People always said everyone had magic.
It didn't matter who you were or where you came from — magic lived in every breathing thing. It slipped through the air, wove through the ground, spilled into every breath you took.
Even the worst kid in class could do something. Make a spark, throw up a gust, ripple some water. Everyone could.
Except him.
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"Again."
The instructor's voice rang out sharp. It bounced around the training hall, echoing off stone walls and marble floors.
Thirty students stood in a circle, spaced out perfectly. Same uniforms, dark suits stitched with silver, capes hanging behind them. Academy symbols shimmered on their chests, stirred by the mana in the air.
Magic hung everywhere.
You could practically taste it.
Heavy. Alive.
Except it skipped one kid.
Dead center stood the boy. He kept his posture straight, face blank. Hair dropped over his eyes, just enough shadow to make him look miles away.
"Draw in the mana," the instructor snapped, patience wearing thin. "Feel it. Control it."
Everyone else moved.
Hands up.
Eyes closed.
And then—
Light.
Soft glows sparked to life. Blue streaks fizzled up. Gold swirled around a girl's fingertips. Another kid called up a flame, steady and clean above his palm.
The room hummed with approval.
Normal.
Expected.
---
"…You."
The instructor's voice sliced through the moment.
The boy in the middle didn't budge.
"You're not even trying."
He raised his hand, slow and careful.
"I am," he said, just above a whisper.
A few students snickered.
---
He shut his eyes.
Just like they taught.
Just like he practiced.
Again.
And again.
And again.
---
Breathe in.
Feel the air.
Reach deeper.
Find the current below everything.
---
Nothing.
No warmth.
No spark.
Nothing answered.
Just black emptiness.
Like grabbing at something that always slips away.
---
"I…" He hesitated, dropped his hand just a little. "I can't."
Silence hit—
Then shattered.
---
Laughter exploded.
Rough.
Loud.
Unkind.
---
"Of course he can't."
"Why's he even here?"
"Isn't he the kid with zero affinity?"
"Zero? I heard it's worse — doesn't even have mana."
---
The instructor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"This is the third week," he said. "Everyone's manifested at least something."
His gaze hardened.
"Step aside."
---
There it was again.
Step aside.
Always step aside.
---
No argument.
No protest.
He just turned and walked out, ignoring every look.
Some amused.
Some pitying.
Most didn't matter.
---
But as he passed one student—
A voice brushed against his mind.
Low.
Calm.
Not his own.
---
Pathetic…
---
He froze.
Eyes narrowed.
"…What?"
The student nearby frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"…You didn't hear that?"
"Hear what?"
---
Quiet.
---
The voice vanished.
Gone like it never happened.
---
He shook it off.
"…Nothing."
Just his imagination.
Right?
---
"Class dismissed!"
The instructor clapped, snapping everyone out of it.
Students started to scatter, chat rising up again.
Laughter.
Boasting.
A few quick tricks, just for show.
Everything the boy couldn't do.
---
He slipped out.
Nobody stopped him.
Nobody ever did.
---
Outside, the hallway stretched long and bright. Windows tossed golden afternoon light across polished floors. Shadows twined around the footsteps and voices of students moving in packs.
He walked alone.
Like always.
---
Step.
Step.
Step—
---
A hand slammed into his shoulder.
Hard.
---
He stumbled, caught himself.
"Watch it."
He didn't even need to look up — he knew the voice.
And the attitude.
---
Three upperclassmen.
---
"I wasn't in your way," he said, calm as he could be.
That answer always set them off.
---
One stepped closer, grabbed his collar, pulled him in.
"Say it again."
Their faces bumped right up close.
Too close.
---
"I wasn't in your way," he repeated.
No fear.
No hesitation.
---
That was the problem.
---
The leader smirked.
"Still acting like you're special, huh?"
The others laughed.
"You've got nothing," one shot back. "No magic. No talent. No future."
---
Silence.
---
"Say it."
"…What?"
"Say you're worthless."
---
The hallway hushed.
People slowed to watch.
No one stepped in.
No one ever did.
---
He stared back.
Something flickered in his eyes.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Something else.
---
"…No."
---
The word dropped, heavy.
---
The smirk faded.
---
"Wrong answer."
---
The punch hit fast and heavy
Too fast, too heavy and too painful
---
Pain shot through his face as he hit the ground, air sucked from his lungs, world spinning wild.
A kick landed.
Another.
---
"Stay down."
"Trash."
"You don't belong here."
---
Blows kept coming, heavy and painful
He didn't scream.
Didn't beg.
Didn't fight.
---
Because he couldn't.
---
Blood pooled under him.
Warm.
Sticky.
---
And then—
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So this is what you've become…
---
The voice slid back.
Clearer.
Closer.
---
He slowed his breathing.
His fingers twitched against the floor.
---