The academy field was packed to the brim, overflowing with students who had gathered to witness the long-awaited final test. Teachers lined the edges, their eyes sharp with expectation, while the entire event was broadcasted across the internet for the world to see. The atmosphere buzzed with excitement, tension, and mockery.
On the podium, the commentator adjusted the old mic, his voice booming despite the limited technology.
"Good morning, students!"
"Good morning, sir!" the crowd chorused in unison.
The commentator's grin widened.
"Today is the day you've all been waiting for! The ultimate match! On one side, we have Henry Hart—the academy's prodigy, hailed as the strongest of his generation, blessed with skills and abilities beyond compare. And on the other side…" he paused, almost relishing the ridicule that followed, "...the so-called weakest boy in the world. The one with no magic, no affinity, no skill… Johnson Stones!"
Gasps, laughter, and whispers spread like wildfire.
"Isn't that the brother of the girl who destroyed Michael the other day?" one student whispered.
"Yeah, but unlike his sister, he's a total waste of DNA," another sneered. "She's terrifyingly overpowered, but this one? He's nothing. A useless shrimp."
Yet not all voices joined in the mockery.
"I think the sensors can't read him," Joyce mused aloud, her tone calm but firm. "Maybe he's hiding something big."
"No way," a student barked. "Henry Hart is the best in the academy—hell, in the entire country! No chance that boy stands against him."
"Bro should forfeit before he's humiliated."
"He'd better."
In the betting corner, the crowd was frenzied. Coins, notes, and tokens clattered as wagers piled up. Almost every hand pointed toward Henry Hart. Only one voice broke the tide.
"I bet on the shrimp-looking kid," Joyce said, smirking as she tossed her entire savings onto Johnson's name.
"You're insane!" someone barked. "Why waste your money?!"
"Because," Joyce said softly, "I see potential."
In the VIP lounge, Raymond swirled his glass of wine, his beautiful wife beside him. His gaze shifted toward his son.
"Don't you want to place a bet, son?"
Jerry sat slouched, scrolling his phone lazily. "Not interested."
Raymond frowned. "Why not?"
"Because the fight won't last," Jerry said without looking up. "And I already know the winner."
Tiana, his mother, leaned close and patted Jerry's shoulder. "Your father will be upset if you don't take this seriously. Place a vote, dear. Pick who your heart believes in." Her eyes lingered warmly.
Jerry groaned, finally getting up. "Fine." He tossed his ballot. "But I'm not in it for the money. I voted for my friend."
Raymond blinked, stunned. "You voted… Johnson? But the boy has no ability, no Beta DNA trace. Unless…" his brows furrowed deeply. "Unless he made a deal with something darker…"
Jerry sighed. "Snap out of it, old man. You'll see. The kid's ability is about to show itself."
Meanwhile, in the corridor leading to the stage, Johnson walked slowly, his steps heavy but determined.
"Brother!" Rose ran up and clung to him, tears already gathering in her eyes. "Please! Forfeit this match. That boy's aura… his energy… it's off the charts! You'll be crushed!"
Johnson crouched to her level, patting her head gently. "It's okay, Rose. Don't worry about me. I'll give it my all. Don't ever tell me to run away."
"But…" Rose's voice cracked, her small fists clutching his shirt. "You'll get hurt!"
"I'll win." His smile was faint but unshaken. "Trust me, little sis."
Rose sobbed, wiping her eyes, then pulled something from around her neck. "Then… you should have this." She pressed a necklace into his palm. "I love you, big brother."
Johnson froze, then tightened his grip around the charm. "Thanks, sis. I love you too." He turned and walked toward the arena, the necklace glowing faintly against his chest.
On the stage, Henry Hart stood tall with folded arms, radiating arrogance.
"You sure took long enough."
"Sorry," Johnson said, cracking his knuckles. "I was busy."
"Busy doing what? Chickening out?" Henry smirked.
Johnson met his gaze with steady eyes. "Nope. Busy learning new techniques—ones I'll use to kick your ass."
The smirk vanished. In a blink, Henry's figure blurred. Before Johnson could even react, Henry stood inches away.
"You sure are cocky for a shrimp," Henry hissed, his fist slamming into Johnson's chest. The blow shattered bone, tearing into his ribcage. Johnson coughed blood as his body was sent flying backward.
"Oh, did I forget to mention?" Henry sneered, retreating casually to his position. "Mummy and daddy can't come save you. They're dead."
