Chapter Five – The Main Character Part Two
After spotting that young man, the first action (Tokito) took was to try to activate the system again.
His fingers, pale and slim, twitched at his sides as if trying to grasp a non-existent interface. In the beginning, he had expected the system to appear whenever he met any main character.
It had seemed logical: see a plot-important person, get a dossier. A nice, automatic feature.
But after that, he understood that it might be possible for the system screen to appear when he tries to focus on a specific person.
The revelation had come not with a flash of insight, but with the dull thud of trial and error. The system was clunky. It required intent. It was like a malfunctioning app that needed you to stare at a button and really mean it before it would work.
Therefore, with his red eyes, without anyone noticing, he focused on the young man with spiky black hair.
The boy stood out even in this crowd of oddities. His hair was a wild, untamed shock of ink-black spikes that seemed to defy gravity and basic hair care. He wasn't brooding in a corner like (Kaziyoshi), nor was he socializing in a group like (Mirai). He stood near the center of the hall, arms crossed over his chest, a faint, confident smirk playing on his lips as he surveyed the room. He had the look of someone waiting for a challenge to present itself, already bored by the lack of one.
(Tokito) said, while looking at that boy, his voice a silent thought directed inward at the system:
"Hey, system. I want to know. Isn't this the main hero of the story?"
The name surfaced from his manga memories: the protagonist. The one around whom the whole narrative orbited. The guy with the power that always seemed unfair but was explained away by "hard work" and "clever use."
At the same moment, directly, the system screen appeared in front of (Tokito).
Ping!
It manifested with its familiar, sterile blue glow, superimposed over the spiky-haired boy's form.
And began displaying the information related to the character in front of him.
Alert – Host has encountered one of the main characters of the manga.
– Title: Protagonist of the Story –
– (Sasuke Kiseki) –
Age: 16 years –
Special Ability – Skillful Replicator –
Multi-Ability User –
The ability user can copy the special abilities of other characters depending on his understanding of the nature of the other person's special ability. The copying process requires talking to the ability owner whom the user wishes to copy, in addition to understanding the nature of how the other person's ability works. And finally, it requires a period of up to 30 minutes of being within a circle of five meters of the target to ensure the ability to copy.
– Alert: The stronger the ability, the more time the user needs to copy that ability. –
– Destructive Power Level: Unknown –
(Tokito) sighed at that moment when he finished reading (Sasuke Kiseki)'s abilities.
The sigh was a soft, defeated sound, lost in the ambient noise of the hall.
Fffh.
How could he not?
He was looking at the manga's hero, the main character in this world, and the owner of this very strong ability (Skillful Replicator).
Of course. Of course the protagonist would have something broken like this. It was practically a rule.
This ability, which allows copying the abilities of other people.
The description alone made a cold sweat break out on the back of (Tokito)'s neck. It wasn't just strong; it was infinitely adaptable, a power that grew by consuming other powers.
And can also make the user use many abilities at the same time.
The screen had said "Multi-Ability User." Not just copying, but stacking them. Holding multiple powers simultaneously. It was an obscene advantage.
It is considered one of the strongest abilities in the world.
A top-tier cheat disguised as a "skill." It was the kind of power that made system administrators in games issue emergency nerfs.
And it might even be one of the most forbidden abilities because it can simply make the person who possesses it have many different abilities at the same time and possess limitless possibilities that can surpass any other hero in the future.
The implications were terrifying. With enough time and exposure, (Sasuke) could become a one-man pantheon. Fire, ice, lightning, super-strength, telekinesis—all in one package. There would be no counter. You couldn't prepare for a foe who could change his entire skillset on the fly.
Then (Tokito) said in a low voice, a whisper meant only for the dank, dusty corners of his own mind:
"If (Sasuke) ever decided to turn to evil, even the hero organization would try to kill him while he is still weak."
The thought was chillingly pragmatic. A power with that much growth potential was a national security threat. Of course, the authorities would want to control it or eliminate it before it became uncontrollable. This wasn't a story about trust; it was a story about managed risk.
