Chapter 2: Unwanted. (Rewritten)

"With the golden glow of dawn upon his chest and the echo of ancient promises in his heart, a man rose, ready to defy fate and forge a new path where shadows could not reach the light." —Excerpt from Volume 1 of The Reborn Hero.

In a situation beyond reason… how would you handle yourself? That was the fleeting thought of a young man sitting on a hospital bed.

Downcast, glassy eyes wandered around the room with a hollow expression. The white walls, with their sterile coldness, seemed to mock him, a reflection of his immature stupidity. The faint tingling on his cheek, reddened and marked by the imprint of a woman's hand, was a painful reminder that this was no bad dream. That… there was no escape.

He raised a trembling hand and observed the bandages wrapped around his knuckles. The white gauze, stained with traces of dried blood, felt like a silent mockery of his own recklessness. The wound throbbed with a sharp pain, undeniable proof that this body—though different from the one he remembered—was real. As real as the dense, antiseptic-laden air that forced him to breathe through his mouth. With each inhalation, his bewilderment deepened. As if his very body were confirming, again and again, that this place existed, that his new reality was no fleeting illusion.

He felt trapped in an invisible prison, where his jailer was none other than himself. He had no other way to describe it.

A door opened with a dry snap. The figure of a nurse, clad in a white uniform and carrying an impatient air, stepped into the infirmary. The woman, with blonde hair and a face hardened by exasperation, crossed her arms. Her severe blue eyes landed on him.

"Honestly… I can't believe your recklessness, Brián," her voice, firm but not devoid of concern, broke the heavy silence. "Look at your hand—you even damaged the nerves. What would have happened if I hadn't been nearby? You would've bled out in minutes."

Her words barely reached him. His mind remained trapped in a hazy boundary between disbelief and exhaustion. Nothing she said could convince him that this wasn't an endless nightmare.

"You need to stop getting into trouble—or looking for it," the nurse continued with a sigh, her voice losing its harshness. "You're young, and you entered this Academy on your own merit. That says a lot about you, despite not coming from a noble family to back you up. You have an opportunity many would kill for, and you're simply wasting it."

He kept his gaze down, staring at the bandage as if he could find some kind of answer in it.

"And all for that girl. You're intelligent, but you're wasting your potential on this obsession of yours."

That phrase, spoken with a hint of sadness, struck harder than the slap on his cheek. Obsession. That word, heavy with judgment, pierced him deeper than he expected. His jaw tensed, his other hand clutching the sheets with a strength he hadn't even noticed at first. Why did it hurt so much to hear it?

The burning in his eyes threatened to become something more. He didn't understand why, but those words had struck him to his core.

"I… I'm sorry," he finally whispered. His voice emerged as a distant echo of himself, a murmur that seemed to drift aimlessly in the clinical air of the room. The nurse watched him in silence. Her expression softened, the hardness in her features easing slightly.

"It's okay," she said at last, in a gentler tone. "I'll let it slide for today, but I don't want to see you here tomorrow, understood? And please, take my advice seriously."

For a moment, the nurse leaned slightly toward him, a small smile playing on her lips—a fleeting warmth that reminded him of a sun from a lost day. "Ah, and sorry about the slap… that was an accident. You weren't responding to my calls, so I had no choice," she joked lightly, adjusting the white cap on her head, adorned with symbols he didn't recognize.

He didn't respond. He only turned his gaze toward the window, where the evening light was beginning to filter through the curtains.

The nurse stepped back with measured precision, settling into place with the same practiced ease she used to heal wounds. With calculated movements, she slid a hand into the small leather pouch tied to her waist and pulled out a yellowed piece of paper—fragile, so thin it seemed on the verge of disintegrating between her fingers.

"Now, stay still and close your eyes. Just focus on your breathing," she ordered, her tone firm but calm. Then, as if her thoughts had taken an unexpected turn, she added in a low voice, "You know… I've been thinking about something. That mirror you broke was of very high quality. And your collapse… there's something about all of this that doesn't add up."

She gave no further explanation. Her fingers, nimble and light, began to move over the paper with precision, tracing invisible symbols at a speed that defied logic, like a painter drawing on an unseen canvas. He obediently closed his eyes, not fully understanding what he had just been caught up in.

