Trapped like an extra in a blatant cliche

"In the heat of a duel without glory, where pride crumbles and hope is forged, an unknown spirit began to claim its place in the fabric of destiny."

—Excerpt from Volume 1 of the Reborn Hero

The clash of swords echoed across the open field. Blurred figures moved in a grueling, seemingly uncoordinated dance. Strike after strike was launched, attacks that were intercepted or deflected one after the other. Depending on which of the two figures gained the upper hand, the outcome shifted drastically.

What initially seemed like mere seconds of confrontation stretched into grueling minutes under the watchful gaze of 101 students. Their faces mirrored disbelief—mouths agape, eyebrows raised, and too many egos, prides, and dignities shattered. All because of a desperate boy trying to keep up with his devilish fencing instructor.

"This is impossible," one student muttered, his voice tinged with astonishment. "How can he move so recklessly and still make it work?" Among the crowd, Luke—the top student in this group of misfits—clenched his fists in frustration. His eyes darted everywhere, tracking the fight with some difficulty as he tried to decipher the movements of the boy with green-aquamarine hair. Brián, the bottom of the class, the perpetual straggler, was displaying a strength no one had anticipated and, somehow, had become faster than him.

It wasn't an overwhelming difference that put Luke at a clear disadvantage. In terms of striking power and technical skill, he was still superior. But that green-aquamarine-haired boy had something that set him apart, something Luke couldn't quite define. What he did understand, however, was that in a direct confrontation between the two of them, without a doubt... he would lose. He clenched his fists tighter. How in the world had Brián become so strong? Or had he always been and merely feigned weakness?

Frustration began to consume him. It felt like all his efforts were insignificant. Then his gaze fell upon Nina Listair, their instructor, who was smiling—genuinely enjoying this simple match. A real smile, brimming with enthusiasm... it was something Luke had never seen from his teacher before.

In the countless sparring sessions he'd had with her, her expression was always impassive, even bored. Nina never took the initiative, limiting herself to blocking his attacks until he exhausted himself. But now, in this fight against someone everyone considered a failure, Nina shone with a joy that filled Luke with a mixture of envy and unease.

In fact, she had never asked for a sparring session before. This was the first time he had seen her do so, and, to top it off, it wasn't with him. It was with the one considered the worst of the worst.

So how? What did that commoner have that he didn't? What was that something that awakened his instructor's passion for combat? Was it those chaotic and unorthodox movements? Was it the way he always got back up after taking a crushing blow? And, most importantly, how could he do the same?

Luke wasn't the only one thinking that way; the other students had similar reflections. However, he was the only one who begrudgingly admitted that Brián had become the strongest in the class. He clenched his fists tighter, not just because his pride was wounded but because of his inability to grow stronger as quickly.

His gaze shifted to the class's second-highest-ranked student, and he had to suppress a haughty sigh upon seeing the same look of disbelief on his face as everyone else. Seriously? He shook his head in disdain and refocused on the fight. That training partner had never beaten him in a duel; however, he wasn't so weak as to also wear that expression. Perhaps, he thought, he should ask that green-aquamarine-haired boy to train together. Because if there was one thing he could respect about Brián, it was his proven strength.

Regardless of what Luke or the others thought, the match raged on, growing increasingly frenzied. Brián's dirty tactics escalated in intensity, gradually adapting to the duel's chaotic pace. His body began recognizing patterns, restoring fragments of dormant muscle memory buried deep in his tissues. Nina, smiling like a fool, kept taking the offensive. With each passing second, she added more power to her strikes, cornering the boy and forcing him to improve if he didn't want to end up eating dirt.

To his credit, Brián kept trying his tricks, determined to land at least one hit on her—something that obviously hadn't happened and clearly wouldn't. Nina could be many things, but she wasn't an easy opponent. The back-and-forth of slashes continued, soon including punches, kicks, and other movements, until finally, one of the two constantly moving figures slowed down. Naturally... it was Brián.

Exhausted, he blinked, and in the next instant, a wooden sword stopped just a centimeter from his throat.

"That was a good match. Be proud—you made a lovely lady happy for a while," Nina said with a smile. But honestly, she might as well have said nothing; despite looking at her, he didn't register a single word. He was too busy trying to fill his lungs with air.

His weapon slipped from his trembling hands, his arms shaking like twigs in a storm. He could barely open and close his fists due to the tension building in his muscles.

His body and face were a testament to his misery: a collection of bruises, pain, and exhaustion. A split lip and a cut eyebrow, still bleeding, completed the unpleasant sight.

"Yeah... I'll just lie down for a bit," he muttered weakly. He collapsed onto the ground, his chest rising and falling like an overworked steam engine. Damn... he'd been beaten to a pulp, and worse, he hadn't even managed to land a single hit.

How pathetic, he chastised himself, sweating like a pig ready for slaughter. His vision blurred, and a wave of nausea hit him. Yeah, in short, he was completely wrecked.

"Alright, now that we know what to work on, there's no time to waste. So, get up."

Nina's words reached him, and Brián had to suppress a torrent of curses aimed at his instructor's ancestors. What the hell was she saying? Couldn't she see the pathetic state he was in? Fine, he thought, he'd just pretend to faint or something. But before he could carry out his plan, he was hoisted up like a piece of paper.

