Hello! I'm really excited that you picked up this book! The first few chapters start off with a very lame MC, but it quickly picks up and his prowess shows quick! Give it a chance and enjoy reading! <3

The classroom buzzed with scraping of chairs and the rustling of bags. It was a typical morning, where the mundane met the monotonous.

In the back row, he slouched in his seat, hood pulled over his head, eyes half-closed as he stared blankly at the desk in front of him. He was a fixture in the classroom—a presence more than a participant. His silence spoke louder than any words ever could, a permanent resident of his own thoughts.

Out of nowhere, a book flew across the room, its pages fluttering like desperate wings. It struck him squarely on the side of his head with a dull thud and fell to the floor with an anticlimactic slap. The room went silent, every pair of eyes snapping to his face.

For a moment, everything was suspended in a fragile stillness. He didn't move. He just stayed down, hunched over his desk, as if the book had never hit him. His face remained obscured by the hood, his body an unmoving silhouette.

Laughter erupted, nervous and unsure at first, then growing in confidence. One of the guys next to him, a stocky muscular man with a permanent smirk, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, basking in the attention.

"Hey, you alive over there?" the classmate called out, his voice dripping. "Why do you even show up?"

The laughter crescendoed, but he remained still, his breathing the only sign of life.

Sickly pale skin, strange marks, and a lack of light in his eyes. That’s what they all described him as. The last time he had fought back, the school had punished him for ‘sparking the issue’, and he had been expelled. This was his last chance.

Slowly, his classmate picked up his head, his movements deliberate and exaggerated. He glanced around the room, eyes hollow and devoid of emotion, then, with a sudden and violent motion, he slammed his head against the desk.

The impact reverberated through the room, a sharp, jarring sound that made a few students jump. But then, the laughter resumed, louder and more raucous, feeding off the bizarre spectacle.

His tormentor leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "That's right. Know your place."

But beneath the hood, a subtle shift occurred. The corners of his lips twitched, not quite a smile, but something else—maybe a bit of self-pity, maybe a bit of selfishness, or maybe a small sense of insanity. In the end it truly didn’t matter. He was only here to fulfill a debt, after all.

Two sharp claps resounded throughout the small room. “Now, everyone. Sit down,” the teacher barked, silencing the last remnants of laughter.

The students shuffled back to their seats, the room settling into an uneasy quiet. The teacher cast an approving look around the room before turning her attention to the lesson. "Open your textbooks to page fifty-three."

In the back row, he just stared out the window, his mind drifting far away from the classroom's confines. Blood dripped steadily from his injured nose, creating small, dark spots on the wooden desk. He felt the warm trickle, but it was a distant sensation, like it was happening to someone else.

"___!" The teacher's voice cut through his haze, sharp and irritated. "Pay attention and clean yourself up. You're bleeding all over the place."

Slowly, he turned his head, his eyes meeting hers with a hollow, distant look. He reached into his bag, pulled out a crumpled towel, and began to dab at the blood, the movement mechanical and detached. He wondered what he did to warrant such discrimination, because having such an appearance couldn’t have made people treat him that way, right?

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He always wondered if he was born differently, maybe looked less different, or maybe had enough…charisma to make others accept him. But it was no use.

The P.A. system crackled to life, interrupting his thoughts. "Attention, all student council members should report to the main room immediately. All other students are dismissed."

Chairs scraped back, and the students hurriedly gathered their belongings, eager to escape the confines of school. The teacher, caught off guard by the announcement, looked around the room, her eyes landing on his hoodie.

"Who will stay behind to do the class duties?" she asked, but her voice was drowned out by the noise of the students leaving.

In moments, the classroom was empty. He stayed in his seat, staring at the spots of blood on his desk. The teacher sighed and left the room without another word, leaving him behind in the silence. He knew this would happen, which is why he stayed in his seat. If he chose to stand up, who knows which one of the students would take a step to punch him to the ground? But he knew that the teacher didn’t like not having someone to talk to after a busy day.

He slowly stood up and began to methodically clean the blackboard, his mind numb. The emptiness of the room mirrored the emptiness inside him. This was his place, his role, the debt he had to fulfill. With each swipe of the towel, he wiped away not just the chalk, but also any remaining fragments of his hope. As he finished cleaning, he thought about how he was going to take the next few days off school. He knew it wouldn't solve anything, but maybe it would give him a brief respite from the constant torment. He hoped that no one would be waiting to jump him when he left, but the gnawing fear in his stomach told him otherwise. He took a long sigh.

The case. The reason why everything had started this way. Something that he had locked deep within his mind, something he had casted away ever since a police officer blamed him for everything that had happened. Yes, he deserved such treatment.

He straightened back up impassionedly, closing the door, ready to leave, on his guard. The rain started pouring hard outside, and he took out an umbrella with a pink heart on it. He rubbed the heart with his finger, a somber expression crossing his face. Then, he opened the umbrella and stepped into the rain.

The downpour was heavy, the kind that soaked through clothes in seconds, but he didn't mind. The rain was a temporary shield, a veil that hid him from the world. As he walked, the sound of raindrops hitting the umbrella was a constant rhythm, a soothing background noise to his tumultuous thoughts.

Each step away from the school felt like a small victory, a moment of peace in an otherwise chaotic existence. The pink heart on the umbrella was a small reminder of something, someone, he had lost, a piece of his past that still held a fragment of warmth.

He walked with purpose, head down, eyes scanning his surroundings for any potential threats. The rain might deter most, but he couldn't afford to be careless. Not now. Not ever.

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blew through the street, catching the umbrella with a violent force. It was wrenched from his grip, spiraling upwards and away before he could react. Panic surged through him as he watched it tumble through the air, the pink heart shrinking into the distance.

"No!" he shouted, breaking into a run, his eyes locked on the disappearing umbrella. The rain pummeled him, soaking his clothes and blurring his vision, but he couldn't lose it. Not the one thing that connected him to a past where things were still okay.

His feet pounded against the wet pavement, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He reached out desperately, his fingers clutching at the empty air where the umbrella had been. It landed several meters away, caught on the edge of a fence, and he lunged for it, skidding to a halt just in time to grab the handle.

He stood there, panting and drenched, clutching the umbrella to his chest. The pink heart was still there, unmarred by the chaos. Relief overwhelmed him.

As he stood there, catching his breath, he heard the faint sound of sniffles. He turned and saw a girl sitting on a bench in the rain, her shoulders shaking with sobs. She was soaked through, her hair plastered to her face, and she hugged herself tightly, as if trying to ward off the cold.

For a moment, he hesitated. The instinct to turn away, to avoid drawing attention to himself, was strong. But something in the way she sat there, so alone and vulnerable, stirred a sense of empathy within him.

He walked over slowly, covering his face. As he reached the bench, he held the umbrella over her, shielding her from the relentless rain. She didn't even look up, tears still streaming from her eyes.

He wanted to touch her. He wanted to wipe those tears away. But if he did, she would never forgive herself, as touching someone as ugly as him would probably drive her to even more despair. So he waited, watching as the tears went down her wet face. He considered leaving his umbrella here, leaving behind the last happy memories with another person who would come to hate him in the next few hours, but he would have to touch her to hand it over. He truly thought he was unlucky.