But then, a blue glow pierced through his closed eyelids, pulsing and ethereal. Instinctively, he opened them… and what he saw stole the breath from his lungs.

The paper in the nurse's hands shone with a vibrant radiance—first blue, then a flickering aquamarine green—an energy flow that twisted as if it had a life of its own. The luminescence trembled and danced in the air before fading in a few blinks, leaving behind a set of intricate symbols, mystical scribbles that swirled on the paper's surface, as if they had been engraved upon it with liquid fire.

He didn't understand their meaning, but the nurse did. Her eyes traced each line with absolute focus. And with every word she deciphered, her expression shifted—calm giving way to a mix of disbelief and astonishment.

Suddenly, she brought a hand to her mouth, as if what she was reading was too shocking to say aloud. She turned to him, and when their eyes met, he knew—without needing to hear it—that something troublesome was coming at him like a bullet.

"Brián… what I'm about to tell you, you must not repeat to anyone." The nurse's tone had changed. It was grave. Firm. Laden with a weight he could not yet comprehend.

"Your trait and your abilities… they've strengthened. Far more than they should have. And moreover…" She hesitated, unsure if she should say it out loud. Finally, she took a deep breath and continued. "You've awakened an innate ability. Something extremely rare among humans."

The silence that followed was heavy. Almost suffocating.

The words innate ability hung between them, dense and weighted with a meaning he couldn't yet grasp.

What the hell was happening?

The reality he thought he knew was unraveling before him in an unexpected, dizzying way. The situation was overwhelming him, driving him mad.

He felt no joy. No excitement. Only a deep unease, a sharp sting of pessimism that darkened what, in another context, might have been a moment of discovery.

His mind buzzed with questions he couldn't voice, trapped in the whirlwind of uncertainty that engulfed him. The light. The paper. The ability. And that uncertain fate that, without his knowledge, had been calling to him from the very beginning. But the fear of the unknown, of the truth barely hinted at in the shadows, paralyzed him.

The nurse's blue eyes settled on him with a softer expression. In his dimmed gaze, she saw a shadow of something familiar. A reflection.

Selene—named after her late mother—sighed. She couldn't help it. There was something about Brián that stirred a deep compassion in her. Not just because of his story, because of the tragedy of being an orphan who had lost everything in the blink of an eye… but because, in some way, she saw in him a version of herself.

A reflection of her own past, of that time when her own obsession had led her to make too many mistakes she now regretted.

Her gaze softened for a moment, as a wave of empathy washed over her.

Brián Morningstar… A boy who had survived something that had condemned him from the moment it happened. Originally from a small town, he was one of the only two survivors of a devastating attack. A tragedy, a massacre that had erased countless lives due to the proximity of his home to the border of the war-torn nation of Berkroa.

Seraphim Academy, recognizing his intellectual talent, had granted him a privilege reserved for a select few: free lodging in the school dormitories. Only those with exceptional merit—or families wealthy enough to ensure their children stayed away from home—enjoyed this benefit. For Brián, this opportunity would last until his graduation, as long as he maintained an impeccable academic performance. But the young man sitting before her seemed further and further from reaching that standard.

Brián was caught in something far more dangerous than mediocrity: an obsession. An emotional fixation that, in Selene's eyes, did not bode well. He had clung to the only other survivor of that fateful attack as if his very existence depended on her, as if he found in her presence an echo of the life he had lost.

Selene was not unfeeling; she understood, to some extent, where those emotions came from. Loss, trauma, the need to hold on to what remained of a shattered past… But that didn't change reality. She knew the price of his distraction could be devastating. If Brián failed to meet academic expectations, he would lose everything. Oh, it wouldn't be a formal expulsion, of course. The Academy would simply revoke his right to lodging, leaving him with nowhere to sleep. And without connections, without a family to support him, survival would become a challenge in itself.

Deep down, Selene knew exactly what that meant. Without a place to sleep, the daily burdens and worries would consume him. His studies would suffer, his performance would plummet, and before he even realized it, the Academy would spit him out like worthless waste.

