Trapped like an extra in a blatant cliche

"Under the cloak of shadows and stars, a mere mortal rose, his power crackling silently, like a storm about to burst in a sky of pure magic." —Excerpt from Volume 1 of The Reborn Hero.

That feeling of utter exhaustion, of being utterly spent, was not something he could say he disliked. "Effort is the foundation of calm," he supposed, for with it came the mental peace he so desperately needed. He considered it a positive element, an unexpected gain. His legs trembled, tired as they were, barely keeping him upright as he moved along a smooth stone path—one he knew well, one that would lead him back to his dormitory building.

In the early morning, during his run, countless paths could be found around the academy. Thanks to his night of, well... discovery, if he might call it that, he had come to know several of them; he had even found more dormitory buildings not far from his own. Observing them, he couldn't help but smile wryly; those structures exuded undeniable opulence, a clear signal of prestige and power. "Well... they're definitely made for the privileged," he thought, without a hint of envy, merely noting the contrast.

He sighed and kept walking; the life of the poor was his lot, and at least he had a place to sleep and study. He couldn't complain—or he'd be shameless. In minutes, his feet brought him to the dormitory he occupied, a structure resembling connected blocks capable of housing hundreds of students.

But the number of students living there wasn't what mattered; he was hungry, and his stomach reminded him with a low, persistent growl. He also wanted another shower; he felt far too grimy. Time wasn't pressing yet, but soon he'd have classes. Yes, classes—on a damn Sunday. He pushed the main door open, leaning his full weight against his side, too tired to raise his arm. He entered without ceremony, ready to climb the stairs, when a woman, well-kept for her age, cornered him midway.

"Oh, dear, just look at you! You're all dirty and look so worn out," said the woman, whom he vaguely remembered as Beatriz, the caretaker of this dormitory. She had that worried motherly air that made him smile involuntarily. "Where are you coming from? The sun's just starting to rise," she asked, concern evident in her eyes.

With a tired smile, he replied, "Just went for a bit of training," he said lightly, as if it were nothing unusual. And he knew that in a place like this, it wouldn't raise suspicion; such things were routine here, so no one would find it odd that he trained in the middle of the night.

"This early?" the woman exclaimed, surprised. "And how did you get out? I'm sure I locked all the doors," she continued in a thoughtful tone that unsettled his smile a bit. Oh, right... he'd forgotten to mention that he'd left through... his third-floor window, no less. Yes, he knew it hadn't been the most rational idea, but at the time, it had seemed very clever. He had even congratulated himself on a damage-free landing.

"Oh, heavens... you must be starving after all that effort. Come, sit down; I'll fix you something," the woman seemed to forget her accusations and, with a personality reminiscent of a protective mother, she pushed—or rather, forced—him to sit at an empty table in the massive dining hall. "Wait a moment, I'll bring you something to give you energy," said the dormitory caretaker as she headed into the kitchen.

Left alone, he couldn't help but notice the stares. Few, given the time of day, but they were there—far from hidden. Students aged 12 to 15 looked at him with disdain, others with superiority, as if he didn't belong there. Some laughed discreetly, whispering among themselves—others not so much—mocking his appearance. Yes, as if he were a sideshow monkey.

"What a bunch of idiots," he thought calmly, not at all upset. Such foolish behavior his mind couldn't comprehend; after all, no one was less for having less. And if that were the case, he couldn't help but think... "what sad lives all of you must have."

Disbelieving eyes opened wide in the dining hall, even a momentary silence became palpable. Then those same eyes soon filled with contempt and fury. "Crap... I think I said that out loud," he remarked as a bold smile spread across his lips. "Sorry, sorry, I got carried away," he said, almost laughing at the faces of those stupid kids.

At his audacity, some rose from their tables, offended, their chairs scraping backward, and one in particular approached him with a furious expression.

"How dare you, you... filthy beggar, a dirty cockroach who doesn't deserve to be here," spat the boy. His face was a poem of restrained rage, and his tense body advanced toward him with resounding steps.

Oh, boy... the annoyed brown-haired kid who had just spoken went all out, even approached him. And he could swear he saw steam coming from his ears; his imposing figure—easily a head taller than his own—stood uncomfortably close, leaving only the table as a safety buffer.

