A man suddenly burst into the Black Star mercenary guild. He was heaving and gasping for air. Having run straight here, his clothes soaked in sweat. Eyes glimmering with hope, deeper in lay anxiety, with the desire to prove himself.

He quickly became the center of attention. Not many burst into places full of seasoned warriors so carelessly. He stumbled forward to the front desk. A handsome man, the receptionist smiled sweetly.

“What can we do for you today, sir?”

Still gathering his breath, attempting to form words. He took a pause, took a deep breath, and regained his ability to communicate.

“I would like to join the guild. I want to be a warrior!” spoken with ferocity that sparked the allure of the receptionist. This was how a man should be. Strong, handsome, determined.

“Of course, sir! But first there will be tryouts. We hold them every week, luckily, the next one is held tomorrow. You may still sign up.” She handed the man a pen and form to fill out.

She then tenderly asked, brushing her hair behind her ear, “What’s your name?”

At the sight of this, a large man got up and laughed heartily, in a mocking fashion.

“Boy, you think you have what it takes to be a warrior?” he brandished an axe, standing in a combative stance. “Shall we trade a few blows?”

The man was unfazed, heroic, and determined. Eyes burning with passion. He gripped his sword, clearly not backing down. Fights occurring in the guilds were as common as people stumbling on stones. A crowd gathered. A show was about to begin.

One large, bearded man with an axe, smiling crudely. He was known as Barbos, and was a simple, strong, and vicious man. He had no metallic augmentations, a purely organic savage. An original strength cultivator, likely.

One well-built, handsome, and heroically posed, sword in hand. Ready to slay anything in range. His sword arm covered in a strong alloyed steel. His neck also protected with epidermal metal armor.

The crowd grew excited.

“This kid is going to be crushed, Barbos is too savage.”

“May he rest in peace. Or pieces.”

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“This kid has augmentations. He may stand a chance. One good blow to the neck will end this irrational loudmouth. Let’s pray.”

As the crowd chattered, the tension grew between the two men, the crowd's voices faded. Barbos swung his axe overhead and down with one arm. The other man took a sidestep, but this was anticipated. The other arm of Barbos threw a powerful punch to the man’s chest, sending him flying into the crowd.

They quickly cleared, as the large beast pounced. The man rolled to the side and quickly got up, re-brandishing his sword. He was battered, and noticeably weaker. A sunken stance, and weak grip, heavy breathing.

The fight would be determined here unless he revealed a trump card, in a simple single blow. Fights often ended this way.

But the man did indeed have a trump card.

A gun.

His alloyed arm transformed, opening a slot in the wrist, with a Gatling barrel inside. Bullets started flying everywhere. Bloody holes making Swiss cheese out of Barbos.

This is what he imagined happened. Instead, the gun jammed. This arm was cheaply made, obtained on a black market. Not too surprising, but very unfortunate. As the large man chuckled, and stepped towards him, “You are not ready yet. Go back to where you came from.” And the man stepped past him, sitting back at his table, taking a large swig of ale.

The crowd dispersed in chatters.

“Another example made.”

The man sat there, in humiliation. He did not want it to end like this. He was not willing to go back into his shadow again. Never. His whole life, every single moment of living, he couldn’t help but compare himself to his brother. A cold, aloof man with achievements that made him unreachable.

It was time to change, so what if he lost? It was just the first time. Next time, he will get better augmentations. He will learn swordsmanship, and one day, one day, escape their shadow.

Fire reignited in his eyes. He walked back to the receptionist, handing her the form as if nothing happened at all. “Here is the form.” He spoke with greater confidence than before, despite having lost. Despite having been humiliated. He did not worry about the one known as Barbos. He only worried about that one.

That relative of his.

“Johnson? Lux?” The receptionist said excitedly. “Like the Light Blade, Lux? Are you two related? I have always had a small crush, hehe, I probably shouldn’t admit that.”

Upon hearing this, the man, Barbos, silently sneaked out of the building. He decided to not return for a long time. The power of that last name, “Lux” was too much.

The look in her eyes completely reignited, a look of excitement, infatuation, and longing. A look, he thought, he would never receive on the merit of his own name.

Johnson stared blankly at the woman and spoke after a long silence, “We are of no relation.” he whispered as he briskly exited the guild.

The world was very cruel to him. It always has been, and maybe always will. The people even crueler.

Many stared as he left, pushing open the guilds large wooden doors with strength.

Many also saw, as he bumped into the intimidating, armored, seven foot tall beast colored of blood standing at the entrance.

This was not his day. But when was it ever?