Then, he fell unconscious.
After the fight, days passed, but nothing changed for the better. Just like before, people ignored him, laughed at him, and whispered behind his back.
He had shown something different, something new, yet it didn't matter because he lost.
Vander and his friends were even worse now. They used his defeat as a reason to mock him more.
They would kick his chair on purpose, shove books off his desk, and call him names loud enough for everyone to hear.
Ash didn't respond, because he couldn't.
Then, during one quiet class, Marine moved her chair closer to him. The teacher was busy writing on the board, and most of the students weren't paying attention.
"You actually used magic in that fight," she said.
Ash kept his eyes on the desk. "So?"
"You didn't have magic before. Everyone knows that."
He shrugged. "Maybe I just got lucky."
"That's not luck. You controlled trash like it was part of your body. That's not something a normal person can do."
He didn't answer, so she kept going.
"Where did you get it? Don't lie."
"I'm not lying," he said, still not looking at her. "I just don't feel like explaining it."
Marine leaned closer, clearly frustrated. "You're hiding something. And that's fine, I don't care what it is. But you need to be careful. Someone like Vander isn't going to stop next time."
Ash finally looked at her. "Then I won't lose next time."
She stared at him, confused by how calm he was. "You talk like you're not scared of him."
"I'm not."
"You should be."
"I used to be. I'm not anymore."
Marine sat back. "You've become weird."
"And you still talk to me," he said.
She frowned. "Don't get used to it."
Then she turned away, and the class went on like nothing happened.
---
He sat on his bed while his little sister leaned against the wall beside him. She was only thirteen, but she had already earned a place at Welhelm University—one of the most prestigious academies in the entire kingdom.
Compared to her, Ash was still stuck in the same village school, constantly mocked, constantly underestimated.
As he stared at the ceiling, a thought came to him.
His ability, Rise to the Top, only activated when people treated him badly. That was the key. If he wanted to get stronger, he needed to be treated like dirt again and again.
Vander and his group already mocked him daily, but that wasn't enough. He couldn't just walk up to Vander and ask for a rematch.
That would be idiotic. He had no way of measuring if his strength had actually increased unless he had someone to train with.
His sister wouldn't work. She always beat him in every spar, and she never held back.
But no matter how many times he lost, he never felt any different. There was no progress, no shift in strength.
So either the ability didn't work with her, or he had already hit the ceiling with that approach.
He needed someone who genuinely hated him. Someone who could insult him without holding back. Someone who could beat him down with words and strength alike.
There was one person who fit.
Samantha Forest.
She was one of Vander's friends and a member of the Forest family—a local noble bloodline with deep roots in mana studies.
She wasn't loud or cruel for fun like Vander, but she had no tolerance for people beneath her. And to her, Ash was the lowest.
She never spared him a second glance.
But she didn't fake kindness either. If she needed to insult him, she would.
That was exactly what he needed.
So, later that afternoon, Ash stood in front of a mansion at the edge of the village.
The Forest estate was easily one of the biggest buildings around, its white walls lined with gold trim and polished glass windows that looked far too clean for the dusty roads outside.
He knocked twice on the dark wood door. A few seconds later, it creaked open, and a girl stepped out.
Her long purple hair was neatly tied back, and her smile was soft, almost too polite.
"Yes?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. Her tone was gentle, but her eyes held no warmth.
"I'm here to see Samantha Forest," Ash said calmly.
Her smile didn't move.
"And why would someone like you need me?"
That girl was Samantha Forest.
She stood at the door of her family's estate with a composed smile. Her amethyst eyes scanned Ash from head to toe as if deciding whether it was worth speaking at all.
(Art Display)
"Why are you here, Ash? Or should I call Trash?" she asked without warmth but not with cruelty either. "You don't just knock on my door for no reason."
Ash didn't bother pretending to be polite. "I want you to fight me twice every weekend. Every week until the year ends."
She didn't even blink. "No."
"I'm being serious."
"So am I," she said. "And no."
He tried again, this time with less formality. "It's not just for fun or anything. I need someone who actually wants to hit me and is good at it."
"And you thought of me," she said, now sounding amused. "I'm flattered, but no."
She was already halfway through closing the door when he said, "It might help you with the Elbarin deal."
That made her pause.
"That's none of your business," she said, voice quiet but sharp.
"I know," Ash replied, "but if your family wants to pair you with the Elbarins, then being seen fighting someone like me every weekend could ruin that image. You'd be disqualified from being their perfect little bride, right?"
She stared at him.
Ash continued. "I don't have money or status to trade, but I have reputation. Everyone already thinks I'm garbage, so if you're seen fighting me constantly, they'll think you're unstable or rebellious or something, and the Elbarins won't want you."
"You're offering your reputation so I can ruin mine?" she asked, still leaning against the doorway. "That's a weird way of doing business."
"It benefits us both," he said. "I need someone to beat the crap out of me regularly. You need an excuse to be dropped from your engagement talks without looking like the one who started it."
Samantha sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Do you realize how pathetic this sounds?"
"I do," he said. "That's why it'll work."
She stared at him for another long second.
Then she stepped back and gestured him inside.
"Fine," she said. "We start this weekend. And if you can't handle getting hit, then don't cry about it."
Ash walked in. "I won't. That's the point."
---
In the forest just beyond the village's edge, Ash and Samantha walked in silence.
She hadn't said much since agreeing to the weekend sessions, and her expression showed she was still unsure about helping him.
"You really don't have to hold back," Ash said as they reached the clearing. "That's kind of the point of this."
"You really want to get hurt every weekend?" she replied, raising an eyebrow.
Ash didn't answer. Instead, he suddenly lunged at her, without warning or hesitation.
She raised her hand instantly, and with a pulse of violet light, invisible force slammed into his side and threw him to the ground.
Pebbles and branches lifted into the air around her, circling with psychic precision before launching at him like a barrage.
He ducked, rolled, and pushed forward again, trying to close the distance.
This routine repeated over and over throughout the weekend.
Every strike she sent at him, every time she shoved him to the ground with her magic, he stood back up.
Every bruise and scrape only made his movements sharper. She didn't go easy on him. By Sunday evening, she was breathing hard, and so was he, but he was still standing.
When Monday came, Ash sat on his usual desk at the back of the classroom. His uniform was pressed, but bruises peeked through the collar of his shirt.
Then, someone sat next to him.
He turned slightly.
Samantha.
Instead of ignoring him like she always had, she smiled faintly and dropped a wrapped piece of bread onto his desk.
"You'll need the energy if we're doing that again next weekend."
Ash blinked.
Their classmates noticed.
A few whispered. Some turned to stare.
Even Vander, who always acted like he owned the room, squinted at them from across the aisle with a half-confused, half-suspicious look.
"What the hell?" someone whispered. "Samantha's talking to him?"
"Did they hit his head too hard or something?"
But Ash ignored them.
He chewed slowly, staring at the chalkboard, but his mind wasn't on the class.
Deep inside, he had a plan, and it was finally starting to move.
This school... it's just a stepping stone.
I'm going to Willmelt University. That place makes Welhelm Academy look like a playground.
But I can't just transfer. I need strength, recognition, and people. And not just any people. I need everyone in this room—the very classmates who look down on me—to stand with me.
I'll turn this whole class into my team.
He glanced sideways at Samantha.
One down. Four to go.