Unable to help himself, he yawned. He was tired, and his lack of reaction seemed to irritate the brat even more, which made him smile a little. "Jeez, buddy, didn't your parents teach you what a joke is?" he asked boldly. Yes, as he'd said, he would do what he wanted; that included being a free spirit. After all, this world wasn't his.

"How dare you?" the boy snapped, slamming his hands on the table, making it wobble with his strength. His face turned red with rage, and now he seemed ready to take it all the way. Though...

"What do you think you're doing, Ryan?" Beatriz, holding a tray full of food, almost shouted. Her voice echoed through the dining hall with a mix of fury and disappointment. With a huff, Ryan retreated, and the other kids looked away, frustrated by the lack of a spectacle.

The caretaker approached his table and carefully set the food down, her face filled with concern and unasked questions. But she shook her head, merely furrowing her brow at the reckless attitude of the distinctively-haired boy and the behavior of the other troublesome child.

"You shouldn't make enemies," she said, her eyes full of compassion only a mother could offer. Of course, she'd heard the entire altercation from the kitchen and had come out to prevent the situation from escalating further.

Brián, this boy—like another scholarship student—had nothing; he was one of the few resource-less kids the academy sheltered. If he didn't finish his studies here, the future awaiting him outside would be anything but easy. The caretaker, who understood better than anyone, didn't want to see him trapped in a web of enemies where almost everyone had resources and powerful family names.

The look in Beatriz's eyes said a lot, and he appreciated it; you didn't meet someone so kind every day, someone willing to stand up for others.

"Don't worry, I know the rules. As long as I don't start anything, there won't be any trouble," he said this time with a genuine smile. And it was true; the previous day, he'd found a pamphlet with the academy's rules, and as long as he didn't cross the line, he believed he'd be fine. His words managed to calm the dormitory caretaker, who left when called by another student. Left alone, he sat with a large plate of food in front of him and the disgusted stares of unimportant kids.

Oh, man... he shook his head a little; he wanted to shower first before eating, but given the caretaker's insistence, he couldn't avoid this situation.

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What was this? This growing euphoria inside him, more vibrant than anything else, coursing through every fiber of his body and keeping a smile firmly anchored to his lips. Walking along that stone path leading to the academy's outer gates, he couldn't contain this feeling, one that made him feel so unique. Damn... he even wanted to hug every tree he saw around him, and that included practically all those flanking the path and surrounding the imposing school.

Yes, this time, he had also gone out through his room's window after taking a quick shower. It was much easier than his first attempt; he could jump straight to the ground from the third floor. He wouldn't say it felt like landing on a bed of feathers, but, hell... he could have sworn he could dive headfirst and come out unscathed. He clenched his hands repeatedly, feeling energy flowing through his body like an unstoppable current, sharpening his mind with absolute clarity, pushing him to do all kinds of crazy things.

Unbeknownst to Brián—yes, Brián, as he had decided to go by that name in this world—that unique sensation he was experiencing was the result of an extraordinary alteration in his mana, something that broke his limits and pushed him toward new horizons. It was a rare phenomenon, a trial presented by the world as a singularity, a recognition granted to only a few. Those in the know called it... Illumination.

After eating and bathing, he no longer felt tired. His body was still a bit sore, but his mind was brimming with fuel, ready to be spent. Heaven... right now, he wanted to shoot off like a bullet. And why not? he wondered excitedly, and with just an impulse, he turned that idea into reality. Yes, of course he did; his body obeyed, and in an instant, he went from zero to a hundred, like an unleashed projectile.

He tightened the old leather backpack on his back as his feet propelled him forward with incredible strength, achieving a sensation of floating, of feeling like a feather carried by the wind. First, he surpassed 40 km/h, then, in the next second, he went over 60 km/h, and the following second, he was breaking the 100 km/h barrier. Always with an unwavering smile, always with that euphoria that had invaded him since dawn, growing and unstoppable.

As he passed by, some students walking along the same stone path barely had time to notice the blur in motion. Surprised, they couldn't say a word before he was meters away. It didn't even take him two minutes to reach the outer gates, those ever-opulent metal bars. And instead of going through them, as would be logical, he decided to jump over one side, right where a wide stone wall, six meters tall, stood.

