Ash walked behind them with his hands in his pockets. The trail out of the village led into a patch of woods that smelled like rotting leaves and dry mud.
"You think you're tough now, huh?" one of the injured boys spat without turning around.
"You got lucky last time," another added, limping a little as he walked. "We'll see how long that luck lasts."
Ash didn't reply. He looked around at the trees, the scattered moss, the broken branches on the ground, and kicked a stone lazily.
The boy with the pink mohawk glanced back, annoyed. "You're not even scared, are you?"
Ash met his eyes and shrugged.
"You talk a lot."
They stopped walking once they were deep enough into the forest that no one from the village could see them.
The leader dropped his bag and stepped forward, spinning the bat in his hand.
"You think we brought you out here to play games?"
Ash tilted his head.
"We brought you here so we could teach you what happens when you humiliate people like us," the leader said, gripping the bat tighter.
The other boys formed a loose circle around Ash, but they didn't move in. They just watched.
"Last chance," the mohawk boy said. "Kneel down, and I'll make it quick."
Ash blinked.
"Are you done talking?"
The leader's face twisted. "Tough guy, huh?"
Then, he swung the bat down with full force, aimed right at Ash's shoulder.
But the bat didn't land.
Ash's hand caught it mid-swing. Just one hand wrapped around the metal. The impact made a dull thud, like hitting concrete.
The leader's eyes went wide. "W-What—?"
Ash looked up at him, slowly.
"Are you done speaking?"
Then, without warning, he pulled the bat away, stepped forward, and punched the leader square in the chest.
The hit launched him backward, smashing through a bush and slamming into the dirt..
The other bullies froze, staring at Ash like he'd just ripped open the sky.
"What the hell…?"
"Did he just—"
"Bro, he just—he sent him flying!"
Ash exhaled, rolled his shoulder, and looked around.
"Anyone else?" he asked.
No one moved.
He dropped the bat on the ground. "Good."
As Ash turned and walked away, the sound of crushed leaves and broken pride behind him cracked.
"I'm not done yet!" the leader shouted.
Ash stopped.
He didn't turn around immediately. He just tilted his head slightly.
"Oh?"
The others looked between the two in disbelief. Their leader, who used to knock Ash down with a single punch, was now struggling to lift himself off the dirt.
His shirt was torn, his arms were scraped, and his cheek was already starting to swell.
"What is this guy?" one of the bullies whispered. "Ash used to fold from a slap…"
"We used to beat him just for fun," another muttered.
"He hasn't even been hit once."
The mohawk kid forced himself up, legs shaking. "I said I'm not done!"
Ash turned his head slightly to the side, watching him with that same flat expression.
"You don't know when to quit."
The leader swung again, blindly, but Ash stepped forward and buried a fist into his gut. The boy crumpled, gasping, but stayed on his feet.
He swung again.
Another hit.
And again.
Over and over.
Hours passed, and the sun lowered. The forest dimmed. The light turned orange, then blue, then black.
But the fight never changed.
Ash didn't speak. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't even look angry.
Every time the mohawk boy got up, Ash knocked him back down. Not with fury, not with rage—just certainty. Like there was no question about who was stronger anymore.
By nightfall, the other bullies were sitting on rocks or leaning against trees, their faces pale.
"Boss, stop."
"You're gonna die out here, man."
"This is pointless!"
But the leader still tried to stand, hands digging into the dirt, body shaking with every breath.
Ash looked down at him one last time.
He could tell there was no more strength left. Just stubborn bones and a bruised ego that hadn't accepted the truth.
But Ash had.
"You've had enough," he said.
He turned around and walked back toward the village.
He just left, because he already knew.
That kid wouldn't be getting up again.
---
Ash walked back through the forest trail, hands tucked in his pockets, breathing steady. The moon was overhead now, and the cicadas had taken over the night.
Then, right in front of his eyes, the blue glow returned.
[YOU HAVE DEFEATED YOUR FIRST FOE]
He stopped walking.
"…Took you long enough."
The interface pulsed again.
[YOU HAVE RECEIVED: RISE TO THE TOP (ABILITY)]
Ability Insight: RISE TO THE TOP
You grow stronger every time someone looks down on you, mistreats you, or underestimates you. Their scorn fuels your growth. Their disrespect becomes your progress. The more they belittle you, the faster you rise.
Ash blinked.
"…You're telling me the more people treat me like trash, the stronger I get?"
The panel didn't answer.
He scoffed. "This system's got a sick sense of humor."
But he wasn't angry. He was interested.
"So I just have to keep being disrespected, and I win?" he muttered. "Fine. This whole world's already full of people like that."
Then, another notification appeared.
[YOU HAVE RECEIVED: TRANSMUTATION (ABILITY)]
Ability Insight: TRANSMUTATION
Convert any non-living material into another form of equal or lesser mass. Quality depends on creativity and understanding. Energy cost scales based on complexity. Materials created through transmutation can be dismantled or reused.
Ash stared at it.
"…So I can turn trash into tools?"
His lips curled slightly. Not quite a smile—more like recognition.
"That's perfect."
He started walking again.
"This world wants to treat me like garbage," he said, "then I'll use it."
He glanced at his hand.
"If trash is what I am… then I'll turn trash into gold."
As Ash passed the edge of the village, another interface opened in front of him with a soft, mechanical chime.
This one was different—less flashy, more structured. A basic status display hovered in the air, clearly labeled and easy to read.
[PROFILE]
Name: Ash Valeender
Age: 17
Rank: None
Race: Human
Bloodline: None
Class: Trash Collector
Sub-Class: Trash
Weapons: Vacuum Ultimatum
Abilities:
– Rise to the Top
– Transmutation
– Trash Manipulation
Ash read every line carefully, starting from his name down to the last passive. He didn't blink. His expression stayed unreadable.
"So this is me," he said. "Seventeen years old, no background, no rank, no bloodline, and no weapon. The system really meant it when it said 'from the bottom.'"
He closed the interface with a thought and looked toward the house up ahead, the faint glow of a candle behind the window.
"But that just means I don't owe this world anything."
He walked forward without slowing down.