Trapped like an extra in a blatant cliche

"The blade that decides fate doesn't always seek justice; sometimes, it simply strives to survive the dawn, when shadows vanish before the light of day."

—Excerpt from Volume 1 of The Reborn Hero.

"Brián Morningstar, you son of a bitch! This time, you'll know your place!" A young man, seemingly straight out of some gutter, yelled at him as if they'd known each other forever. For his part, Brián stood still, overtaken by a strange sense of déjà vu. He examined the boy from head to toe, tilted his head, and finally shook it lazily. "No, sorry... still don't know who you are."

He carelessly played with the wooden sword in his hands, noticing it was of decent quality. Its finish hinted at a rather unique crafting method, one with a subtle touch of magic. However, it wasn't interesting enough to hold his attention for long.

The boy, his face flushed with anger, snapped at him, "I'm Nikel, you piece of trash! Stop pretending you don't know me. Ryan almost beat the crap out of you the other day, and you just ran away like a coward!" The vehemence in his words only managed to elicit a yawn from Brián. Damn... he was tired, and this kid wasn't helping with his senseless shouting.

To his eyes... the plain-looking boy, with dark hair and an accusing glare, didn't stir even a shred of interest. Besides, what was this nonsense about feeling pride over someone else's actions? His mind wandered through his memories, stopping at a nearly forgotten incident from last week.

"Oh, right! Mr. Olympia and his three princesses," he said, snapping his fingers with an annoyingly theatrical air, feigning a sudden realization. "You were one of them, weren't you? Sorry for not remembering; it's hard to when you're so... insignificant." His words were a poisoned dart he didn't hesitate to throw, and they clearly didn't sit well with the plain-looking boy, whose face turned as red as a tomato, consumed by rage.

"How dare you insult me!" the boy screamed, raising his wooden sword. Brián, unfazed, gave him a bored look. "Jeez, man, can't you go bother someone else? Seriously, hasn't anyone told you you're a piece of crap? Look, take it as advice: no girl is going to notice you if you keep this up. Fix your attitude." He yawned again, rubbing his eyes to dispel the growing irritation.

Tired of the situation, he glanced around for a distraction. They were in an open field near the academy, used for training classes. It had everything necessary: sand-filled weights that could be strapped to limbs, worn-out straw dummies, tools like wooden swords, and various other equipment scattered about. Oh, and by the way... did he mention that everyone had stopped what they were doing to watch him and this kid? Yeah, the guy wasn't exactly quiet.

"I'm gonna beat the crap out of you, you son of a bitch!" Nikel—if that's what he called himself—charged like a battering ram, sword raised, his scream echoing through the air. Brián's pupils contracted slightly, the world slowed down, and the boy practically moved like a snail in his eyes. Unfortunately, this meant he had to wait quite a while for him to even get close enough.

When the horizontal slash came, Brián ducked, letting the air barely ruffle his hair. Then came a downward slash, which he dodged with a simple sidestep, letting the weapon pass dangerously close to his face just to look cool. The boy tried to launch another attack but lost his footing when his sword dropped too low, and before he could recover, Brián simply placed his own wooden sword against his opponent's neck. Nikel's eyes widened, disbelief mingling with a hint of awe.

He stepped closer, keeping the sword in position. "I know I said I wouldn't mess with kids, but you've tested my patience. Next time, I won't stop the blow." He didn't let his frustration show, mimicking the poker faces of his Master. He withdrew the wooden weapon and walked away.

That display of superiority had only been possible because he was overwhelmingly faster, not because his swordsmanship was better. In fact, his opponent was ten times more competent in that regard. It was simply... what could be achieved with such a significant difference in stats.

His eyes lazily scanned the crowd. Everyone had stopped to watch the ridiculous spectacle; after all, the boy had made sure of it with his incessant yelling. Great... and here I was, hoping for a quiet day, he thought, wandering off in search of a more suitable training partner—one who wasn't so mentally challenged. But for some reason, everyone else had the same expression as that Nikel guy.

