Zane knelt in the middle of the classroom, hands raised above his shoulders like a prisoner waiting for judgment. His knees pressed against the cold, dusty tiles, and his thin body trembled—not from fear, but from exhaustion. He was used to this. Too used to it.
The strong ones in the class always found a reason to beat him down. It didn't matter what he said or did—his very existence seemed to offend them. Every day was a battlefield, and Zane had long since stopped expecting rescue.
He had once carried a different name, tied to a powerful bloodline. The second son of the President of the United States. But that life ended the moment his father decided he was too embarrassing to acknowledge. Without warning, without a goodbye, Zane was thrown out of the house with nothing but a hundred bucks in his pocket and a cold look from the man he used to call Dad.
In this broken world, a hundred dollars didn't mean much. A single meal, maybe. A night in a cheap, rat-infested motel. That was all. With nowhere to go and no one to turn to, Zane disappeared into the slums, burying his name, his past, and everything he once was.
He enrolled in a run-down school, the kind where dreams went to die. To survive, he took up part-time jobs—washing dishes, lifting boxes, anything to earn enough to eat and keep going. He studied late into the night, pushing himself through exhaustion, clinging to the fragile hope that maybe hard work would pay off. But no matter how far he ran or how hard he tried, the world always found a way to knock him lower.
A sharp kick came out of nowhere, slamming into his gut like a hammer. He flew back and hit the wall with a hard crack. Pain exploded in his ribs. The breath rushed out of his lungs, and for a second, everything spun.
He curled up slightly, hand clutched around his stomach as he struggled to breathe. His vision blurred, but the voice that followed was crystal clear.
"This bastard," Mario spat, stomping closer. "Who said you could lie down?"
Zane gasped, forcing himself upright with one shaking hand, the other still cradling his ribs. "I'm… sorry…" he whispered, barely audible. His voice was weak, but not broken. Not yet.
The classroom was dead silent—except for the sound of quiet chuckles.
None of the other students moved. No one said a word. They just watched. Some leaned against the walls, arms folded, like they were at a show. A few girls giggled behind their hands. One boy took out his phone, probably recording the whole thing. Faces blurred together—cold, curious, amused.
No one looked concerned. No one looked angry. Just entertained.
To them, Zane wasn't a classmate.
He was just an entertainment.
Just as Mario pulled his leg back for another kick, the sharp ring of the school bell echoed through the classroom like a siren.
"Tch. Can't believe how lucky you are," Mario muttered, glaring down at Zane with disgust. "We'll continue this later."
He gave Zane a final shove with his foot before turning around and heading back to his seat like nothing happened. The rest of the class followed suit, some laughing under their breath, others acting like they hadn't seen a thing. Chairs scraped across the floor. Books opened. The teacher would be here any second, and suddenly everyone remembered how to act normal.
Zane stayed on the floor for a moment longer, coughing hard into his sleeve. The sharp pain in his side made his eyes water, but he forced himself to his feet, slowly and quietly. He didn't want to draw more attention than he already had. Each step back to his desk felt heavier than the last.
He sat down in silence, still catching his breath, as the English teacher walked in and began the lesson like nothing was wrong.
Mario glanced at Zane from across the room, his jaw tight, his expression twisted with something more than hate—frustration. No matter how many times he beat on him, no matter how many insults he threw, Zane never broke. He didn't cry. He didn't beg. He didn't snap. It made Mario furious. How could someone so pathetic still look calm after all that?
But what Mario didn't know was simple: he was nothing compared to the hell Zane had already lived through.
In this classroom, Zane got beat up. In his house? They tried to kill him.
His family didn't just ignore him—they treated him like a mistake that needed to disappear. His father had cast him out without a second thought. Others had tried worse. Poison was just one of the many things Zane had learned to survive. He'd been poisoned so many times that his body had developed a resistance. That didn't come easy. You don't build immunity to poison without suffering through every drop.
So no, Mario could never break his spirit. He wasn't even close.
There were nights Zane had stared at the ceiling, wondering if it would be easier to just end it. To let go and be done with it all. But he never followed through. Not because life was kind to him—but because someone still cared for him.
Ariel.
His little sister.
She was the only one in that entire godforsaken family who had never turned her back on him. Even now, she kept finding ways to help him—small, quiet things he often didn't even notice until much later. A stash of food in his bag. Money slipped into his locker. A message on a burner phone telling him to keep going, to hold on.