What drove him to take such an action? Well, there was no reason; his mind told him he could do it, and he firmly believed in that baseless assertion. With a broad smile on his lips and an expression of immeasurable happiness, with a leap—an incredible one, if anyone asked—his body soared over the walls. His hand barely touched the top of the wall before sliding clumsily to the other side.

When he landed, his feet making noise upon impact with the ground, the faces of daytime students turned to look at him in astonishment. Some recognized him and quickly looked at him with disdain; others didn't, but they still stared with disgust, as if he were an uncivilized animal. Yes, Brián felt great that day, almost as if the world itself had blessed him, and it had all started that morning, only intensifying.

Faced with such reproachful looks, he merely stared back shamelessly and started walking. Disparaging whispers reached his ears, whispers he didn't care about; instead, he began whistling a particular melody, one from an old anime where a Super Saiyan 4 stole the show. With that, they continued to watch him as if he were a walking circus, though no one dared say anything, perhaps because he looked too good that day.

His eyes drifted to the massive academy for wealthy and noble children; yes, it was still as impressive to him as ever. Without a second thought, he crossed the enormous doors and headed straight for the gigantic bulletin board near the entrance, looking for information about the classrooms—something he had learned the day before—and when he did, he couldn't help but feel like an idiot.

Some pamphlets were visible, announcements, adjacent classes, and club invitations, all in a neat jumble. He scratched his cheek a little in embarrassment; he didn't know how he had missed this the first time.

The lobby was a spacious, bright area, with huge windows, red-decorated columns, and a reception desk where a weary-looking man reviewed documents. At its center, a staircase that split into two invited him upward, but he, recalling the recently learned directions, veered down one of the long hallways to the left.

He sighed and brushed his hair away from his face, thinking he should look for some scissors when suddenly... his path was blocked. Four boys who seemed vaguely familiar stood before him, and his body, for a moment, tensed instinctively. But just as quickly as the discomfort arose, euphoria replaced it, as his mind recognized that this was better.

"You bastard, don't even think about running this time, or I'll make your life hell," said one of the boys, tall, with an arrogant stance, chestnut hair, and blue eyes that glared at him with contempt; the leader, he supposed. Laughter erupted from the other three, accompanying the threat with smiles as ugly as they were vile, particularly the wide-boned boy with a pig-like face.

He raised an intrigued eyebrow, his shamelessness still evident on his face. "Excuse me, do I know you?" he asked in a tone far from polite, one that made the boys' faces twist with anger. "You son of a bitch, you saw me this morning," exclaimed another boy, with brown hair and a face red with fury; at that, his eyebrow rose even higher. "Nope, don't remember you. And I'm sure I would because your face is... well, pretty disgusting," he said with a friendly smile, one ready to make friends.

The subtle comment, akin to pouring gasoline on a fire, seemed to infuriate the brat who, without a doubt, was at least three heads taller than him. Also, had he already mentioned that body full of muscles that looked like it belonged in a Mr. Olympia competition? Seriously... and this kid was under 16? What madness, he thought, astonished.

His arm rose, and his finger wagged in disapproval. "And what's with those appearances? Don't you know you should care about how you look? You all look like potential delinquents, but since I'm not classist, I'll avoid making those kinds of comments." His finger kept wagging, to the disbelief of the brats, as the same brown-haired boy began walking toward him. "Damn idiot, you look almost the same as us, and you didn't even put on your tie properly."

Huh? What nonsense was that? He wondered. He looked at his outfit and saw nothing wrong: school pants, a poorly ironed shirt rolled up to his elbows, and a poorly tied tie; yes, nothing unusual. He sighed again, disappointed. "That's not true, because, unlike you, the look suits me perfectly." With that said, he sealed his fate.

The brown-haired brat, full of steroids, stood in front of him, and he could swear he saw steam coming out of his ears. His companions resumed their unpleasant smiles, and the leader had the audacity to speak again: "Ryan, teach him a quick lesson, and let's go. Classes start soon, and I don't want to break my perfect attendance streak," he said with a palpable tone of superiority.