Selene sighed, narrowing her eyes as she observed him carefully. The young man, sitting on the bed, seemed oblivious to the shadow of his own fate, caught in the tangled web of a desperate infatuation—one that, by all appearances, was not reciprocated. It wasn't hard to see what was happening: his gestures, his distant gaze, the way his mind wandered to a place beyond her reach.

She couldn't interfere directly. She had no right to decide which path this young man would take. But she could at least make sure Brián became aware of his reality before it was too late.

"Listen, Brián," she said, her voice soft yet firm. "You and I need to have a long conversation about this situation… about the new complexity ahead of you."

As she spoke, she idly played with the folds of her uniform, as if smoothing the fabric helped her organize her thoughts. She knew that what she was about to say could affect him deeply, so she chose her words with care.

"After what I'm going to tell you, it'll be up to you whether you reveal it or keep it secret," she continued. "But if you ask me… I think it's safer if you keep it to yourself."

Selene knew the Academy all too well. She knew Brián had no noble lineage to back him up, no powerful connections to protect him. And above all, she knew the greed of the Headmaster. If the truth about the boy's innate ability came to light too soon—without the proper preparation—he could become a pawn in someone else's game.

Thus began a long conversation—an exchange of confidences and warnings about the world Brián had unknowingly plunged into. Where Selene had completely misread the situation, because the young man's real worries were not about his now-forgotten infatuation, but rather…

How the hell did I end up in this absolute mess?

Brián, with his aquamarine-green hair and eyes dulled by exhaustion, listened more out of inertia than true intent. The nurse spoke with a mix of bluntness and genuine concern, a tone that felt foreign to him—but in some way, it disarmed him. He hadn't expected someone like her to care so much about his future.

And so, little by little, the harshness of reality began to push aside the shadows of his daydreams.

At least, for a moment.

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[Footsteps.]

The slow rhythm of a young man, his expression downcast, echoed through an endless corridor.

Brián Morningstar... That was his name—or rather, that was the name of this body, of this person, of this poor child whose consciousness he had forcefully taken, without knowing how or why. A name that didn't feel like his own, an identity that weighed on him like an invisible chain. He was only beginning to grasp the abyss in which he had awakened. Truly, a messed-up situation.

One moment, he was out drinking with friends, then returning to his apartment, too exhausted to even make it to bed, collapsing onto the floor—and upon waking... he found himself in a world unknown yet as real as the one before. The reality he had known had been thrown overboard. Seriously... How the hell did that even happen? He swore he'd go insane trying to figure it out.

Here, he was alone. No parents, no family, no memories, and an immense void in his mind that clouded everything. Every time he tried to dig into his oldest memories, his own childhood, he found a wall of shadows, a darkness that seemed to devour everything. The more he tried to remember, the more he felt himself slipping into a bottomless pit.

This was his reality now. He hadn't asked for it, he hadn't wanted it, yet uncertainty gnawed at him like a slow-acting poison. It felt like the beginning of a fantasy story, the kind he had often watched out of sheer boredom, and yet, everything about it was cold, bitter, and suffocating. Like a bad joke.

His footsteps echoed softly along the hallway lined with narrow windows, where the dying light of dusk barely illuminated the stone walls. He walked slowly, wrapped in thick silence, replaying the nurse's words in his mind. Selene. That was her name. And though her tone had been kind, the feeling of strangeness wouldn't leave him. Not just because of her, but because of everything.

And damn... that beautiful nurse could slap hard. Even now, his cheek stung, and he was pretty sure at least one tooth was loose.

The sound of his own steps kept him grounded in the present. However, he couldn't ignore the truth: he was now a confused young man trapped in a child's body.

He suddenly stopped and looked at his hands. One of them was fully bandaged. They were small, fragile... foreign. They weren't his. And yet, when he clenched them into fists, he could feel the warmth of his own skin, the tension in his muscles. They were real. He recalled his reflection in the cracked glass of the infirmary's bathroom—a child staring back at him, clad in a bloodstained school uniform, his gaze dull and lost. A shiver ran down his spine. He didn't understand how he had ended up here, couldn't make sense of his situation, and the more he searched for answers, the more it felt like the world itself was mocking him with its silence.