Of course, after he finished saying these words in his head, he couldn't help but think sarcastically:
"Will they be able to do that?"
A bitter, internal smirk. The protagonist had plot armor. The "kill him while he's weak" plan was a classic villain mistake, and in this narrative, the hero organization might well fill that villain role. They'd try, they'd fail, and in failing, they'd only make him stronger and more determined. It was the cycle.
(Tokito) remembered (Sasuke) at this moment, with the ability (Skillful Replicator).
He imagined the boy, over the course of the manga, copying perhaps dozens of different abilities.
A mental montage flashed: (Sasuke) surrounded by a kaleidoscope of stolen powers, each one glowing with a different color.
In addition to combat talent that puts him on the same level as people like (Kaziyoshi), who received training from a family of S-Rank heroes since childhood.
That was the other part of the protagonist package: innate, ridiculous talent. He wasn't just a power copier; he was a prodigy who could master those copied powers frighteningly fast.
Unlike (Sasuke), who was just an orphan who awakened this very strong ability.
The classic underdog backstory. No rich family, no legacy, just raw, inexplicable power that manifested in the most convenient way possible. It was designed to make readers root for him.
But at the same time, he also possesses tactical intelligence that directly rivals the character (Kaziyoshi).
So he had brains to match the brawn (and the stolen brawn of others). He wasn't a meathead. He was a strategic genius on top of everything else.
In the end, even (Kaziyoshi) in the manga admitted to the character (Sasuke) that he sees him as a rival he can fight equally.
(Tokito) recalled the panel: (Kaziyoshi), with his usual bored expression, actually showing a flicker of intense interest as he looked at (Sasuke). A rare moment of acknowledgment.
And this word came from a person like (Kaziyoshi Tsunami), an arrogant character who looks at everyone as if they are far beneath him.
For someone who saw the world as his personal backdrop, that admission was monumental.
That shows the amount of (Sasuke)'s ability to impress the character (Kaziyoshi) in the manga.
He had passed the ultimate test of the arrogant rival's respect. He was marked as a true equal.
But anyway, (Tokito) stopped thinking about this matter.
Not because he didn't have additional thoughts—his mind was a swirling vortex of envy, analysis, and dread—but because the time had come.
A shift in the atmosphere, subtle but immediate, swept through the hall.
The low hum of conversation died as if severed by a blade.
The lights in the vast auditorium began to dim, not to darkness, but to a deep, oppressive twilight, leaving the harsh beams focused solely on the empty stage.
Click. Whirrr…
The sound of machinery, smooth and heavy.
Footsteps began to come from the stage.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
They were not the hurried steps of a student or the shuffling gait of a bureaucrat. They were measured, deliberate, and heavy, each impact echoing in the newly silent space with the finality of a judge's gavel.
(Tokito) turned his gaze, in addition to the others, all of whom were in the hall, toward the stage.
Hundreds of heads swiveled in unison, a wave of navy blue fabric and anxious faces.
Swish. Rustle.
On the stage, where a man stood, the light fell on him and revealed his shape.
A single, brilliant spotlight stabbed down from the shadows of the ceiling, illuminating a figure that seemed carved from the same cold steel as the academy itself.
It was a man in his thirties.
His hair was a shocking, electric blue, cut short and severe. His eyes were black, so dark they seemed to absorb the light around them, giving nothing back. He had a sharp, angular jawline and an expression that looked like it had never encountered a smile.
And at the same time, he was carrying a sword on his waist.
It was a long, sleek katana in a black scabbard, its hilt wrapped in dark cord. It wasn't a ceremonial prop; it looked functional, worn, and deadly.
And he was wearing clothes that people in (Tokito)'s previous world might think were cosplay or a ridiculous costume.
The outfit was a tailored, militaristic uniform in deep charcoal gray, with silver epaulettes and gleaming buttons running down the chest. It was utterly impractical for daily life but screamed "authority" and "combat-ready" in this world's aesthetic language.
But for (Tokito) at this moment, he recognized him. And not only he recognized this man.
A name, a title, surfaced from the manga memories. This wasn't just a teacher; this was a significant figure.
The teenagers had recognized that man.
