The morning sun crawled through the window, spilling gold across the cracked floorboards. David opened his eyes, unmoved. The light warmed nothing inside him.
He dressed in silence, hands moving by memory. His reflection stared back: pale skin, long black hair, dark eyes like dead glass. He looked like a ghost trying to pass for human.
Not handsome. Not ugly. Just... there.
He stepped out. The door creaked behind him like it hated its job. In the kitchen, his mother sat hunched over stale bread and weak tea. The scent of perfume clung to her like a second skin — too strong, too sweet. Meant for nights, not mornings.
She didn't speak. Neither did he. They never did, not this early. Not when everything that needed saying was already carved into their bones.
Her hands shook slightly as she poured his tea.
He ate quickly. Mechanical. Efficient. Like life was a duty.
She worked at a brothel — not for herself, but for him. Every filthy coin, every fake smile — it bought his spot at a place he didn't belong. A prestigious cultivation academy for the rich, the noble, the freakishly gifted.
David was none of those things.
But he was still there. And that had to count for something.
He finished eating, nodded once, and left.
The slums stretched out before him, filled with the homeless, the drunks, the forgotten. He looked at them with contempt, seeing them as nothing more than the detritus of society — unworthy of life. Yet, he didn't feel it was his place to judge. He walked past them, his gaze set forward, deliberately ignoring the darkness that clung to the world around him
Emerging from the narrow, grime-covered alleys of the slums, David made his way toward the heart of Norris City. In the bustling city center, the sun shone brightly, casting long shadows from towering skyscrapers that seemed to guard the forgotten secrets of the past. In the distance, nestled among the gleaming cityscape, stood his school — the prestigious cultivation academy, a massive structure reserved for the rich or those with extraordinary talent.
He wasn't one of the fortunate few born into wealth, but he had carved out his place here — not through inheritance, but through relentless effort and an unbreakable will.
As he approached the classroom doors, David took a deep breath. Stepping inside, he silently prepared himself for the routine ahead, knowing that today, like every day, would bring new challenges to face.
As he entered the classroom, David was greeted by the chaotic noise of students engaged in heated conversations about anything and everything. He made his way to his usual seat, but before he could sit down, three figures blocked his path — one arrogant troublemaker and two lackeys.
'You don't belong here, get the hell out, son of a whore.'
Most people would've reacted immediately, fists flying, but David had grown numb to this kind of treatment. Besides, fighting back would only make things worse. The father of the arrogant brat — the one who was always mouthing off — was an influential investor in the school and a very powerful man. Insulting his son would get David expelled in an instant
David had already anticipated this moment. He always made sure to arrive just before the class began, to avoid any unnecessary attention.
The door creaked open, and in stepped a woman whose presence immediately commanded the room. Fiery red hair framed her face, and her confident stride turned every head. Her name was Anna — the youngest teacher in the school, and undeniably the most talented. At just 20 years old, she had already reached Warrior Rank 9. David, on the other hand, was only 16 and stuck at Beginner Rank 6. But he wasn't discouraged; he knew his time would come.
The moment Anna entered, the entire classroom fell into a hush. Every student scrambled to their seats in a practiced, almost automatic motion. Everyone, except for David and the three troublemakers, who remained standing, unbothered by the teacher's arrival.
All four of you, take your seats. Especially you, Max.' Anna's voice was firm, but there was an undercurrent of something darker in her tone.
'Stupid bitch,' sneered the leader of the ragtag group of misfits. Max, the older brother, was a mediocre cultivator with barely any promise. At just 16, he had barely reached Beginner Rank 5, a far cry from his sister's abilities. Unlike Anna, who had achieved incredible progress in cultivation at such a young age, Max's growth was painfully slow. His sister, on the other hand, had the raw talent and discipline to reach heights others could only dream of.
'We'll see each other after class, freak,' Max muttered, shooting David a venomous glare.
The tension in the air was thick, but it was clear they were no match for the teacher's authority. All four of them took their seats begrudgingly, though Max's eyes never left David, burning with unspoken animosity.
Time crawled by as the lessons dragged on. David, as always, sat alone. He had no friends in this school—no one to talk to, no one to walk home with. He was an outcast, a shadow that passed unnoticed in the halls. But he told himself it didn't matter. He had his mother. That was enough... or so he tried to believe.
Eventually, the final bell rang.
As David stepped out of the academy gates, he spotted three familiar figures waiting near the entrance. Of course—it was Max and his two mindless lackeys.
"Get out of my way," David said, calm but firm.
But something was off.
Max didn't smirk. He didn't taunt. He just stepped forward—and punched David straight in the face.
Blood spilled from David's nose as pain exploded through his skull. He staggered back, shocked more by the sudden violence than the impact itself. He could fight back. He wanted to. With his strength, he could break Max in seconds. But he didn't.
Because fighting back meant expulsion.
Max didn't stop. He threw punch after punch, screaming like a man possessed.
"You filthy son of a whore! Why the fuck are you even alive?!"
Each word landed like a strike, and each strike hurt more than the last. Max had never hit him before. He'd always relied on words, threats, sneers. But this? This was different. This was rage—unfiltered, raw, and personal.
Even his two followers stood frozen, eyes wide, clearly disturbed. This wasn't Max. Not the Max they knew.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Max pulled away, breathing heavily. Without another word, he turned and walked off, leaving David on the ground, broken, bloody, and confused.
David forced himself to stand. Every muscle in his body ached, every breath felt like fire in his lungs. He wanted to cry — desperately — but he wouldn't allow himself that luxury. Not here. Not now.
He had to be strong.He had to fulfill his mother's dream.He had to be the best.
With blood drying on his face and pain pulsing through his ribs, he turned away from the shining lights of Norris City and walked deeper into the slums.
The streets grew darker, filthier. Neon lights faded behind him, replaced by broken lamps and flickering signs. The deeper he went, the more twisted the world became. Homeless figures huddled in corners, bottles in hand, muttering to themselves. Some stared. Most didn't.
One of them — a ragged man with hollow eyes and trembling hands — stepped forward and begged, "Spare some change, boy. Just a little…"
David's heart was thundering. Rage boiled just beneath his skin. He wasn't angry at this man. But at everything. At Max. At the school. At the unfairness of it all.At himself.
He snapped.
Without thinking, he drove his foot into the man's gut. Not with Qi — he wasn't trying to kill him — but hard enough to send him to the ground with a gasp.
The others didn't react.
They just watched. As if this kind of thing happened every day. As if the man on the ground didn't matter.And maybe he didn't. Not here. Not in this world.
Because in this world, power was everything.And the weak… they were nothing.
David kept kicking. Each strike was for the blows he couldn't return.Each scream for the pain he couldn't release.
And then — just as suddenly — he stopped.
Breathing heavily, chest heaving, he stared at what he had done. The man curled up, groaning weakly, blood on his lips.David's fists clenched. His jaw tightened.
And he turned away.
Not a word. Not an apology.
Just silence — and footsteps fading into the night as he walked home,alone.