The void in his mind throbbed, a dark and latent entity whispering confusion and despair. Frustration grew within him with each passing second, but he had nowhere to direct that pent-up rage.

His eyes wandered down the corridor, taking in the towering stone walls adorned with intricate carvings and the lofty ceilings above. It was undoubtedly a luxurious place—an elite school, meant for those who could afford the finest education. But to him, its grand architecture was nothing more than a gilded trap. He felt suffocated, out of place. All he wanted was to find a bed, close his eyes, and wake up from this nightmare.

And yet, something in his body reacted differently. Not his mind, but his muscles, his movements. As if, somehow, he knew this place. As if his body remembered what his mind could not reach.

He approached one of the windows and looked down at the ground far below. Second floor, he realized.

He had to get down. He needed to escape this endless corridor.

When he found the staircase, he didn't hesitate to descend. But as he reached the landing between floors, his instincts flared with a dull warning.

In front of him, a group of four kids blocked the way. And from their expressions, it was clear they had been waiting for him.

The group stood out for their disheveled appearance—school blazers missing, shirts half-untucked, no ties. There was something deliberately messy about their look, a childish air of rebellion that gave them away. He understood instantly what kind of people they were: the ones who thought they were cool—or rather, the ones who deluded themselves into believing that insolence granted them some kind of power.

"Hey, Brián, we've been waiting for you," said the brown-haired boy, who seemed to assume the role of leader. His tone was too casual, too confident.

Beside him, another boy held a lollipop like it was a cigarette, in a gesture that seemed as absurd as it was ridiculous.

"Yeah... you almost had us worried," added another, laughing.

The harsh laughter, the crooked smiles, the mocking glint in their eyes… Something inside him tightened—a knot in his stomach.

Without knowing why, his body reacted, tensing up, and he felt his hands begin to tremble. A wave of panic, mixed with distrust, washed over him.

Who were these kids? Why did they seem to know him so well? And why, upon seeing them, did his stomach sink as if he were plummeting into an endless abyss?

From the way they sneered and the arrogance in their gazes, he immediately understood that they weren't friends of the child whose body he now inhabited. He didn't need more clues to categorize them: the type of kids who found satisfaction in making others feel small.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, though the tingling in his stomach wouldn't fade. He had never been one to tolerate bullies—never had, never would—but right now, he had more urgent problems than dealing with a bunch of brats with superiority complexes.

He decided to ignore them and, with feigned indifference, descended the last few steps. He forced himself to stay calm, despite the latent fear creeping over him—an unfamiliar sensation, as if it didn't truly belong to him.

But as he reached the landing, one of the kids extended an arm, blocking his way.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" asked the leader of the group, his voice dripping with condescension. He recognized that tone instantly—the voice of someone who believed himself above others and enjoyed proving it. The kind of person he had always found irritating.

To him, mutual respect was something natural between civilized people. If someone couldn't grasp something so simple, they deserved nothing but his contempt. Nothing more than a brainless monkey—no, even monkeys deserved more respect.

"Your money, stupid," another kid spat, clearly irritated by his silence.

It was the same one holding the lollipop between his lips, still pretending it was a cigarette. His chubby cheeks and round belly gave him a ridiculous air.

Instinctively, he felt an immediate sense of rejection at having him so close. Who the hell did this bootleg Majin Buu think he was? Seriously… it was kind of pitiful. He probably had some kind of developmental delay—he should be a little more empathetic.

Even so… Money?

He blinked, incredulous.

He had checked his pockets earlier, and the only thing he had found was lint.

Broke. Yeah, he was broke. That much was obvious. Not even switching realities had fixed that problem. He didn't need a college degree to figure it out.

But apparently, this body—Brián's body—received some kind of school allowance or something. Otherwise… why the hell would they be demanding his money?

Great. As if being trapped in an absurd situation wasn't enough, now he also had to relive his worst days of high school.

He sighed, annoyed.

"Did you just sigh in front of me?" growled the broad-shouldered kid, stepping closer—so close he could smell his awful breath.