Whispers, like the rustling of dead leaves, swept through the crowd. "It's him…" "A-Rank Hero, (Genos Sakon)…" "The Sword of Discipline…"
But with a simple movement from the man, he stopped the movement of the students who were looking at him and made them silent.
He didn't raise a hand. He didn't shout. He simply… looked.
His dark eyes swept across the sea of faces, and as his gaze passed, a palpable wave of pressure—light but full of oppression—spread throughout the huge hall.
It wasn't a physical force. It was a psychological weight, the aura of someone who had seen real battle, who had ended lives, and who held the power to decide their fates with a word. It pressed down on shoulders, stilled tongues, and turned nervous fidgeting into rigid, attentive stillness.
Thump.
(Tokito) felt it settle over him like a cold, wet blanket. His breath hitched. This was different from the ambient anxiety. This was directed, intentional intimidation. A show of power to establish the pecking order before a single word was spoken.
After that, a voice, full of seriousness and devoid of any joking, launched throughout the hall.
It was a deep, resonant baritone, amplified somehow without a microphone, vibrating in their very bones.
"Since you have all arrived at this place, you are now officially enrolled in the Tokyo Academy for Training to become superheroes."
The words were delivered not as a welcome, but as a statement of fact—a sentencing.
"You bear a very great responsibility."
Then after that, the man said, after pausing for one moment so everyone could absorb his words, after he saw them all silent, listening quietly.
He let the silence hang, letting the weight of "great responsibility" crush any remaining illusions of this being a glamorous adventure.
…
He continued, (Genos) his speech.
"I am an A-Rank hero, and my name is (Genos Sakon). I am the supervising director of all interactions between students, in addition to missions, whether individual or group, with the aim of teaching all people present here the necessary knowledge to become heroes."
A-Rank. Just one step below the legendary S-Ranks. A bona fide powerhouse. Not a teacher, but a director. An enforcer.
After he finished saying that, a message arrived on all the smartwatches that all the students possessed.
On (Tokito)'s wrist, the cheap, academy-issued device—a sleek black band with a simple screen—vibrated with a series of sharp, sequential buzzes.
Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.
All around the hall, hundreds of watches chimed and glowed in unison, a discordant symphony of notifications.
That message displayed a letter from the academy.
(Tokito) looked down. The screen lit up.
ACADEMY STATUS UPDATE
Student: (Tokito Kaito)
Current Rank: D
Privileges: Basic Dormitory Access, D-Rank Mission Board.
Note: Rank is subject to change based on mission performance and evaluation.
Written in it were the places of the rank now belonging to all students.
All students directly had obtained Rank D.
The weakest rank a hero can obtain after officially entering the hero system.
It was a formality, a starting point for everyone. From the prodigy (Sasuke) to the rich kid (Kaziyoshi) to the precognitive (Mirai)… to the cloud-maker (Tokito). All dumped unceremoniously at the very bottom.
That matter was normal.
But some students, who were from rich families or hero families, were on the verge of bullying.
(Tokito) saw a few scowls in the crowd, heard a couple of derisive snorts. Kids who had expected special treatment, who thought their name or lineage would grant them a higher starting point, were visibly displeased. Their faces twisted in indignation.
But the pressure that was emanating from (Genos) silenced everyone.
The A-Rank hero didn't even glance their way. He simply stood there, a blue-haired statue of judgment, and the oppressive aura emanating from him intensified for just a second—a silent, psychic shush.
The sneers died. The muttered complaints choked off. The hall was silent once more, save for the faint, collective sound of nervous breathing.
After one minute, (Genos) said:
"This is your rank. Each one of you must begin by taking the missions available in the academy's mission box of the same rank. You can take a rank one higher than yours if you obtain a partner. The number of partners can allow you to take a mission above your current level. Gaining experience will enable you to rise in level and raise your rating within the Hero Commission."
The rules were laid out, cold and simple. A grind. A brutal, mandatory grind where your life was the currency. Solo D-Rank missions to start. Teaming up let you tackle slightly harder ones. Experience points were earned through survival, which led to ranking up. It was a video game with permadeath.
