wounded, as if it had battled something stronger and managed to escape.


    He shook his head. There was no time to be distracted. With a roar, Berlian unsheathed his old axes, tools that had accompanied him since his glory days. He had a mission: drive the creature away from the village or kill it if necessary.


    That last option would be tough with his current gear. After all, a six-skull warning-level monster was nothing to take lightly.


    ????????????????????????????????????


    The night fell over one of the many dormitories of the academy, dense and cold, like a curtain of eternal shadows. Outside, the wind howled through the trees, whispering ancient secrets that only the moons could hear. But inside, in that small dark room, the calm was shattered by an abrupt and violent awakening.


    A young man with aquamarine-green hair jolted awake, his breathing ragged and uneven, his chest heaving as if he had been running for hours. Terror still clung to him, cold and suffocating, a shock of helplessness that left him momentarily paralyzed.


    With a near-leap, he sat up on the bed, his hand clutching his head, praying for the pain to subside. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath unsteady, and cold sweat ran down his body, soaking his clothes and amplifying his discomfort.


    Panting echoed in the room. Two figures fighting with ferocity had jolted him awake, pulling him out of an abyss that felt far from an ordinary dream¡ªsomething much worse. His hands trembled, barely able to close into fists. He felt his skin burn beneath the sheets, which now clung to his sweaty body, suffocating and irritating. With a low growl, he violently threw them off, as if tearing them away could release something more than just the weight of the fabric.


    The pain in his head was unbearable, sharp, like a thousand needles piercing his skull from within. He gritted his teeth, his hand clutching his head as he tried to control the migraine¡ªor whatever it was. "It wasn''t just a dream," he thought. "It couldn''t have been just a dream."


    What he felt was real; the fear and helplessness were real, and now they were consuming him. The truth hit him hard: what he had experienced while sleeping wasn''t an illusion. It was something much worse... something etched into this body''s memory, a cursed remnant of the past.


    He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. The cold sweat still trickled down his body, drenching his clothes and leaving him feeling even more out of control. He rose from the bed with clumsy movements, his body still trembling from the intensity of the experience. "A bath... I need a bath," he murmured in a hoarse voice, speaking to the emptiness of the room as if that could dispel the sensation of being prey to whatever had attacked him.


    The room was dark; he had no idea of the hour, and the only light came from the moon faintly streaming through an uncovered window. He walked toward the small bathroom like a wandering ghost, not bothering to turn on any light source. It took him just a few steps to reach the small bathroom, a second to open the door, and another to step into the shower.


    As soon as his hands found the faucet, he turned it abruptly, letting the icy water pour over his body, soaking him completely, clothes and all. The cold hit him like a slap of reality, but it was welcome. His breathing began to stabilize, and little by little, his mind emerged from the spiral in which it had been trapped.


    Yes, this wasn''t the first cursed dream to torment him. Bri¨¢n... Aiden... Who the hell was he now? Every time he woke from these dreams, he felt as if something inside him was fracturing. Memories that had once been clear from his childhood vanished, small fragments of his old life blurred. The cost of these strange dreams was steep. When they ended, he always felt that a part of his past¡ªsomething vital¡ªwas lost to the shadows, replaced by images of another world, another life that wasn''t his. Or maybe it was... now.


    He stripped off the soaked, uncomfortable, and heavy clothes, letting them fall with a wet thud onto the bathroom floor. He stayed under the water for a few more minutes, letting the cold numb him, soothing not just his body but also his mind, exhausted from overthinking, from trying to understand. When he stepped out, unsteady, as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders, he noticed the darkness around him. How long had he been there in the dark? He didn''t know, and at that moment, he didn''t care.


    With his arm extended, he fumbled for the switch on the wall. Here, there was no fear of electricity; soon, a magical light flickered on with a soft hum, an alchemical product this world could pass off as the science of his old home. He blinked, squinting as he adjusted to the sudden brightness. Before him, the mirror reflected the face of a stranger¡ªa young face, too perfect, too... unreal. If not for the exhaustion in his eyes, he could have mistaken it for the face of some child actor. But in that reflection now, there was no shine, no life.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Too long..." he muttered, referring to his hair, which reached his shoulders and fell like a dark curtain over his forehead and eyes, hiding part of that unrecognizable face. He turned off the light, letting the shadows envelop him once more, and walked back to the simple room.