"And does that matter?" he replied, narrowing his eyes. His sarcastic tone was enough to leave the group momentarily speechless.

The pause didn't last.

"I've had a shitty day, so do me a favor and go to hell, you son of a bitch."

The words slipped out fast, unfiltered. It was more of a reflex than a conscious decision. He realized it the moment he saw the fury ignite in the bullies' eyes. Their cheeks flushed red, jaws clenched.

He wasn't Brián, didn't know his behaviors or how he typically acted, and he wasn't about to play a role. He was Aiden, just a regular guy who liked his own things and hated working part-time while suffering through university exams.

Even so, he wasn't stupid. With the fragments of his current situation, he could already put two and two together. Escalating this into a physical fight would cause trouble—likely only for him. Given how opulent this place was, combined with the fact that he was a broke nobody, there was only one correct response to this dilemma.

So, he took advantage of their shock.

With an agile move, he jumped up two steps and, without hesitation, vaulted over the staircase railing.

His body reacted with a precision that startled him—he landed with minimal impact, almost as if gravity didn't affect him the same way.

Something was wrong.

No, something was different.

But there was no time to think about it.

He bolted down the final flight of stairs. And the moment his foot hit the ground, he knew—he was fast. Faster than he had ever been in his life. Not only that, but his legs barely seemed to exert any effort, his breathing remained steady, and his body moved with a lightness that bordered on the unreal.

"Hey! Don't let him escape, you idiots!" the leader shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

But it was already too late.

He shot down the hallways like a comet, bathed in the golden light of the sunset. Shadows stretched in his wake, the empty corridors becoming an intuitive labyrinth, and his own movements felt so natural they were almost instinctive.

"What the hell? How is that useless idiot so fast?" he heard, but the voices seemed distant—like they were already light-years away.

He turned a corner, his mind focused on a single objective: getting out.

And then, when he finally saw it, his heart skipped a beat.

The grand entrance doors of the Academy stood wide open.

With no one in sight, slipping out was effortless. The Academy's architecture was as luxurious as it was functional—designed to impress as much as to facilitate movement. He only stopped when he reached the imposing stone steps at the front.

Turning on his heels, he looked back, allowing himself, for the first time, to take in the spectacle before him.

The Academy loomed with gothic majesty, like a fortress pulled from some otherworldly fantasy. Its towers stretched arrogantly toward the sky, its arches and stained-glass windows gleamed under the dying sunlight, and the sheer scale of the place left him slack-jawed.

"God... it almost looks like Hogwarts or something," he thought, awestruck.

For a moment, he stood still, half-expecting Professor Xavier or Dumbledore to emerge from the grand entrance and welcome him with some cryptic speech.

And how the hell did someone have enough money to build something like this?

He shook his head. Now wasn't the time for pointless questions. His priority was finding the dormitories Nurse Selene had mentioned. With luck, he might find clues about the real Brián there.

As he descended the steps, his attention was caught by the vast greenery around him. A stone path flanked by towering trees stretched ahead, bordered by meticulously trimmed hedges. In the distance, colossal walls marked the Academy's perimeter, and at the very center stood an open, majestic gate—crafted from metal so fine and polished it almost seemed decorative rather than functional.

The landscape, bathed in the warm orange glow of the sunset, had an undeniable beauty. But instead of admiring it, he just snorted.

"What a waste of money," he muttered as he walked forward. No one could blame him; his economically miserable soul writhed at such extravagance.

He felt his chest deflate. Rich people disgusted him. That unnecessary opulence, that constant need to flaunt… God, what envy. He wanted all of that too, and it made his skin crawl just thinking about it.

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the unruly strands brushing against his face. It was longer than he remembered. Right… it wasn't his hair. Not his body. But still…

"Well, at least those hairdressing courses will finally come in handy," he thought with irony, pushing his bangs away from his eyes.

He nodded to himself. Yeah, everything has its use eventually—it's just a matter of time. Whether his behavior was evasive or not was something he had no interest in figuring out. Keeping his head filled with nonsense was a great way to stop thinking about his current predicament.

The air was crisp, his breathing remained light. The autumn atmosphere was pleasant, though he didn't even know the exact date. Just another mystery on the endless list.

