"Director, I beg you. Please grant me this scholarship."
The young man stood rigid in the center of the academy office, his boots perfectly aligned with the polished marble tiles, as if discipline alone might earn him a place here. Jay Orlen kept his back straight, shoulders squared. He did not move. He barely breathed. Years of habit told him that stillness was safer than hope.
Behind a wide desk sat the Director of the Hunters' Academy, half-hidden behind towering stacks of files. He did not look up.
"Ah, Jay," the director said, his pen lazily scratching across a form. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but it won't be possible. Even if I wanted to, my hands are tied."
Jay's jaw tightened for a brief moment.
'Liar. His hands are free. Mine are the ones bleeding.'
"I'm not asking for charity," Jay replied. "I meet the minimum requirements. I passed the written exams. I survived two bluezone incursions as support."
He hesitated, then added, "You can verify it. The reports are on file."
The director sighed and finally raised his eyes. They were calm. Appraising. The kind of gaze that measured people the way one measured inventory.
"You are Rank F," he said. "No awakened ability of note. No sponsor. No lineage."
Jay swallowed.
'Say it. Say effort matters. Say the system is fair. Go on. Lie to my face.'
"I can improve," Jay said. "Give me one year. I'll take any mission. Any risk."
His voice stayed even, but his pulse hammered against his ribs.
The director leaned back in his chair.
"Progress is a luxury reserved for those who can afford to fail."
Jay's fingers slowly curled at his sides. He forced them to stay still. Losing control here would change nothing.
"You also come from… modest circumstances," the director continued, glancing at another file. "Your mother cannot cover the additional expenses. Equipment. Insurance. Medical care."
'So that's it. Numbers on paper. I was already dead before I walked in.'
"I don't need top-tier equipment," Jay said. "I've fought with worse. I can adapt."
"And that," the director replied evenly, "is precisely the problem."
He closed the file with a soft, final sound.
"Enthusiasm is a fine quality, Mister Jay Orlen," the director said politely, decisively, "but it does not replace talent… nor, certainly, financial means."
Jay left the academy with his head lowered.
Outside, the marble steps felt colder than before.
Now outside, Jay lifted his eyes, staring up at the sky. For a second, he just stood there, letting the cold air hit his face. Then—
bzzzzzz…
A vibration came from his pocket. It was his old smartphone; the screen cracked like shattered glass, yet it was still working through sheer stubbornness. The thing refused to die. He almost respected it for that.
He pulled it out and opened his messages.
He had sent scholarship requests to every academy on the continent, clinging to the hope that at least one of them would say yes. One. Just one would have been enough. He had checked obsessively over the past few days, pretending not to care.
Now he looked at the replies.
Rejected.
Rejected.
Rejected again and again.
No acceptance. Not a single one.
His teeth clenched hard enough that his jaw ached. Before he could stop himself, he hurled the smartphone against the wall and shouted,
"Bastard corporate scum!"
People turned to stare at him. Some slowed their steps. Others frowned. A few whispered. To them, he probably looked like another unhinged failure yelling at nothing.
'Ah hell, what did I just do? Damn it… my phone.'
Jay rushed toward where the smartphone had landed, but it was already beyond saving. The screen was completely dead now. No response. No vibration. Nothing.
'Shit. What the hell did I do?'
Then a sound pulled his attention away. It came from a large public advertisement screen nearby, glowing far too brightly.
Jay stood there, eyes red, locked onto the screen.
'What about me, then? Where was my chance, huh?'
He stared at the smiling director displayed in the advertisement, polished and confident.
'Why didn't I get that smile? Why him and not me?'
He grabbed the broken smartphone and threw it toward the screen. It didn't even come close. It fell short and smacked straight into the head of a man passing by.
"Which asshole just threw a phone at me?!"
Jay flinched.
Without thinking, he turned and ran, disappearing into the crowd and leaving the chaos behind.
He reached a dark alley and collapsed beside a trash bin.
His chest rose and fell hard. Each breath scraped his throat, shallow and uneven. His legs trembled, not from the run alone, but from everything that had piled up before it.
'What am I supposed to do now?'
He had hoped for an academic scholarship. Just one. He would have worked himself to the bone, taken every dirty mission, every late shift, anything to secure a decent job and take care of his mother. That plan had felt solid. Simple. Now it had completely fallen apart.
"I don't think I even dare to go home today," he muttered.
He lowered his eyes to the cracked pavement.
'I'm tired of being a burden to my mom. Tired of being a parasite…'
His jaw tightened. He stood up abruptly and kicked the trash bin with all his strength. It clattered loudly, spilling garbage across the alley.
"Shitty life."
His foot hurt. The pain barely registered.
Then something moved.
Jay froze.
At the far end of the alley lay a badly injured creature, its body twisted, dark blood staining the ground beneath it. Its breathing was ragged, uneven.
"Huh? A lower demon?"
The creature noticed him. Despite its wounds, it snarled and staggered forward, forcing its broken body to move, launching itself toward Jay.
'What? Wait...'
Jay clenched his teeth.
"You dare attack me in that state?" he snapped. "Am I that much of a joke? Even to a lower creature like you?"
His gaze dropped. A rusted iron bar lay near the wall. He grabbed it without hesitation and charged forward as well.
"Come on, bastard."
The first strike landed with a dull crack.
The creature screeched. Jay didn't stop.
One hit.
Two hits.
Then another. And another.
There was no technique. No strategy. Just raw force. Anger poured out of him with every swing.
This wasn't a fight. It was a release.
He screamed as he swung, voice breaking, arms burning, each blow heavier than the last. When the creature collapsed, unmoving, Jay kept going.
Again.
Again.
Only when his arms gave out did he stop. The iron bar slipped from his fingers and hit the ground.
He stood there shaking, breath ragged, staring at the crushed body beneath him.
Then—
[Congratulations, you have unlocked the system!]