Trapped like an extra in a blatant cliche

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

In a situation beyond reason... how would you handle it?

Glassy, downcast eyes wandered across the room. The walls of the hospital-like room seemed to mock his misfortune, as if every inch of the used concrete knew more about his mistakes than he did himself. His cheek, red like a tomato, itched as a painful reminder that this wasn't just a bad dream from which he could wake.

He raised his hand, and the white bandage covering his injured knuckles seemed to mock his recklessness—a fresh scar proving that this body, fragile as it was, was just as real as the one he remembered inhabiting. The wound throbbed with its own unique pain, a pulse anchoring him to this new and raw reality.

The scent of antiseptic filled the air, so sharp it forced him to breathe through his mouth. Each inhale deepened his confusion, as if his own senses confirmed the tangibility of this place that, deep down, he wished to escape.

Where everything felt impersonal, where each throb of frustration sparked a flare of fear, and where it felt like an invisible prison, his only jailer being his own body.

The door opened, and in silence, the blonde nurse responsible for his care stood before him. With a frown of exasperation, she began her lecture. "Seriously... I can't believe your recklessness, Brian. Look at your hand: you even damaged the nerves. What would have happened if I hadn't been nearby? You would have bled out in a few minutes."

Her words seemed to drift into the void surrounding him, meaning he could barely hear them, as his mind remained trapped between disbelief and exhaustion. There were no words that could convince him this wasn't just a bad dream, a nightmare too real.

"You need to stop getting into trouble or looking for it," the nurse continued. "You're young, and you entered this Academy on your own merit. That says a lot about you, despite not coming from a noble background to back you up. You have an opportunity that many would desire or even kill for, and you're just wasting it big time."

The beautiful woman crossed her arms, her expression hardening, giving her face a sternness that contrasted with the warmth she exuded, and anger etched lines into her features. "And all because of that girl." Her eyes narrowed with a glimmer of sadness. "You should let her go. Believe me, it will do you good, even if it doesn't feel that way at first. You're smart, but you're wasting your potential with this obsession of yours."

The mention of that last word, "obsession," hurt like a punch to the gut. It was a comment made without deep understanding from the nurse, a comment he didn't even understand why it bothered him, but it struck him deeply all the same.

He felt his eyes burn with resentment and pain, a fleeting reflection of suffering he couldn't comprehend. His free hand clenched the sheets, seeking relief that didn't come. Everything—this room, those words—seemed like a facade hiding something deeper and crueler.

"I... I'm sorry," he finally whispered, his voice a faint echo of himself, a murmur that seemed to drift aimlessly in the sterile atmosphere. His dry lips barely managed to form the words his mind rejected. The nurse, as if his words had touched a sensitive chord within her, softened her expression. Her voice took on a more empathetic, almost maternal tone. "It's okay... I'll let it go for today, but I don't want to see you here tomorrow, okay? And, please, take my advice seriously."

The nurse leaned toward him, with a slight smile that, for a moment, reminded him of the warmth of the sun. "Oh, and forgive the slap… that was unintentional. You weren't responding to my calls, so I had no choice," she said, fiddling with the white hat decorated with symbols his eyes didn't recognize.

She stepped back and composed herself deftly, with the same professionalism she used to heal wounds, and from her leather bag tied to her waist, she pulled out a yellowed, fragile piece of paper that seemed about to disintegrate between her fingers.

"Now, stay still and close your eyes. Just focus on your breathing," she ordered. Then, in a thoughtful tone, she added, "You know… I've been thinking about something. That mirror you broke was actually of very good quality. And with your fainting, I feel like something doesn't quite add up."

Wasting no time on further explanations, her slender fingers made quick movements over the paper, while Brian obediently closed his eyes, letting himself be guided by a dance whose steps he did not know. But then, a soft blue glow filtered through his eyelids, and opening them instinctively, he found himself before a breathtaking sight.

The paper in the nurse's hands shone with a soft blue that then turned green, like a flow of energy vibrating and shifting shape. And afterward, when the light faded, a set of intricate symbols appeared—mystical scribbles dancing across the paper's surface.

He didn't understand the meaning of those signs, but the nurse examined them carefully, and with each line she read, her face transformed, going from an expression of concentration to one of surprise and astonishment.

The nurse covered her mouth with a hand, as if the words she was trying to articulate were too complex to speak aloud. She turned toward him, her eyes fixed on his, with a look that spoke of a discovery that would change her patient's life forever.

"Brian, what I'm about to tell you… you can't tell anyone." Her tone was grave, loaded with a weight he could barely bear, and she continued. "Your trait and abilities… they've strengthened. Much more than they should have. And also..." she hesitated, wondering if she should speak the following words aloud, then took a deep breath. "You've awakened an innate ability. Something extremely rare among humans."