"Ladies and gentlemen!" the commentator roared, trying to keep the crowd's excitement contained. "The theme of this battle: The Strongest vs. The Weakest! Rules are simple—the fight ends when one side passes out or admits defeat. And let's thank our Principal for the enhanced arena forcefields, shock absorbers, and safety measures, sponsored by Rutherford Wagons!"
The crowd erupted. "Thank you, Principal!"
Lucian smiled and waved modestly, though George leaned toward him with suspicion. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Wouldn't you?" Lucian smirked. "Besides, Joyce and I built this entire system overnight."
Lilian's eyes narrowed toward Joyce, who appeared beside them. "Built? Or something else?"
Lucian rolled his eyes. "Don't start, Lily. She only helped me lift some equipment. She's just a kid. What did you think we were doing?"
"You tell me," Lilian teased with a smirk.
Meanwhile, Sasha's gaze hardened on the stage. "This fight will go south. Henry's already losing restraint, and when he's pissed, he's nearly unstoppable."
George adjusted his glasses. "He just broke the boy's ribcage. Already."
Lucian chuckled. "Isn't that great? One will learn to hold back. The other will… grow stronger. Don't worry. I won't let that shrimp die." (Though inwardly, his thoughts whispered otherwise: I need him alive for my plans.)
Joyce's hands trembled slightly as she stared at her brother Henry. "He doesn't know how to hold back. If he keeps going, he'll kill Johnson…"
Sasha smirked darkly. "Even if he does, I'll take his body parts for my experiments—eh, research purposes."
Joyce glared. "Still as creepy as ever."
"And you're still as manipulative," Sasha shot back.
Joyce smirked over her drink. "Privilege of being Elite Gold. But… that boy."
"Johnson Stones?" George asked.
Joyce's eyes narrowed. "Yes. He has potential. More than anyone sees."
"Don't tell me you bet on him," a teacher mocked.
"Who knows?" Joyce shrugged. "Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't."
"LET THE FIGHT BEGIN!"
The crowd roared Henry's name.
Johnson barely had time to breathe before Henry's foot smashed into his stomach, sending him flying into the barrier. Blood spilled from his mouth.
"Ouch…" he coughed weakly.
"What's wrong, shrimp?" Henry taunted, kicking him again. "Aren't you gonna fight back?!" He pummeled him mercilessly, his fists a blur, slamming him into the stage like a ragdoll.
"I… I'll beat you," Johnson whispered through the pain, trying to rise.
"What was that?" Henry grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head up.
"I SAID—" Johnson screamed, "I'M GONNA BEAT YOU, YOU BASTARD!"
Henry laughed cruelly. "You? Beat me? Don't make me laugh." His fist broke Johnson's knuckles as he dragged him across the stage by his hair, whipping him around like trash before smashing him into the ground again.
Johnson's scream echoed across the field.
And then…
Johnson's body crashed against the stage, ribs burning with every breath. Blood dripped from his lips as Henry's laughter echoed.
"Why is it always like this…? Why am I always the one on the ground?"
The world blurred before his eyes—then the memories came rushing back, flooding his heart with old wounds he had buried.
Age 10, Classroom
"Who was the first official president of The United States?" the teacher asked, scanning the class.
Johnson's small hand shot up timidly, eager yet cautious.
"Who do you think you are, shrimp?" Derrick sneered from the back.
"Drop your hand, idiot," Fanib hissed.
Johnson's hand trembled, but he didn't lower it. His teacher's sharp glare silenced the bullies.
"Derrick, Fanib! Out. Now."
The class gasped. Johnson blinked in disbelief. Slowly, the teacher smiled at him. "Go ahead, Johnson."
His heart thumped, but his voice was steady.
"The first official President was George Washington. He took office on April 30, 1789. The nation was called the United States after the Declaration of Independence in 1776. But it wasn't until the Constitution in 1788 that the official government began…"
The teacher's jaw dropped slightly.
"That's… incredible. Did you all hear that? Applause for Johnson!"
Claps filled the room, filling Johnson with a warmth he rarely felt. He grinned shyly. They're clapping… for me?
The bell rang, but Bella, his only friend, leaned close and whispered, "You better start running."
Johnson chuckled softly, trying to brush away her fear. "Don't worry. I'll be fine. I have you as my friend. Nothing bad will happen."