    The room was now clean, except for the traces of his routine: clothes scattered around and an unmade bed. Well¡­ a little more mess couldn''t hurt, he thought as he tossed the wet clothes onto the growing pile of dirty laundry. Then, he found a half-used towel, sniffed it briefly, and decided it would do. He dried his hair and body with it before throwing it back into its usual corner.


    He dressed without much thought, choosing the first thing he found in the closet, then closed it. His gaze wandered to the bed, the crumpled sheets still damp with his own sweat. With a resigned sigh, he forced himself to change them; sleeping in his own sweat would be far too uncomfortable.


    He had seen another set at the bottom of the closet, so, of course, he opened it again and, almost rolling his eyes, got to work. It was a tedious task, but his mind focused on it, grateful for any distraction that could pull him away from those dark thoughts.


    Clean clothes were starting to run out, he noticed almost unconsciously. Soon, he''d have to find a place to wash them or be left with nothing to wear. He sighed wearily; that would be a problem for future him. Searching for a magical laundromat wasn''t an adventure he wanted to embark on in the middle of the night.


    Changing the sheets was easier for this body compared to his previous one. Well¡­ that was a silly thing to think. This world, this place, operated under its own universal rules, which meant some things would change, including themselves¡ªeven humans. Yes, here, seeing superhumans casting magic was completely natural.


    Not that it stopped him from making casual comparisons, like this body having a greater running capacity than the best runners back home, and an impact strength greater than that of their best boxers.


    He brushed the annoying hair out of his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief as he surveyed his finished work. What was illogical back home was logical here. Now, with a bundle of fabric in his arms, he didn''t hesitate to toss it onto the pile of dirty clothes heaped by the closet. With that, the pile nearly turned into a mountain. He would definitely have to find that magical laundromat hidden somewhere.


    Knowing he wouldn''t be able to sleep again despite his fatigue, he sat in the wooden chair beside the small table he now used as an improvised desk. An antique-style hand lamp lit up with the motion of a crank. A mana stone glowed at its center, casting a soft, warm, orange light that filled the space¡ªa light that reminded him of a campfire.


    Such a simple alchemical object, used in everyday life, seemed incredible to him, like a small miracle. Not because of its main function, but because it could absorb mana from the environment and sustain itself indefinitely.


    He reclined in the chair, gazing around the table at scattered papers, ink, and books he had been skimming out of boredom. On those papers, countless scribbles¡ªmasquerading as words¡ªrested, scribbles he had written himself in a poor attempt to learn. He smiled with a bitter expression that didn''t reach his eyes; he couldn''t claim they were good attempts. Damn¡­ it felt like going back to kindergarten with some developmental delay thrown in.


    He scratched his head, embarrassed. He didn''t have a good comparison method; his native tongue and this new language were so different it felt like writing in an alien dialect. He drummed his fingers on the table and brushed his hair out of his face again. Besides¡­ why the hell did he have to attend classes on a Sunday? Because, apparently, here¡ªor at least in this academy¡ªdays off didn''t exist.


    "Dumbrax¡­" he murmured, testing the day''s name in his tongue, the equivalent of what his world would call "Sunday."


    Vintar, Sator, Dumbrax¡­ what he considered Friday, Saturday, and Sunday here were fully devoted to fencing training, which now also included first-year mana arts. He sighed resignedly and massaged his temples. He was getting frustrated over nothing. He was poor, had nowhere to call home, so he had to endure this until he could change it or find a way to return home.


    That last thought made him frown, because he would return, and this world was definitely not just some stupid manga or a pathetic novel.


    Whatever¡­ screw it, his tired mind thought. If the illogical was logical here, then he''d do whatever he wanted until he had a stroke or woke up legless in some hospital.