For his part, he could only whistle. "Man, what did they feed you to grow so much?" he asked, amused and a bit curious, but Ryan didn't appreciate it, as his fist quickly flew toward his face. Although... was it just his perception, or was that punch way too... slow?

He almost rolled his eyes; the unease he had been feeling since he first saw that group of kids was annoying. This body seemed to fear them for some reason, but that magnificent other sensation overshadowed it, making it seem unimportant—and, in fact, it wasn't. Not now, not in the future.

A tingling ran down his spine, and his being warned him to move, so he did. He sidestepped naturally, and the gigantic fist, the size of his head, passed by harmlessly like a slow-motion snail. That caused the brown-haired brat's eyes to widen in shock, but without hesitation, he launched a hook with his other arm, aiming for his new position. This time, with insulting ease, he jumped back slightly while shoving his hands into his pockets.

Tilting his head to one side, he looked at the stunned brat. Why was he like that? It was logical not to let oneself be hit in the face—nobody could be judged for that, especially if the blow came from a potential Mr. Olympia. "Wow... you move like a little girl," he said involuntarily. No, better change that; here, girls were absurdly strong. "Sorry, forget those words; here, that's a compliment, and I didn't mean to give you one," he added with a cocky smile, unable to avoid digressing, as the situation seemed so illogical and stupid.

"Well, I'm bored of seeing your damned faces, so I'm leaving." With that, he took his hands out of his pockets and gave a small clap. "What the hell are you saying? Damn idiot, you're not going anywhere!" Ryan shouted furiously, his strong voice echoing down the hallway, drawing some looks from students just entering the premises—kids who, driven by curiosity, began to gather to watch the spectacle.

"Ugh, dude, don't you know when to stop?" As he said that, he practically dropped to the ground to dodge a kick that came dangerously close to his face. Whistling at the visible convergence of a snail into a threatening bunny, he rolled slightly and got back on his feet, keeping a prudent distance and his smile intact, one that was beginning to deeply irritate the group of bullies.

He stuck out his tongue at the brown-haired kid and winked, which practically made the boy foam at the mouth. With renewed speed, he charged again to try to hit him, impressing him with his quickness. His punches were much faster than before, and it seemed like he was putting everything into them—he noticed that immediately. His dodges became shakier, but in the end, and with a bit of luck on his side, no blow managed to land; the closest were very near misses.

The incredulous faces of those bully kids were visible; damn... even the arrogant looks of the gathered students soured, as they had expected a one-sided spectacle where that green-aqua-haired plebeian kid, labeled as one of the weakest by many, would get a beating. But in front of them... before their eyes, that boy was dodging everything thrown at him by Ryan, the unshakable tower.

A minute passed, then two, then another, and the brown-haired kid began to falter. His impressive speed slowed, sweat dripped from his forehead, and his breathing became irregular. The opposite was true for the other boy, who, despite the difficulty of dodging the quick attacks, remained as fresh as a daisy, his smile still intact and a disturbing expression of joy, as if all of this was overwhelmingly entertaining to him.

In everyone's eyes, the one who finished last in the mid-term physical exams dodged everything. His movements, though clumsy and erratic, carried a strange precision, almost as if he could foresee every attack, as if every fiber of his body was in perfect harmony, and as if the world itself was guiding him on what to do next. His body twisted, tilted, and shifted just in time to evade every attack that flew toward him.

Whispers that he didn't care about continued to echo in his ears, whispers that began when the students gathered, blocking the hallway's exit. "Tired already? That's a relief since if one of those punches hit me, my head would've been torn off," he said with terrifying happiness that puzzled the onlookers. "And seriously... you take things too seriously; you need to relax, it'll do you good," he added, unable to contain some giggles, further bewildering the gathered audience.

Ryan, nicknamed "The Tower" by his friends and other first-year students, was dumbfounded. Everything he had thrown was dodged, difficultly at the end, but dodged nonetheless by a mere talentless weakling. He knew his strength was by no means speed or agility; it was his brute strength and massive resistance to incoming attacks. However, Brián was far below all his capabilities, including speed. So how the hell did he manage it?

Panting, he continued to take deep breaths, still ready to press on, but… the rhythmic sound of something tapping against the floor and an approaching gait, seemingly out of nowhere, completely snuffed out his rage and his desire to keep fighting.