Surprised faces, impressed eyes, and mocking smirks quickly disappearing. Well... except for his strange fencing instructor, who was terrible at hiding her emotions. The other 101 students followed a similar pattern, averting their gazes. In their heads, a collective thought derailed their train of reality: When did he get so strong?

Nina Listair, who had watched the entire encounter without bothering to intervene out of sheer laziness, saw her opportunity. Her green eyes sparkled with cunning; after all, her first-class ticket to climb the social and economic ladder was standing right there in front of her, waiting to be seized. Yes, it was feasible. There was much to refine, but it was possible.

If she could get... Brián Morningstar—she forced herself to remember his name—to participate in Seraphin's year-end competition in some way, then her chance to climb out of the pit would be within reach. All she had to do was ensure he made it to the final phase, and a promotion would be waiting for her, assured and ready to be taken. A better class to teach would be assigned to her, which meant better monetary compensation—a salary worthy of her. Nina believed these aspirations were valid and that she deserved to allow herself to dream a little.

"Brián, step forward. Since you haven't found a suitable partner, you'll train with me," declared Nina Listair as her mind continued to scheme ways to convince the boy to sign up for Seraphin's year-end festival. The mentioned boy raised an eyebrow, resisted the urge to give her a judgmental look, and shifted his gaze back to the other students, who were still frozen in place. Seriously... this woman was a terrible actress; even from this distance, he could see the greedy glint in her eyes and her fake smile.

He shrugged. As a wise man once said... But I didn't give it importance. "Understood," he replied with a casualness that barely hid his lack of enthusiasm. His feet dragged reluctantly as he approached, and within seconds, he was standing in front of his instructor. The scene stirred memories from last week, when this same woman had shown no mercy even though he was just a kid. Well, not exactly a kid, per se. Damn... it was hard to explain.

"Let's have a light sparring session to warm up. Then we'll work from there on your weaknesses and strengths," Nina stated neutrally, though her intent to steer him toward her ultimate goal was clear. Normally, he figured they should start with stretches, but since he wasn't a professional trainer, he reserved his right to an opinion. Nina, for her part, stared at the top of his head, blinking a few times as she considered how to broach the subject. But before she could, he cut her off: "The hat stays," he said monotonously.

If possible, he preferred not to die out of nowhere if it was avoidable. Call him unhinged or crazy, but he believed he had a solid point here. Besides, with the help of the old spirit, the sensation of being utterly drugged vanished for the most part, leaving his brain with thoughts as sharp as a scalpel. Meru, who was pretending to sleep, perked up her ears. She was gathering excellent material to mock the brat later, and Brián was well aware of it.

His instructor conceded. After all, she had to get the boy on her side before the competition registration opened. "Understood. Come at me with everything when you're ready," Nina said, drawing her wooden sword from the scabbard at her belt and settling into a solid defensive stance.

Brián scanned his instructor, finding a pretty, carefree face waiting for him. Her custom-fitted light leather armor left little to the imagination, clinging to her body without restricting her mobility, with simple clothing beneath it. He frowned. He wouldn't be fooled by that model-like body and wide hips, because this woman was a sociopath who enjoyed tormenting kids for her own amusement. Even now... he could see through her greed.

And to think my other self would have ignored all those red flags just to get her number. He shook his head, disappointed in himself for even considering the possibility. He adopted an attack stance, one he had learned just a week ago thanks to this very woman's advice. Although... he would admit it grudgingly and with honesty: he'd rather get involved in a date with this lunatic than a fight, especially when the well-developed muscle beneath that leather armor was plain to see.

He didn't feel like it. His body swayed between exhaustion and irritation, but even so, he leaned forward. Without uttering a word to give away his intentions—because, seriously, who would do that?—he launched himself like a bullet.

He became a blur and disappeared from his position in an instant; the dirt and grass beneath his feet deformed, leaving two depressions where he had been standing. His body moved at nearly 200 km/h, covering the ten meters between them in just 0.18 seconds. His wooden sword rose and struck with everything he had.

It was then that he experienced that disconcerting sensation again, the one that had been destabilizing his senses for days: despite having achieved such speed thanks to Meru's exhaustive training, his eyes and nerves still perceived the world in slow motion. That disparity allowed him to catch, in detail, the exact moment when Nina's arm moved. Her muscles activated with almost mocking laziness, just enough for the woman's wooden sword to block his attack at the last moment.