    Bri¨¢n¡­ Aiden¡­ it didn''t matter anymore. They no longer felt so different from one another.


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    What to do when one feels lost? Undoubtedly, a difficult question to answer¡ªone his mind couldn''t easily shake off, one that continued to echo through the different corners of his life. It was like a persistent refrain, a nagging enigma that followed him relentlessly, offering no reprieve.


    His aquamarine green eyes, pure as two gleaming jades, gazed at the night sky, where the vastness of space and its stars seemed to stare back, twinkling and enigmatic. Not a single cloud marred the horizon, nothing tainted the beauty of the night. It offered him a unique view, one that, far from the light pollution of home, revealed a sprawling universe seemingly unfolding just for him.


    Yet something about this perfect scene felt almost surreal: two moons. Yes, two moons, orbiting like sentinels above the planet, each surrounded by a mysterious halo that captivated his gaze.


    He sighed, fascinated by the oddity, unable to suppress his awe. That landscape, with its captivating details, held an almost hypnotic power over him; it made him feel small yet filled with an uncontainable sense of admiration, as though his eyes refused to part from this extraordinary beauty. A celestial canvas reminded him that this place was not the home he knew.


    The night wrapped around him with its cold claws; his flimsy clothes failed to shield him, and he soon felt its chill seep into him. In hindsight, going out with just an old jacket wasn''t the wisest decision, but could he be blamed? He had ventured out on impulse, seeking to soothe the frustration and suffocating stress that weighed on him, searching for that one escape that had always managed to calm him.


    His sneakers touched the ground, the tips tapping against the dirt, the sound resonating in the stillness of the environment, accompanied only by the icy gusts of the restless wind. His leg muscles stirred, attempting to activate. He stretched a bit, evaluating his mental state, questioning how close he was to breaking down, how near he stood to collapse. Upon discovering the answer, he couldn''t help but smile, though bitterly.


    "Gods¡­ I''m acting like a child," he muttered, wanting to laugh at himself, but not even a faint sound escaped his lips. His legs moved, his feet carried him along an unfamiliar path, pulling him away from the dormitories now receding behind him.


    Running... that old, reliable therapeutic routine he had adopted over the years to clear his mind, to grant him a reprieve when everything seemed overwhelming. He had no music to accompany him this time, so the results might not be the same as usual, yet he had to try anyway.


    He wanted to think. He wanted to decide what to do and how to move forward.


    His feet moved rhythmically, the pace that once seemed unsustainable for long stretches now felt like a light jog. As the minutes passed, his breathing began to labor, the result of pushing himself to the maximum his legs could carry him in short, uncontrolled bursts. And the outcome? Well¡­ he discovered he could run at speeds exceeding 50 kilometers per hour¡ªan unheard-of feat in his world. Yet here, reality seemed to operate under a different set of rules.


    Suddenly, he came to a dead stop, his soles digging into the ground as he fought to catch his breath. His mind remained a chaotic mess; however, a faint thread of clarity began to weave itself together¡ªsomething fragile but firm enough to grasp, and he had no intention of letting go.


    To little surprise, the nearly superhuman speed he had achieved failed to astonish him as much as it should have. Somehow, he already knew he was capable of it, unconsciously aware of his current capabilities and limits. He lifted his gaze toward the sky, where the spectacle of stars continued to unfold before his eyes. His body, now warm, no longer felt discomforted by the crisp autumn night air.


    "Go all the way, huh?" he whispered, the cold wind carrying his words and rustling the leaves of nearby trees. That sense of clarity grew stronger, that fragile thread of thought becoming more dense, stable, and undeniable.


    The path he had been running led him on a full circuit around the imposing Academy, its outer walls still visible from his position. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to flood his exhausted lungs with oxygen.


    "Alright¡­ nine more laps without stopping," he muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips. Without music to drown himself in thought, he decided to recreate the challenges he had once set for himself during the early days of this routine. Back in high school, the idea had seemed brilliant to his younger self, though his body had wholeheartedly disagreed.


    Partially recovered, he resumed his run, determined not to stop until he completed the promised laps. And so began what would soon become a recurring ritual¡ªnot merely a stress-reliever, but a rigorous physical training regimen.