But Bella's eyes turned cold. "You fool! You think being nice will make people like you? That's why you keep getting hurt."
Her slap stung far worse than her words, but Johnson smiled faintly, touching his cheek.
"It's okay… as long as you're still my friend, nothing else matters."
"Hey, Johnson," Derrick called later, his tone strangely calm.
"Yes? How can I help?" Johnson asked brightly, ever eager to believe.
"We're sorry about earlier… but can you do our class duty today? Sweep, mop… clean everything for us."
Johnson's face lit up. "Really? Of course! Then we'll be friends, right?"
"Yes," Derrick smirked.
So he worked tirelessly, broom in hand, mop dripping with dirty water. He hummed softly, imagining their friendship finally beginning.
But the boys scattered dust across the floor again.
"Are you even cleaning? Do it properly!"
"I'm sorry!" Johnson bowed quickly, scrubbing harder. His hands ached, but he smiled anyway.
"Want to see a better technique?" Derrick asked, approaching.
"Technique?" Johnson tilted his head, curious.
His face was shoved into the bucket of filthy water. Pain seared through his scalp as his hair was yanked, his head used as a mop against the floor.
"See? This is how you clean!" Derrick laughed cruelly.
"No, please! Stop—it hurts!" Johnson cried, his small voice breaking.
Fanib cackled. "His head is the mop now! Hahaha!"
They stripped him, forced him to lick the filthy tiles, filming his humiliation as passing students jeered.
When they finally let him up, soaked and trembling, Johnson staggered forward with a wavering smile.
"Derrick… Fanib… Look." He pointed to his drenched uniform. "I did everything you asked. So… are we friends now?"
The only answer was a punch across his jaw.
"Are you stupid?" Derrick roared. "We're bullying you, trash!"
Johnson froze, the truth stabbing through his chest. "I… I thought… we were just… having fun."
"You're stupid!" Fanib spat. "You think you're smart? You think you're better than us? Always answering questions, always praised by the teacher, stealing the attention of the girls?"
Each word was a fist to his body, each insult sharper than any blade.
"You're worthless!" Derrick slammed him to the ground. "A parasite! Remember this: you'll always be trash!"
And then— he whispered poison.
"Bella said she can't stand you," Fanib sneered. "Said you're ugly, naive… not worth her time."
Johnson's eyes widened. "She… said that?"
"Of course. Nobody likes you. Even your parents couldn't stand you. That's why they blew themselves up!"
The words detonated in his mind. He fell silent, shock hollowing him out. His tears spilled freely, but no sound left his lips. His heart felt like it was shattering into dust.
"Brother!" A small voice called out. Rose's footsteps echoed in the empty corridor until she found him crumpled in the corner, breathing faintly.
"Brother, who did this to you?" Her little hands shook as they touched his bruises.
But Johnson forced a smile, blood on his teeth. He patted her head softly.
"It's okay… don't worry. I was just playing some games with my friends."
Rose bit her lip, tears brimming.
"Friends? You don't have friends…"
"I just made some," he whispered, before collapsing into her arms as she takes him home holding his waist
The Next Day
The hallway buzzed with laughter. Johnson walked slowly, his clothes still damp with yesterday's humiliation. His locker was stuffed with garbage.
"Hey everyone! It's trash boy!" Derrick's voice rang out, and the crowd erupted in laughter.
Johnson hid his face, his chest burning. He spotted Bella and rushed to her.
"Bella! I'm sorry about yesterday… but you're still my friend, right?"
Her disgust hit harder than the slap.
"You are NOT my friend!" she spat.
"B-But… we promised we would be freinds… forever…" Johnson's voice broke, desperate.
She slapped him again, harder. "Don't make me laugh! I only hung around you to cheat answers in class. You're pathetic. And you know what? Your parents didn't die in an accident—they blew themselves up to escape a useless brat like you!"
Her words crushed him completely. He froze, trembling, his hand reaching out in disbelief.
"Bella… don't go… please… don't go."
But she walked away, sanitizing her hands as if he were filth.
Back to the Present
Johnson's body flew across the stage, crashing down. The crowd roared with laughter, but inside his mind—the voices of the past echoed louder.
"Worthless."
"Trash."
"Nobody loves you."
He coughed blood, struggling to rise.
"It's always my fault… always me… but…"
His eyes flickered, light glowing faintly.
"…but I'm not done yet."