Two wooden swords clashed with force, creating a deafening sound in the area and eliciting a gasp from the stunned spectators. Such was the quality of the tools that they endured the impact without issue.

Nina Listair's eyes widened; astonishment etched itself onto her expression because, in that exchange... she was the one who recoiled. It was just her arm—she hadn't taken it seriously and had used a mere fraction of her strength—but there were no excuses; she had been the one to step back first. She, who was already at the pinnacle of the limits of average human power, the potential few could transcend; she... a seven-star warrior, had lost a clash of swords against a pale-skinned boy with a slim frame.

When a second attack targeted her left flank, Nina blocked it with a more decisive motion. This time, she used her entire body and once again found herself surprised when, even so, the strike caused her right arm to shift half a centimeter. She didn't adjust her strength or take it seriously yet, but damn... this boy had talent, talent that left her wondering: Where had it been hiding all this time?

Two swift strikes followed, and though her blocks were flawless, Nina Listair frowned. Something didn't add up. The blows were significantly weaker than the initial ones. "Inertia," she thought immediately. Perhaps the impact of the first attacks had been the result of the boy's momentum, a simple mechanical trick derived from his speed. However, when she adjusted her strength to match his, upon intercepting the next strike, she felt her sword recoil against a sudden increase in the boy's impact force, dismantling her theory.

What an irregular attack pattern, she thought. Her gaze scanned the boy, and a new light, brighter than before, settled on him. Now... she truly believed this boy might have a chance to win the year-end festival. She shifted her stance to the side, anticipating a downward slash, but her prediction faltered when she saw the boy's sword slip from his hands mid-movement. Confusion settled on her face. He dropped his weapon? Seriously? The bewilderment turned into a spark of amusement as she noticed the cunning behind what had happened.

The boy had read her reaction. Somehow, he had read her... but he couldn't keep up. That was the truth. The idea of a child whose mind and reflexes moved faster than his body fascinated her. And it was true; Brián could see his teacher's movement before she completed her attack—only his body failed to receive the appropriate signals to act until moments after her sword began its descent.

With the tool airborne, the pale-skinned boy lowered his center of gravity, placing one hand on the ground with the intent to execute a sweep that, in theory, might have been effective. Nina's amused smile widened: this trick was childish, and the boy would soon discover that trying to move her was like attempting to topple a wall with a shove.

Here, the natural course of events would have been for Brián to try and realize he couldn't budge her even a millimeter. However, he didn't make the mistake of overestimating himself. At the last moment, just when his body seemed ready to complete the sweep, he halted his movement. His mind was functioning like a well-calibrated machine, observing and processing with an almost preternatural clarity. Then, that same hand supporting him like a pillar grabbed a handful of dirt and grass, throwing it without hesitation at his teacher's face.

The unexpected move caused Nina to raise her eyebrows slightly, instinctively lifting her forearm to shield her face from the incoming dirt. Like a contortionist, the boy, taking advantage of her distraction, caught his sword mid-air with his other hand and, using the weapon and the opening he had created, launched a direct slash at the right side of his teacher's knee. For the first time in the sparring session, she was forced to physically step back to avoid the impact.

"You play dirty," she remarked, her tone a mix of amusement and approval, her smile as sharp as a dagger's edge. "I suppose that's fair, given our disparity."

Nina's gaze settled on Brián, analyzing him closely. There was something fascinating about the contrast between his perception and execution. The boy's eyes tracked her every movement with inhuman precision—a precision she couldn't honestly claim to possess. Possibly... due to his trait, she wanted to believe, to avoid admitting her own shortcomings.

Even so, the boy's body couldn't keep up, but the determination with which he compensated for that limitation was admirable. He had a strategic mind, capable of improvising under pressure, and a survival instinct that kept him from taking unnecessary risks. Moreover, his control over his reflexes and ability to adapt to the flow of combat came naturally to him, like breathing.