There was an overwhelming silence. The words "innate ability" hung in the air, laden with meaning he couldn't fully process, or rather, couldn't know. And what the hell was happening here? With that thought, he felt that his world—the world he thought he knew—was collapsing, and reality was unfolding before him in a way he had not expected.

Happiness didn't seem to be part of what was seen or revealed to him, but rather a strange tone of pessimism clouding what should have been a moment of discovery.

And as he looked at the nurse, his mind filled with questions. The light, the paper, the ability… and that uncertain fate that, without him knowing, had been calling to him from the start. But the fear of the unknown, of the truth that was just peeking out, paralyzed him, leaving him in a limbo of doubts and regrets that he was only beginning to understand.

The blonde nurse's light blue eyes settled on the young man with the downcast face. His dejected appearance and gaze lost in his own world made her worry; she couldn't help it, as that was part of her nature.

Something in him stirred a deep compassion within her; perhaps it was because she saw a piece of her own past reflected in him, from the time when her own foolish obsession had led her to make too many wrong decisions.

Selene, named after her now-deceased mother, sighed, and a wave of empathy escaped her lips. She observed the young man… Brian Morningstar, an orphaned boy who had recently lost his family. Originally from a nearby small town, Brian was one of only two survivors of a devastating attack, in which countless lives had been lost due to the proximity to the conflict-ridden territory of the Country of Berkroa.

Seraphim Academy, recognizing his intellectual talent, had allowed him to stay in the school dormitories at no cost, a privilege reserved only for those who excelled through exceptional merit or for those who had the money to pay and wanted to keep their children away. This opportunity would extend until his graduation, as long as he demonstrated academic excellence. However, the boy before her seemed far from reaching that standard.

Brian was trapped in a strange obsession, one of those emotional entanglements that, in Selene's eyes, did not bode well. The young man seemed lost in his own fixation on another person, a girl who had also survived the attack.

Selene wasn't insensitive; she understood, to some extent, where those feelings came from. Still, the price of his distraction could be costly; if Brian didn't meet the academic demands, he would soon be sent out onto the streets. Oh, and don't get me wrong, it wouldn't be an official expulsion as such—the Academy would simply withdraw his housing privilege. And without family connections, Brian would have to fend for himself to find a roof over his head.

Deep down, Selene knew that would be tantamount to a sentence of abandonment, as the additional burdens and challenges would reduce his study time, affecting his future performance, and in time, he might not even be able to continue at the Academy.

Selene squinted, scrutinizing the expression of the young man sitting on the bed. The situation was clear; Brian was caught in the webs of a desperate infatuation, one that didn't seem to be reciprocated. Of course, she couldn't interfere directly, but she told herself that she could at least help him become aware of his reality.

"Listen, Brian," she said in a soft and calm voice. "You and I need to have a long talk about this situation, about this new complexity you're facing."

As she spoke, she fiddled with the folds of her uniform, sharpening her thoughts in search of the right words. She knew the extent of what she was about to reveal and knew it could deeply impact him.

"After what I'm going to tell you," she continued, "it will be your decision whether to reveal it or keep it a secret. Personally, I think it's safer for you to keep it to yourself."

Selene knew Brian didn't have the backing of noble birth or influential connections to protect him at the Academy. And knowing the headmaster's greed firsthand, she feared for the young man's future if his abilities or particular situation drew too much attention.

Thus began a long conversation, an exchange of confidences and warnings about the complex world he found himself immersed in.

Brian, with his aquamarine green hair and tired eyes, listened almost out of obligation, as the beautiful nurse was forceful, and her genuine concern caught him by surprise. Her words, though not entirely welcomed, managed to bring him crashing back into reality, pulling him—if only for a moment—out of his emotional daydreams.

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Brián Morningstar... that was his name, or rather, that was the name of this body, of this person, of this poor boy whose consciousness he had forcibly taken, without knowing how or why. A name he didn't feel was his, and a strange weight he was only beginning to understand.

He was alone. No parents, no family, no memories, and with an immense void in his mind that left him without clarity, a dark hole that deepened each time he tried to dive into his oldest memories, into his own childhood.

That was his reality now, one he hadn't asked for, and although it seemed like something out of a fantasy world, it filled him with an unease that chilled him to the bone.

His soft footsteps echoed down a corridor with narrow windows, dimly lit by the last rays of the afternoon sun. He walked slowly, recalling every detail of his last conversation with the nurse—Selene, that was her name.

The rhythmic sound of his feet was the only thing anchoring him to the present, preventing him from getting lost in the web of thoughts overwhelming him at that moment. Now, a confused young man found himself trapped in the body of a child.