His face adopted a dumbfounded expression as he blinked a couple of times, trying to process what had just happened. His legs wobbled with every effort to stay upright.

In front of him stood Nina Listair, smiling at him, her irises gleaming with an unmistakable, almost predatory greed.

"First, we need to work on your footwork. It's garbage. And if we're lucky, by the end of the day, it might be barely passable."

Her usual expression returned as her joy faded, replaced by her typical stern demeanor. And those words, to him, marked the beginning of a detestable regime he'd be forced to endure.

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Everyone here was insane—or at least something close to it. Damn sociopathic woman, he grumbled silently. He gathered a dozen sandwiches from the massive countertop under the skeptical gaze of a kitchen worker who seemed to wonder if he could possibly eat all of that.

What? He was hungry. Don't judge him, especially when his whole body ached, and the food was free. He turned around and took in the sight of the gigantic, opulent student dining hall. He decided he wouldn't stay there a second longer than necessary. Nodding to himself, he began walking off with his spoils of war toward his trusty window.

He ignored the stares of those already accustomed to his eccentricities and, without hesitation, leapt through the always-open window, unconcerned about how others might perceive him.

Whispers, annoyance, disgust, or indifference... none of it mattered to him. In his view, you had to be a pretty miserable person to care so much about whether others had it worse than you.

His tired legs carried him down a dirt path he knew well. Minutes of peaceful, silent travel led him to a small clearing hidden within the underbrush. Like any good human, he had the capacity to learn from his mistakes. From his old, worn leather backpack, he pulled out a simple tablecloth he'd found abandoned in his room. Using his free hand, he spread it across the ground and set down his pile of sandwiches without worrying about the ants.

Meru, the bastard who pretended to be asleep, lazily lifted himself from his perch atop Brián's head. He floated lazily for a few seconds before plopping down onto the tablecloth, very close to the pile of food. Oh, did you think all those sandwiches were just for him? Without ceremony, one of the sandwiches began to float, and a chunk vanished into folds resembling a mouth.

"Well, out with it, kid. I know this nice little picnic isn't for me. Who've you been waiting for all these days?"

For a moment, Brián considered pretending he hadn't heard anything. But... obviously, this hat wouldn't stop his interrogation over something so trivial. He sighed as his brow furrowed, recalling that girl who seemed to be the target of bullying. Taking one of the sandwiches for himself, he bit into it, hoping to buy as much time as possible before responding.

"I didn't peg you as the nosy type," he quipped after swallowing his first bite.

The hat let out a bored snort; if it had real eyes, it would've rolled them.

"You're awfully smug for someone who just got their ass handed to them."

Brián smirked, the motion making his face ache. Crossing his arms in an exaggerated X, he retorted, "You're mistaken. I saw the results as pretty even. Maybe because you kept your eyes closed while pretending to sleep, you couldn't fully appreciate the events as they unfolded."

"Besides, I would've refused, but that damn woman seems unfamiliar with the concept of consent," he added, taking another bite of his sandwich. He waited for the sharp retort he knew was coming—and he wasn't disappointed.

"Pfff! Making excuses only makes you an even bigger loser." Despite his words, Meru was genuinely impressed by Brián's talent. Perhaps it was the so-called Enlightenment the boy seemed to be undergoing, but during the duel, Meru had felt firsthand how Brián improved in real-time, absorbing experience and adapting to his opponent.

"Whatever... looks like she's not showing up today either," Brián said, finishing his first sandwich. Of course, such a comment only made the old spirit more persistent. Even the wind seemed to pick up, whipping against his face.

He put on a stoic expression, ready to ignore him—but his composure quickly broke when he realized what the hat intended to do.

"Stop that already! You're going to get dirt all over my food!" he yelled, desperate. He was starving and couldn't bear the thought of his precious meal being ruined.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you not to play with your food, you idiot?" His words fell on deaf ears—until, begrudgingly, he gave in and agreed to reveal the reason behind his waiting.

"Fine, fine, I'll tell you," he growled, throwing up his hands and shooting a dagger-filled glare at the grinning hat, which finally stopped manipulating the air around him. But just as he was about to speak, an explosive burst of mana—strong enough to be noticeable even to his underdeveloped senses—interrupted the scene.

The epicenter... was none other than Meru himself.

His usual jovial demeanor gave way to a grim seriousness that seemed to freeze the air. Brián's skin prickled, and a cold sweat ran down his back; he felt as if he could turn water to ice with a single thought.

"Don't get yourself into trouble while I'm gone," Meru said, his voice steely and war-ready. A chilling aura of death accompanied his words. Then, a blinding light engulfed everything, flashing brilliantly before fading. When Brián's vision cleared after several blinks, the old spirit was gone—nowhere to be found.

The phenomenon was made possible through a bond—an agreement that granted Meru the ability to sense whether his contractor was in danger. Unfortunately for him, he could feel the other party involved was in a critical situation, teetering on the edge of death's door. And so, the old spirit had forced a reverse summoning, expending astronomical amounts of mana—something only possible because of their pact.

Brián was left utterly baffled. Faced with a puzzle missing every piece, all he could do was shrug and start on another sandwich.

Meru was terrifyingly strong; he'd be fine on his own. Compared to himself, though? Brián could feel the timer on his life ticking down again, ready to mess with him.

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The author speaking here.

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