In short, a golden ticket to his rise. However, she couldn't ignore the disaster that was his technique. His stance, his footwork, even the way he held the sword—all of it screamed catastrophe. If it weren't for the six months of training he'd received, she would have sworn this was only the second time the boy had held a weapon. Well, in her eyes, these were minor issues that could be resolved quickly. After all, she could put in a little effort if she wanted a better paycheck.

"Alright, I think we can pick up the pace now that we've warmed up." Nina smiled, her predatory gaze ensuring this experience would push her golden ticket to its limit.

Brián, for his part, felt a chill run down his spine. His senses exploded to the maximum, and almost as a defense mechanism, his arms moved on their own. A slash struck the ground; the power was enough to tear through part of the surface, kicking up a massive curtain of dust that engulfed him completely. As expected... the quality of the wooden weapon was top-tier.

Even so, he didn't calm down—his mind was already a step ahead, and his body, reluctantly, tried to keep up. His motor nerves were already in action; he tilted slightly to one side, moved his sword, and positioned one of his forearms along the flat of the blade as best he could. Soon... a quick thrust flew past him. The enemy weapon slid harmlessly along his improvised defense but left his limbs trembling.

Again... why the hell were the women of this world so insanely strong? He didn't have time to find an answer; Nina had already changed tactics and was inches away from landing a kick on his right flank. Before it could connect, his body was already reacting: elbow and knee came together to form a flimsy barricade on his side. An instant later, he was sent flying out of his protective dust curtain.

Mid-flight, he had to raise his sword to block a descending slash aimed at his skull. Automatically, his body cut its momentum and fell to the ground. His posture was bad enough to prevent him from landing on his feet, and he immediately rolled when his senses warned him to, avoiding being the centerpiece of a wooden sword that buried itself in the ground up to the hilt.

His eyes widened as he stood up just in time to block another slash aimed at his torso. Nina was quick—she pulled the weapon from the earth as if lifting a damn feather and attacked. Brián saw the strike approach in slow motion, intercepting it once more by placing one of his forearms against the flat of the blade. Nina smirked mischievously and let the boy recover. To his credit, the boy got back on his feet quickly after flying several meters, crashing down, and rolling a few times.

He was fast enough to block her next slash. Yes, because she never said how much time she'd give him. The cheeky brat spat at her face—something she dodged with amusement by simply tilting her head. Then, to get even, she sped up her next attack slightly, which, unsurprisingly, pierced through the boy's hastily built defense and struck him squarely in the stomach, making him spit even more saliva as he was sent flying another few meters. Yes, they could call her petty all they wanted.

Nina Listair once again noticed that disparity in the boy's abilities. While his eyes saw the incoming attack and his nerves reacted in time, his body wasn't on the same level, and so his defense failed to come together in time. To the boy's credit, he got back up at record speeds, showing no signs of pain or anguish on his face. Only... a focused gaze could be seen, one that was directed solely at her.

Nina felt flattered. Having a boy this tough focused solely on you was good for the ego. If you brushed off all the dirt clinging to him, got him a decent haircut, and ensured he had a good night's sleep, you'd see the makings of a young man who, in the near future, would be... No, she shook her head at herself. Her undefeated streak was getting to her. Well, what could she do? She'd run away from home at 16, the age of majority, and all she'd done since was swing a sword like a madwoman until she managed to stabilize herself financially this year.

Alright, that was enough. She'd stop that train of thought before it got depressing.

Without realizing it and purely out of instinct, she intercepted the slash aimed directly at her neck and launched her counterattack. However, she was an instant slower than the boy, who leapt backward, letting only the sweat on his body brush against the tip of her sword. Without blinking, she sliced through an incoming projectile—a stone no heavier than 600 grams that the boy had taken from the ground and thrown in her brief moment of distraction. A stone that flew at over 600 km/h.

Before Brián could pull another trick out of his sleeve, she regained the initiative. "I'll give you that—you know how to seize opportunities when they arise," she said. A radiant joy gleamed in her eyes. Honestly... this was turning out to be more entertaining than she'd expected. That brat was a box full of surprises.

She moved, recalibrating her speed to match that of her opponent, and the fight resumed.

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The author speaking here.

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