He stopped for a moment, looking at his hands—one of them fully bandaged. They were small, fragile, and most obviously, they weren't his. With spots of dried blood on the dull uniform he wore, a sense of heaviness, of unreality, washed over him. It was hard to accept that he had gone from a comfortable, predictable life to a strange and unknown world; how was it even possible? He couldn't make sense of the situation, and the more he tried to understand, the more elusive the answers seemed.

The void in his mind seemed to grow, a shadowy expanse of disconnected thoughts. The frustration inside him mounted with every second, but he had nowhere to direct that pent-up anger.

He looked around the corridor, with its high ceilings and stone-adorned walls. The place was luxurious, undoubtedly a high-standard school for those who could afford it, a place where one could receive the best education.

The ostentatious architecture and atmosphere of grandeur were almost suffocating, and his only desire was to find a bed, close his eyes, and wake up from this nightmare. However, as he continued down the hallway, a strange sense of familiarity washed over him. Not in his memories, but in his body, as if the movements and surroundings felt familiar on an almost unconscious level.

Through one of the narrow windows, he noticed he was on the second floor. And without hesitation, after minutes of walking, he found a staircase and began descending it, wanting to leave behind the silence of that endless corridor. But when he reached the landing between floors, he found a group of four boys blocking his way; and from the looks of it, they were doing it on purpose, almost as if they had been waiting for him specifically.

The group stood out for their disheveled appearance; without their school blazers, with shirts half untucked from their pants and no ties, they exuded a rebellious and carefree attitude. He immediately understood what kind of boys they were; the ones who thought they were "cool" or, rather, the ones fooling themselves into believing that insolence gave them some kind of power.

"Hey, Brián, we've been waiting for you," said one of them, a brown-haired boy who seemed to assume the role of leader. Beside him, another boy was sucking on a lollipop like it was a cigarette, in a gesture that seemed as absurd as it was ridiculous.

"Yeah… you almost made us worry," added another, laughing. Their harsh laughs and the smug looks on their faces gave him a 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 boys? Why did they seem to know him so well? And why the hell did he feel so awful when he saw them?

From the way they mocked and the disdainful looks in their eyes, he understood that they weren't friends of the boy whose body he now occupied. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, even with the tingling growing in his stomach, as he wasn't the tolerant type when it came to bullies. Determined to turn a blind eye, he descended the last few steps calmly, despite the latent fear that didn't feel like his own; but when he reached the landing, one of the boys extended his arm, blocking his way.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" the leader asked with an arrogance he instantly recognized. It was the voice of someone who believed themselves superior to others and didn't bother to hide it. He had never liked those kinds of people; mutual respect was something natural between two civilized individuals, and if the other party couldn't understand something so simple, then they were a complete idiot.

"Your money, stupid," spat another boy, visibly annoyed by his prolonged silence. This was the same one sucking on the lollipop, a chubby-cheeked boy with a prominent belly, whose presence involuntarily repelled him.

"Money?" he asked incredulously at the request. He remembered checking his pockets while walking down the hall and only finding lint. Poor, yes, he was poor; he already knew that. He didn't need another university degree to figure it out. But, from the words of the broad-shouldered boy, it seemed that this body, that Brián, received some sort of school allowance or something like that. He sighed in frustration; he already had enough to deal with, without having to relive his high school days.

"Did you just sigh in front of me?" growled the big-boned boy, who got so close he could feel his breath on his face.

"And does that matter?" he replied, narrowing his eyes. His sarcastic tone left his unwanted companions momentarily speechless.

"I've had a shitty day, so do me a favor and go to hell, you son of a bitch;" the words came out fast, almost without thinking. The anger in the others' eyes was immediate; their cheeks flushed red with fury.

He wasn't Brián, nor did he know his attitudes or ways of acting. He was Aiden, a regular guy who liked his stuff and hated working part-time and suffering through university exams. But he wasn't stupid. He knew that getting into a physical fight here would only cause trouble, especially considering his situation and this opulent place of learning. So, taking advantage of the momentary surprise, he quickly maneuvered up a few steps again, then jumped over the railing to the other side of the staircase.

He landed with a light impact, barely feeling it, as if this boy's body had strength and lightness incomparable to his own. He started running, and as if he had never landed on the floor in the first place, he practically flew down the final flight of stairs. Then, he heard one of the bullies shout,

"Hey, don't let him get away, you idiots!"

Recognizing the opportunity, he shot down the corridors bathed in the golden light of the setting sun like a comet. The empty halls were intuitive mazes, and his quick feet barely felt tired. It was strange; he wasn't out of breath, he didn't sweat, and it seemed as though this body could carry him at twice his current speed if he wanted it to.

"What the hell? How is that useless kid so fast?" he managed to hear one of the bullies say, their words sounding almost blurry, as if fading away by the second.

He turned down a corridor, determined not to stop until he found a way out of this place. And sure enough, he didn't stop until, within a few minutes, he saw the grand entrance to the Academy, wide open.