She was the reason he was still breathing.
And that was enough.
For now.
"That's all for today," the teacher said before walking out of the classroom without sparing Zane a single glance.
As usual.
The door closed behind her with a quiet click, and the room buzzed back to life with chatter and noise. Zane sat still, eyes on his desk. It wasn't just the students who treated him like a ghost—the teachers ignored him too. No matter how many times he raised his hand. No matter how often he scored first place. No one noticed. No one cared.
He blinked as his old, cracked phone buzzed on the table. A soft smile tugged at his lips when he saw the name on the screen.
[Little Angel]
"Dad blocked my account, so I won't be able to send you money for a while. Don't slack off on your studies, and don't forget about me! Also, remember your promise—not a single fight, okay? ♡♡"
Zane chuckled quietly, the tension in his shoulders easing for just a second. His sister always knew what to say. Her messages were like little sparks of light in a dark cave.
But peace never lasted long in his world.
SLAM!
A loud thud shook his desk, snapping him out of the moment. Mario had dropped his notebook hard against Zane's table. The sound echoed through the room like a warning shot.
Then came another. And another.
More books landed beside his hand, one after the other—thick, heavy, filled with blank assignments. The usual suspects: Mario, Darren, Leon… even a few girls who used to pretend to like him, only to laugh behind his back. They all stood around his desk like vultures circling a dying animal.
Zane didn't need to ask. He already knew what they wanted.
Every time the teachers gave them homework, they brought it to him. He had to do it all—each one with different answers, different writing styles, different tones. He'd even memorized their handwriting. If he made a mistake, they'd make him pay for it. Last time, his arm had been bruised for a week.
And still, no one said a word.
The room was filled with laughter, casual conversations, the tapping of shoes against the floor—but no one looked at him. No one helped. It was like watching a performance that had played a hundred times before, and everyone knew their roles.
Zane stared down at the pile of notebooks, his fingers twitching.
He had part-time jobs lined up after school. He had papers to finish for juniors and seniors alike. Even some teachers had given him extra work under the table, offering a few coins as hush money.
He was the lowest in the school. So low that even the juniors mocked him. Kicked his chair. Spilled drinks on him "by accident." Made him do their work.
And still, he endured.
Because he had to.
Because of her.
He glanced at the message again and clenched his fists under the desk. Don't fight. Don't break. Just survive a little longer.
He didn't have strength, money, or power.
But what he had was something they didn't.
Patience.
And one day... when the world finally gave him a chance, they would all remember the name they'd tried so hard to bury.
"Hey, trash," Mario called out, strutting over like he owned the room. "I'm going on a date after school. How do I look?"
He struck a silly pose, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulders.
"Oh, wait… that's right. You don't even know what a date is!" he laughed, and his little gang howled with laughter behind him.
Zane didn't respond. He kept his head down, pretending to look through his bag.
Mario's smile vanished.
"I just cracked a joke, Zane. Why aren't you laughing?" he asked, voice tight with irritation.
"I'm sorr—" Zane began, trying to force a smile.
WHAM!
A hard punch slammed into the side of his face, cutting his words short. His body flew sideways, crashing into a nearby desk. The metal screeched as it scraped the floor, and Zane's shoulder hit the edge hard.
He winced, hand clutching his jaw. His vision blurred for a moment, the taste of iron rising in his mouth. The class didn't even flinch. A few students snickered. Some just glanced and looked away. It was just another day.
Mario stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "I don't know why, but every time I see your shitty face, I get this itch to punch it."
Zane coughed, slowly trying to sit up. His knees trembled, but he pushed himself upright, one shaky hand braced on the desk.
Mario raised his fist again.
But before he could strike—
BOOOOOOOM.
The world shook.
Everything stopped.
The lights flickered. The windows rattled. The ground itself hummed beneath their feet. Then, from the air above—as if the sky itself had a voice—a sound echoed across the planet. Cold. Robotic.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Attention: All Players.
A critical system error has been detected.
Your ability trees are currently under revision.
Tutorial stage has been extended to 3 days.
Difficulty: [EXTREME]
Reward multiplier: 3x
Survival is now your top priority.
I wish you good luck.
Let the game begin.