    The rhythm of his jog gradually took form, interspersed with sprints at full power that pushed him to his limits. Midway through the challenge, his muscles began to protest, his legs begging for rest. Yet he ignored them, pressing on without hesitation, without pause, until the task was done.


    Slowly, endorphins flooded his system, his body surged with dopamine and serotonin, and his chaotic mind finally found peace. It felt as if every cell in his body was aligning, forming that thread he had glimpsed earlier. With each lap, his pace quickened, moving with an almost mechanical precision.


    Another lap was completed, faster than the last¡­ and another, again quicker. Another was finished, even swifter than before, and finally, one more¡ªthe fastest yet, nearly breaking the 70 kilometers per hour barrier. The realization brought a satisfied grin to his face.


    At last, he stopped, returning to the point where he had begun. His breaths were shallow, the air barely reaching his lungs as his legs trembled from the exertion, almost numb. Yet a broad smile lit up his face, unbothered by his current state. His mind, finally calm, allowed him to think clearly and decide on his next move.


    "In the end¡­ in a reality straight out of a shonen, maybe it''s time to think up shonen solutions," he mused, amused. What was illogical in his old world was logical here, so¡­ why not make the most of it while he could? He suppressed a laugh at the thought. Yes, that was the thread his mind had latched onto.


    Even as the cold wind stabbed at his sweaty skin, his brain felt sharper than ever, more focused than usual. If he couldn''t return, if he couldn''t give this body back, then he would live it to the fullest, burn through every second of this experience, and allow himself to dream. His arms stretched wide, his expression lifted as he gazed at the heavens¡­ he would give it his all, consume everything, and see how far he could go before he fell.


    Childish, he knew. But in a sea of possibilities, what kind of fool wouldn''t seize the opportunity? Yes, he was being an idiot¡ªa fool blinded by fear of the unknown, a very human fear that had anchored him to the single perspective of trying to return home. Oh, and don''t get him wrong; of course, he would try to find a way back. But now, he wouldn''t hesitate to explore these new possibilities. If death awaited him at the end of the road, then so be it.


    "After all, I think I''ve already died once," he thought wryly, though he didn''t truly believe that was the case. Yes, dopamine was likely playing tricks on him, but he didn''t care. His decision was made, and it wouldn''t change¡ªnot even hours later, when he had calmed down.


    Brian¡­ Aiden¡ªdid it even matter? They were one and the same now. He had known this from the start but had refused to see it amidst the chaos thrown onto his shoulders. The memories of his first twelve years were being overwritten by the twelve years of this body''s experiences. So what? He could barely remember much from those days anyway. Why should he care? Exactly¡­ screw all that. There was still so much of him left.


    He began to stretch, certain that this way of thinking would soften in a few hours, but also sure it wouldn''t waver. Yes, it was time to make the most of it, to follow a childish path his younger self had always dreamed of walking.


    Who hadn''t wished to belong to a fantastical world at some point? Who hadn''t wanted to be like Goku, Spider-Man, or Superman? To cast magic or unleash bursts of energy from their hands? Who hadn''t imagined themselves as the protagonist of a story, wielding power and shaping their destiny?


    He sighed, brushing hair out of his face. Yes, it was definitely the dopamine talking, but it didn''t matter. "So, where do I start?" he asked himself, his thoughts racing with possibilities. If he treated his innate ability like a video game mechanic, countless ideas came to mind.


    A 100% chance for all his attacks to be critical hits. A 100% resistance to magic. A 100% capacity to use anti-magic. A 100% chance to parry everything. Even 100% penetration through anything. So many ideas, limited only by time.


    He shook his head slightly, reining in his overactive imagination. He had to think about the consequences¡ªbecause there would undoubtedly be consequences. His ability essentially allowed him to alter a fundamental aspect of himself, a power as dangerous as it was intriguing. That''s why understanding its limits was crucial.


    "Alright¡­ critical hits it is," he decided aloud. It seemed like the least dangerous option to test out, at least for now.