With no one in sight, he had no trouble leaving, as its design was as luxurious as it was practical. He only stopped when he reached the large stone stairs at the front, where he turned to look back. The impressive Gothic architecture of the Academy, which could undoubtedly house thousands of students, loomed before him. His mouth hung slightly open; the scale and luxury of the place were indescribable.

"God… it almost looks like Hogwarts or something," he thought, in awe. He even stood there, waiting to see if Professor Xavier or Dumbledore would walk out of that entrance. How could anyone have that much money to build something like this?

He shook off those thoughts and descended the stairs; now wasn't the time for that. His objective now was to find the dormitories mentioned by Nurse Selene, where, with some luck, he might find more clues about this Brián.

His attention was drawn to the greenery around him. Tall trees flanked a stone path surrounded by bushes, and at the end, imposing walls could be seen. That path led to a majestic gate, made of what he believed was the finest metal. The landscape, bathed in the orange glow of the sunset, was breathtaking.

"What a waste of money," he muttered as he approached the entrance. No one could blame him; after all, his frugal soul felt uneasy with such luxury.

His chest deflated; rich people really disgusted him. He scratched his head; he should let go of the envy, and besides, his hair was quite long, something he noticed while running as it kept falling in his eyes. Now those hairdressing courses he had taken might actually come in handy.

He nodded to himself. Yes, everything serves a purpose at some point; it's just a matter of time. If his behavior was evasive, it wasn't something he wanted to figure out right now; keeping his head full of nonsense was a good way to avoid thinking about his current problems.

His breathing was light, the air was fresh and crisp, typical of an autumn evening, although the exact date was another mystery he still had to solve. Finally, he crossed the gate and was ready to move forward, intending to find some point of reference when, suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks.

There, leaning against a wall, was a young girl about twelve years old, staring at him intently. Her eyes looked at him with a mix of fierceness and disdain, and her expression was full of annoyance. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her furrowed brow gave her an intimidating air.

Involuntarily, his hand went to his cheek, where he still felt a slight sting. "This girl..." he thought, vaguely recalling something familiar about her. An aura of a golden child, with light brown hair layered and eyes of the same color, just like what he had seen before collapsing.

Now, after finding a person he had thought was a mere dream, he felt a knot in his stomach, a mix of discomfort and an inexplicable connection.

The girl looked at him with disdain, and for a moment, her expression seemed to soften.

"You took long. I've been waiting here, you know?" she said coldly, scanning him with her gaze. She seemed disgusted with what she saw, but she showed no interest in asking questions.

"Anyway, since you're here, take this and make sure to copy it. Give it back to me before the day is over."

The girl pulled out a notebook from her hidden leather bag, shoving it against his chest with such force that it made him step back.

"Another one who seems abnormally strong," he thought, somewhat frightened, as the beautiful nurse had left quite the strong impression on him.

"Don't think I'm doing this for you. The professor, seeing your absence, asked me to give you my notes, and that's your fault for not having friends to turn to."

The coldness of her words and the contempt in her gaze left him paralyzed. The girl walked away triumphantly, exuding an intimidating vibe that sent a shiver down his spine. He had experienced female indifference before, but this was something different, something much darker and more unsettling.

Then, an intense itch distracted him, forcing him to look at his wrist. As he lifted his sleeve, he discovered a peculiar mark—a tattoo of two intertwined feathers.

"What the hell? Was this kid a delinquent or something? And how could he have tattoos at twelve years old?"

Lost in thought, he almost missed when the ink embedded in his skin began to fade, something so strange that it left him even more confused than before.

"What are you doing standing there? Hurry up and walk! You know there's a curfew," the girl's voice startled him, cold and impatient, as if she couldn't bear another second of his presence.

"I don't have all day to wait for you, tomorrow is training day;" with that final verbal lash, his legs moved on their own.

Oh, Brián, dear foolish boy, what the hell did you do to make that girl hate you so much? Resigned, he clutched the notebook in his arms and began walking after her, a mix of fear and panic swirling inside him.

"I better stay away from that girl," he thought; she was scary and seemed bossy, so to avoid future problems, it would be good to keep his distance.

To an indifferent third-party observer, his behavior might seem childish, and considering he was already 20 years old, with a degree in progress and an annoying job, things were even more absurd. But he wished those skeptics could be in his shoes at that moment; he'd love to see them deal with all the hatred from that demonic girl on their own, just to prove his fear was well-founded.

As they moved along another stone path, his thoughts swirled in his mind, a tangle of ideas trying to make sense of this new, strange world he was trapped in.

"I could have been playing, doing anything else. But now… I'm here, in a body and a life that aren't mine." Behind him, the Academy rose, a place of intrigue where he had never wanted to be.