Finally, (Genos), after finishing saying all he wanted to say, left the place quickly as if he had disappeared.
One moment he was there, a spotlighted figure of authority. The next, there was a faint blur, a whisper of displaced air, and the stage was empty. The spotlight clicked off.
Swish. Click.
Many students were not surprised by this sudden departure.
In the end, that man in front of them was a hero of a very high rank, one rank less than the International Heroes only.
Such people operated on a different level. Dramatic exits were probably in their contract.
After he left, the students began to leave at the same time.
The spell of silence broke, replaced by a sudden, chaotic surge of noise and movement. Chairs scraped against the polished floor as hundreds of teenagers stood up.
Screeeeech. Thump.
Most of them in small groups, and some of them alone.
Alliances were already forming. People clustered with those they recognized from their old schools, their neighborhoods, or based on a quick, assessing glance at perceived strength. The loners, like (Tokito), simply stood and began to drift toward the exits, looking at their watches for directions.
There was no need to guide the students anymore.
The smartwatches they were wearing were carrying the locations of their rooms, in addition to all the procedures they should pay attention to.
(Tokito) glanced at his. A map of the academy complex was now displayed, with a blinking dot showing his assigned dormitory block—a distant, nondescript building on the edge of the grounds. It also listed a daunting wall of text: rules, regulations, curfew times, disciplinary measures.
And at the same time, in another place near the wall of the hall, watching everyone leave…
(Tokito) was holding his breath.
Not from fear or excitement, but because he had literally confirmed that the main story had started.
The orientation was over. The tutorial was complete. The quest log was populated. There was no more buffer, no more preparation time. The narrative machinery was now fully engaged, and he was a single, fragile cog in its relentless gears.
He let the breath out slowly, a long, controlled stream of air.
Fffhhhh…
"The matters have started now."
He muttered the words to himself, the sound swallowed by the departing crowd.
"What I must focus on is finding a way to graduate safely from this place."
The goal was simple: survival to graduation. Not glory, not becoming a top hero, not beating the protagonist. Just getting out alive with a diploma, or whatever this hellhole gave you to prove you weren't dead.
Of course, at the same time, he looked at some of the main characters who were leaving.
(Kaziyoshi) was already gone, likely whisked away by a private escort. (Sasuke) was walking out with a determined glint in his eye, a few other bold-looking students falling in step around him, drawn to his protagonist aura. (Mirai) was leaving with her group of friends, chatting calmly, her violet eyes still doing their constant, subtle scan of the environment.
And (Tokito) sighed.
Most of them will achieve all their achievements by themselves.
The main characters didn't need teams. They were forces of nature. They would solo their way up the ranks, crushing challenges and gathering fans.
Only the side and weak characters will depend on working as a team.
That was his category. The cannon fodder. The ones who had to huddle together for warmth and protection, hoping collective mediocrity could outweigh individual weakness.
Perhaps they will need one month before being promoted to the next rank.
A month of grueling, deadly D-Rank missions. A month of watching the main characters skyrocket past them. A month of clinging to life by his fingernails.
Since everyone now started at the same rank, the difference now will depend only on the abilities of each person individually.
The playing field was only level for a single, fleeting moment—the moment they were all stamped with a 'D'. Now, the chasms between their powers would immediately begin to tell. The replicator, the light-bender, the future-seer… and the cloud-maker.
The gap was a yawning abyss.
Of course, these were (Tokito)'s conclusions based on his knowledge of the manga, in addition to his understanding of matters.
It wasn't paranoia. It was the cold, hard calculus of the world he was trapped in.
He pushed away from the wall, his shoulder leaving a faint, damp print on the cold surface.
Scrape.
He joined the tail end of the departing stream, a single, white-haired figure moving against the current of boisterous groups, his red eyes fixed on the map glowing on his wrist, leading him toward his first, tiny cell in the vast, unforifying machine of the academy.
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End of Chapter.
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Author's Note:
Thank you for reading as(Tokito) takes his first, official step onto the grinding wheel of the academy. Your support is the only reliable system he has. ❤️ :)
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