"Enough. This is pointless," came the shout of a girl. Her voice, almost shrill, resonated with an overwhelming force that weighed on the hearts of everyone present. The rhythmic tapping continued, and soon the students parted to make way for a girl—a teenager who still appeared childlike, dressed in a black-and-white three-piece outfit that unmistakably marked her as a mage.

Her staff, crafted from peculiar wood and embedded with a refined mana stone as large as her head, was the source of the tapping. Undoubtedly, it was a tool much larger than its wielder, who, incidentally, was not very tall and had purple hair and piercing eyes of the same hue. And… resting upon her head was a distinctive, slumbering old hat.

"Or do you have something to say, students?" Her voice, though simple, carried an unknown power that nearly brought the group of colorful bullies to their knees. Well… it had the same effect on him, so he couldn't exactly take pleasure in others' misfortunes.

"Isn't she Aurora, the Harlequin?" a voice murmured among the students, surprised to see a celebrity in person. Soon, whispers spread, filled with excitement and agitation at the presence of someone so unique. "What's she doing at the academy? Shouldn't she be fighting Monturd Resems and stuff?"

The mentioned figure sighed, weary, adjusting the slumbering spirit that served as her hat. "All right, students, it's time to return to your activities," she said with an exhausted look, subtly announcing her purpose at this place of learning. "And as for you," she turned her gaze toward the five troublesome kids, her eyes gleaming with a cold light, "we'll pretend this never happened. It's tiresome having to explain these things, so let's move on and make sure it doesn't happen again. Understood?" she stated lazily, while simultaneously releasing a faint pulse of prana into the air to drive her point home.

It went without saying that four of the kids nearly wet their pants; their faces said it all. They bolted, shouting hateful words at the one left standing there like a headless chicken. And as for the other kid with the distinctive hair, her gaze landed on him; her eyes narrowed, radiating a mysterious glow. His internal mana was in a state of perfect, irregular chaos, she noticed immediately. It bubbled with eagerness, nearly bursting, and its energy extended to his surroundings.

The boy whistled, unbothered. "Wow… that almost gave me a heart attack," he said, grinning like an idiot. Unfazed by the witch's watchful eyes, he shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking toward his Mana Arts class.

"Hey, you," the so-called Harlequin called out, curiosity evident in her voice. "Why didn't you just slip away? You had a slight advantage in speed and an astounding one in agility, so why not avoid the problem altogether by sneaking off? And why didn't you counterattack? You had plenty of opportunities," she asked with a hint of genuine curiosity—something natural given her personality.

The boy stopped for a second, turned his body, and kept that same foolish smile on his face. "Well, it's simple… that wouldn't have been any fun. As for the other thing, I didn't want those rich kids messing with me later. I'm poor. Besides… if I had hit that overdeveloped guy, I'd probably have broken my hands," he said cheerfully as he resumed walking.

At his statement, the slumbering hat, which seemed to belong in Dumbledore's office, burst out laughing; its loud cackle filled the incredulous atmosphere. One of its eyes opened and observed the interesting kid, seeing what others couldn't, noticing something his young bearer hadn't yet realized. Yes, the bubbling mana emanating from the boy, even affecting his surroundings, was unmistakable—it was Enlightenment. An independent phenomenon manifesting in diverse, unique forms, something it hadn't witnessed in a long time, much less in someone so young, bringing back memories of ancient times, of eras when great heroes walked the land.

"Well, well, I approve of you too, kid," bellowed the old spirit amidst laughter, its vigor renewed by memories of the past. Calmly walking away, Brián could hear the commotion caused by the old leather hat and, in response, simply raised a hand in acknowledgment.

Yes, why didn't he just… leave? He wondered. After all, he had the chance to do so. Was it for the fun of it? No, that was clearly a blatant lie on his part. Obviously, it was something else… something more hidden. He clenched his fists; the euphoria still hadn't faded—that sensation that told him to stay and prove himself against a much stronger opponent, that feeling that guided him through the entire process and, somehow, always kept him a step ahead, even if only by a millimeter.

He didn't know it at the time, but he didn't consider it worth further pondering, so he let it flow, just like everything else he didn't yet understand.