Why is Background Character the Strongest Now?

 Chapter 2

Shivam's eyes fluttered open.

"Umm…" he mumbled groggily, shifting slightly and reaching toward his bedside for his phone.

But instead of the familiar cold slab of plastic, his fingers brushed through… grass.

His brow furrowed. "Grass? What the hell…?"

Still half-asleep, he sat up, rubbing his eyes. The chill of the morning breeze hit his face, and a soft rustle of leaves whispered nearby.

Something was off.

No… everything was off.

He blinked again—once, twice—and looked around.

No ceiling. No fan. No posters.

No walls.

Just endless mountains, dense trees, and an open sky stretching far above him.

He was not in his small 1RK apartment.

"…Where am I?" he whispered, heart skipping a beat.

His mind raced. Was this a prank? A kidnapping? A dream?

His breathing quickened—then, oddly, slowed again. A strange calm washed over him.

Why am I… calm?

Confused, thirsty, and tense, Shivam spotted a river shimmering a short distance away. Its water looked unusually clear, almost unnaturally pure.

He staggered toward it, crouched down, and reached out to scoop some water—

But stopped.

The reflection staring back at him…

Wasn't him.

Gone were his short black locks. In their place was a long, textured cascade of silver-white hair with sharp layers framing his face.

His usual warm brown eyes had become a stormy grey, tinged with a hint of gold around the irises.

His skin—too pale. His jawline—razor sharp.

And etched into his skin, winding from his arms to his neck, were tattoos that looked almost ancient. Arcane.

"…Who the hell are you?" Shivam muttered.

And then—

Pain.

A searing, splitting, unbearable pain ripped through his head.

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

He clutched his skull and screamed, falling to his knees. A flood of memories—not his own—began crashing into his mind like a tidal wave.

Swordfights. Magic. Blood. Screams.

A name whispered again and again—Ezra.

Faces he had never seen. A life he had never lived.

And through it all, a creeping certainty began to settle in:

This wasn't a dream.

He wasn't himself anymore.

Even as agony consumed him, he didn't black out immediately. His consciousness clung on, unwilling to fade.

But after twelve long hours—twelve hours of torment, visions, and a mind tearing at its seams—

Shivam finally collapsed beside the riverbank.

Shivam didn't know how long he was unconscious.

But when his eyes opened again, they no longer carried confusion.

There was no panic. No denial.

Only silence.

Only calm.

A terrifying, almost unnatural stillness.

The wind rustled the trees. A bird cried in the distance. The sky had darkened to twilight. But he lay there, still as stone, staring at nothing.

Then, he whispered.

"So… I've become Ezra Celestrian."

The words fell from his lips like truth he had known all along.

Ezra Celestrian.

A character from his favorite web novel—Transmigrated as a Minor Villain.

A character who had only appeared in ten chapters.

But who had stolen the hearts of every reader with just those ten.

⸻

Ezra was no noble.

Born a commoner, he'd risen purely through strength, grit, and sheer will.

His closest friend? Marcus Ardent—the main lead of the novel and son of the Magic Emperor, Dimitrus Ardent, the strongest human alive and a high-ranking member of the Supreme Council.

Ezra and Marcus had been inseparable. Brothers in all but blood.

But Ezra…

Ezra was the type who would do anything for Marcus.

Hide his talents. Suppress his ambition. Suffer in silence.

Even die for him.

And he did.

Attacked by vampires during a night ambush, Ezra had thrown himself into the chaos, dragging them away—

Sacrificing himself to keep Marcus safe.

That was how he died.

How he was written to die.

⸻

Suddenly, a chuckle broke the silence. A bitter, broken laugh that echoed in the still woods.

"Hah… hahahaha… how fucking stupid."

Ezra—no, Shivam—grinned to himself, eyes sharp.

"If Marcus had even a single functioning brain cell, he would've realized the truth."

His voice dropped into venom.

"That attack? That wasn't just bad luck. It was a setup."

"It was Dimitrus Ardent's plan from the start. He wanted Ezra dead. And he got his wish."

"And Marcus… the dumbass couldn't even put the pieces together."

He sat up slowly, eyes glowing faintly under the starlight. Silver-white hair glistened as the night wind brushed past.

"Now that I've seen Ezra's memories, everything makes sense."

"The real reason the author killed him…"

He clenched his fist.

"Because Ezra was too damn powerful."

In this world, when children turned twelve, they underwent the Core Awakening.

Until then, they trained body and blade. The stronger the body, the higher the quality of the core.

Cores were ranked from F to S.

Most humans barely managed C-rank. Some reached B.

The rare geniuses or son of elites with help of potion or their own talent awaken B to S-rank cores. Those were the prodigies, capable of reaching the coveted Rank 9 realm.

Marcus and Daelen two of the novel's male leads were part of that elite.

They had S-rank cores. So did five others across all the races.

Only seven in the entire world.

But Ezra?

Ezra had formed something different.

Something beyond the system.

A Mythical Core.

A core that didn't exist in known classifications.

No one even knew it was possible.

Something beyond logic. Beyond comprehension.

Even before awakening his core, Ezra had been a genius in swordsmanship.

But after forming the mythical core—

He had soared.

And yet…

He hid it all.

Smiled. Stepped back. Stayed in the shadows.

Until the vampires tore him apart.

And now… he was here. Alone in the forest. In a body discarded by plot and betrayal.

Ezra stood up slowly, feeling the weight of his new body. His breath was steady. His mind clear.

He looked up at the stars.

"I don't care about wars," he said softly. "I don't care about revenge for this body's past. That's over."

His eyes narrowed, and a cruel grin twisted his lips.

"What I care about… is getting strong. So strong I can rip through dimensions."

"And when I do—"

His voice dropped into a cold, murderous whisper.

"I'll find you, dear author… and whoever the hell threw me into this world…"

"And I'll beat the living shit out of both of you."

The night grew quiet.

Ezra Celestrian had returned.

But this time

He wasn't here to die.

He was here to rewrite fate.