He finally crossed through the grand entrance of the Academy and was about to continue when, suddenly, he came to a sharp halt.

On the other side, leaning against a wall, was a young girl—around twelve years old.

She stared at him, a mix of fierceness and disdain in her eyes. Her furrowed brow and crossed arms gave her an intimidating air, but there was something about her… something oddly familiar.

Unconsciously, his hand moved to his cheek. He could still feel a faint sting there.

"This girl…" His mind jolted with a flash of memory. A similar face, an aura of a golden child, light brown layered hair, matching eyes. The same expression of disgust.

Yes… exactly what he had seen before collapsing.

A knot formed in his stomach. It wasn't fear, nor nerves, but a deeper discomfort. An inexplicable connection he couldn't quite define.

For a brief moment, the girl's expression seemed to soften. Just for a second. Then, she spoke, her voice cold:

"You took too long. I've been waiting here, you know?"

Her gaze swept over him, the way a hunter might assess its prey. She didn't ask any questions. She didn't seem interested in why he was late. She just looked… disappointed with what she saw.

Whether it was because of him or because she had been practically thrown out of the infirmary, only the brown-haired girl could know.

Finally, she pulled something from her leather bag and, without warning, shoved it against his chest with such force that he staggered back a step.

"Either way, since you're here, take this and make sure to copy it. Give it back before the day ends."

Aiden blinked, still feeling the weight of the notebook in his hands and the breath knocked out of him from the impact.

"Another one who's abnormally strong," he thought, a little unnerved. First Nurse Selene, now this girl. What the hell were they feeding people in this place?

Before he could say anything, the girl shot him one last look of contempt and spat out with disinterest:

"Don't think I'm doing this for you. The professor, noticing your absence, told me to give you my notes. It's your fault for not having any friends to rely on."

Whoa. That was a direct hit to the gut.

The coldness in her voice and the disdain in her gaze left him momentarily paralyzed. It wasn't just indifference—it was sharp as a blade, a venom distilled with surgical precision.

The girl walked away triumphantly, radiating such an intimidating presence that a chill ran down his spine.

He had experienced female indifference before, sure. But this… this was different.

Darker.

More unsettling.

Then, an insistent tingling on his wrist pulled him out of his daze.

Frowning, he rolled up his sleeve, revealing a mark he didn't remember seeing before—a tattoo of two intertwined feathers.

What the hell?

His frown deepened. Was Brián some kind of delinquent? What was a twelve-year-old doing with a tattoo?

Before he could delve deeper into the mystery, the ink embedded in his skin began to fade right before his eyes.

His brain short-circuited.

What…?

The bewilderment hit him like a tidal wave. This was too weird, even by the standards of the insanity he was caught up in.

"Why are you just standing there? Hurry up and walk! You know there's a curfew. You're not a child who needs to be led by the hand anymore."

Another unprovoked attack.

The girl's cold, impatient voice made him jump. He turned to find her glaring at him, as if his mere existence annoyed her.

"I don't have all day to wait for you. Tomorrow is training day."

With that final verbal slap, his legs moved on their own.

"Oh, Brián, dear foolish child, what the hell did you do to make this girl hate you so much?"

Resigned, he clutched the notebook to his chest and began walking after her, a mix of unease and panic creeping in.

Yes, keeping his distance from this girl was definitely the best choice. She was terrifying, and she seemed like the bossy type—avoiding her as much as possible sounded like the safest survival strategy.

To an outside observer, his attitude might have seemed childish. After all, he was twenty years old, had a career in progress, and suffered through a miserable part-time job. It made no sense for him to feel intimidated by a little girl.

But those skeptics would love to see themselves in his place, dealing with the pure, unfiltered hatred of the demon child. Then, maybe, they'd understand that his fear was more than justified.

The stone path crunched beneath his steps as they walked, and his mind became a whirlwind of thoughts.

"I could be home, playing games, watching a show, doing literally anything else… but no. I'm here, trapped in a body and a life that aren't mine."

Behind him, the Academy loomed like an imposing titan of stone, a symbol of all the mystery he had unwillingly been ensnared in.